Cynthia gave her a stern look. “You’re as demanding as your sister,” she uttered, then strolled to her bedside and retrieved some sort of remote.
“What are you doing?”
“You fight to live and I’ve given up and welcomed death.” Cynthia gave a weak laugh. “Fighting takes courage. And after all you’ve been through, you…inspire me. Thank you.” She hit the button on the remote and settled into bed. “Let’s hope the nurse is gentle with reinserting the IV. I’ll need my strength if I want to start over.”
An unstoppable smile tugged at Rachel’s lips, and she indulged in her own glimmer of hope. She wanted nothing more than to look death in the eye and say bite me. But if fate had a different plan, then she would spend every minute with her family, share her final goodbyes with the ones she loved. She leaned her head against the pillow, and turned away from Cynthia. Ian entered her mind at that moment. She shut her eyes and willed with every fibre in her body for him to find happiness. Then it dawned on her, with a grief as dark as thunderclouds, she’d made a dying wish. A single tear trickled down her cheek.
****
What the hell now? The question repeated for the thousandth time. Ian squeezed the wheel, wishing an answer would pop up as clear as the speed limit sign ahead.
A pale face with bright hazel eyes flashed in his mind. Why couldn’t he shake her? She’d imprinted herself on his mind, body and soul. It was wrong, a betrayal to his one true mate. Even now her sweetness lingered in his mouth. Had he ever experienced anything more perfect than Rachel in his arms? They were opposites in every way, yet nothing seemed so right.
“She probably stole your memories,” he chastised himself, as if the reminder would dull his affections. It hadn’t worked. She wasn’t his concern, wasn’t his…period. She was a witch-turned-vampire who had amnesia. He shouldn’t dream up scenarios of reuniting with Rachel or recall her lithe thighs around his waist, her shallow breath in his ear.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” He slammed his fists into the steering wheel. Not many people obtained a second chance. Months ago, he’d have begged to find his mate alive and well. He swallowed bile, disgusted with himself. The fact he fascinated over another was a betrayal to his chosen. Whoever his mate was, she deserved better than him, deserved a man who’d grant her utter loyalty and devotion.
“Get it together,” he berated himself, then turned left onto Collier Drive and headed home instead of travel aimlessly around town. It was almost sunrise. Everyone should have left his house by now.
He cringed when he parked in his driveway. Chayton’s truck was still there, as well as the black sedan he’d seen before he left home. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want company. After a good rest, he planned on putting all his energy into finding his one. And once he found her, all would be right in his world.
The orange-brown brick exterior emitted a cosy, warm ambience, but never made him feel like home. No house had. He owned a property in Qualla Boundary, and this one here. His mother still kept his old bedroom intact, in case he ever relocated home. Before Amber entered the picture, he’d stayed at Chayton’s from time to time. A house didn’t make a home, but the person sharing the place. He once made a promise to settle in one location when he found his mate. Now, he had a second chance to do just that.
He climbed the porch steps. The sensor light at the door almost blinded him. Inside, the warlock sat on his couch, Chayton stood near the fire, arms wrapped around a crying Amber. Was she still upset over her cousin? Pregnancy hormones. Then again, he couldn’t blame the woman after the emotional toll she’d endured in the last twelve hours.
“I’m sorry, Ambs. I don’t want to risk you or the baby,” Chay said and stroked her hair.
Amber shook her head. “Neither do I.”
Chayton tilted Amber’s chin and softly grinned. “We’ll go to Desuet by plane and hired transport.”
Desuet? The place Brianna and Tristan took Rachel.
“I know.” Her face smothered into his chest. “I just want to be with Rachel.” Her broken voice sent shivers down Ian’s spine.
“What’s going on?”
The three of them turned.
“It’s Rachel. She’s…dying,” Amber choked, then buried her face in Chayton’s chest again.
A buzz pierced his ears. Every fibre in his body formed into cement as blood rushed from his face. “Dying?” Was that his voice? So low, so…scratchy?
