by Kristie Cook
Solomon beamed and Tristan grimaced. Is he not ready for that? We definitely did need to discuss this.
Rina changed the subject. She didn’t have to hear Tristan’s thoughts to know he wouldn’t budge at the moment—his body language made it clear.
“I know it will not be easy, but you must not ever be alone,” she said. “You are their primary target and you are also our most vulnerable. Until the Ang’dora, you will not be able to defend yourself. Do not worry about Sophia or Tristan or any of the others. We can all protect ourselves and you. You focus on keeping yourself safe, which means staying with one of us at all times.”
“I understand.” I swallowed hard when I thought about the only activity I did alone—write. I mumbled it under my breath . . . I thought. “I guess my book is out of the question now.”
“That’s absurd!” Mom said. “You will finish that book and we will get it published.”
“Yes, you need to move forward with that,” Rina agreed. I stared at her in disbelief. “Your writing and story-telling ability is one of your special gifts, Alexis, and we would never ask you not to use a gift. We know it will be used for good.”
“She should use a nom-de-plume,” Tristan said. “It probably wouldn’t do any good, but it could divert attention from her.”
“No, we want the Daemoni to know,” Solomon said. “They will feel threatened by the boldness.”
I felt uncomfortable with the way they spoke. I felt a layer of meaning that I wasn’t grasping hovering under the surface. Tristan didn’t help.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s too risky.”
“It is necessary,” Rina said with finality. She spoke in my head, “Your purpose, for now, is to write your stories. They will help us. That is all you need to know right now.”
I nodded. Although completely confused, I could easily accept that writing was my purpose. In fact, I’d always felt it in my heart. And I was glad I had a way to serve them, even if I didn’t understand how—that I could do something besides sit around with a babysitter.
“She will continue with school, too,” Mom said firmly.
“Whatever is a part of her normal life, yes,” Rina agreed. “We cannot show any fear.”
“So we can stay here?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes, you are safe here, at least for now,” Stefan answered. “Tristan, keep your house. It is built for protection from the elements and it will be a safe place should we need it. We would prefer you kept Alexis there with you.”
“We’ll work that out,” Tristan said. “We shouldn’t push anything too soon. She’ll be safe here with Sophia and protectors keeping watch.”
“Nonetheless . . . the sooner, the better,” Solomon said pointedly.
“If we act too quickly, they’ll only assume we’re pushing forward with the plan and they’ll feel threatened by that,” Tristan said. “The more natural we are about it, the more time we take, the more time they think they have.”
“You should proceed in secrecy,” Solomon said. “The sooner there is a child—”
“Solomon, she’s too young!” Mom interrupted. “At least allow her to finish college.”
Solomon grunted.
“It is only a couple of years, darling,” Rina soothed, reaching back to pat his hand. “That is nothing to us.”
I squirmed in discomfort as they discussed plans for my future—my marriage, my child—as if I weren’t there. Though nearly everything about the Amadis was still as murky as the Everglades swamps, I saw a few things with perfect clarity. A future I didn’t like flashed before me, showing me as a puppet. I decided I better speak up now or I would be handing them the strings forever.
“Tristan and I will know when it’s time to take each next step. We will determine that,” I said clearly and firmly. “On our terms.”
Everyone stared at me in mild shock. Except Tristan. He grinned widely. A smile eventually spread across Rina’s face, too.
“Yes, you will be magnificent,” she said in my head.
And that was it. We said our good-byes, then Solomon hooked Rina’s arm in his and they disappeared into the night—early morning, actually—returning to wherever they came from. I wondered where that was and I wondered if they were mates. Despite how much I’d learned tonight, I still knew so little.
“Stay together tonight?” Tristan asked me when we had a moment alone. I nodded. “Here or my place?”
I felt physically and emotionally exhausted and didn’t want to go anywhere, but I remembered my broken bed and frowned. “Your place, definitely.”
