Call Her Mine

by Lydia Michaels

  “Adriel, you are safe now. He will no longer be able to do this to you. Never again, Adriel.” He was the man from the window, the immortal male she had seen so many years ago.

  “Adriel? Adriel are you listening to me?”

  Adriel turned and faced Eleazar, her mind returning from that terrifying place so long ago. “I apologize, Eleazar. I slipped away for a moment.”

  Her heart pinched at the familiar face of her friend, her savior.

  He eyed her critically and she knew he detected where her thoughts had drifted. “You need to stop wasting so much time dwelling on the past, Adriel. It is over. Leave it in the past.”

  Three years ago she would have whole heartedly agreed with him. It had been three hundred years since she had seen Cer. But so much had changed recently.

  “It would be easier if he was not free, in a place we know nothing of,” she confessed.

  The arrival of young Dane and Cybil to their farm was proof that her mate had escaped his imprisonment. Once again littering the immortal population with his tainted seed.

  Eleazar was the only one who knew of the evil her mate had put her through. He had nursed her back to health, diligently worked to mend her mind, and taught her many disciplines that made her strong, especially for a female immortal. He promised her a new life, in a new world. He was her best friend.

  Eleazar sighed. “Adriel, I know you are frightened. But it has been centuries. He has been free for at least two decades that we know of and has yet to find you.”

  She thought of how close the Foster children, Dane and Cybil, lived to the farm, prior to moving there, and shivered. Her mate had been so close.

  “What if he knows I am here and he is simply biding his time?”

  “I do not believe that is the case.”

  “Because he would have collected me?”

  Hesitating a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, Eleazar said, “He would know your blood. Cerberus is strong. Stronger than any male I’ve ever met. He was outmatched because there were so many of us. It took twelve males to bury him alive three centuries ago. There are over seventy of us now. He is wise enough to know he is outnumbered.”

  This was true, but she lived alone in her little house. She’d been taken in the middle of the night before—and that was in the presence of her entire family. Now there would be no one to stop him if he came for her.

  They were Amish. She was automatically at a disadvantage if he was familiar with the technologies of the modern world. While her Amish life had served as protection over the last few centuries, she now viewed it as a hindrance, leaving her with little security.

  “Eleazar, I want a firearm.”

  He tensed. “No.”

  “Why—”

  “The answer is no, Adriel, and that is final.”

  “I am completely helpless here. I—”

  “Think of what you are asking. It goes against everything we believe in.”

  “Yet, when the English mates ask for concessions, you grant them.”

  He scoffed. “Those are harmless concessions. Battery operated musical devices for Annalise and books for Destiny. You are asking for something totally different. It is out of the question.”

  “I would not use it unless I needed to.”

  “Weapons wound, Adriel. No.”

  “And what do you believe Sir will do if he ever finds me?”

  “Do not call him that in my presence. Giving him that title pays him an honor he does not deserve. He will do nothing, because your family will protect you.”

  “What family? The son who asked me to leave his home?”

  “I will protect you, the elders, The Order. You are safe here.”

  “I do not feel safe. I am but a lamb waiting for the slaughter. He will come. I can sense it.” She trembled and wrung her hands.

  “You are not that young girl anymore. You are an incredibly powerful female. He will not have such an easy way of things if he chooses to cross your path again. You must have confidence in yourself. This fearful manner you’re allowing to take hold is not becoming.”

  Rather than letting her emotions win, she turned her fear to anger, turning on Eleazar. “I will kill him, Eleazar. Let God punish me if I do. By my hand or by weapon, he will never lay a finger on me again.”

  Chapter Five

  Delilah couldn’t think anymore. Her brain hadn’t stopped working long into the night and things were no longer making sense. Christian hadn’t come to his bedroom. The house was quiet and she wondered if he had left. She should check and leave. But she didn’t.

  Her ladybug tattoo was still fading. It was nothing more than a stain on her knuckle compared to what it was a few days ago.

  “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away…” she sighed.

  Her emotions were a tornado of confusion, kicking up a mixture of feelings, turning her mind to chaos, and leaving nothing in its proper place. Balling her fists, her knuckles cracked.

  Christian’s hat sat on the floor, forgotten from their earlier fight. She thought about everything she’d learned in the past few hours. Holding her hand out, palm facing the hat, she opened her fingers, forcing her energy into her arm, directing all her focus at the hat. It didn’t move.

  She huffed. No Jedi mind tricks then.

  Tipping her head back she tapped it on the wall. What was she supposed to do? She hated him for doing this to her, yet earlier, she’d almost had sex with him again. She preferred to hate him.

  Visions of his beautiful face played in her mind. Her belly tightened when she remembered the way he possessively rocked into her, intending to prove his virility. He had nothing to prove. She knew he was all man. Too much man.

  She’d been with men in the past where everything revolved around sex and chemistry. This thing with Christian went beyond that, even before he turned her. There was no explanation for the intense way her body reacted to his. Potent need overpowered all commonsense and she was very disappointed in her will power at the moment.

