Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Remi actually flinched. Then he bounced to his feet. “You have a meeting in two hours. I have things to do before then.”

  Neven scrambled up and moved in front of him before Remi could stride away. “I’ve guessed that much. If you tell me the rest, maybe we can figure out a way to get back there that doesn’t destroy history…or you.”

  Remi’s gaze met his. Pain showed in his eyes and Neven caught his breath.

  “You just taught me how it hurts to go back. Do you think I would subject myself to the worst of my past, now?”

  Neven kissed him. It was prompted by the realization that Remi was a man of depths and hidden shoals, wrapped up in an iron shield of indifference and sarcasm. Only, why kiss him? To share his empathy, to say he understood?

  Remi broke the kiss and looked at him. He was breathing hard. “Careful, Neven. I might start to think you care.”

  He walked away before Neven could gather his composure enough to respond.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marit was startled when the place that formed around them wasn’t the living room at home on Martha’s Vineyard, or even Alannah’s bedroom, with the silver and teal overdone décor. Instead, a breeze played against Marit’s face. Directly ahead, the sun was sinking. They were standing under the last oak tree on the property. Twenty feet away, salt bushes sprouted and thirty feet away, the land dropped away, down to the sea, which she could hear pounding against the bottom of the cliff. The tide was up.

  “What the hell, ‘lannah?” Marit said. “Why here?”

  “I needed to think,” Alannah said. Her lips were pushed together and her face was strained. “Are we really going to leave Aran there in that place?”

  “Of course we aren’t!” Marit cried. “You know what Far and Athair are like. They’ll storm in there with all the troops and get him back for us. It’s too big for us now. We have to tell them.”

  Alannah’s bottom lip pushed out. “Except Far said he wouldn’t do anything about getting Aran back.”

  “No, that’s not what he said,” Marit said patiently. “He said it would—”

  “Disrupt the timeline,” Alannah finished. She crossed her arms. “That means he won’t do anything. You know what he’s like about preserving timelines. What they’re all like.”

  Marit considered her little sister, weighing up her answer. “It’s complicated, Alan. There are a lot of factors that have to be considered before they barge in there. They will save Aran, though, once they’ve dealt with all those factors. That’s why it looks as though they’re not doing anything now. Neven, though, is doing everything he can to help them reach a point where Fair and Athair can do something about it.”

  “It just takes time,” Alan finished.

  “Exactly. Yes.” Marit was relieved.

  Alannah shook her head. “I don’t want it to take time. I don’t want to leave him there, Mar. I want to go back. I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  Marit held back her temper, even though it was simmering. Alannah and Aran shared the usual close bonding of twins, although most of the time it wasn’t an issue. Now, though, the bond was making Alannah dig in her heels.

  Marit looked towards the house. She could walk out from under this tree and go home. She could see her mother and Far in the living room—she could tell it was them by the shape and size of the legs showing beneath the plastered over windows. They were examining the Kristijan Zoric notes. They had probably been at it all night.

  She wanted to be back there, to pour out her confession to her parents and let them resolve this. They were good at it. They’d had practice, while Marit had been cautiously testing the timescape, learning her way ahead. She’s never had a time adventure of her own….

  “What are you thinking?” Marit asked Alannah. “We just jump straight back there and squat in that little crevasse?”

  Alannah shook her head enthusiastically, her face lighting up. “We grab stuff from the house. Food. I bet Aran would love some hot chocolate. The sleeping bags. The bolt cutters.”

  “Bolt cutters?”

  “For the chicken wire.”

  “You need insulated clippers for live wire,” Marit corrected her.

  “Whatever. The thingies with the rubber handles. You know the ones I mean. Then we go back. We can come back here and get anything Aran needs, if we have to. We stay there, to make sure he’s okay.”

  Marit sighed. “Those guards, Alan…they mean business. It’s not going to be hot chocolate time, if they catch us. You know that, right?”

  Alannah’s enthusiasm faded a little. “He’s my brother,” she said stubbornly. “And they will take too long to do anything.”

  “He’s my brother, too,” Marit said absently, thinking. “We have to tell Far where he is, before we go back.”

  “No! If we tell them, we’ll be grounded,” Alannah said hotly. “They’ll be so pissed at us…”

  “They’re going to be pissed at us no matter what,” Marit assured her. “Okay, look. We jump back to your room and grab all the stuff. We can run all over the house. It’s daylight. They won’t even think twice about it. We collect stuff and take it back to your room. While we’re there, though, I want to leave something for Mom to find, that will tell them where to look for Aran. If we leave it, then we won’t get the second degree and get cast in irons. Not yet, anyway.”

  Alannah considered it with a thoughtful look. She looked more like Brody right then than Marit had ever seen before. “Okay,” she said carefully. “What do we leave?”

  “Remember that bunch of books we found in the cellar last summer?”

  Alannah nodded. The books had been left by some previous owner. They had been dusty and moldy and Taylor had refused to let the girls bring them upstairs.

  “That old red hardcover atlas. Remember it?”

  Alannah nodded. “It has the depot on the map of Serbia?”

