“And you were a loving mother.”
“I should have done more. Like you did.”
He dropped a kiss on an uninjured area of her forehead, then pressed his face to hers. “Well, now you’ve found your family again. I’m sure you’ll want to be with them, learn more about the family you missed out on having.”
“Yes, but—”
“All that catching up doesn’t leave a lot of time for other things.”
“But—”
He pulled back to appreciate her beautiful face, possibly for the last time. “I understand if there’s not a lot of room in your life for anyone else right now.”
“Odie—”
“You have a new life to live.”
She stomped a booted foot. “Odie, stop talking. We are both very old people now. We’ve lived for hundreds of years enslaved to evil. You’re right, I’ve found my family and I do want to spend time with them. But ...”
Irrational hope welled up as his heart flipped over.
She sniffed again. “It’s taken hundreds of years to find someone like you. I don’t intend to walk away now. Unless you want me to leave so you can have your own human life?”
It took several seconds for her words to sink in. The roaring of the mountain coming down nearby receded into a low resonance behind him.
“There’s nothing I want more in this world than you in my life. Every day. I love you more than my own life,” he said.
Damn it, if his chest didn’t threaten to explode. That’s right, he was susceptible to cardiac arrest as a human now.
She flung her arms around him, and he returned the embrace with interest.
“I love you, Odilon Pierre-Noir.”
“I’m no longer that man. I’m Odilon Martin Turcot. My given name, not that killer’s name. Ruth, you are more precious to me than the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, and it would do me the greatest honor if you’d agree to be my partner for as long as the rest of our lives are meant to last.”
“Oh, yes. I want to be with you, Odie.”
She paused, her dusty face lit by the glowing mountaintop.
“But?” he asked.
“I like how you have been a secret sponsor for your family. Maybe I can become a covert fairy godmother. I’d love to find out more about my extended family, possibly visit some of them. Maybe I can still bring some happiness to the world. What if there are others in the family with similar gifts who could use guidance?”
“I think that’s a wonderful use of your mortal life.”
“Would you be my genealogy guru?”
“At your service, chère. Now and always.” He captured her lips in a searing kiss that heated the cold night. A kiss that demanded to be repeated for the rest of their lives.
Chapter 25
The scent of turkey and all the trimmings wafted into the living room of Allie and Peter’s home in eastern Oregon. Bouncing baby Emma in her arms, Ruth inhaled the smells of good food and sweet baby. Behind her, the low voices of Peter, Dante, and Odie blended with Allie and Hannah’s higher tones.
Ruth could remain here forever, surrounded by newfound family and loved ones.
Minus Barnaby. A bubble of sadness lodged in her throat, but she pushed it down. No, she would relish her mentor and friend’s memory. He had completed a long, rich life and lived it to a natural if not abrupt conclusion.
And she would live her life like Barnaby, enjoying every human moment.
With Odie at her side.
Emma’s silky, fine hair reminded Ruth of her own babies. The aroma of a home-cooked meal hearkened to family gatherings in Maryland before the Civil War.
It was as though she’d lived the past 150 years in black and white, and now sudden color flooded her entire existence.
Relief meant relaxing with a baby in her arms. Relief meant no more looking over her shoulder and no compulsion to kill.
She was free. Odie was free.
And her family was now safe from Jerahmeel’s spindly, fiery fingers of death.
“Ruth?” Allie had quietly entered the living room.
Ruth turned away from the living room window and offered Emma back to her mother.
“She likes you.” Allie slid her arms under her daughter and cradled Emma. “You’re the best great-times-six grandmother.”
“The only one in existence.”
“You might be right.” She rubbed her cheek against Emma’s soft forehead. “Any thoughts on what you’ll do with your whole life ahead of you? Maybe I could see if there’s a nursing position open at the hospital here?”
“Thank you, but no.” Ruth studied the pine trees and mountains outside the window. “Being a nurse? That portion of my life is over, and I’m satisfied.”
“So what will you do?”
“She will make this old man happy for years to come, that’s what she’ll do.” Odie slid his arms around Ruth, making her shiver. Every time he caressed her, the sensations were so real, so vivid, it felt like the first time they touched.
Ruth leaned back into his chest and smiled over at Allie. “You know what I’d like to do? Odie’s family tree program has revealed some interesting branches. I’d like to meet a few of my descendants.”
“Sounds like fun,” Allie said.
Odie tightened his arms around Ruth. “Anyone going with you on this wild goose chase?”
“Me and one other goose.”
She sighed and relaxed, surrounded by the man she loved and the family that grounded her and added meaning to her life. Just knowing these people satisfied the gnawing emptiness that had consumed her entire soul. She didn’t realize she’d been starved for human connection and warmth until now. Now, the hunger had abated and was replaced by love.
“Hey, old fogies, dinner’s on.”
The boom of Dante’s voice startled Emma from her slumber and she fussed.
Dante raised one arm in defense as Allie stalked toward him, brandishing the crying baby. Hannah nudged him out of the way with her hip. Peter guided his wife and daughter into the dining room.
