by SF Benson
I cringe as my heartbeat kicks up a notch. I’ve been envisioning a boyfriend-girlfriend situation, not an I’m-yours-through-eternity type of relationship. What Cherina describes is more than I bargained for. “Is there a way to undo it?”
“No. Even if there were, he doesn’t want it,” Cherina says quietly.
Butterflies begin performing fouetté turns in my gut. “What does he want?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver as she says, “You, my dear.”
This is so unfair. I’m not ready for another relationship with anyone. It hasn’t been that long since the break-up with Rob. I’m not ready… Wait. In all honesty, what Rob and I had was over two years ago. When he realized I was serious about dancing, Rob changed. Everything became about him—his needs, his concerns, his desires. I was just too dumb to see it. The accident amplified everything. It made his dumping more tragic than it should have been.
This current situation has nothing to do with my ex. The problem here is I’m the unwilling participant in a relationship with a man I barely know.
Are you truly unwilling? Or are you scared?
Perhaps. It’s the uncertainty. No matter the time period, Marc was a player. He still might be. Deep down, I know he wants me, but can it be that simple? A hot man interested in an available girl?
“Everything all right, honey?” Mom stands just inside my door with a dish towel in her hand.
“I guess,” I say absently. Truthfully, I’m anything but fine. Since Cherina left, I’ve been trying to make sense of everything she told me.
Mom comes into the room. “Is there something I can help with?”
My gaze swings to her. We’ve always been able to talk, and she’s given me great advice over the years when I’m honest. Perhaps a strong dose of motherly wisdom wouldn’t hurt?
“I told you Rob dumped me. Did you know the blonde bimbo he brought here was his ex?”
Mom sits on the arm chair. “No. I thought something was off about that situation, but I kept my mouth shut. It’s no secret your dad and I have never liked that boy.”
“I know.” My gaze lands on the ponytail holder around my wrist. “Was there anyone serious before Dad?”
“Oh, gosh.” Mom’s cheeks color lightly. “There’s a question… Short answer? Yes. I thought I loved this guy. He was also a dancer. I thought we’d end up on stage touring with the same company. Problem was he had a roving eye. One day I caught him kissing another dancer.”
“Was she pretty?”
“He was gorgeous,” Mom admits with a wink.
My mouth drops. “No way! Didn’t you know?”
“I suspected but never had any proof.” A small grin steals across my mother’s lips. “I met your dad shortly after that fiasco. Your father was on holiday in Paris with his parents. We met outside the Eiffel Tower.”
Hearing her words—a reminder of what my father was planning—causes me to hang my head.
Mom pats my hand. “Hey, no sadness. Your father told me what you two were scheming. Once you’re up on your feet again, we’ll take that trip.”
I keep quiet, unwilling to burst her bubble. “Did Dad tell you what happened with Marc at the hospital?”
She twists her lips. “He did. Why don’t you tell me what you saw?”
The last thing I want to do is relive the moment, but it seems a necessity if I’m going to get Mom’s advice. “Dad and I were at the elevator when I noticed Marc talking to this woman. He tried to walk around her, but she kept cutting him off. Then out of the blue, she kissed…”
Scott was right. The woman threw herself at Marc, not the other way around.
“Antoinette?”
“Where’s my phone?” I ask with urgency. My eyes dart around the room, trying to locate it.
Mom grabs it off the dresser and places it in my lap. “What’s going on?”
“I was wrong, Mom. I blamed Marc for kissing that woman when it was obvious she threw herself at him,” I explain.
“Does this mean you forgive him?” Mom stands.
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I owe him a chance to explain.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Uraeleus
Minutes feel like hours as I wait for Antoinette in my office. She sent me a text earlier saying she wanted to talk. I offered to go to her parents’ house, but she insisted on coming downtown.
The door swings open, and Samson sticks his bald head inside. “Boss?”
His intrusion isn’t wanted, but it’s enough to stop my frenetic pacing. “Come on in.”
“Bad timing?” he asks.
Who knows? In all fairness, ever since I helped Antoinette nothing has been well-timed. I’m struggling with feelings I haven’t had in ages. For the first time, I have to come to grips with conflicting emotions—wanting someone so much while feeling it’s wrong on some level. Best to ignore my personal troubles and stay focused on business. It’s the one lesson I’ve learned this time around—take care of the important things in life while keeping those around you happy.
“Of course, not,” I lie. “What’s on your mind?”
“I just wanted to let you know Victor’s bid was accepted. We’ll start renovations by month’s end.”
It seems my business life is more productive than my personal one. I choke back a laugh. There’s a switch—me having a productive anything. If my parents could see me now, they’d swear someone lied or it was a case of mistaken identity.
“Good deal. You’re in charge of the whole project. Just keep me up-to-date.” My phone pings. Going over to my desk, a message from Antoinette displays on the screen.
Antoinette Leoni: would you mind meeting for coffee at the diner? My mother drove me there instead of the club.
I’ve come to despise text messages—simple words without emotion. A heavy weight sits on my chest. Should I be afraid or delighted that Antoinette wants to see me?
Marcus Uraeleus: not a problem. I’ll meet you in about ten minutes. Get a booth.
