HEART OF THE CHOSEN (CASTE BOOK 1)

Chapter 21

I woke up, my puffy eyes refusing to open to the blinding light from the huge crystal ceiling light. What an i***t! I had fallen asleep on the oak floor, while the large four-poster bed enticed me. I got up, dazed by this abominable evening. It was one o’clock in the morning and silent inside the castle walls. My first thought was to run a bath before mechanically nibbling on blinis spread with taramasalata and uncapping a diet soda. My brain was no longer in working order. Once in the warmth of the bubble bath, the tears streamed down again. They beaded on my cheeks and blurred my eyes. What was to become of me? I had come here for Thomas, after all. What was left for me? I had cut myself off from the only ties I had in my life, Sam and Olivia. And why? Because I was a caste. A mistake of nature. I thought I was discovering answers, and instead, I found unhappiness and despair. I had a furious desire to strangle Naomi and to see the life leave her body. But my anger was directed at the wrong people. Because who had stuck us in this situation? Who had deliberately kidn*pped Thomas to separate him from me? And finally, who had done everything for me to come to this castle of misfortune? Luxury seemed very bland to me now. Even the hot bath I immersed myself in couldn’t relax my swollen nerves. I kept thinking about Carmichael, my bane. I cursed him for entering my life like a disease. It was time for me to confront him, I was convinced of that.

I got up to grab a towel and then put on a long, fluffy white nightgown that I had prepared for the night. Dressed like this, I almost looked like a woman from the Roman period, all that was missing was a tiara and a belt set in gold. So I put on a black biker jacket to break up this quaint look before slamming the door behind me. When I reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the great tower, I spotted a door that led outside the compound. I remembered Naomi’s directions as to where the old chapel was. Luckily, the moon was lighting up the trees and I could easily see a shape among the foliage. I crossed the wood in its direction and quickly arrived at the doors of a small stone building. I knocked on the door in a fury.

Carmichael opened the door almost immediately. Silent, he stood in front of me, shirtless, wearing nothing but beige linen pants that brought out the mixed tan of his skin. His dreadlocks were tied behind his neck. The inevitable desire was evidently felt the very moment he appeared to me. And for that, I hated him all the more.

“You’ll answer my questions!” I ordered.

Without even answering me or showing the slightest frown, he stepped back to let me pass freely into his lair. The chapel wasn’t large but completely converted into a bedroom with, as a bonus, a free-standing bathtub, all dominated by a huge mirror. Stained-glass windows gave a glimpse of the light of this starry night, and the gigantic bed stood where the altar was usually to be. All the walls were draped in antique tapestries and the disparate candles gave an eerie dimension to this incongruous room. Although it was tastefully appointed, it reminded me more of a luxury crypt or a bachelor pad.

“You can sit there,” Carmichael told me, pointing to a velvet chair.

Sitting down, I took a deep breath and remained silent for a few seconds. Carmichael had settled down on a couch facing me.

“Where did you meet my father?”

“Here,” he replied as my eyes widened. “Your grandmother was an acquaintance of the Master Hand. She found herself in difficulty at one time and lived with us for a few years. Your father was barely an adult when he left.”

“My grandmother?! My grandmother died very young, long before my father was a teenager.”

“That’s the case,” he confessed, a strange sad veil in his eyes, “she died here. Your father stayed for a few more years.”

“Oh! So what happened to my father? Sam told me you took care of me when I was just a baby.”

I watched Carmichael maintain his shifty gaze. The very one he had displayed since my arrival. Despite this, I wanted him to answer me and I found his reaction time far too long for my taste. Without lifting a finger, I smashed one of the glasses placed on a small table against a Renaissance tapestry. This action had at least the merit of turning his face slightly in my direction.

“He was conducting some kind of secret investigation and asked me to watch you while he was away,” he conceded in a dull voice. “When he returned he wasn’t the same and decided to take you away. He didn’t tell me what happened to him during that time, or why he left. Then I never saw him again.”

