Anew taoa-1

by Chelsea Fine

  Tristan was silent for a few moments, looking at the leaves before them. “Life isn’t about the past and the future. It’s about today.” He paused. “It’s about five minutes from now and two seconds ago. It’s moments, you know? Not years. Years aren’t what define us.”

  Scarlet wrinkled her brow. “But…if you know your moments are numbered, are you really living at all?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said seriously. “Even more so than those of us who think we have endless moments. Knowing death is nearby gives you a chance to live…deliberately.”

  Scarlet watched a leaf fall to the ground, lying dead among the other leaves on the forest floor. “A brief life seems pointless.”

  Tristan thought for a moment. “Isn’t that what life is, though? A brief opportunity to exist? A short gift?”

  Scarlet inhaled. “Maybe. But I’m still scared. Of death.”

  Tristan’s hand brushed across the broken leaves in front of them. “Death,” he said, looking up at the trees, “is only scary for a life without meaning.”

  Scarlet looked up at the trees as well. “But that’s just it…my life has no meaning…it’s…empty.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a sad smile tug at Tristan’s mouth. “Your life has had more meaning than a thousand lives put together.” A few more leaves fell. “You don’t remember how beautiful your life has been…but someday you will. And…I,” he cleared his throat, “Gabriel and I…won’t let you die this time…. So,” he turned to look at her, “you have nothing to be afraid of.”

  Scarlet turned her eyes to his for a few moments.

  A breeze swept past, sending a shiver through her.

  Scarlet eyed him, feeling the depth and sincerity of his words rest against her failing heart.

  She wasn’t alone in this vicious cycle of life and death.

  She wasn’t alone at all.

  In that moment, staring into the green eyes of a familiar stranger, something grew inside Scarlet.

  Something full and hopeful and brave.

  Her chest tightened and her heart pounded harder, as strength filled her soul.

  Her fear was gone—smothered by Tristan’s words, by the cadence of his voice, by the warmth of his body next to hers.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  Not easy.

  Not perfect.

  But okay.

  The last rays of light, in brilliant hues of orange and pink, began to slip into shadows as the sun fell behind the distant mountains. The cold blanket of night fell against the trees and crept along the woodland floor but Scarlet wasn’t cold anymore.

  Tristan’s body heat seeped into her skin and curled around her chest, warming her very core.

  Sensation returned to her arms, legs, fingers and toes, as the cold wind lifted and twirled her dark hair behind her. Once again, she inhaled deeply, a sense of renewal filling her lungs along with the crisp air.

  Scarlet was alive and ready to take on her world—no matter how dark and unfair that world may be.

  Because she wasn’t alone.

  And she could feel everything.

  28

  It was completely dark by the time Scarlet entered her house. Laura was watching TV in her work clothes, a pair of high heels kicked off beside the living room couch.

  “Where’ve you been?” she asked with a smile.

  Laura had no idea Scarlet’s whole life had just changed. She had no idea the girl standing before her was semi-immortal and probably going to drop dead at any second.

  “I was at Gabriel’s house,” Scarlet said, because it was true and void of all details. The last thing Scarlet wanted to do was chit-chat about curses and immortality with Laura.

  She would probably make Scarlet go to therapy. Or worse—put her into the foster system.

  The idea shot icy panic through Scarlet.

  If Laura thought Scarlet was crazy, she’d might want to renounce her custody and hand Scarlet over to the state.

  And who knows what would happen to her then?

  No, Scarlet thought. I definitely can’t tell Laura the truth.

  Not yet, anyway.

  “At Gabriel’s?” Laura smiled. “Did you meet his family?”

  Scarlet nodded slowly. “Yes. He has a brother.”

  A secret brother.

  “Really?” Laura said, her voice raising in pitch slightly.

  Scarlet kept nodding. “A twin brother.”

  Scarlet thought for a moment.

  Why had Gabriel kept Tristan a secret?

  Yet another unanswered question.

  Laura furrowed her brow. “You didn’t know about his twin? That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. Gabriel’s really secretive about his family or something.” Scarlet needed to stop talking before she spilled her guts and Laura had her committed to an insane asylum.

  Laura eyed her closely. “You look…tired. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah….” Her voice sounded far away. “I just need to get some sleep.” Scarlet blinked and made her way upstairs.

  “Good night,” Laura called after her.

  Scarlet climbed until she reached her bedroom and collapsed on her large bed, hoping her life would be less crazy and confusing in the morning.

  She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

  Tears did.

  29

  Tristan stood in the damp back alley of an abandoned warehouse waiting quietly. Nearby, the orange haze of a streetlamp flickered in the black night. It had come to his attention, as of late, that people who were crazy enough to murder someone always wanted to meet in the creepiest of places.

  Tristan tolerated this only because he was desperate.

  A rat darted past his shoes. The eerie glow from the street lamp cast a wicked shadow of the rodent against the ground as it disappeared behind a dumpster.

  Tristan really needed to find some villains with better taste in venues. The alley thing was getting old.

  Tonight, he was supposed to meet a guy named Maniac. And ‘Maniac’ was late—which was no surprise. You can’t put feelers out for a psychopath and then expect punctuality.