Chayton’s downcast face tugged at Ian’s chest. “Tristan told us a few minutes ago. Her body is rejecting the change.”
Amber eased out of Chayton’s arms and approached her brother. “Don’t let your potion go to waste. Go ahead of us. Tell Rachel I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Lucas shut the briefcase beside him, but not before Ian caught sight of the bright pink bottle inside. The flashing potion. Chayton had told him about it once. Apparently Amber used it to escape him months ago.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind travelling with you and Chayton.”
“No, you should spend whatever time left with Rachel. Besides, Brianna will need our support, too.”
“Okay, if you insist.” Lucas kissed his sister’s cheek and headed for the door.
Ian observed their brief exchange in a trance, trapped both mentally and physically by his churning thoughts. Rachel. He wanted to see her, needed to hold the feisty female who entered his life and turned it upside down.
She used to be a witch. So what.
She was now a vampire. That no longer mattered.
She’d lied about their past. Again, not a concern.
She was dying…
Ian uttered something, unsure what. Almost tripping over his own feet, he staggered outside. Bright headlights shone across his lawn as the car engine rumbled to life. Ian sprinted down the porch steps, smacked his palms into the bonnet of the shiny exterior. “Stop!”
The wide-eyed warlock slammed on the brakes. The car jolted on the spot. “Are you insane?” He screamed out the window. “Move.”
Ian jogged to the driver side. “The potion, give it to me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Now.”
The warlock stared him down. “No.”
Not the answer he wanted. Ian opened the door, snatched the keys from the ignition. Lucas grabbed him by the collar. Ian punched the warlock in the face and grabbed the case. At a dead sprint, he headed toward the woods. Groaning resounded in the background, followed by the cease of the engine and an unbuckling seatbelt. Ian needed to act quickly before the warlock stopped him with a spell. He ducked behind a tree, flipped the lid of the briefcase and gripped the bright flask inside.
“No. Wait.” The crunch of footsteps rushed closer.
Too late. Ian pulled the cork with his teeth and gulped the entire substance. Like grains of sand slipping through the narrow orifice of an hourglass, Ian slithered into nothingness.
Chapter 15
Ian’s body slapped the ground when he landed. The instant blow stole the air from his lungs. He wheezed hard, clutching the dirt floor. Tiny cobblestones indented into his palms as he raised himself. He groaned. Muscles protested with a sharp ache. Did he land in hell?
Booted feet stepped in front of his line of vision. In his push-up position, Ian glanced at the two men towered over him. Not just men, but his favorite kind, vampires. Dressed in black uniforms with matching Kepi hats, maybe officers.
One kicked at Ian’s arm. He lost balance and slammed to the ground. Dust filled his nostrils. Tension strummed through him. He itched to claw the bastard who kicked him. Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled. He was on their turf. And fighting these guys would not bring him to Rachel any sooner. Besides, he did poof out of thin air right before them. They had the right to be suspicious.
“Qui êtes-vous?” One asked abruptly.
Dammit, where was Chayton when he needed him or anyone able to speak French. He stumbled the only line he remembered from his school days
. “Je ne comprends pas. Parlez-vous anglais?”
He hoped that meant ‘I don’t understand. Do you speak English?’ instead of telling them he would like to sample some cheese and wine.
“Who are you, what do you want?” Kicker asked in a deep accent.
At least one of them understood English. “My name is Ian Jefferson. I’m here to see the Johnson sisters.”
“Johnson?” Kicker said to the other. “Il doit savoir conseiller Delacroix.”
Delacroix? Ian knew that name. “Yes, Tristan. Please, take me to him.”
“On your feet.”
He followed the order and stood, muscles throbbing. For sure his limbs had sprouted some ugly bruises. Flame torches along the wall lit the dark cavern. Behind the vampire guards stood a tall thick door made of old oak with ancient brass ring handles. The entrance to Désuet, home of the French colony of vampires. “It’s okay. Tristan is a friend of mine,” he lied, raising his palms. “He and his moitié arrived with a woman, Rachel. They’re expecting me.”