As we pulled out of the driveway, I watched Stefan and Mom on the front porch as they turned to go inside, still discussing plans for my protection, I assumed. Stefan stroked his square jaw and chin thoughtfully. In a strangely familiar way. In a matter of two seconds, it all came back to me.
Sheffie!
Sheffie who took me to the park, to the zoo and out for ice cream. Sheffie who drank my invisible tea, sang lullabies at bedtime and made the best French toast in the world. Sheffie who took me for a carousel ride when it was closed and somehow made it go, playing lively carnival music, my horse sliding up and down as I squealed with delight and he stood next to me, making sure I didn’t fall off. Sheffie who loved me. Loved me like a dad. Or so I’d thought.
And then I remembered I had seen Mom cry before. Once.
“Stop! Tristan, stop!” I smacked his shoulder. He looked back at me. “Stop! Now!”
He stopped and cut the engine at the bottom of the driveway. Somehow I managed to scramble off the bike and nearly run up the front walk to the house. Mom and Stefan stopped just inside the door and turned toward me.
“You son of a bitch!” I screamed. And before I knew what I was doing, my hand slapped Stefan’s face with a loud smack! “That’s for what you did to my mom. And this one’s for me!”
I raised and swung my hand again, but it was caught in mid-air.
“Alexis, what the hell?” Tristan asked with bewilderment.
I stared at Stefan as my chest rose and fell with anger.
“You want to know why I had such trust issues?” I fumed through burning tears. “You want to know what started it all? Ask him!”
“Stefan?” Tristan still sounded confused.
“Yes! But he was Sheffie to me. And he was the first one to leave and break my heart.”
And I knew it was true when Stefan lowered his head and sighed sadly. That’s why he couldn’t look me in the eye all night. That’s why I could feel his guilty conscience.
“You left us! You left me! You were the closest thing I ever had to a dad and you left me!”
“Lexi, my love,” Tristan pulled me into his arms and I cried against his chest. “I think you’re confused . . . .”
“No. No, she’s not,” Stefan said, his voice full of quiet grief. “She remembers right.”
I looked at him through my tears and remembered him clearly now, although I had only been four or five years old the last time I saw him.
“You were the only boyfriend who cared about me. Who really cared. Not just because I was around and fun to play with. Not just to impress Mom. Or so I thought. I thought you really loved me.”
“Alexis, I did love you,” Stefan said quietly. “I still do.”
“But you left! And you never came back!”
“I am so sorry.” And I could hear it in his voice. My anger broke and all I felt was the sadness renewed.
“Honey, Stefan was never really a boyfriend. He was our protector then,” Mom said. “Eventually, he had to move on to a new assignment. He had to go.”
“But, you cried when he left, too.”
“I cried for you, honey,” she said. “Your little heart broke and you just couldn’t understand.”
“I deeply regretted doing that to you,” Stefan said. “As you got older, I hoped you had just forgotten.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t forget. I didn’t remember your face, but I
never forgot how much I loved you and how much I cried when you left. I thought I did something wrong.”
“It was nothing you did. I didn’t have a choice and when your mom told me how hurt you were, we decided it was best for me to just stay away. I couldn’t be reliable enough for you.” Stefan held his arms open. “Please forgive me?”
I could see sincerest remorse in his dark eyes. And I somehow knew he’d never meant to hurt me. Maybe it was the Amadis goodness emanating from him. I don’t know how or why—perhaps the passage of time to heal the wounds or the fact I’d just survived the worst loss, if only for a couple weeks, I’d ever experienced—but I couldn’t help but forgive him immediately. I left Tristan’s arms and fell into Stefan’s.
“Sheffie,” I cried into his chest.
“Ali-oop,” he murmured, stroking my hair. I’d forgotten his nickname for me and giggled through my tears. “I am so sorry.”
I nodded against his chest. “I know now. I’m sorry I slapped you.”
“I deserved it.” He held me for another moment then gently pushed me back. “I think you need to get some rest now.”
