Darkness Arisen - By Stephanie Rowe Page 0,3

going to be a charm even if he had to be a complete bastard to make it happen. Give me your fucking hand, now.

Alice blinked, and then she moved her right hand, her fingers stretching toward his, even as she kept her left hand clenched in a fist.

Triumph rushed through him. Yes! He gave a final thrust forward, and their fingers touched. The jolt that leapt through him was instantaneous, just like it had been the last time they'd connected. Victory rushed through him. He'd found her. Son of a bitch. He'd found her again. He grabbed her hand, locking his fingers around her wrist as she tightened her grip on him.

Ian? Her voice was tentative and faint. Unsure. Testing his name as if she wasn't sure it was right. As if she weren't certain he was real. But son of a bitch, hearing her voice in his head again was like a choir of angels singing a fucking chorus of hallelujahs.

Yeah, it's me. He shifted his position and began to swim backwards, away from the chasm trying to suck her down. Beneath them, the black shadows swirled restlessly, not pursuing them. Of course they weren't going after her. They only got her if she died, and she wasn't going to die, was she? No chance of that. With her hand locked securely in his, Ian felt the grip of his curse begin to fade, defeated momentarily by the fact his woman was alive and with him. Did you miss me, sweetheart?

Miss you? Alice began to kick again, her lithe body moving fiercely against the undertow as she committed to going with him. I thought you were a dream.

What? She didn't sound overwhelmed with joy to discover he wasn't a figment of her imagination. What the hell was up with that? You thought you imagined me? A dream? He'd made the most incredible love to her and she thought he was only her imagination? I am definitely insulted that you don’t remember me. I gave you some of my best stuff—

A violent torrent of water rushed over them, thrusting them down toward the chasm. He swore as the force of the current swept them both up, his strength overwhelmed by the sheer fury of the ocean. He thrust more effort into his kicks, but the current still hauled them both down toward the pit.

There was a wail, a high-pitched scream as if the ocean itself was a scorned woman being murdered, and then a burst of cold water wrenched Alice from his grasp, catapulting her ruthlessly toward the chasm.

Anguish ricocheted through him as she slipped out of his reach again, and he saw the dark shadows of demons rise to take her. The curse rose with opportunistic speed, shoving its way through his shields with lethal determination. She is lost. You have failed. Die with her.

For a split second, the curse was too powerful, and Ian swore, gripping his head against the onslaught of doom and despair trying to take him, trying to force him to give up, to suck him into such hopelessness that the only option was to surrender to death and kill himself.

For months, he'd fought the despair, keeping his shields up as he'd searched for Alice. But he'd had to open himself completely to connect with her this time, which gave him no defenses against the terror of her death. It was too late to block their connection, and the curse was taking advantage, preying on his need for her. He knew instantly that his only chance was to open his connection with her even further, to plunge into the very thing that made him vulnerable, and to use his need to save her life as a fuel to keep himself alive.

Get out of my head, he ordered the curse, keeping his gaze focused on Alice, opening himself to her, trying to connect with something stronger than the curse that had killed every one of his male ancestors.

Alice needs me, he reminded himself, quickly spinning words and truths that would empower him against the curse. She would die without him. She. Will. Die.

Denial roared through him, as the primal instinct of a Calydon warrior to protect his woman exploded to life. Rage tore him from the grasp of the curse, and he spun toward the chasm, trying to right himself against the raging undertow. He stroked desperately against the water, but he was too far away from her, with nothing to leverage off of to propel