Immortal's Spring (The Chrysomelia Stories)

by Molly Ringle

  So far she had been using her magic to ward off pregnancy, or cloudhair seeds during those few years her magic had left her. The spell was easy enough; after sex, she focused on all the substance within her that came from his body rather than her own, and swept it back out. It was painless, and had worked every time.

  One midwinter night, nestled in the Underworld bed with Hermes after another amorous tangle, she asked, “What would you think of having a child together?”

  He was still and silent too long. She watched the red light cast by the hearth’s embers throb and wane on the walls, and her hopes waned with it. “Haven’t you seen what raising a baby is like?” he said. “I’d think even you would find it exhausting.”

  “As if you would know?”

  “I do listen when others talk, and I do observe. And I think you know I’m right.”

  “Then you wouldn’t help, is what you’re saying.”

  “Love,” he said, “our world is falling apart. Surely you see it.”

  “No,” she said, though she did see it. She just didn’t want to.

  “Invaders are attacking more of Greece, more often, and they’re starting to win. Thanatos is gaining in numbers, and killing more of us.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering last month’s dreadful arrivals among the souls: two more of the Muses killed.

  “We’re fighting among ourselves,” Hermes went on. “Ares and sometimes others keep backing the wrong armies, allying with horrid people. And until we fix the tree, which we might never, we can’t keep our own numbers up. Why would you want to bring a child into a world like this?”

  “All of those things can be dealt with, and prevailed over. The tree isn’t dead yet. Even in the worst case, if we can never make new immortals, we and our allies can still get into this realm. We know now how to do it, at the sacred sites.”

  “Yes, but if the future’s that dismal, why—”

  “Because how better to keep our world going?” she said.

  “How about by caring for what we already have? It’s more than we can take on, as it is.”

  She dropped into silence. Much as it depressed her to review their current list of woes, what hurt most was the simple knowledge that he didn’t wish to have a child with her.

  “I worry about you already,” he added. “I’d worry twice as much if there was a baby too.” His tone became more teasing. “So you’re still doing that spell to prevent it, right?”

  “Yes, don’t worry about that,” she snapped.

  But his disapproval didn’t quash her longing. She brooded over it for days, and kept coming around to the same wish. If he wouldn’t take on the role of a father, so be it. She was determined anyway to create life to counter all this death. All she needed from him was one blissful moment of the type he had already given her a thousand times.

  After their next several liaisons, she didn’t perform the magic; she only pretended to, cleaning herself off as usual.

  By the next month, Hekate was pregnant.

  ***

  With her stomach doing backflips, Sophie opened the Airstream door at noon on Valentine’s Day and beckoned Adrian in with a smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He climbed the steps cautiously, as if they were a swaying rope bridge over an abyss. Poor guy was probably as nervous as she was. At the door, he presented her a handful of flowers, white and star-shaped. “To brighten the place up.”

  “Pretty. Thank you.” She sniffed their sweet scent. “I’ve seen these in the Underworld.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure what they’re called. One of the things that only grows there, possibly.” As he stepped into the trailer and glanced around, she caught the familiar whiffs of his deodorant and shampoo. His black hair was in its tightest curls, the way it got when newly washed. He’d spruced up for her.

  She turned to the sink. “Have a seat. I’ll just get a glass for these.”

  She had spruced up too, though not to full “we’re on a date” levels. She didn’t even have date-quality clothes right now; they’d been burned along with the farmhouse. But her favorite purple sweater and the secondhand black jeans she’d bought in Greece the other week made a flattering enough combination, and she had bobby-pinned back her hair in a couple of twists and applied a subtle smudge of shimmery green eyeliner. From the lingering glance he gave her, he noticed the effort.

  “Food smells good,” he said.

  “Calzone. It’s almost done.” She brought the flowers in their water glass to the table, and sat opposite him. She folded her hands on the table, which felt ridiculously formal, so she unfolded them and scratched one thumbnail against the other. “How’s Freya liking the surveillance?”