The two guards exchanged words in French. Ian had no idea if they fell for his fib or would throw him out of the cave.
They eyed him from head to toe, then squared their shoulders. “Follow us.”
The guards swung open the huge doors. Beyond them a stone staircase descended into the earth. Ian followed them to the bottom and glanced around. The enormous main square contained different shop signs. Le Château restaurant, Cynthia Cote Couture, Le branché Internet Cafe. On and on the shops went. Who knew they’d be so…modern. He half expected to waltz in here and find a community of vampires draped upside down from the ceiling.
Kicker nudged him to keep moving. Ian staggered forward. They left the main square and travelled down several hallways, then arrived at a lobby with five male vampires seated at a curved desk, dressed in the same uniform.
Kicker and the other guard conversed with the men behind the desk. One of them nodded and flashed out of sight. Several moments later, Tristan appeared in front of him, his green eyes wide. The guy probably thought he’d seen the last of him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to see Rachel. Right now.”
“Ian.” Tristan swallowed. “You must know—”
“Now,” he interrupted, unconcerned with what the vampire had to share.
Comprehension flashed in his eyes. “You already know.”
Tristan held out his hand. Ian took it, bracing himself as his surroundings faded and darkness obscured his vision. No, not the area, but he sieved into the air as sand sifts through a person’s fingers. His mind churned like a vortex, incurring a massive head spin. As the place brightened, Ian stood in a long tunnel aligned with lit torches. Thank heavens the experience was nothing like that darn potion. An orange glow brightened the gray and brown limestone walls, much like an underground military base.
“She was in our clinic, but we moved her to one of the guest suites. We thought she’d be more comfortable this way.” Tristan marched ahead and turned down a few hallways before knocking on a door on their right. Ian squeezed his fists by his sides to prevent from kicking the door down. If someone didn’t answer it soon, there’d be no stopping him.
“Come in,” a female voice called out, sounding much like Brianna.
Tristan ducked his head inside. “Sorry to disturb you ladies, but Rachel, you have a visitor.”
Ian arched his neck to peer through the gap between the frame and the door. An antique dresser, a candle sconce…. Ian didn’t wait. Nudging Tristan aside, he stormed into a low lit room with high vaulted ceilings. His gaze skimmed the antique furniture and landed on the large four-poster bed.
Rachel. His heart clenched. Her name alone no longer screamed ‘vampire’ inside his head, no longer related those two syllables with ‘danger’ or ‘unstable’. One thought came to mind as his eyes locked with hers. Mine. Several hours ago she had been in his arms, now she lay in bed with her sister seated by her side. Long auburn hair sat neatly over her shoulders like a pile of silk fabric. Her complexion pale, and the hint of dark circles smeared beneath eyes that grew wide at the sight of him.
Rachel cleared her throat and tucked a strand behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”
“I need a moment with you.”
Brianna looked to her sister. Rachel confirmed with a curt nod. When Tristan and Brianna left the room, Ian rushed to Rachel’s side.
“I came as soon as I heard.”
Tears hovered at the edges of her eyes. “I need an original witch to complete the transformation, otherwise my body will continue to reject the change.” Face hard, she gave him a levelled look. “I guess the good news is there’ll be one less bloodsucker in the world.”
He hissed through clenched teeth. “I never wished this for you.”
Her gaze wandered, then snapped to his. “It doesn’t matter now, and I don’t need your pity. You might as well go home.”
Flames consumed him, her dejection shot blades through his limbs. He understood her chagrin, but pity was the last reason he was here. He wanted to be by her side. She might have left his house, but she hadn’t left his mind. He dug his fists into the mattress on either side of her waist. “I can’t stay away from you,” he growled. She flinched. “Regardless of your health, I would have been here sooner or later.”
