Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Neven glanced at the clock. It was just after six in the morning. He had slept at least twelve hours.

  “Damn…” he muttered wonderingly, staring at the time. He stretched his shoulders and neck. He felt energized and wide awake.

  He threw the covers back and got dressed, then made his way downstairs. The papers were still pasted to the windows and he walked slowly alongside them, absorbing the flashes of words and images.

  Sydney was in the kitchen, with Liberty in the booster seat, helping her eat breakfast.

  “There’s pancake mix next to the frypan,” Sydney said and helped Liberty get her forkful into her mouth.

  “I thought you might go back to Spain, where all Liberty’s things are,” Neven said. He mixed up the batter, to make it smooth, while the frypan heated.

  “Liberty is a great traveler,” Sydney said. “She has no problems adapting to wherever she finds herself.” Sydney’s smile was full of mischief. “The nomad life is in her blood.”

  “If that’s true,” Neven said, pouring three big spoonfuls of batter into the pan, “then I’m surprised Alex doesn’t take off more often. He’s her uncle.”

  “An uncle that has done so much wandering in his lifetime, that he’s all done for now.” Sydney shrugged. “When you get to live for thousands of years, waiting eighteen years for your niece to grow up is a mere blink of an eye.”

  “Have you developed that perspective yet?” Neven asked her. “You were human for longer than you’ve been a vampire.”

  Sydney grimaced. “I think it might take me a while to get there. I’m too mired in human things, still. Alex and Rafe say that is a good thing and that I should savor the human things as much as possible.”

  Neven nodded. “I’ve met a great many vampires. Most of them think that way, I’ve found. They all consider their lost humanity a precious thing and appreciate it in others.”

  “Are you ready for this, Neven?” Sydney asked.

  He glanced at her. “Serbia, you mean? I think so. It hardly matters, anyway. I have to go. I want to go.”

  “You were close to Aran, I know.”

  “The guilt is huge,” Neven admitted. “It’s not just guilt, though. You—all of you—have been so generous since I landed in your pool four years ago. This is a chance for me to pay some of that kindness back. I would see Taylor smile once more. I would have Veris and Brody laugh again.”

  “You want to feel you deserve your place here,” Sydney finished.

  Neven stared at her. “Yes,” he said.

  Sydney’s smile was bright. “I know, because I was where you were, not so long ago. I wanted to feel I belonged among these people, that I hadn’t worked my way in like an irritating grain of sand, because of circumstances alone.”

  Neven dumped the pancakes on a plate and moved over to the table and sat down. He was starving. “I always feel as if I’m here just because I can jump and that’s not good enough to belong.”

  “That sense of inadequacy takes a while to go away,” Sydney said. She wiped Liberty’s mouth. “You do have to be careful, though, that you don’t overcompensate and swing in the other direction. Killing yourself trying to keep up with Brody and Veris and Taylor—”

  “And Alex and Rafe, too,” Neven said. “They’re impressive in their own way.”

  “Yes, but I sleep with them, so I’m biased,” Sydney said with a small smile. “Veris likes you.”

  “He does?” Neven was shocked. “Of the three of them, Veris is the one who speaks to me the least. I thought he merely tolerated me because Taylor insists I stay here.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t like you,” Sydney assured him. “Don’t try to keep up with any of us. No one expects it. Don’t take risks just to try to even up some sort of imbalance that only exists in your mind. Especially while you’re in Serbia. It’s high-risk already.”

  “You’re not going to try to talk me out of it, though, are you?”

  Sydney shook her head. “There is a part of me that is appalled at the way we are casually disregarding time and the consequences of messing with history. Despite that, I want Aran back more than I care about a future that one person tells us we must change.” She squeezed his wrist. “Be careful, though, Neven. Please? Usenko is crazy. That Remi man is just as dangerous in his own way.”

  “I will be careful,” Neven promised her.

