Primal Heat 04 - Forever in Darkness

CHAPTER ONE
    Ian Fitzgerald hurled the rusted shovel
aside, an aching emptiness tearing through his soul, trying to suck him down
into a chasm of despair and hell. The tool thunked mercilessly against the
unmarked tombstone resting in the dirt, waiting for its turn to be placed in
the ground.
    On either side of him stretched
rows of gravestones, the granite crosses that marked the ignominious, cursed
deaths of every male in his line.
    Every Fitzgerald male except him.
    So far.
    Ian grabbed the tombstone he'd
brought with him, his muscles straining as he swung it over to the fresh mound
of dirt and plunged it deep into the earth. The cross held out its arms,
mocking him, taunting him, promising him that he would be next, that he would
join the woman he'd just buried.
    He would have no choice as to
whether he was going to die with her. It was his fate, just as it had been the
fate of every Fitzgerald male since the day his ancestor, Augustus Fitzgerald, had
brought doom upon them by killing the soul mate of a Calydon warrior steeped in
black magic.
    When Augustus had shown no mercy
for the wizard's agony at losing his soul mate, the anguished male had cursed
Augustus and his progeny. He wanted to force the iron-willed Augustus to experience
the brutality of losing the woman he loved and to see what hell he'd caused
others. He doomed Augustus and his progeny not only to fall in love and lose the
woman who had captured his heart, but to be so overwhelmed by the loss that the
only solution was to kill himself.
    Suicide was the ultimate dishonor
for a warrior, and every Fitzgerald male had made that choice since the curse
had been laid down.
    And now, it was Ian's turn,
because he'd found the woman who'd broken through his shields, and he'd lost
her.
    Twice.
    And it fucking sucked.
    "No," Ian growled, his
voice raw, his throat aching with the agony of fending off the despair stalking
him. Ian raised his face to the dark night and let the damp night air drift
across his skin, fighting against the hopelessness trying to take him down at
the sight of the fresh mound of earth, at the knowledge of the woman who lay
beneath the ground.
    He could still feel her in his arms:
the trembling of her body as she tried to fight off death, the ache in her soul
as life was torn from her. He would never forget that hellacious moment when
that bastard had taken her life, and how completely helpless Ian had been to
stop it.
    She'd already been unconscious when
he'd found her, chained to the wall in that hellhole, but she'd still been
alive. She hadn't died until Ian had reached her side and tried to free her.
    He'd freed her. Yeah, he'd used his
weapons and broken those chains holding her down, but it had been too late.
She'd died in his arms, and all he'd been able to do was offer her a burial.
    Not life. A damned burial.
    Ian was one of the elite Order of
the Blade warriors, an immortal Calydon who had spent the last six hundred
years taking down rogue Calydons who threatened innocents. He was the sixth
Fitzgerald male to become Order, descended from a long line of the most deadly
warriors alive. But since the curse had been laid down, Ian was the first that
had stayed alive long enough to ascend into the ranks of the Order. Since then,
all the others had died before they could develop the skills necessary for
admission into the elite.
    The Fitzgerald males were the
strongest line. The toughest warriors. The most powerful legacy.
    And yet none had survived the curse.
    Until Ian.
    Until now.
    But he could tell from the brutal hopelessness
invading his soul that the curse had finally found him.
    Son of a bitch.
    In over six hundred years, no beast
or warrior had been able to best Ian or penetrate the iron will he'd erected to
bring honor back to his family. For more than six hundred years, he'd kept his
head down, never deviating from his mission, never giving the curse the opening
to touch him.
    And yet, it had. It had brought his
woman to him, and made her die in his arms.
    Twice.
    Ian Fitzgerald, the toughest
bastard alive, had been completely unable to do anything to stop her from dying
even when she'd been in the protective shield of his body. He'd been right next
to her, breathing the same air as her, sharing the same space, actually holding
her in his arms, and she'd died anyway.
    He'd completely failed her.
    Failed.
    He threw back his head and roared
his grief and guilt into the night. What was he worth if he couldn’t save