Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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      Christopher felt the concrete damp under him and fought to stem his rising panic. He couldn’t sweat, so what was the moisture on his body? Was his life force draining? The pain in his side radiated in great swamping waves. He knew the cause. He’d felt a knife before but not even the dagger thrust in Deptford had pained like this. As he clenched muscles, the blade shifted, raking forgotten nerve endings. Had he ever been this weak in his first life? Who remembered that far back?

      He slept. Dozed. Passed out. He never knew which. Blackness receded after a while, and cold, damp and pain returned. He couldn’t even sense light or warmth. Where was he? Underground? Inside a lead casket? Impossible! The space didn’t embrace like a coffin. Willing strength into his right hand, he tried to dislodge the blade. His efforts succeeded in sending painful flashes down his leg and nerve shocks up his shoulder. The truth dawned. He was dying and this time he faced true death and judgment.

      Behind him, a door opened. Outside this cold hell, sunlight beamed. The door closed. A mortal stood over him, breathing hard, and exuding hate. He knew that smell—Caughleigh.

      “Sorry to disturb your Sunday afternoon nap. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.” A hand clutched his hair and pulled. Once, Christopher could have grasped that hand and crushed bones or willed Sebastian into silence. Now his neck stretched up in Sebastian’s grasp and the movement shifted pain down to his hip. He felt his face contort as light shone in his eyes. “Feeling uncomfortable, old chap? Enjoy it while it lasts. It can only get worse.”

      “Why, Caughleigh?” Two words took more strength than climbing St. Paul’s.

      “Why?” A half-chuckle simmered behind the word. “Why should I tell you? Maybe I’ll let you sweat it out. But, of course, you don’t sweat do you? Don’t eat. Don’t drink. Don’t piss. Don’t fuck. Don’t do anything like puny mortals. Right?”

      The light hurt his eyes. Was that weakness or some vestige of humanity returning? His lids closed until Sebastian shook his head.

      “Listen to me, and listen well, Marlowe. It’s almost over. You won’t see beyond tomorrow’s dawn. The circle closes tomorrow.”

      “Why?” He had to know. Dislike and antipathy were one thing, but why this hate?

      “Persistent devil, aren’t you? I’ll be gracious and satisfy you. I hate you. You are a blot on the village. The Surrey Vampire. You need to be eliminated and I’m the man to do it. I did my homework. Read some of the books in the Misses Underwood’s library. Figured out the rest.

      “And why do I hate you? Your kind was made to war with mine. Old magic and your power don’t mix. You got between me and the old ladies. Your interference kept the LePage woman here when I could have run her off. I’ve wasted too long over her. You’ll perish in the sunrise tomorrow. I’ll absorb your power by midnight and then…”

      “And then what?” Christopher fought for thoughts and words. “You or the coven? You don’t know what you’re dealing with!”

      “Neither do you!”

      He was right. What happened with a dead revenant’s powers? Could they be absorbed? Tom might know, he’d studied lore. It was a bit late to ask. “You’re a fool, Caughleigh.”

      “And you’ve lost. You challenged me and lost. When you’re gone, I’ll have your strength and the old ladies’ knowledge. I’ll lead this coven and every other one for miles around.”

      Christopher heard cartilage crunch as his nose hit the floor. Despair choked him. He believed every word of Sebastian’s threat. The man was crazed with power. Caughleigh mustn’t ever guess the way he felt about Dixie. Lord alone knew what form his revenge would take against her. Dixie! He remembered the warmth of her skin against his lips, smelled her sweetness, longed for her softness in his arms. The yearning shaped into a mind-racking torment. He needed to protect her, to save her from the taint and threats of Sebastian Caughleigh. Fat lot he could do immobile on his face on the concrete.

      “Enjoy your despair, it won’t last much longer.”

      Christopher heard the door slam. Darkness enveloped him but he found scant comfort in it. He couldn’t even rest. Caughleigh had covered every wicket.

      Almost.

      Christopher smiled in his pain. Maybe he would die, but he still possessed enough power to protect Dixie and ensure Caughleigh never laid his filthy mitts on her. Draining every last vestige of strength, Christopher focused on her. There was darkness and confusion but suddenly, like a sunny gap in a mist, he felt the link. Their minds joined. “Go home,” he commanded. “Go. Leave this place. Go back to where you belong. Go. Leave.”

      He ignored the answering question. Couldn’t she just listen? But no, his Dixie wanted to know why. He blocked the question and sent one last urge. “Home. Safety.” He pressed the thought through the boundaries of her mind. It took his last remaining strength but he felt her will hesitate under his. He’d won. The effort drained his last consciousness. His mind shut down, depleted from the effort. His body shuddered and lay still.