Samson asks, “Problem, Boss?”
“No,” I say slowly as more negativity filters through my mind. “I just need to meet someone at the diner.”
“I think we’re done here anyway.” Samson heads toward the door but then stops. “Can I ask you something? It’s sort of personal.”
“As long as it’s quick.”
“You’ve been preoccupied all day. What’s going on?”
“Trying to make a go at being human again is tough,” I admit.
“What you mean is trying to make a go at a relationship is tough.” Samson glances over at me. “Females, whether human or otherwise, are complicated creatures. Think you got ‘em figured out, and they’ll fool you every time.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Want my advice? When it comes to bears, sometimes we can go all alpha on our females and they submit. But sometimes you find the one who won’t roll over for shit.”
Although I’ve never cared how any of the supernaturals in Falls Creek handle their personal issues, I find Samson’s explanation interesting. “What do you do?”
“Let her think she’s boss until she reveals her sweet spot. Then I stroke her to submission every damned time.” Samson hits the steering wheel and roars with laughter.
Thank the gods Antoinette is human. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When it comes to that woman, however, I’m not relying on any tricks—supernatural or human. Either Antoinette will accept me as I am or we move on. Somehow. Whether I win or lose, I’m ready to be completely open and honest with Antoinette.
Pushing open the door to the Depot, an all-night diner in an old Art Deco train station near downtown, I scan the space. Antoinette sits on the torn and patched, blue vinyl booth seat with her wheelchair next to the table. My boots thump against the chipped, dingy marble floors toward a booth in the back of the room. As I get closer, our eyes meet, and a smile takes possession of her lips—and my heart.
“Hi, Antonia.” The seat
squeaks beneath me as I slide into the booth.
“Hey, Marc. Thanks for meeting me.”
Before we can strike up a conversation, a middle-aged waitress with fading blonde hair comes over to the table. “What can I get for…” Her dull blue eyes bulge as her head jerks back. “Uraeleus, is that you?”
Awestruck, Antoinette glances at me.
“Hi, Agnes. I go by Marc now,” I tell the woman who is also the matriarch of a founding family.
Her hand flies to her chest while her head swings from side to side. “I swear strange things are always happening in this town. What can I get you?”
Directing my question to Antoinette, I ask, “Coffee?”
“That’s fine,” she replies. “If you have apple pie, I’d like a slice.”
“Make it two, Agnes.”
“All right, folks. I’ll be right back.”
After the woman leaves, Antoinette asks, “Care to explain that little exchange?”
Checking over my shoulder, I exhale. Being completely open and honest means filling Antoinette in on the happenings in this town. I know I shouldn’t, but something compels me to do it—as much as I can without revealing other supernaturals.
“Agnes belongs to a founding family.”
“Right.” Antoinette nods. “My friend—the one that d-died—belonged to one. Founding families keep the secrets of Falls Creek.”
I’d forgotten that little fact. Antoinette probably knows more than most humans in Falls Creek. “Agnes knows me as a supernatural.”
“And he wasn’t the most pleasant of spirits,” Agnes says as she places our coffee cups and plates on the table. “It’s a breath of fresh air to see this side of you, Marc. I heard rumors, but you know I don’t believe half of what I hear in this town. Let me know if you need anything else,” she replies and walks away.
Antoinette adds a packet of sugar to her coffee along with a portion of cream. She tastes it and then takes a bite of her pie. “Tell me about yourself…as a spirit.”
Her question is too specific to be random. For a moment my eyes hang on Antoinette, searching for the real reason behind the query. It doesn’t take a spirit to guess where it came from. “Cherina’s been talking to you?”
“Yes. She told me we were tied together permanently.” Antoinette lowers her eyes. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Please.” It’s all I want from this woman. Well…almost all, but those things can wait. Thanks to the Fates and my intervention, we could have many years together.
She says flatly, “I’m not ready for another relationship.”
My heart plummets, taking with it my appetite. All the preparedness in the world wouldn’t have readied me for her revelation. Maybe we should have met at Balls Up? A good whiskey would have eased the pain.
I’ve wandered this earth for far too many years alone. Punishment isn’t meant to be easy, and mine has been fucking hard. Every misdeed I’ve ever committed haunts me regularly. Granted, taking human form again hasn’t been effortless. But if I can convince Cherina to make this a permanent condition, I had hoped Antoinette might accompany me on the journey. Instead of welcoming and embracing an opportunity, she’s casting me aside like an unwanted garment.
Before I say something I can’t take back, I remain silent.
Sadly, Antoinette continues, “I’m not saying no to a relationship. Just not now.” She wraps her hand around the coffee mug. “Marc, tell me exactly what happened with that nurse.”
Damn. I should have known that was the problem. Victor said Antoinette needed time, but how much longer will it take for her to forget?
Some things can’t be forgotten.
Fingering the leaf pattern on the edge of the fork, I lower my gaze. “I didn’t provoke the situation, if that’s what you’re asking. Delaney was interested in me. I told her I didn’t share her feelings. On the day you saw us, I was trying my best to walk away from her.”
“So she kissed you?”
