He spoke with such conviction that chills pricked my arms. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“I’ve lived to see a lot of people die,” he said solemnly, “and I have to spend eternity carrying those losses. If I lose my parents, I would be alone in my grief forever. I would be giving them the same if they lost me. You must understand: immortality is not an escape from death. It’s an accumulation of loss. I risk too much by exposing myself on some whim my Cruor side can be removed.”
“I would never ask you to give up your parents,” I said, hoping to impart my sincerity. “I just don’t know how to be with you completely when there’s no possibility of a future for us.”
“You go through all this trouble—research all this information—but I can’t even get you to move in with me.”
“Move in with you?” I repeated dumbly. “How could you even suggest that?”
“Being the world’s biggest pessimist isn’t everything,” he said. “Maybe if you show a little faith, things will work out.”
“How?”
“Faith, Sophia. Life isn’t always going to give you the answers to the questions you’re asking. Sometimes you have to make do with the answers you get.”
If only he knew that was exactly what I was doing. “Thanks, Yoda.”
“Like it you do, when I tell you these things.”
“You’re hilarious. Really. But what are you suggesting? I move in here, and then … what? You gonna fetch my walker when I’m eighty?” As I spoke the last sentence, a bit of my deeper hurt jabbed into my voice, and I swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I’m just trying to be reasonable.”
“That’s your problem. Your head keeps getting in the way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re together, every day, right? You almost always sleep here as it is. The only reason you aren’t moving in is because it means something.”
I crossed my arms. “Your point?”
“You’re asking me to kill part of who I am, and you aren’t even ready for such a small step as moving in. What makes you think you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with me?”
Since when was moving in with someone a small step?
“You’re still young,” he said gently. “As you said, you haven’t known me long. What if after you move in, you change your mind? Shouldn’t we see how that goes first?”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Says everyone who’s ever changed their mind.” He arched his eyebrow. “Give and take, Sophia. It needs to go both ways.”
Okay, if I was being honest, not wanting to move in with Charles went deeper than not wanting to commit to a non-existent future. I feared becoming Mother. She relied on everyone else to support her. Would I be the same if I moved in with Charles? Or would paying my share of the bills be enough?
“You wish for me to end my immortality—to give up something meaningful to me—but you won’t even move in. Let me tell you something, Miss Reasonable. We definitely can’t be together if you’re dead, and you might as well be signing a death wish if you plan to seek out the Ankou under these circumstances. They aren’t called ‘the grim reapers of the supernatural’ for no reason.”
“I’ve taken care of myself so far.”
“Right. So far.” He gazed out the window for a long moment before returning his attention to me. “You’re safer here,” he said. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can use the spare room.”
I bit my lip, turning the idea around in my head, knowing that moving in with him would mean anything but sleeping in a spare room.
“Sophia…? Look—” His voice lowered. “If something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
“So is this about your conscience or about wanting me to live with you?”
“Both,” he said. “This is about wanting to be with you, and about what being with you means. Now that you know these things about me, I’m responsible for you, whether you like it or not. I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if this one time, you wouldn’t be so difficult.”
I almost wanted to say no again, just to see if I could get him frustrated enough to bring out the vein that sometimes bulged along his temple, but he’d suffered enough.
“Okay,” I said, letting go of my better senses before my ‘reasonable’ side took the reins again. “I’ll move in. Only because I want to, though, not because I need to. And I’m helping with the bills.”
“I never thought otherwise,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “New Year’s, then?”
“New Year’s,” I agreed.
Once I’d committed the words to speech, there was no going back. I was moving in with Charles. My mind traveled to the idea of waking up in his house. What did he eat for breakfast? Eggs, bacon, and a glass of … blood? He usually skipped breakfast when I slept over, but would he do the same if I was there every morning?
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to move in now, before I’d cured my family curse. A spare room might not be enough of an escape during those times the voices were in overdrive.
I hid my doubts behind a smile.
Charles began picking up the tissue paper from our gift exchange. “One day,” he said quietly, “I would like to get rid of my Cruor side.”
I didn’t reply. I was too busy worrying I’d made a huge mistake.
{chapter seventeen}
THE DAY AFTER YULE, Charles and I cuddled in his bedroom with our favorite movie—Red Violin. Charles rested back against his pillow, eyes closed. I couldn’t see past his youthful face—couldn’t see him as a man who’d lived through centuries.
“How much of your life can you remember?” I asked.
“Remember?” He opened his eyes, his expression soft and curious. “I don’t. Everything blurs together, to the point most major life events carry about as much weight as tying shoelaces. But there’s always a new adventure. Always something new.”
“Like me?”
He pulled me on top of him. I straddled his hips, and he tipped his forehead to mine, his face too close now to make out anything more than his deep, teal eyes and dark, tangled lashes. “You are more than an adventure, Sophia.”