  “Hates it. But she occasionally sees something suspicious, like shady-looking blokes coming to talk to them, so, safe to say they’re hiring thugs. Again. But as far as we can tell, Tracy and Krystal still haven’t left Zakynthos since that one scouting mission to our cave last week.”

  Sophie nodded. They’d covered this in yesterday’s group meeting, where she had tried not to engage in too much eye contact with Adrian. She finally gave him a second of it now. “You saw Tab outside there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told her to let us talk a while and not disturb us.” Sophie’s gaze slipped to the flowers. “She was dying to know why, I could tell. You probably are too.”

  “It…” His voice was a bit creaky. “It has occurred to me to wonder.”

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. “When the chrysomelia fruits are ripe, I plan to eat a slice.” She kept her eyes on the flowers, but heard him draw in his breath. “I haven’t told anyone else yet. It felt right somehow to tell you first.”

  “Good,” he said softly. “Excellent. I’m…I’m so happy to hear you say that.”

  But hesitation was laced around his words. After all, it was completely possible she could become immortal and still never want to touch him again. Probably what he was thinking.

  So she took a breath and went on. “Also, I’ve been picturing what my life would have been like if you’d never approached me, and…”

  He turned his face downward, features immobile as stone. He awaited his fate.

  “And it would have been pretty dull,” she finished. “Compared to this, anyway.”

  He blinked. He lifted his gaze to her, still wary.

  “I will forever wish we had done things differently,” she went on. “To protect my family and everyone else. But now, at least, no one can hurt my parents anymore. We’re all getting smarter. And now I know I’m stronger than I ever realized. I’ve learned I can go on even when I thought I couldn’t.”

  The shell of restraint around him began to break, torment showing through the cracks. “I’ll never forgive myself.” He almost whispered the words. “For wanting you with me so much that I’d risk everyone else, rip your life apart. I’m so sorry. I’m worse than a stalker, I’m—”

  “If we’d been the other way around,” she cut in, “I totally would have kidnapped you, too.”

  He hesitated, then his face softened as he recognized the declaration. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”

  Now she turned one of his own declarations back upon him: “I’ve never lived a life without you. I don’t want to start now.”

  He tried a smile. His poor mouth looked like it hadn’t formed that shape in the longest time and couldn’t quite remember how it went.

  She slid the flower glass aside and turned her palms up on the table in invitation. Adrian drew his hands up from his lap and set them on hers. Sophie laced their fingers together, and smiled to realize she found the contact comforting, not scary.

  She looked into his dark brown eyes again, which now scintillated with longing. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away. I didn’t want to, but I was…hurt, shell-shocked…”

  “No, I know. It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize.”

  “But it wasn’t yours either. It seemed like I was blaming you, a
nd I know you blamed yourself, but I never wanted you to feel that way.”

  “You can blame me a little.” He sounded aggrieved.

  “What good would that do?”

  They held each other’s gazes. Their fingers shifted against each other.

  “Here.” Sophie got up, reclaiming her hands. She came around the table and wedged herself onto the bench next to him. “I want to try something.” She cupped the sides of his bristly face, smiled as her thumbs swiped his beard, then took a moment to admire his lips. Shapely as ever. She leaned in and kissed them.

  For a dark second or two, fire bloomed in the December sky over the farmhouse again, blood ran from bullet holes, painful electric shocks rocketed through her. But she clung to the here and now: the texture of rough facial hair and warm lips, the smell of spruced-up Adrian, the comfort of the arms slipping around her. He still responded delicately, the gentlest of kisses, no plunging tongues or ravishing clutches. And as she waited it out and focused on him, the embrace began to feel lovely again, the way it had almost every time, every lifetime. The exquisite moments far outnumbered the horrific ones, if you tallied them up.

  Blood, smoke, and screams faded and blew away, making room again for passion and love.