“Exactly.” I make myself lift the cup to my lips, taking the moment to choose my words. “She took me by surprise.”
“But you enjoyed it?” Pain seeps through her voice.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I utter the words that might condemn me. “It’s been centuries since I kissed a woman, so I won’t deny I enjoyed it. But with every fiber of my being, I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened, and if I could change things, I would.”
Antoinette’s attention returns to the pie. Carefully, she scrapes the tiny pieces together but never lifts the fork to her mouth. She’s playing with her food like a cat with a mouse. Watching her motions, I feel her despair. Her scattered thoughts aren’t so easy to read.
“If I can find a way to forgive you, Marc, how do we move forward?”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you I’m not ready for a boyfriend. Can you handle being my friend?”
Excellent question.
Thankfully, I’ve had plenty of time to think about the situation and the possibilities with Antoinette. “First off, I’m not looking for a girlfriend. It’s a title best used by those much younger than myself. I want a committed relationship with you.” Antoinette stares at me, patiently waiting for the answer to her question. “But if all I can have is your friendship, I’ll take it with the hopes of one day having more.”
Her forehead creases heavily as she struggles with the one likelihood I can’t accept. “What if that day never comes?”
My heart stutters. Someone ripped the ground from beneath my feet, and I’m tumbling down a bottomless pit. Spending the rest my life as only her friend would be almost as torturous as returning to the spirit world. Seeing her attempt to be happy with someone else would kill me. Most importantly, it would kill her. Antoinette would spend a lifetime trying to find joy with someone else.
Pushing down the heartrending thoughts, I force a smile upon my face. “Let’s take it one day at a time, shall we? No thoughts of what may or may not happen.”
Antoinette’s shoulders sag. “That might not be enough, Marc. You said it yourself. Back in your time, you weren’t a reputable man. You cheated and stole. You slept with whatever woman offered herself to you. What if you decide waiting for me isn’t worth it? I can’t compete with the Delaneys of the world.”
The old me would have balked at her words. My former self would have played the game—spouting sweet words designed to comfort her and help her forget what she saw. In the end, I would have been rewarded with a moment between her thighs. But I’m not that man anymore. Antoinette is the only woman I want. Somehow I need to find a way to help her see that.
“You’re not competing with anyone.” Pulling a few bills from my pocket, I toss them on the table. Despite the ache ebbing in my heart, I remember to be a gentleman to Antoinette. “Do I need to see you home?”
“No.” She bites her lower lip and looks to the window. “My mother is waiting outside in the van. If you’ll just help me into my wheelchair…”
“But, of course.” I stand to help her from the booth.
I’m not going to lie. Lifting Antoinette into my arms feels right. As if she belongs there. I hug her close to me, but I resist kissing her. Now is not the time. I don’t want our first kiss to be in some dingy diner. This woman deserves better, and I’m determined to give it to her. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to beg a favor to accomplish it.
Half an hour later, I’m staring out over the Mohawk River. It’s a peaceful night with the faint smell of hickory smoke permeating the crisp air. The type of night meant for a walk with someone you love.
“The answer isn’t on the water,” the brittle voice says from behind me.
“Thanks for meeting me here.”
The Red Witch steps nearer, her rustling skirts brush my leg. “Your situation intrigues me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. What do you need from me?”
“I’m not sure, Elsbeth. Maybe it’s true a leopard can’t change its spots.”
“
You were never a leopard, Uraeleus.”
Elsbeth’s pet spiders crawl about, gathering around my feet. I’ve never been a fan of the eight-legged creatures, but I’d rather not incur her wrath by stomping on the critters. “True, but maybe I can’t completely change.”
“Interesting. Tell me what has happened.”
“Antoinette says she’s not ready for a relationship. She believes I’ll return to my old lecherous ways.” Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I admit, “I’m afraid I’m going to lose her.”
Elsbeth cackles. “You haven’t won her yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are indeed out of practice, Uraeleus. Women still like to be wooed. They want romance and grand gestures. That hasn’t changed in two thousand years. I don’t think it will ever go away.”
Lowering my head, the sad truth is I was never good at those things. Cordelia used to joke with me, saying I was the world’s worst romantic. “I don’t know how to do those things.”
“If you want to live as a human in this world, you’ll have to learn. Take me to your home.”
“You know about that?”
Elsbeth lifts her chin. “I know everything that happens in Fools Creek.”
There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Supernaturals who have had bad experiences with humans have a tendency to use the disparaging moniker. Many of the founding family members are inclined to call the town Fallen Creek—in deference to those humans who lost their lives when the supernaturals ran rampant.
“Uraeleus, this is my home. Contrary to The Najex’s opinion, this is my town. Have you forgotten nothing happens in it without my knowledge?”
Truth. Elsbeth’s a witch with a rich history and lots of wisdom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Uraeleus
Elsbeth scrutinizes the living room like a bidder at an antique auction. Thanks to Kelsie, I’m proud of my house. Each room is tastefully decorated with leathers and wood, not a glass piece of furniture anywhere. It’s a home anyone should feel comfortable in. The strained expression on Elsbeth’s face, however, speaks otherwise.