I crossed my arms behind his neck, and his heartbeat quickened against the inside of my forearms. He planted several soft kisses along my jaw, his fingers playing across my collarbone. Anticipation robbed me of my breath, and my heart leapt to my throat.
“Charles?” I whispered, my lips brushing his as I spoke.
His mouth closed over mine, and I kissed him, tasting him with a hunger that belied my outward calm. He wound his hand in my hair, his lips pressed firmly on my own. A wave of heat traveled over my skin as desire pulsed through my body like wildfire on a hot Colorado day, consuming me the way those fires consumed whole stretches of forest.
Charles’ warm hands untangled from my hair and slid down my back, his fingertips tracing small circles across my skin, just under my shirt. Swimming through the haze, I fought to control the swirl of emotions and relax away my doubts as his hands slowly moved up to caress my breasts through the lace of my bra. His thumbs grazed my nipples through the material, and my breath quickened.
“Sophia,” he said softly, pulling away. “We should stop.”
But when I kissed him again, he didn’t resist. Our breathing shifted into deeper, heady breaths, the air surrounding us growing thicker and effused with passion. A growl rumbled in his chest as I slid my arms around him. I leaned back on the bed, pulling him on top of me, his body flush with mine, his mouth moving to my neck, dropping kisses across my chest, down to where the plunging neckline of my blouse came to a halt.
His body shifted between my knees, his interest pressing the inside of my thigh as his lips returned to mine and his hand caressed over my hips, up toward my navel. His fingers played along the waistline of my jeans, skimming the skin beneath the top of my underwear, and I sighed. He paused, kissed me once more gently, then flop
ped back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.
Moonlight shone through the window and gleamed off his fangs. My heart sped, but desire replaced my usual fear. I didn’t care about his fangs. I only wanted to give in to the steady pool of warmth in my stomach.
I sat up and cupped my hands around his face, strands of his hair feathering against the pillow. “We can’t stop every time.”
He pointed toward the movie. “Look. Your favorite part.”
“Your fangs bother you that much?” When he didn’t answer, I straddled over him, blocking his view of the television. I leaned forward, my hair spilling over my shoulder onto the pillow beside him, and pressed a kiss against his neck and another along his jaw. I ran my hands over his shoulders and whispered in his ear, “They don’t bother me.”
Charles grabbed my wrists, and, in one swift movement, pinned me to the mattress. He didn’t need his strength to hold me there—the suddenness of his actions were enough to leave me frozen. Heat radiated from his body, warming against my thighs, stomach, and breasts. His scent of vanilla and sandalwood and his close proximity sent my body into a state of arousal, and my nipples hardened beneath my bra. I peered up at him, unsure what to make of the situation. His body suggested passion … interest … but his eyes were cold and hard.
“You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met,” he said. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “You expect far more self-control from me than any man could have.”
“I’m not asking for your self-control,” I said firmly.
He released my wrists and climbed off me. “You’re not ready for this.”
“I am.”
“You’ve never done it before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking to the wall across the room.
I swallowed past the tight lump in my throat. “You don’t know that.”
He turned, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me otherwise.”
I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze, and I pressed my lips together, for once unable to conjure a lie.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “There may be many things I cannot give you, Sophia, but I can give you the time to learn yourself. To be certain—”
“I am certain.”
“—of our future,” he finished.
How could either of us be certain of that? “I’m not asking for any promises. I understand why you can’t—won’t—change, and I’ve decided to accept that.”
“You decide a lot of things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You allow your mind to silence your heart.”
“What do you want?” I asked, both defeated and determined to figure him out. “You don’t want to be with me, but you don’t want me to leave. You don’t want to grow old with me, but you don’t want me to be with you so long as you’re immortal. Tell me, what is it I’m missing here?”
“You should expect more.”
“You don’t want me to!”
“I do want you to. I may not be able to give you these things, but they are things you should want. They are things I want, too,” he said, his voice tight and his words strained. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t. Your fangs … they’re no big deal, right? Only a pure Cruor can turn a human.”
Charles climbed off the bed. “It’s not about that.” He walked over to the bedroom window before turning back, his face a marble effigy of contempt. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice with a raw edge. “We’re going to get through this. But I don’t know if I can promise you what you want.”
He returned his gaze to whatever was outside the window, and I watched him in silence from the bed, wondering how the world looked through his eyes.
* * *
LATER THAT NIGHT, Charles helped wrap my ceramic and glass bowls in brown paper, while the spirit lady watched me through the kitchen window.
I never startled when I saw her anymore. She was as constant as the rising sun—with me wherever I went for the past few months: outside the diner when I worked, outside my home, outside Charles house, her figure drawing ever nearer.
Sooner or later, I’d find a way to get rid of her, but, so long as she wasn’t hurting anybody, she simply was not my top priority, no matter how deeply the unease was settling in my stomach with her around.
