chapter Thirty-four
Darkness. And cold. They surrounded him, unending and weighty. A frozen womb he could not escape. Deep within himself, he heard his cries, terrified, like a child’s. End this. Set me free. Dread clawed at his soul. He would run if he could. Soft hands were at his neck. Soothing. He strained toward the touch. Useless. He could not move. The hands slipped away, leaving him alone.
And then the pain. A hot brand forced down his throat. God help me. Colors—red, white, and orange—burst before him. Razor claws flayed him inside out. He fought against the heat and the agony. He could not endure. No more. Please.
And then warmth. He fell back with a sigh. Beautiful warmth, flowing like a dream. The scent of roses. Silken strands caressing his aching skin.
“I love you, Benjamin Archer.” Angel wings against his ear. “More than my life.”
Love. Miranda. Miri. It surged through him like a cooling wave. His eyes flew open to the light. A fiery nimbus of hair and grape-green eyes glimmering with tears.
“Miri.”
She sobbed. His love. Her creamy white skin was blotched with red, her eyes and nose swollen and seeping, a gash marred one fine brow. Never had she looked more beautiful.
“Ben.” Her slender arms flew around his neck, and he leaned into her with a sigh. Her plump bare breast pressed into his shoulder. Miranda naked? She curled up against him, the satin warmth of her thighs smooth against his tender skin.
He lifted his arm to hold her, his body sluggish as though moving through thick mud. The world around him was dim, almost grainy, like a photograph.
“Oh God, Ben.” Miri cried harder, her delicate frame shuddering against him.
“I’m here.” His throat burned, razors against raw skin. Where was here? Rough stone walls. Hard dirt beneath him. Memory threatened to suck him down.
A black cloak fell gently round Miri’s shoulders. She took no notice. He looked up. His dearest friend stood behind her. Leland. His face withered with age. His deep-set eyes wet. “Hello, Arch. Good to see you again.”
Suddenly dizzy, Archer closed his eyes tight. He could not look at Leland without thinking of blood, bones, Cheltenham… the others. Victoria’s mercury eyes boring into his, her dead lips opening his mouth, the smell of the grave in her kiss. I knew you would come back to me, Archer. May you burn in hell, Victoria. Gray light had filled him. Ice cold and final. He’d changed.
Panic grasped him with heavy hands. He surged upward, knocking Miri off balance. Victoria. Where was she? He had to get Miri away.
Miranda righted herself and shoved her arms into the cloak, pulling it closed. “She’s gone.”
He must have said the name aloud. He turned his head to his wife. Her eyes were flat. “She is destroyed.”
Impossible. He blinked in a daze and then saw… his legs, the long golden skin and curling black hairs dusted over them. His breath came out in a pant, his eyes traveling upward. His ruddy penis lay against his thigh, the dark sac of his balls nestled against black hairs. Christ. Unchanged. Whole again.
Miri’s warm hand curled over his shoulder. He whipped around. Her beautiful lips trembled, her glorious green eyes shining. “Archer.” It was a breath. “The curse is gone.”
He moved, catching her up and crushing her slim body to him. All at once, she began to sob again, great wrenching cries that showed the depth of her anguish. His name left her lips as though a plea. He sank his fingers into the cool silk of her hair. More than my life. Gratitude washed over him like a benediction.
“I’m here,” he whispered into her rose-scented hair. Here was home. He brought her closer. “I have you.”
And he was never letting go. Not for a lifetime.