  * * * * *

  In the end, he jumped straight into the estate. It was Alannah who pointed out the obvious they were all missing. “The guy had to go outside sometimes, right? Neven can jump into the yard and walk inside as if he went out to take a leak or something.”

  “Alannah!” Taylor said, shocked.

  Alannah shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  The yard where he landed looked different because he was standing on the ground, rather than looking at it from a drone’s perspective. The features were all there, though. They were just as he had seen in the drone scans.

  Reassured, Neven pulled his cuffs into place and smoothed down the suit. It was expensive and silky and he’d never worn anything like it. He could see himself getting used to a better quality of wardrobe easily. Veris, who was a surprising clotheshorse with a taste for silk suits, had assured him that Kristijan would not wear anything of lesser quality.

  Then, remembering that this was supposed to be his house and his people, that he belonged here, he moved across the yard, heading for the back door that was tucked into the corner of the verandah.

  The back door opened onto the big commercial-sized and outfitted kitchen that the estate used to cater the many parties and events that happened here. It was empty at other times and Neven ghosted through the metal and tile room, remembering to walk as if he had every right to be here.

  “Flitting through the house will make you look as though you’re sneaking around,” Brody told him. “Walk down the middle of the corridor. Don’t hesitate to open doors. Head for Kristijan’s office at the front of the house first, because that’s what Kristijan would probably do.”

  Recalling the layout of the house he had memorized, Neven made himself walk along the passageway that led to the front rooms, staying firmly in the middle of it, instead of cringing along one wall. His heart was straining, thudding in his ears.

  Sooner or later he would run into someone. He had spent hours memorizing names and faces of the people that Kristijan kept on the estate. All of them were men, except for one shadowy, grainy black and white image of a woman. No one, not even Jovan with his incredible resources, had been able to figure out where the woman fit into Kristijan’s organization.

  The big, formal dining room was just ahead. Neven passed through it, taking in an impression of polished, glowing wood and a crystal chandelier that was modern and square. The drawing room was ahead. He stepped into it. It was empty, too.

  Kristijan’s office was straight off the drawing room. It was a suite of rooms, including the office itself, a waiting area at the front of it and a small half-bathroom to one side, plus a kitchen alcove where coffee and other beverages could be made.

  The waiting area was just where it was supposed to be. There were three upright chairs, all of them empty and displaying their striped-satin seats. The door into the office was shut. From behind the door came the sound of muffled voices. The door had to be insulated against noise to dampen voices that much. Kristijan clearly didn’t like having his conversations overheard.

  Neven drew in a breath, staring at the door. Time to face…whoever was in there.

  His heart was hurting now, slamming itself against the inside of his chest and making his ribcage ache. Neven reminded himself yet again why he was doing this. He deliberately invoked a memory of Aran, laughing about something as he sat with his sister, as he nearly always did.

  Then he thought about Kristijan and how he might walk into his own office after returning home from…wherever he was right now.

  Kristijan certainly wouldn’t stand in the middle of th
e drawing room psyching himself up. Neven strode forward, trying to project confidence and complete mastery of his surroundings. He put his hand on the door handle and thrust the door open and stepped inside.

  There were five men sitting in front of the big desk in the corner. All of them turned to see who had walked in. All of them had a hand hovering over the front of their jackets.

  And all of them opened their eyes wide when they saw Neven standing there.

  “Gentlemen,” Neven said, in Serbian. He made himself look at the man sitting behind the desk.

  Remi De Sauveterre was rising slowly to his feet, a stunned expression in his eyes. He came around the desk, moving quickly, stepped passed the hard chairs the men were sitting on and came right up to Neven. His gaze roamed over Neven’s face. “You’re back!” he breathed as if he was delighted.

  Then he put his hands on either side of Neven’s face. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice low. He kissed him.

  Neven’s thoughts scattered under the impact of his shock.

  Why did no one anticipate this? It was the only coherent thought he had.

