Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances by Elizabeth Hunter, Grace Draven Page A

Nothing was the same from the night I met her. My butterfly girl. Only woman as ever saw the whole of me. Loved me, she did. It’ll be fine, Annie. No need to ask your sister for that favor. I’ll stay with my girl until she goes.”
    “Tom, you can’t be serious.” Murphy banged his cane on the ground. “I sent Mrs. Porter away so we could speak freely. Stop this. This isn’t you.”
    Anne was crying. “Tommy, please. We can’t do without you.”
    “And I can’t do without her!” He pushed Anne away, baring his teeth at Murphy as he roared, “Get the fuck away from us, both of you!”
    Josie started to cough, sitting up on her own, her eyes open and glassy with fever.
    “Tom?” she gasped. “Tom, who’s yelling? What’s wrong?”
    He turned, ignoring his irate sire. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Here, love.” He tried to get her to drink something, but the water only sprayed over the bed when she coughed again.
    Murphy said, “She’s mortal. You knew this when you married her.”
    “She’s my mate,” he said, not caring if Josie questioned him. She was already falling back into delirium. “Anne, get him away before I kill him myself. He don’t belong here. Leave me be.”
    “You cannot mean to meet the sun,” Murphy said, stubbornly standing at the foot of her bed. “Tom, your life is more valuable—”
    “My life is not my own,” he growled. “And hasn’t been since I agreed to join you in this one. I cannot save her without driving both of us mad, and you’ve made your choice. But I tell you, I can join her when she goes. That is my choice. And you don’t have any say in that.”
    “I’ll lock you up.”
    “You plan on doing that forever?”
    That shut him up, and Tom was able to concentrate on Josie again. His poor girl. She sounded like half of what she was breathing was water, but it was the fever that scared him.
    “You’re determined to die with her?”
    Tom stroked her damp hair off her forehead. “I’ll be dead already when she’s gone.”
    He paid no attention to whatever silent arguments his sire was having with Anne. He watched Josie, watched the rise and fall of her labored breathing. Watched the fine skin of her neck where her pulse beat faintly. She’d be admitted to heaven without a doubt. He wondered if he was clever enough to talk himself in.
    “Love you,” he whispered. “I didn’t tell you when you could hear me because I’m a fool. Thanks for loving me so well, sweet girl. You were the best part of this life.”
    “And who will take responsibility if she’s uncontrollable?” Murphy said behind him. “Tom? He’d never be able to do it. So I’d have to, and we’d kill each other.”
    “It may not be necessary. She’s never been a cruel person.”
    “She’s dying and feverish. You know why there are rules against—”
    “I’ll do it,” Anne whispered. “I love her too, Patrick. Do this, and if she is mad—if she cannot be trusted—I will take responsibility for her. You know I can.”
    Silence fell. Then Tom felt the touch of Anne’s hand on his shoulder.
    “Tom?”
    “Go away.”
    “Tom, step away from her. Let Murphy do what he needs to. You don’t need to be here for this.”
    He lifted his head. “What are you talking about?”
    “You’re sure she would want this?” Murphy asked him, tearing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “She never knew the truth of who you were. You’re sure , Tom?”
    He blinked, in a daze, unsure of what he was seeing. “Positive. What are you doing?”
    “What do you bloody think I’m doing?”
    Anne pulled him away from Josie’s bedside, and Murphy sat on the edge, brushing the hair from Josie’s neck.
    “Anne, find something to tie her hair back.”
    Tom stood gaping. “But Beecham—”
    “I’m not losing my own bloody child because Beecham wants the Shaw family dead. Hang Beecham. We’ll do this, and soon I’ll be the lord of Dublin, but only if you’re at my side. Do you