  There would be no more Mrs. Nice Girl. She needed to toughen up. She’d been wallowing in self-pity for days and was growing sick of herself. It was time to focus on a plan and get solution oriented. Screw everything else. Screw his rules. Screw that glint of loneliness she sometimes detected in him. Basically, screw him. Only an idiot would feel bad for a man that kidnapped her and stole her whole life.

  Pathetic that the saddest thing she would be leaving behind was her shop. She had friends, of course, but they couldn’t even be bothered to show up on time. If they had, maybe she wouldn’t be here now.

  “Fuckers.”

  No way was she just going to roll over and take it up the ass. She saw the way he laid down the law with his mom. He wanted Delilah to think he had compassion and was willing to adjust to make things easier.

  He was full of crap. She saw who he really was when he’d put his foot down with Adriel. He was unbending and pigheaded. He would never change. She was a fool to fall for all that “I’m so sorry” crap. A million apologies still wouldn’t negate the fact that he abducted her and expected her to obey like some domesticated animal.

  The door opened and she looked up. Speak of the Devil. She quickly blanked her mind. Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O…

  “I assumed you would be sleeping,” he said, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

  “Shocked you didn’t just probe my mind for brain activity.”

  He sighed. “Delilah, I do not want to bicker. It is exhausting. I know you are upset about the way I spoke to my mother, but she is a woman who presses all matters of propriety to the brink. She must—”

  Delilah made a choking sound and gaped at him. “You think this is all about your mother? Wow, you farmers really are slow.”

  He stilled and gave her an offended then hard look. “I have had enough of your jests, Delilah. Do not start something you do not plan to finish.”

  Ah, there was Captain Bossy Pants. “Pardon me for having an opinion.
You’re so quick to tell me how my personality could be improved. Should I share my compiled list for your flaws? I call it The Asshole Chronicles.”

  “Mind your tongue, pintura.”

  “Nope. I’m not going to do that either. You want me as your mate? This is what you get.” She fanned out her hands. “Tough luck if you’re disappointed. Should have thought about that before you, you know, took my life without asking.”

  His nostrils flared. “You will only make things more difficult for yourself.”

  “Right, because everything’s been as easy as falling off a log so far.”

  “It is easy to argue. Your tongue is like a sword and your mind a dagger, but you will see. These things are easy to start, like any war, but extremely difficult to end.”

  “Oh, now you’re a fortune cookie,” she said airily.

  “Why are you such an angry female?”

  She guffawed. “Are you serious? I wasn’t, before I met you. I’m actually quite nice to those who deserve it.”

  “Like the man in the saloon?”

  “It’s called a bar, Swearengen. And that guy was a dickhead. Otherwise you wouldn’t have interfered.”

  “I interfered, because you are my mate and he was male.”

  Wow, she hadn’t thought she could possibly feel more like a piece of meat. But that did the trick. “So it has nothing to do with me then, just the fact that I’m ‘The One’.” She made air quotes, her expression the total opposite of the hurt she hid inside.

  “You are my mate, Delilah. Like it or not, it is unchanging. I have apologized for not handling things as best as I could, but I refuse to spend another day bickering over things I cannot change. The past changes nothing. Get on with your grief so we can get on with our lives.”

  His words literally knocked the breath out of her. Her head shook. He did not just say that. “Get on with my grief? Is that what you just said?”

  “It is enough already.”

  “You are referring to my life!”

  “Your life is here. The sooner you accept that the better.”

  She jumped to her feet and screamed in his face, “I will never accept that! I hate you! I hate what you’ve made me and I hate knowing that I will be associated with you for the rest of my life! Which, by the way—bully for me—is eternity! Buckle up, asshole, because it is going to be a loooooooong ride.”

  She dropped back down to the flats of her bare feet and stared at him as she panted. The bastard wasn’t even breathing hard. His expression was blank. He simply studied her indifferently.

  “Goodnight, Delilah.” He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Her scream echoed off the walls as she reached for the first thing she could find and lobbed it at the door. The small wooden box holding pins smashed into a dozen pieces as silver straight pins rained down. She fell to the floor and began to cry.

  * * * *

  Delilah sat at the breakfast table tapping a brittle piece of bacon on her plate—tap…tap…tap—until it decayed into a pile of charred pig. Poor Wilber.

  He’d forgotten.

  Looking down at her greasy fingers, queasiness rolled through her stomach. She quickly brushed them clean on her napkin.

  “Do you not like eggs?”

  “I don’t eat eggs.”

  His shoulders drooped and he sighed. “I had forgotten. I apologize. Would you like me to make you some toast and jam?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Delilah, you have to eat.”

  “Don’t wanna.”

  He exhaled a deep breath laced with frustration. “Let us not have a repeat of yesterday, hmm? I was planning on taking you around the farm today.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You are being childish.”

  “I’m rubber, you’re glue, go fuck yourself. Sorry, I’m all out of rhymes this morning.”

  He stood and took her plate. It landed in the basin of the sink with a clatter. Hands braced on the counter, he stared out the window, his shoulders rising and falling.