I wiped the tears on my cheeks, took a deep breath and stepped back to Tristan. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I sagged against him. I’d spent every bit of emotional energy I had and that last bit broke me. I was absolutely exhausted. I didn’t even know how we made it back to Tristan’s house without me falling off the back of the bike.
“You’re amazing,” Tristan said as he half-carried me up the stairs to his room. My head lolled against his side, my eyelids drooping.
“Huh?” I asked through my grogginess.
“You’re so forgiving. I think I suffered more for what Stefan did to you than he did.”
I cupped my hand around his face. “I’m sorry you had to deal with my issues. You did take the brunt of it all and I love you for that. But I believe Stefan did suffer. I could see it in his eyes. Life’s too short to hold grudges against people you love.”
Tristan chuckled and even through the exhaustion, I understood.
“Even for us, my sweet Tristan. Love is just too precious.”
***
“You are such a tease,” Tristan admonished the next morning.
I widened my eyes and looked at him innocently as he pulled a pair of jeans out of a box and hung them up. “What? I’m just looking for some clothes.”
“In my closet?”
I smiled impishly. I’d just stepped out of the shower and had a towel wrapped around me, water drops beaded on my skin and my hair still dripped. I had panties on already, but he didn’t know that. I was being a tease.
“Maybe I like wearing your shirts.” I found a plain white t-shirt and pulled it on with one arm while holding my towel with the other. As I walked out of the closet, I let the towel fall in the doorway as the t-shirt slid slowly down to my thighs. I could feel his eyes on me as I left and I grinned to myself.
I went back to the bathroom to brush my wet hair. It soaked through the front of the white shirt, making it transparent, and I debated how mean I wanted to be. But when I looked up into the mirror, I saw Tristan behind me in the doorway, watching me with his arms crossed.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he growled.
“What?” I played innocent again. He was behind me in an instant, his arms wrapped around me and his face buried in the crook of my neck.
“You’re so damn irresistible.”
“Oh. Well, you do that to me all the time. All you have to do is smile and wink. I’m just fighting fair.”
“This is hardly fair,” he murmured.
His hands slowly moved down my body as he kissed and sucked my neck. I leaned back into him, feeling his powerful, warm body tense against my back. I put my hands over his and pulled his left hand up, across my body to my right breast while his right hand traveled down my bare thigh and slowly up the inside of it. I grasped his hand and pulled it away just before he reached the top, my whole body tingling.
“Hardly fair,” I breathed. He pulled back and groaned in frustration as I turned around and hoisted myself to sit on the counter. I hooked my fingers in his jeans waistband and pulled him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist. I trailed my hands slowly up his abs and chest, up to his face, where I held him. “We don’t have to do this to ourselves, you know. We could probably be married tonight or tomorrow, at least under the Amadis.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “Why are you suddenly in such a rush?”
“Because I love you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you anyway and I want to be your wife.”
He smiled at that last word, but didn’t open his eyes. “Not just because you want my body?”
“Well, that, too,” I admitted. I slid my hands across his chest again.
He opened his eyes, braced my face gently in his hands and said, “You are incorrigible!”
He stomped out of the bathroom and sat hard on the bed, his head falling into his hands. I hopped down and followed.
“What’s wrong with me wanting to make love to you?” I asked.
“Three days ago you hated me,” he muttered into his hands.
My mouth fell open. “I never hated you!”
I threw myself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“You didn’t want anything to do with me and now you’re ready to rush off and commit yourself for life. ‘A bond like no other.’ Don’t you get it?”
I shot off the bed and stood in front of him, lifting his face with my hands and holding his eyes with mine. “Yes, I get it! My soul’s already yours anyway, so you’re damn right I want to commit myself. I made up my mind and I’m ready now. I know you are, too. If there was ever a time you would’ve hurt me, it would’ve been the other night. You can handle it now. So what are you waiting for? Are you having commitment issues? Do you have a problem with this bond?”