  “It was Yugoslavia then,” Marit said, “and I don’t think the depot will be marked on it—it was a German war facility. If Mum trips over the atlas and puts together “old” and “map”, they can figure out the rest. They’re smart.”

  Alannah held out her arm. “Let’s go.” Now they had a plan that suited her, Alannah was impatient again.

  Marit wondered if her temper had been as mercurial as Alan’s and Aran’s were, when she had been sixteen. It was hard to remember being sixteen. It felt like a long time ago.

  “Just so you know,” she told Alannah, “when Far and Athair figure out what we’re doing, they will…I don’t know what they will do.”

  Alannah nodded grimly. “It’s Mum that scares me the most.”

  Marit drew in a breath. “Yeah, me, too,” she admitted.

  * * * * *

  London fled the house. She grabbed one of the Renaissance books from her suitcase and a blanket and headed out into the working area of the back portion of the estate. There were ancient outhouses here, including a musty barn and workshops, the big garage and storage rooms. A long time ago, she had discovered a little pocket of peace surrounded by sheds on three sides, with a view of the northern peaks. She had brought a chair there for future use. The chair was an old wicker armchair that had been left in the barn and forgotten. A cushion for her rear and the blanket against the October morning chill, her book…and silence.

  London had escaped here more than once. It was ironic that she was escaping yet again, this time from Neven, who she had started to think of as the negative image of Kristijan—everything Kristijan had not been. Kind. Considerate. Amenable, flexible, reasonable. Malleable, even.

  She had just slammed into the wall he had thrown up, though. It had winded her. Worse, it had humiliated her, because Neven had been right. She didn’t know precisely who she had been kissing. It was hard to separate the two versions of Kristijan, even though they were so unalike. It was Neven’s appearance and the way he had of talking, which was just the same. It was like listening and watching a new, improved Kristijan. A Kristijan
that might have been.

  That was exactly what Neven was, though.

  Except he had a mind of his own and she had just tripped over it.

  Her cheeks flamed even as she sat staring at the Introduction page, the words blurring.

  Who had she thought she was kissing? She wasn’t sure she could answer that even in her own mind.

  London resettled in the chair and flipped to the first chapter. In her current state, she would not be able to focus on the introduction. She’d have to go back to it later.

  With determination, she focused on the text and forced herself to concentrate on the ringing phrases about the wonders of the Renaissance and how it had been a pivotal point in history. Except, every history book she had ever read made the same claim. Didn’t they all realize that they each were the sum of time itself, all of them essential?

  I could jump back there myself and find out if it was that wonderful.

  The idea caught at her mind and her breath. She held still, as her heart pounded along.

  She was a jumper. Time travel was in her genes. She could just…go back there.

  The heat and smell of Egypt seemed to wash over her, a reminder of the fact that time was hers to navigate as she wished. Of course, she wouldn’t just rashly jump anywhere. Neven had made his point about dangers and more. Yet the possibility of just going back to wherever she pleased, dipping into the history of man, wherever she wanted to, was heady enough to keep her attention on the words of the book. They had more meaning and richness, now that she knew this was not an abstract world she would only ever know on the page. It was a real, living and breathing world that had existed and that could exist again, if she wanted it to…

  It was easy to get lost in the wonder of the times, then. It was easy to focus and absorb the facts and details. Reading about history had changed. It had become research.

  The echoing thunk of an axe on wood drew her attention away from the book. London lifted her head and listened. Yes. Someone was chopping wood. The woodpile was on the other side of the shed behind her. There were no longer any wood fireplaces in the house, or anywhere else on the estate, yet the old pile had not been dispersed. Once, long ago, a massive old tree with a four foot girth had been chopped down. The stump had been smoothed off and had become the chopping block for generations of people. London had stood on it once and looked down at the ancient chips and slices.

  I could go back and watch them take that tree down again, she thought to herself.

  She got up and put her book on the chair and the blanket over it and moved around the shed to see who was furiously splitting kindling for fireplaces that no longer existed.

  She stopped at the last corner, where the woodpile began, half hidden behind the cords of wood.

  Remi was standing upon the big stump, just bringing the axe down as she spotted him. It was a Remi she had never seen before.

  London had always considered him to be a clothes horse, picky about what he wore and with a taste that outstripped even Kristijan’s. Even at his most casual, Remi would only wear designer jeans and angora sweaters. She didn’t think he owned sneakers.

  He was wearing slim trousers and a long sleeved Henley top that London recognized from the clothing catalogues she used herself. His shoes were leather and unsuitable for chopping wood. If he did slice into his foot with the axe, though, the only damage would be to the shoe itself.

  Besides, Remi looked as if he barely cared where he aimed. He brought the axe down, his whole body bending. The blade cleaved the thick log in front of him. One heavy half flew off the stump and bit into the ground with a thud.

  He pushed at the remaining half of the log with his foot, lining it up, then swung the axe again. His body extended, his arms held overhead as the axe paused at the apex. He kept his gaze on the block he was aiming for, then brought the axe down again.

  The smaller half of the lump flew across the yard and careened off the pile to London’s right, making her jump.

  Remi saw her…and he didn’t scowl.