  They pulled apart a few inches and examined one another. Adrian’s eyebrows lifted in subtle query.

  Sophie beamed. “All good.” She leaned in again, then paused. “That is—if you still want me, after how I pushed you away—”

  He huffed out a laugh, tugged her closer, and commenced the ravishing variety of kissing. Wrapped in his arms, she shifted up onto his lap. He slid a hand around her leg to secure her there, with a rakish squeeze. Then he buried his face against her neck and just held her, breathing. “I’ve. Missed. You.” He separated the words, making each resound.

  In picturing this reunion in past weeks, she had thought she’d be weeping by now. Instead a smile split her face. She felt like she was made of spring sunshine. She cradled him, swaying back and forth. “I’ve missed you too. Tons.”

  He lifted his face again. She allowed a moment to drink in the beauty of his dark eyes, then sank both hands into his hair and plunged back into a kiss.

  The oven timer interrupted them with its beep a few minutes later.

  Sophie broke her mouth away and caught her breath. “Ah. Calzone’s done.”

  “Oh. Right.” He looked flushed and dazed. Just how she liked him.

  She slid her hand over his hip, where shirt gave way to jeans. “How about I turn it off and let it stay warm a little longer?”

  He nodded. “Good plan.”

  She hopped up and switched off the oven. She cracked it open to peek inside, and was met with a blast of hot dough-and-sausage-scented air. “Nice and golden.” She shut the door. “It’ll be fine.”

  A hand sliding down her rear told her Adrian had gotten up and followed her. She grinned, turned, and let him pin her against the counter for another long bout of pashing.

  “Hang on.” She slipped aside. She opened the trailer’s door, poked her head out, and spotted Tab sitting on the ground, reading her phone. “Hey, Tab.”

  Tab looked up. “Hey.”

  “You can go if you want. Adrian’s here, so he’s…got me covered.” She glanced back. Adrian was peeking over her shoulder, and waved at Tab.

  Tab’s smile turned sly. “Well, sweet. Rock on.” She jumped up. “’Kay, then I’m out. Text me later, homies.” She saluted with her phone and sauntered off to her spirit horse.

  Sophie closed the door and turned back into Adrian’s waiting embrace. “Guess what gossip’s going to be all over the Underworld in ten minutes,” she said.

  “Hmm.” His hands, flexing against her hips, sent a long-missed liquid heat through her. “I expect we’ll have to endure some innuendoes and waggly eyebrows when we next see everyone.”

  “I can deal. Speaking of which, check out what Freya gave me.” Sophie drew Adrian to the bed, took a small plastic bag from the shelf, and held it up.

  He squinted at the brownish-green capsules. “Um. Drugs? But since you say it was Freya…”

  She flapped the bag against his shoulder. “Not drugs, you dork. Cloudhair seeds. She says using them in combination with these, which you already had, we’ll be all taken care of.” Sophie pulled down the box of condoms too, and gave him a level gaze.

  He winced, and took the box. “Right. Forgot I had those. Look, I got them for you, no one else—”

  “I know.”

  “And it was before I even properly met you, which is horrible and presumptuous, I know, but I suppose I wanted to be prepared, in case things—in case you wanted—well, I didn’t know what you’d want, but—”

  “Shush.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I do want. Let’s do this.”

  Amazement danced all over his face, temptation looking likely to topple that last flicker of caution in his eyes. “Today, now? Really?”

  “I love you. I’ve loved doing this with you every lifetime I can remember. Besides, come on, it’s Valentine’s Day. We have to.”

  He grinned and stepped forward, leaning on her so she fell back on the bed. He climbed on top of her. “You didn’t say ‘Valentine’s Day’ in your text. You said ‘the fourteenth.’ I bloody agonized over that.”

  “Aw.” She slid her hands down his body. “Let me make it up to you.”