Pain flickered in his eyes, as if I’d slapped him. “Of course not! I already knew about it. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to rush into anything. You’re only nineteen!”
I threw my hands in the air. “Is that your argument? My age? Does it matter how old I am if we already know we’re together forever?”
“I’m just saying there’s plenty of time. Don’t feel rushed because of lust or because you think it’ll be safer for me.”
“We could have sex right now and I wouldn’t change my mind. And, yes, I would feel better if I knew you had every protection possible. Even if you don’t think you need it, it would make me feel better. You are my life and the thought of losing you . . .” My breath hitched with the thought. “. . . horrifies me! I need you, Tristan. Whatever binds us closer together, I’ll do. Now. Before it’s too late.”
He pulled me into his arms and brushed his lips against my cheek. He lowered his voice to the loveliest of tones. “Be patient, my love. We’re not doing this out of fear or threats or others’ demands. We’ll know when the time is right. Our terms.”
I sighed with frustration. “If we’re making the decision, it is on our terms. But I’ve made my decision and now it’s up to you. So I guess now it’s on your terms.”
I didn’t like giving that to him, but I knew he wouldn’t like it either.
“Alexis,” he growled.
I ignored him. I picked up my bag and went into the bathroom, closing the door this time. I thought I heard something hit the wall.
Chapter 22
Over the next several weeks, I concentrated on summer classes and putting the finishing touches on my book. I felt the pressure of getting it done, a big obstacle in setting our wedding date. After a couple weeks of teasing Tristan, hoping he would come around, I realized I frustrated myself just as much. So I gave it up and decided holding off on nearly everything would make our wedding night that much better. I stopped spending the night with him and as soon as the loving kisses became passionate and hands started exploring—his or mine—I cut it off. It was, admittedly, quite
maddening.
“You are infuriating, you know that?” Tristan teased one night as we snuggled on Mom’s couch. “I liked it better when you threw yourself at me.”
I laughed. “Shouldn’t have complained then.”
“Will you please do it again?” he murmured against the hollow behind my ear.
“Nope.”
“But I miss your body.” His hand slid along my side.
“Then you will enjoy it all the more on our wedding night.” I picked his hand up as it started sliding under my shirt.
“Are you trying to manipulate me? Because it might be working . . . .” He kissed and nibbled my ear, driving me nearly over the edge.
I sighed. “Not much longer, right? September First?”
“Five weeks, four days, eighteen hours.”
Feels like forever. I moaned internally. But I smiled anyway and said, “Not long.”
We’d just decided the date that day when we mailed the first query letters for getting my book published. Mom was satisfied and it was far enough away that we could have a legal wedding and exchange Amadis vows at the same time. The Daemoni had been quiet, according to Stefan, who dropped in every now and then for coffee or dinner, so I had to trust Tristan would be okay in the meantime.
Less than a week later, though, Hell blew in.
Tropical Storm Edmund brewed in the Gulf of Mexico, projected to make landfall somewhere in our area as a category one or two hurricane. Long-time locals told us it wasn’t much to worry about—“Board up and hunker down. You’ll be fine.” Mom and Tristan seemed overly tense, though, considering they’d faced much worse than a relatively small hurricane. The first heavy bands of wind and rain came in as we finished boarding the cottage, having spent most of the day preparing the store.
“Something’s going on besides this storm,” Tristan yelled over the wind at Mom.
“I feel it, too,” Mom yelled back. “We’re almost done here. Get Alexis to your house. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Tristan and I ran for the car, leaving Mom and Owen to finish hanging plywood on the last window. Rain blew in sheets, looking like it marched across the road. We arrived at Tristan’s house within five minutes, but in that short amount of time, the storm’s intensity had already increased. The wind whipped at the trees, bending the palms at forty-five-degree angles, but the worst of the storm was still hours away. We pulled into the garage and as I stepped out of the car, I thought I saw something rather large blow under the closing garage door. Tristan saw it, too.