  Sirens echoed in the distance as Tristan began pacing along the crumbling brick wall next to him. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and tried to calm down.

  Scarlet knew now. She’d seen him, she’d heard the story. It was only a matter of time before she remembered everything.

  He couldn’t risk having her—or his feelings for her—jeopardize what needed to be done.

  Hopefully, tonight he’d be successful.

  With any luck, the curse would be broken before sunrise, and Tristan’s heart would finally find peace.

  As would Scarlet’s.

  It was preposterous, the idea of Tristan having any kind of peace without Scarlet, but it was all he had to hope for.

  He closed his eyes until he saw nothing but memories. Memories of long ago, when Tristan lived his life as if it were a precious hourglass of time.

  Before he knew he was immortal.

  Before life was no longer fragile.

  Those were the days when life truly meant something.

  When life was hard but worthwhile, and love was valuable because your days were numbered.

  That was living.

  He thought back over the years…when Scarlet was full of love and laughter…when she would lie next to him in the grass and splash around with him in the ocean…when she was full of happiness and her eyes always found his….

  The memories flooded into him, filling him with longing and warmth. How could there ever be more perfect a life than the many he had lived?

  Without warning, memories of pain, torment, and death bombarded him, washing away any warmth.

  Sitting next to Scarlet in the forest today had been a mistake. A beautiful, hopeless mistake.

  Tristan opened his eyes and stared purposefully at the ground, cursing the reality that always mocked his dreams.

  That realit
y was why he was here, in the shadows, with a rat and a dumpster.

  Scarlet had suffered too much, for too long. The ridiculous and unfair cycle of her life needed to be put to an end, and if things went well tonight—which was highly unlikely, but worth a shot—it would.

  With renewed determination, Tristan straightened his back and waited for Maniac.

  Eventually, a large silhouette approached him from the far end of the alley. Tristan casually walked in the man’s direction and, as he neared, he saw that Maniac was a large, muscular fellow with shifty eyes, a long mustache, and an evil vibe.

  Just what Tristan had in mind.

  “You Maniac?” Tristan’s voice echoed down the alleyway.

  Yet another reason to hate back alleys. How was anyone supposed to be stealthy when voices carried half a mile?

  “Yeah. You Brooker?”

  No, but Maniac didn’t need to know that.

  “Yes.”

  “You got the money?” Maniac spit on the ground before glancing around the alley.

  Was he nervous?

  What Tristan needed here was a gung-ho criminal, ready to do just about anything. Not a mustached wanna-be who was kind of on the fence.

  Maniac couldn’t let him down.

  Tristan tossed an envelope filled with large bills at the man and waited while Maniac counted. Tristan was disgusted by what people were willing to do for money.

  Tonight, however, he was grateful for such depravity.

  Satisfied with the amount, Maniac looked at Tristan. “So, gimme the details. Who do you need me to hit?”

  Tristan took a deep breath. This was the hard part. “First, I need to know if you are capable of committing murder.”

  Maniac seemed to take offense to this. “’Course I am. I’ll knock off anyone for the right price. “

  Tristan nodded. “More importantly, though, is the follow-through. I have to know that you’ll complete the job. It’s not an easy mark.”

  Maniac scoffed. “I’ll finish him. What kinda hit man starts a kill job and quits halfway?”

  You’d be surprised.

  “Good enough,” Tristan said. “I brought your weapon.” Tristan reached behind his back to unsheathe the freshly-sharpened dagger he’d brought from home.

  His last dagger hadn’t worked. Hopefully, this one would.

  “Weapon?” Maniac raised his brow. “Why not just a gun? Guns are faster.”

  “Nope. Guns won’t work.” Tristan held the blade out to Maniac and waited.

  Maniac eyed the dagger a moment before saying, “That’s a wicked knife, there. But I’m much better with guns.”

  Tristan clenched his jaw in frustration. “I’m sure you are. But I’m not paying you to shoot bullets. I need you to use this.” Tristan wiggled the long blade so it reflected the streetlight.

  Maniac hesitated before reaching for the dagger.

  Tristan inwardly sighed. If Maniac couldn’t tap into his ‘maniac’ side, this was going to be a long night.

  Maniac handled the blade a few moments before saying, “Fine. This’ll work. Who’s the mark?”

  Tristan yanked his shirt over his head, and felt the night air rush against his bare chest. He stood up straight, rolled his neck, and answered, “Me.”

  Maniac eyed him wildly. “You want me to kill you?”

  Tristan nodded. “Yes. Take that dagger, thrust it directly into my heart, and slice. Don’t just stab me, you have to cut my heart in half, understand?”

  Even with the right weapon, and immortal couldn’t die unless his heart was cut in half.

  Maniac snarled and looked Tristan over. “What the hell kinda sick game is this?”

  Tristan shook his head. “It’s not a game. I won’t fight you, I won’t hurt you, and I won’t scream. But I need to die. So, whatever you do, don’t stop until I’m dead. Do you understand?”