Her eyes softened when staring into his, but then a dark shadow overcame them. She shook her head, shoved his arm aside, and slid out of bed. A black satin robe was tied around her waist, and stopped at her knees. He swallowed a groan as he took in her smooth, long legs. All too aware of the gorgeous body that lay beneath the garment.
“You have someone else out there.”
She was right. The notion burned inside like acid. All his life he prayed to find his mate. Now, a part of him hoped he never did. “Doesn’t change the fact I want you. I can’t explain it. I just do.” He didn’t miss a beat as he’d said the words. The notion should mortify him, but as much as he focused on a future with his mate, Rachel absorbed his every thought. Done trying to figure out why, done with fate’s twisted sense of humour, Ian would not apologise for the way he felt.
Her mouth fell open, and she gazed at the floor. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t want me.” She headed to the door, most likely to see him out.
Oh, she was stubborn. He stalked toward her. “Don’t speak for me.” Clutching her wrist, he stopped her in her tracks.
She turned and seethed. “What’s your game? Make it seem like you want me, but seek revenge for what I did to you in the past?” she demanded, poking his chest. “Am I right?”
He folded his arms and laughed without humor. “Where do you come up with this stuff? All I know is, I feel this connection to you…I had from the moment I saw you. But my hatred toward vampires prevented me from fully seeing it.” He peered into her shadowed eyes, unsure if she was upset or simply tired. Perhaps both.
“Have they fed you?”
“They offered me a fresh, healthy vampire, but I wanted a blood bag instead. It didn’t stay down.”
Why? Was it because she was dying? “You must be starving.”
“I am.”
“You seemed to like my blood.” The remembered moans when she’d tasted him, and the way her body rocked into his still had the power to shock him with pleasure. He wanted to relive the experience over and over again.
“I can’t keep anything down.” She dismissed the suggestion with a wave and clutched the doorhandle, but her body trembled.
Ian frowned. The little liar. She didn’t want him gone, not really.
“Why not give it a try, it’s better than starving,” he insisted, then placed his hand over hers on the handle. It took little pressure to encourage her fingers to slip from the cold metal.
She turned to meet him. “What about our past? What I told you?”
He lowered his head to meet her gaze. “Stop finding reasons to push me away. I want to be here with you.
”
She cupped his cheek, her soft fingers brushed his jawline. “Out there is a woman for you. A woman you will give your heart and soul to. A woman you will love until your dying day…but she isn’t me. The biggest favor you could do me is leave. Right now.”
So that was it. How he felt didn’t matter. What he wanted didn’t matter. She pushed him away, regardless. Without conscious thought, he took hold of the doorhandle. Turning the leaver was as painful as the twisting ache in his heart. Rachel brushed past him. He paused, the cold metal clutched in his hand. “I have one question for you.”
“What is it?” she asked from behind, her voice small and quavering.
“What do you want?”
“What?” she whispered.
He spun around to face her. “I don’t care about the past or the future. I want to know what Rachel Johnson wants right now.”
Hurt screwed her face tight. She hiccuped a sob. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “Yes, you do.”
She hugged her arms about her waist. Her head inclined as her lips puckered and tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want my family to mourn me a second time.” She paused, her chin trembled. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want you to leave me, but most of all…I don’t want to hurt you.” She groaned. “I can’t bare the thought of hurting you again.”
He captured her face in his strong hands and kissed her hard. His tongue pried into her mouth, and she hungrily kissed him back, taking what he gave.
“What about our past…?” she whispered between kisses.
“Shh. No more talk of the past. It hasn’t changed how I feel right now.”
Her glistening eyes searched his. He noted the struggle in those hazel depths, but beneath that was surrender.
“If I’m to die, then I want my last moments with you. I’ve always loved you Ian, always—”
He cut her off with another deep kiss, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Why couldn’t she be the one? Why couldn’t fate choose them? Weakness immersed him, just like the day he discovered his scarred mark. That day signified a loss. Now he experienced that loss all over again. Rachel was the only way to remove the agony, and he greedily kissed away his torment, determined to erase their cruel reality, even for a few moments.
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