  He was breathing hard. Chopping wood was exercise for anyone, including vampires, apparently. He gripped the handle of the axe, letting the head rest on the stump by his feet.

  “Who bit you?” London asked.

  He laughed. It was a bitter, short sound. With a shove of his foot, he lined up the dwindling stump and swung the axe again. London watched, frankly fascinated at the way a simple swing of an axe could work the whole body. He put all his strength into bringing it down. For a vampire, that was a lot of power driving into the eight-inch-thick log. No wonder it went flying.

  London stepped out of the way and moved around to the front of the stump, which seemed to be safer.

  At this angle, she could see his face better. She stared. She couldn’t ever recall seeing Remi look so…stressed.

  “Remi?”

  He shook his head. “Years of avoiding me and now you linger?” He swung the axe again.

  London frowned. “Did Neven say something to upset you?”

  Remi fussed with the placement on his hands on the handle of the axe. Then he looked at her. “You should know what that feels like.”

  She caught her breath. He was upset!

  The novelty of Remi being anything but urbane and amused was enough to hold her on the spot, as he set the axe on its head, went over to the pile and picked up a log that would have taken a normal man both hands and extreme effort to carry back to the stump. He carried it in one hand and dropped it on the stump. The heavy reverberation rumbled under her feet.

  Before he could start in on the log, she stepped forward, up on to the stump, facing him. “How did you know he had upset me?”

  He gripped the axe in one hand. “Because I listened.”

  She recoiled a little bit. “Of course you did. You always listen. To everything.”

  “Apparently, I didn’t listen enough.” The bitterness in his voice was astonishing. His lips were thin with contempt. For himself.

  “What does that mean?”

  Remi shook his head. “Just go back inside.”

  “And do what?” London demanded. “He doesn’t need me for anything.”

  The double meaning was unintentional. She had merely meant that no one was calling on her to be a trophy wife right now. Only, Neven’s rejection was still raw.

  “He never wanted you!” Remi cried, letting go of the axe and stepping toward her.

  London froze. She knew Remi was not talking about Neven. Her heart lurched. “Not ever?”

  Remi shoved a hand through his hair. “You were a distraction, London. You were fun! Light summer reading, good for a season, then tossed in the bin when finished.”

  She swallowed. Somehow, she had known. Maybe not always, but quickly, her subconscious had put it together, not long after they had married. Then she had buried it deep, convinced that love would win through. “Then why did he keep me around?” she asked. Her lips were thick. Rubbery.

  “Because you cared!” Remi shot back. He lifted his head and looked up at the sky. “Gods and stars!” he shouted. It was almost a scream.

  She wanted to retreat. This wasn’t the Remi she knew. He was…unhinged. The emotions that were swirling in his face, wracking his body—she had never seen him like this. It was horrible and it was fascinating at the same time. She knew she should leave him alone, yet she couldn’t.

  Remi gripped the axe again and thumped the head against the stump for emphasis. “You loved him,” he said, his voice low. “Kristijan liked the power that gave him over you. Over anyone who loved him.”

  She identified the misery in his eyes. His gaze met hers. The green and brown flecks were mesmerizing.

  “He used me. You. Both of us,” London made herself say. “That’s done now, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” The same deep, bitter note sounded in his voice. “Now we get to go back and see it, feel it, all over again.”

  “Time travel,” London whispered. “Neven took you back. To see K
ristijan.”

  “It wasn’t him. It was me.” Remi compulsively gripped the handle. “What is wrong with me? Why would I go there? It wasn’t where I wanted to go…” He hung his head.

  London didn’t know what to say. She had no idea how to deal with this side of Remi. She couldn’t ignore it, either. The waves of misery and pain pouring off him were impossible to ignore. She reached out and touched his arm. Hesitantly.

  He jerked his head up, as if she had rammed a white hot poker against him. She expected him to recoil, too. He had in the past. He would almost bounce away from her, as if she was Typhoid Mary herself. Now he stood staring at her, his breath coming quickly once more.

  London realized she was breathing hard, too.

  Remi’s gaze moved over her face, as if he was studying her for the first time. Then he met her eyes once more.

  Energy coursed through her, electrifying every nerve ending. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think of anything except the astonishing, novel idea of kissing him. What would it be like, to kiss this heated, passionate Remi?

  Her body tingled at the idea.

  Remi drew in a heavy breath and stirred, almost as if he were waking up. He stepped back, away from her. Then down onto the soft earth around the stump. His gaze stayed on her face as he tossed the axe towards the woodpile.

  Then he turned and walked back to the house. London watched him go, her body feeling achy and abused. Her heart was still fluttering weakly.

  Just before he moved beyond her sight, around the same corner of the shed she had arrived from, he looked back at her. “You would be appalled at what people do in the name of love.”

  Then he was gone, before London could think to demand what he meant.

  Chapter Eighteen

  London stayed on the stump after Remi had disappeared. She wrapped her arms around herself against the cold, while she tried to puzzle out what had just happened.

  The tight, throbbing need in her body wouldn’t let her think clearly and she knew she must think now and not just react. She had merely reacted when she had first met Kristijan. A three-day courtship, a hasty marriage and years of regret had been the price for letting her instincts guide her.