  Maniac seemed to deliberate so Tristan spoke more aggressively. “Either do what I ask or get the hell out of here.”

  Scurrying rodent feet echoed down the alley.

  In an instant, Maniac’s eyes lit up with what Tristan could only define as ‘hunger’.

  At last, the ‘maniac’ had surfaced.

  When Maniac answered, his voice was laced with venom and malice. “If you want death, I’m more than happy to give it to you.”

  For the first time in many years, Tristan was hopeful. Maybe this guy was just crazy enough to see the kill through.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Tristan said, as he took a step forward. Another rat ran across the alleyway, making high-pitched rodent noises. The smell of garbage and damp earth wafted through the alleyway on the night wind and the streetlight was flickering at pace that seemed calculated.

  On, off. On, off. On, off.

  This was how Tristan was going to die.

  Rats and garbage and orange strobe lamps.

  It seemed appropriate.

  Maniac swung the dagger around a few times, adjusting to the weight and grip of the handle. He had an evil smile curling at the side of his mouth and excitement in his eyes.

  His voice was low and gritty. “You ready to die, Brooker?”

  Truthfully, Tristan wasn’t ready to die.

  There were too many things left undone, too many words left unsaid. But he couldn’t allow Scarlet to suffer again.

  He wasn’t ready to die.

  But he was willing.

  “Do it,” Tristan said, looking into the eyes of his murderer. He stood still and anxiously watched as Maniac gripped the dagger, pulled his thick arm back, and—with one swift and powerful movement—thrust the blade directly into Tristan’s heart.

  30

  The next day Scarlet didn’t leave her room once. She stayed in bed staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how she was going to adjust to life now that she was a semi-immortal girl with a dying heart.

  Laura was concerned, bringing her food every few hours and trying to get her to leave her room. But Scarlet was too overwhelmed to comply.

  There were so many questions trapped in her head.

  How long did she have until her heart failed to the point of her death?

  Would the brothers find her in her next life?

  Would she be trapped in her life-and-death cycle forever?

  Would the curse ever be broken?

  Could the curse ever be broken?

  Why had Gabriel kept Tristan a secret?

  Why couldn’t she remember anything other than the snippets of memory she’d had at the cabin?

  If she and Gabriel had been engaged, did that mean she was in love with Gabriel?

  And if she was in love with Gabriel, then why was she so attracted to Tristan?

  Questions collided in her mind until she had a terrible headache and no way to relax.

  Her phone kept ringing and beeping, but Scarlet ignored all the calls and texts.

  She wasn’t afraid of her life, but she wasn’t prepared for it either.

  She just needed a little more time….

  Scarlet rolled over and hid her pounding head beneath her pillow.

  It was going to be a long day.

  31

  Tristan’s room had a king size bed in the center, an antique wardrobe chest in the corner and an oversized, marble bathroom off to the side. Although it was located in the basement, his room was well lit and not quite as dungeon-looking as it felt.

  And it often felt like a dungeon.

  A place underground.

  A place without hope.

  A place full of nightmares.

  Nightmares like the night before.

  Tristan stared at his bare chest in his bathroom mirror and sighed. His multiple wounds were healing at their normal, rapid pace.

  Damn it.

  Maniac had been persistent, slashing away at Tristan’s body for three hours. Which was exactly what Tristan had wanted him to do, but it didn’t exactly make for a good night’s sleep.

  And it had hurt like hell. />
  To Maniac’s credit, even when Tristan’s body was flayed open and gushing blood, the hit man hadn’t throw up. That was more than Tristan could say for the last two assassins he’d hired.

  But Maniac eventually freaked out, threw the dagger on the ground, and accused Tristan of being a vampire. Which wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for such a thing.

  Maniac had, literally, run away in fear.

  Tristan laid in the alley all night, watching in agony as his body slowly mended itself.

  When morning came his organs and muscles were put back together, but he was in too much pain to attempt moving. So, throughout the day, he’d laid among the hidden rats until he was strong enough to find his way back to his car.

  It had been a long drive home—as always.

  Tristan was sore, tired, and depressed. He glanced at his bed in the mirror’s reflection and sighed. Sleep wouldn’t come, even if he tried. When Scarlet was alive, sleep was always fleeting and fitful.

  But nowadays, it was nearly impossible.

  He showered the remaining blood, sweat, and dirt from his body and toweled off. Soon the scars from last night would fade away completely, leaving his torso nearly flawless.

  What he wouldn’t give to be decaying beside that dumpster right now.

  He pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, grabbed the bloodied dagger from his dresser, and headed upstairs.

  He had a lot of work to do.

  He needed to find a new assassin and a new weapon.

  It was going to be a long day.

  32

  Sunday morning Scarlet awoke to Heather’s high-pitched voice.

  Again.

  “Scarlet Marie Jacobs!”

  Scarlet didn’t have a middle name—at least not one she remembered—but Heather gave her one anyway. Probably so she could yell at Scarlet at times such as this.

  “What?” Scarlet grumbled from beneath a fluffy pillow. The sunlight in her room was too bright and cheery. Scarlet wanted to disappear back into the darkness of sleep.