I took in his cautious revelations as his eyes drowned in vagueness again. I felt like I was talking about a stranger and not about my own father. I realised that I knew nothing about him. Carmichael taught me more in a few sentences than Sam in years. That conclusion made, I stare at Carmichael again. His behaviour intrigued me more and more. He had lost his smirk and the arrogance he displayed during our first two meetings. Something had happened but I still didn’t know what. And even if the question burned my lips, others, much more important, couldn’t wait.

“How long have you been watching me, you and Conway?”

“Always. Sophie simply immersed herself in your life when your gifts needed to appear. We absolutely had to find out if you were one of us.”

“All caste are entitled to this preferential treatment?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, only a few.”

“Why me?”

“Because you have a rare gift,” he affirmed, convinced. “Only a few caste have it, with very different degrees of power.”

“And you, what’s your power?”

“That’s a question I won’t answer now.”

“And I think you should answer me. I won’t hesitate to bring down this chapel on our heads. You forget that I have nothing more to lose!”

“You’re wrong, you have everything to lose. The essential question is: would you even manage to kill me?”

His observation was not unfounded. If he was still so young, barely looking thirty, then maybe Sam was right, maybe Carmichael could regenerate, and then only I would perish in this demolition. So I decided to adopt another strategy.

“Could you at least tell me your age?”

“I’m over three hundred years old. My mother was a Haitian known as one of the most powerful voodoo priestesses in the Caribbean. She had been at the origin of the first slave uprisings. She intrigued my father, and since she was a caste, nature did the rest. Now, if you have no more questions, I would like to prepare for my departure.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow with Ethan, for a while.”

“Where are you going?”

“To settle some unimportant business. If you need anything, ask Salomon.”

“I’m not going to stay.”

“You must!” yelled Carmichael, straightening up suddenly.

I had never seen him so furious and detached from his usual manner. But the second his burning eyes met mine, an insatiable seething stirred in my stomach. I had managed to break his feigned calm, and now the powerful attraction of our first encounters came back to me. My cheeks flared up. He remained frozen, his gaze now fixed on the ground while I couldn’t keep still. I was standing, pacing the room, and trying to control my inner furnace.

“And why should I stay? Don’t make me believe that you had nothing to do with Thomas, because it suits you well that he’s no longer there to stand in your way.”

“And why would I want such a thing?”

“Wasn’t it you who told me I’ll be yours?”

Facing him, less than a metre away at most, he still hadn’t moved, but he slowly looked up. I caught my breath, hurt by my uncontrolled fever. Carmichael now had that eager look all his own. I could capture his desire as surely as I could admire his sublime body. He seemed to be fighting against himself, I no longer understood him. He moved imperceptibly, and before I could realise anything, he slammed my face against his flaming mouth.

Then it was like a frenzy, we kissed as if our bodies wanted to merge with each other. My arms curled around his powerful neck and our tongues met and mingled. I felt the fire inside me like a resurrection of all my senses, alive as ever as I passionately kissed the man I dreamed of seeing dead. I was consumed, entirely at the mercy of Carmichael. Then, as suddenly as our outpouring had begun, he pulled away.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he said absently.

When I finally understood the meaning of his words, I hated him as I had never hated anyone. I was there, staggering, under the fire of our embrace, and he was rejecting me! Mad with rage, I literally sent him flying across the room. He miraculously managed to land on his feet and lowered his head so he wouldn’t have to face the wrath of my gaze. This damn attraction between us had managed to drive me crazy again.

“How dare you do such a thing to me!” I cried, out of breath. “Stop teasing me!”

“Because you think I want this!” he yelled unexpectedly.

“Of course you want it! If you want to ruin my life and make me miserable, then rest easy. It’s already done!”

This last sentence had its effect because his expression changed to an overwhelmed look. I walked over and picked up my biker jacket with the semblance of self-esteem I had left. In a surge of angry concentration, I smashed open the solid wooden front door and welcomed the air that rushed into my lungs like a benefactor. I walked proudly over the debris as I left this cursed place without a last look at Carmichael.