While packing away the contents of my curio cabinet, Charles stumbled across the tin of notes from Mrs. Franklin, and my gaze darted from the spirit lady to him. I eased the tin from his grasp.
“Some old letters I need to get rid of,” I said more nonchalantly than I felt.
I set them aside. Soon, I wouldn’t need them. I’d move, and the notes would stop. Mrs. Franklin had no interest in Charles’ property. Sometimes I still worried about Marcus, but he couldn’t know where Charles lived. I never came or went from there—or anywhere—at night, and Charles said the Cruor wouldn’t waste their resources by having a human follow me during the day. There was too much else to be done.
Perhaps it was vain to keep thinking I was special enough to warrant the obsession of one of the Council’s leading henchmen. The precautions Charles and I took were just that—precautions. Currently, there appeared to be no impending doom.
None that I was aware of, anyway.
I was worrying myself over nothing, and Charles reminded me of that every chance he got. Just as frequently, however, he reminded me of the potential dangers that would always weave together the fabric of our relationship.
“It’s not terrible I’m immortal,” Charles said. “For you, I mean.”
I froze, one hand lowering a wrapped plate into a box. “No?” I asked, hoping for him to take it back, but he just stared stonily back.
“I can protect you. If you understood the potential dangers—”
“I understand fine,” I said. “And I can protect myself once I figure out how to tap into my ancestor’s powers.”
“You’re still upset I won’t seek out the Ankou,” he said.
“You have your reasons.”
“The Ankou should be focused on why they are here,” Charles said defensively. “It’s beyond me how they find time to do these things when they are supposed to be moving the spirits of deceased immortals to the afterlife.”
Moving spirits? That’s what the Ankou did?
I turned around and busied myself distributing my book collection between several boxes. I’d add some lighter items in later. Right now, I wanted to be alone in my thoughts.
Charles might not want to find the Ankou for himself, but maybe they could get rid of the creepy woman-spirit. I could work up the nerve to ask for their help—to tell strangers I’d never meet again about this spirit that was following me. If the Ankou thought I was crazy … so what? I didn’t care if they never talked to me again. And, since I wasn’t a dual-breed, there was no reason for them to turn me over to the Council. Surely I could do this much on my own. And maybe make some connections for the future in the process.
“I’m sorry,” Charles said from behind me. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Huh?” I turned toward him. “I’m not upset.”
“You always say that when you’re upset.”
“No, really,” I said, turning back to my box lined with books. I slid a copy of Stephen King’s The Shining beside a novel with no title on the spine. “I mean it. Everything’s fine.”
Charles took the next book from my hand. “I’ll take the books with me tonight. Pack them in one box. It will be easier.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey,” he said, titling my chin up. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I’ve always gone out of my way to keep a distance from the mortal world.”
“No offense,” I said, “but you kind of suck at keeping your distance.”
He sat in a chair and pulled me onto his lap. “What, from you? I couldn’t distance myself from you if I tried.”
I nuzzled against him, sinking into his warmth. I peered over the ridge of his shoulder, th
rough the window of the kitchen door that led out to my backyard. The young woman with the dark hair now had her face pressed to the windowpanes.
Her eyes were bleeding.
My stomach lurched, but I forced myself to remain calm. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Charles, not until, at the very least, I learned more about my ancestor. Before I said anything, I needed how much of this ‘other world’ related to my own.
Later that evening, Charles went out for another hunt. I stayed at my place to sort out my thoughts and pack away a few more things. As I was pulling another box down from the attic, a loud knock sounded on my front door. I peeked out the front window, but no one was there. I opened the door and stuck my head outside. Still not a person in sight. Looking down, I spotted a piece of paper, folded over with my name written in large sloppy letters.
I lifted the note from the welcome mat and began to read, a groan escaping my lips as I realized it was another note from Mrs. Franklin.
For, behold, the Lord will come with fire, and with His chariots like a whirlwind, to render His anger with FURY, and His rebuke with Flames of Fire, Isaiah 66:15.
I growled my frustration. This lady was off her freaking rocker.
{chapter eighteen}
SMOKE TICKLED MY NOSE and filled my lungs. Thick smog burned my esophagus, and I shot up in bed, coughing and suddenly wide-awake. I’d burned food my fair share of times, and the shrill pitch of the smoke alarms each time had led me to remove the batteries. But as my throat and lungs ached, I wished I’d left the batteries in.
Hardly able to make anything out through the dark and fog, I followed the heat, finally spotting the fire crawling up the wall in my living room. Flames engulfed the curtains and blackened the wing-backed chair against the front wall.
I darted for the kitchen, grabbed Red’s cage, and flew out the kitchen’s back door. I ran around the house to the road and glanced around. No one was there. Just a dark, empty street and flames licking up the front of my house. I patted my body for my cell phone, but I was in my pajamas, and the cell phone was on my dresser.
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