  De Sauveterre was kissing him as if he was used to it, that it was a normal thing. Which meant that Kristijan was used to it, too. Neven tried to stop himself from tightening up, or worse, leaning away from the man. That was the most he could do. He couldn’t begin to try to respond to the kiss. It was beyond his capacity right now to even think about pretending he was glad to be kissed.

  Behind De Sauveterre, he heard one of the men chuckle. They were apparently well used to seeing this open affection between the two, as well.

  De Sauveterre let him go and turned to look at the men. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “We’ll have to get back to this discussion later. Tomorrow at nine, yes?” He picked up Neven’s hand. De Sauveterre’s grip was cool. The fingers clamped on Neven’s like a vise. “We have…things to discuss. In private. It’s been weeks, after all.”

  The men chuckled again as they got to their feet. Their suspicions and alarm had disappeared.

  “Welcome back, Kristijan,” one of them murmured. “I hope the court case went in your favor.”

  Court case?

  Neven realized that a response was required. “I can’t discuss it,” he said shortly. “You understand.”

  “Oh yes, I most certainly do.” The man had a pudgy face and mean eyes deep inside the folds. Neven recognized him. Dragović—Remi’s man. Dragović left the room.

  De Sauveterre pulled on Neven’s hand. “Come on,” he said shortly, leading him from the room. “Come.” His tone was imperious, as if he expected that Neven would obey him without question. Ahead of De Sauveterre, the men were all streaming through the drawing room, heading for the big foyer and the front door. They were leaving them alone.

  Neven’s heart was pistoning along now. Was De Sauveterre taking him where he suspected he was? Was he going to expect to have sex with him?

  De Sauveterre didn’t let go of his hand. His grip was ferocious. They walked up the stairs, moving fast, then around the balcony railing and through double doors into a master suite.

  Neven glanced at the big bed in the corner and swallowed.

  De Sauveterre let go of his hand and shut and locked the bedroom doors. He turned to face Neven and crossed his arms. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

  Chapter Six

  Veris and Alex and Brody and Rafe, even Sydney and Taylor, had gone over and over with Neven all the possible scenarios that might happen when he confronted Remi De Sauveterre, yet none of them covered this reality.

  Something Brody had said came zinging back into Neven’s mind as he stared at Remi De Sauveterre. Sometimes you have to throw caution out the window and just go with your gut.

  Neven held up his hand, glad to see it wasn’t shaking. “I know this is a shock,” he said.

  “You think?” De Sauveterre said dryly.

  Neven had never been this close to the man before. He had always watched him from a distance and that meant he’d missed a lot of detail. This close, he could see that De Sauveterre looked younger than he had guessed him to be. His skin was smooth and fresh.

  He was most certainly a vampire. The strength in his grip, the coolness of his flesh, both confirmed that he was. The youthfulness in a man who had been controlling Kristijan’s estate for at least twenty years was another slice of proof.

  De Sauveterre had interesting features…when he wasn’t scowling. They were not exactly symmetrical. One brow was held slightly higher than the other. The nose was straight and the jaw was square. His eyes were hazel, the flecks distinct.

  He spoke with a preciseness that overcame the mild accent he had when using Serbian. Neven would be interested to see how much accent he had in other languages. Most non-Serbians made the language sound offensive, in their unpracticed mouths.

  The simple shirt and trousers the man was wearing were expensive. Neven could tell that much from the crash course in fashion that Veris had put him through. The shirt tugged at the man’s shoulders, which were not spindly at all.

  De Sauveterre threw his hand out, indicating the house beyond the locked door at his back. “They all think you were in London being dragged over hot coals by the hardest judge in England. They think you’re Kristijan. Who are you? Because I know you’re not him.”

  “I am Kristijan,” Neven said shortly. “I’m just not the Kristijan you know.”

  De Sauveterre’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a stupid man,” he growled. “Explain yourself.”

  “What don’t you understand?” Neven said. “I’m a different Kristijan.” He shrugged.