  “The bishop’s wife was kind enough to drop off some gowns for you last night. I left them on the chair in the hall. Get dressed and we will go.”

  No “please”, just orders. He’d gone so far past pissing her off, she had no term to define the rage swirling inside of her. Grinding her molars, she stood and went to check out her new duds. This ought to be good.

  The gown was a disgusting shade of mint green. The apron was black. The bonnet was made of stiff, gauzy white lace. The shoes were nondescript black boots that laced up the front. No, no, no, and no. This would not do at all.

  There was a small package wrapped in brown paper. Written in flowing script along the top, it said, To Brother Christian’s betrothed. She supposed that was she.

  Delilah carried the goods up the stairs and into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed she unwrapped the package. A pink lace bra and panties fell out along with hairpins that wouldn’t give her a lobotomy. There was a note.

  Hello friend,

  My sisters and I thought these items might be of some use. The underthings are from Destiny, the pins from myself. Anna has volunteered to find you decent shoes, but first she needs your size. The girls and I are working on some new aprons and gowns. Perhaps you can soon visit with us and we can help you decide on colors. We look forward to becoming great friends.

  Best wishes,

  Larissa King

  Delilah smiled, perhaps her first true smile in a week. She clutched the note to her chest as an odd sensation settled over her. Power. These wonderful women she didn’t even know, thought enough about her to go out of their way to present options Delilah hadn’t had minutes ago. She wanted to meet them more than anything in the entire world.

  She quickly changed. The feel of the pink lace over her skin was incredible. She supposed Amish women could wear whatever they wanted underneath. That was a relief. Tossing on the taffy green shift, she examined the apron. It went over the arms and tied at the back.

  Brushing out her hair, she twisted it into a style reminiscent of Betty Davis. Green was so not her color. She wished she had a mirror. Looking at the bonnet she decided to go without and stuffed it into the pocket of her apron.

  She opened the door and Christian was waiting on the other side. “Jesus, you scared me!”

  He growled. “Perhaps we should stay here.”

  “What? Why?” No way was she staying in the house another minute.

  “Your language is atrocious. Swearing is one matter. Taking the Lord’s name in vain is another altogether.”

  She rolled her eyes and brushed by him. “God, loosen up, Christian—”

  He caught her by the sleeve. “I am not playing around, Delilah. Being Amish is not something I take lightly. I am a Christian. It is my faith and I believe in it whole heartedly. You should respect that.”

  Well, if he was gonna get all serious about it… “Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to take the Lord’s name in vain anymore. Okay? Can we go now?”

  He released her. “Why are you suddenly in such a rush to leave?”

  “Uh, probably because I’ve been cooped up in this house for almost a week with no television or people to talk to.”

  “I am here for you to talk to.”

  “Yeah. Not the same.”

  He winced as though her words hurt him. He stepped back and schooled his features. She shouldn’t feel bad. This was his fault. But guilt from taking a jab at his beliefs sank in. She was a big believer in individuality, allowing people the freedom to be who they were without judgment. She didn’t like that she’d insulted his faith.

  Delilah followed him down the stairs. His hand coasted over the small of her back as he held the front door for her so she could pass. She hated that his touch caused a physical response in her body.

  Her mind and body were at such odds she felt torn, wanting the comfort after all she’d been through yet hating his touch, as he was the bearer of every current complication in he
r life. Forcing her steps quicken, his palm fell away as she stepped off the porch.

  Walking on the farm was a totally different experience than trying to run away from it. The sights had a chance to settle in and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t the least bit impressed.

  It was majestic. Long, lush fields of amber swayed in the breeze like gentle rolling ripples over a yellow sea. The air was fresh and invigorating, minus the slight tinge of manure that sometimes caught the tail end of a breeze.

  Christian escorted her along a beaten path and pointed out various crops and outbuildings. He really was a farmer. When she saw a corralled off meadow with three black sheep she giggled.

  “Your thoughts about sheep are offensive. They are for wool.”

  “Huh, your presence in my head is offensive.”

  They continued in silence. Over a gradual incline came a view of more houses. They were all dated, nothing like the developments that littered the world now. They also lacked the ‘connect the dots’ strings of wires communities were typically laced up with for technology.

  Small wheels pulled through little ponds and she knew that had something to do with energy, but really didn’t understand the particulars too well. Nor did she care. She wasn’t staying here.

  She spotted a man working and anxiousness spiked in her belly. She needed to make friends. She needed to appeal to someone on the farm to help her come up with better options.

  “I do not want you speaking to other males.”

  She scowled at him, but said nothing. Were all the men on the farm as dated as Christian? Did he realize how bass ackwards his views of women were?

  “I am old, Delilah. I’ve seen many variations of social living throughout my lifetime and I know my preferences. You need not concern yourself with what other men want, only what your mate wants.”

  Her jaw tightened. “And what about you, Christian? Do you plan on concerning yourself at all with what your mate wants?”

  His lips twitched. They continued to walk, their steps leading them into a more communal part of the farm. “I am very concerned about your wants and would like nothing more than to meet your needs.”