  ***

  Sophie was willing—Adrian could see that in the determination with which she unbuttoned his shirt and jeans—but from countless numbers of past experiences with her, he knew she could be more passionate.

  He’d rather work her up to that first.

  “No rush, slow down,” he said, his lips against her jaw. He gently caught her hands and stopped her from pulling his shirt off. He left it hanging open, and kept his jeans on, just their top button undone. He settled down on top of her. “You’re beautiful.” He caressed her hips. “And I’ve missed this. I want us to enjoy it.”

  She smiled. Her body relaxed beneath him, and she tucked her arms inside his open shirt to slide her hands up the skin of his back. “I always do enjoy it with you. Every lifetime I can remember.”

  “So many lives. So many trysts.” He shifted to kiss her throat, enjoying the softness of her sweater against his bare chest. “So many…positions.”

  Her laughter was soon swallowed up in his mouth as he kissed her again. He spun out several luscious minutes that way, the contact warming him through and through as she caressed his back. Adrian’s hands crept up inside her sweater too, to savor the soft skin of her belly, the curve out into her hips.

  She was breathing faster now, more responsive to every squeeze of his hand or swirl of his tongue. He peeled the sweater up until uncovering her lace-edged pink bra. Behind her back his fingers found the bra’s hook and unfastened it with a pinch. He pushed the bra up out of the way, gathered her breasts in both hands, and drew a gasp from Sophie when sealed his mouth around one nipple. Feeling it harden against his tongue, he grew harder too, and let himself press more firmly against her.

  “My sweet lover,” she murmured, and he realized after a moment that she’d said it in German. An echo of what she had called him in the lifetime before this one.

  “Sometimes, all I can think about is touching you.” He said it in German too. Another echo of something he had said decades ago, under another name, in another country. Adrian stripped the sweater off her. She unstrung the bra from her arms and dropped it on the floor. He wriggled out of his shirt and wrapped his arms around her, his face to her neck, their bare flesh pressed together from waist to shoulders. They melted against one another; he felt safe and complete, even as his body ached for more.

  “I love your skin against me.” Now she said it in Hindi—from the life before the German one.

  “You feel like silk.” He answered in Chinese, from the lifetime before that. “Like fire made flesh.”

  They were writhing slowly against each other, and soo
n she rolled him over so she was on top. Her hair was coming unpinned, getting gorgeously disarrayed in its curls. “I’m going to get my languages mixed up soon here,” she said in the Underworld tongue. “You’re being very distracting.”

  “That’s my intention,” he said in the same language. Then he bit his lower lip as he watched her sit up and, with her eyes upon him, slowly unfasten her jeans and ease out of them. That heat in her eyes now—there, that was more like it.

  She traced a finger down the front of his jeans, making him twitch in response. “Zippers are so uncomfortable sometimes, don’t you think?” she said, in English again.

  “Mm,” he agreed. Or rather, half agreed, half groaned.

  She unzipped them. A moment later, Adrian shoved his jeans into the pile of clothes on the floor. With only her white bikini underwear and his boxers between them, they tangled into an embrace, kissing with tongues, wrapping their legs around one another. He rolled her again to pin her beneath him, moving against her the way he wanted. That occupied them for several delicious minutes; then she shifted down beside him so she could haul the boxers off him and dip her hand between his legs.

  With a moan, he did the same to her, tugging the bikini to her mid-thighs and slipping his fingers between the slick folds of her flesh. “How is it,” he breathed, “that I never get tired of this, after thousands of years?”

  She suckled his lower lip, synchronizing the movement with the strokes of her hand. “Wanting each other is part of being alive. And I’m not tired of being alive. Are you?”

  “Never.”

  She helped roll a condom onto him. He lay on his back, letting her take the lead. But she lay down next to him and pulled at his arm to draw him onto her. “Let’s be traditional about this.” She smiled and took hold of his hips, her hands hot against him. “Besides, I like how you feel on top of me.”