  De Sauveterre leaned towards him and sniffed delicately.

  If Neven had not guessed he was a vampire already, that little sniff would have told him. De Sauveterre was sampling his scent. “You’re human.” He leaned closer. “You look like Kristijan, only older. Ten years, maybe. He didn’t tell me he had a brother.”

  “I’m not his brother. I am him. You can test my DNA if you want.”

  “You froze when I kissed you. You are not Kristijan,” De Sauveterre said with complete assurance. He walked around Kristijan, taking in every inch of him. “Yet you are a perfect match in nearly every aspect.”

  “I don’t know how much plainer I can put it,” Neven said. “I am Kristijan, just from another timeline. You and I don’t know each other in that timeline.”

  De Sauveterre grew still. He drew back a little, as his brows came together again. “Timeline?” he said softly.

  Coldness trickled through Neven’s veins. “You don’t know about timelines…” he breathed. The coldness grew, as he put it together. The number of people in any given timeline that knew about time travelling was miniscule. Not even every vampire knew, although a larger portion of vampires than humans were aware of time travelling.

  They had made another mistaken assumption that because Neven knew about jumping, so had Kristijan. This possibility had not been discussed, either.

  It was too late now. Neven had spoken of time. If De Sauveterre was not a stupid man, then he would put it together from that single word.

  De Sauveterre rubbed his temple. “Timelines…” He moved around Neven, forcing Neven to turn to keep him in sight. De Sauveterre walked slowly to the padded bench in front of the big bed. He sank onto it, thinking hard. “I’ve heard all the rumors. More than once.” He gripped his knees and looked up at Neven. “It’s true then? Time travel is possible?”

  Neven nodded. He would have to worry about the repercussions of this discussion later. Or maybe not. The whole point of him being here was to change the future. If full disclosure helped shift the future away from the bleak outcome Elle had described, he would spill his guts for a week to move it.

  “Then you’re from the past?” De Sauveterre asked. Then his gaze dropped to the floor. “No, you’re too old. Yet how can you be from the future? That’s not possible.”

  “I’m from an alter
native time to this one,” Neven said, interrupting him.

  De Sauveterre looked at him once more. “Alternative time?” he repeated. “Einstein’s multiverse theory?” he asked sharply.

  “Not a theory, anymore,” Neven said. “Well, not to travelers, anyway.” De Sauveterre’s wisdom was making this easy.

  “You really are Kristijan, then?” De Sauveterre asked, getting to his feet once more.

  “Yes and no. Kristijan and I are the same people, except we lead very different lives.”

  De Sauveterre was circling him again. Examining him from head to foot, like a specimen on a stand. “It is…mind-boggling,” he admitted. “You are so exactly like him, anyone but I would be fooled. You even have the little scar on the corner of your jaw.”

  Neven touched the mild indentation on his left jaw. “From bomb shrapnel, when I was fifteen.”

  “Yes, that’s what he said, too.”

  “Kristijan and I were the same. We were one individual, until the timeline split, somewhere.”

  “When did that happen?” De Sauveterre demanded. “You both have the same scar, so not before you were fifteen.”

  Neven shook his head. “I don’t know when. It would be impossible to determine. Every single moment, every little thing we do, everything all of us does, has the potential to split a timeline.”

  De Sauveterre stopped in front of him once more. “Then why are you here?” he demanded. “Why this pretense?”

  “Kristijan isn’t in London, Remi,” Neven said, as gently as he could. “He’s been missing for three weeks, at least.”

  “You know that?” De Sauveterre said.

  “We do.”

  “We?”

  “Me, plus those who know I am here.” It wouldn’t hurt now, to let the man know that Neven had friends. “You don’t seem to be surprised that Kristijan has disappeared.”

  “It’s been three weeks. In this life, that’s usually a bad sign,” De Sauveterre said slowly. “I’ve been covering with the men—”