“Was it worth it?” Odie’s tenor voice next to her ear sent frissons of desire straight through her body.
“What?”
“Giving up everything.” He kissed her temple.
“I gave up nothing. We had hell to pay. The tab is settled. I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet. No killing, no pain, no evil.”
He nipped at her neck, drawing goose bumps. “Not even a little evil?”
“Maybe a tiny bit of evil.”
“Come on, you two love birds, I’m hungry!” Dante shouted.
Emma wailed as Allie shushed her.
Peter muttered a curse.
Hannah giggled.
Home. Ruth had found her way home.
The real Ruth had found love and discovered her true self.
About the Author
Jillian David lives near the end of the Earth with her nut of a husband and two bossy cats. To escape the sometimes-stressful world of the rural physician, she writes while on call and in her free time. She enjoys taking realistic settings and adding a twist of “what if.” Running or hiking on local trails often promotes plot development.
She would love for readers to connect on Twitter @jilliandavid13 or on her blog at http://jilliandavid.net. Readers are always welcome to e-mail her at [email protected]. If you enjoyed this novel, please consider posting a review at the site where you purchased the book or on Goodreads.
More from This Author
(From Relentless Flame by Jillian David)
Dante entered his seventh bookstore to case since he’d arrived in Portland, Oregon. Smoothing his Armani slacks, he folded himself into the worn reading chair at Cover to Cover Books and fingered the worn chintz fabric. He relaxed, taking in the clusters of scarred wooden chairs around oddly paired tables, several upright upholstered chairs like the one he occupied, and three threadbare loveseats. The smell of old books and wood polish lulled him in
to a state of nostalgia for quaint shops from his homeland, Sweden. The images almost distracted him from the mission. Almost.
Of course, he could have telephoned each store, but a strange man asking for Jessica Miller might have driven her to ground. That might not even be her name anymore. With what little he knew about her past, he wouldn’t blame her if she tried to disappear.
So he’d been patient and systematic as he performed this different kind of stalk, but a stalk well within his forte. He’d honed his tracking skills over centuries of hunting devious criminals; finding a woman trying to hide in plain sight would take only a fraction of his talent. And time? Who cared how long it took to find her? He had all the time in the world. He was an Indebted—cursed and long-lived. Weeks, months, or years meant nothing to him.
In response to curious glances from customers, he rotated his wrists in his lap to hide the shiny gold cufflinks. He needed to blend into the population, quite a task for such an impossibly sexy man like him, standing at over six and a half feet tall. He didn’t even have to be dressed to impress, come to think of it. Thankfully, modesty was one of his many exceptional traits.
Exceptional traits like killing? Kristus. He forced himself to relax his hand, lest he splinter the arm of the chair like he’d splintered the limbs and heads of criminals for centuries.
Thankfully, the citizens didn’t realize a murderer lounged among them in this genteel business establishment. An Indebted killer. Quite the title to go on a business card. Despite his expertise with his weapon of choice, that godforsaken foot-long knife, truth be told, he’d prefer to have a luscious flicka’s legs wrapped around him any day of the week. Thankfully, he was proficient at both activities.
Clenching his hands into fists, Dante fought the urge to stretch his fingers toward the handle. For 300 years, whenever he killed a vile criminal, he supplied the energy needed to feed his boss, Jerahmeel’s, soul. He’d have to find a criminal soon and satisfy the blade’s hunger, or innocent citizens would begin to attract the weapon’s attention.
A few sideways looks from customers of the female persuasion reminded him that he was, as usual, looking spectacular today. He flexed his shoulders, pleased when several sets of eyelashes batted. Not that he doubted his charm. A particularly luscious blonde and long-legged flicka had casually dropped her card off at his table at a restaurant yesterday. He licked his lips, anticipating a rendezvous this evening. Par for the fantastic course of his unnaturally long life.
Recently, though, his powers of attraction did not satisfy like before. What was missing? He patted his shirt pocket, reassured to feel a heavy bond paper still stored there.
Too bad the thought of a tryst didn’t hold his interest right now. Since when was he indifferent to sex? Since never. Maybe he had fallen ill?
Flipping through the Bedier translation of Tristan and Iseult, one of his favorites, Dante glanced around the store. Despite the modest street entrance, the comfortable bookstore sprawled into a labyrinth of stacks, which enticed him to wander and explore. They even used library ladders here, which added to the shop’s charm and reminded him of bookstores long gone. But that wasn’t why he sat here, near the hissing espresso machine as an aproned worker brewed another cup. It was all about his objective.
Jessica.
And then what?
He’d decide later. Improvisation was one of his strong suits. Well, improvisation, a massive physique, and sexual magnetism, of course.
When a customer entered, the breeze wafted a scent of early fall trees mixed with the coffee and musty books, lulling him into a rare state of calm. He would sit here for hours if necessary.
A diminutive woman appeared at the register and murmured in a low voice to a customer. How had he not seen this worker before? It was as if she’d materialized out of the bookshelves, with a dull, gray sweater that hung off her frame and allowed her to blend into the walls. She kept her movements understated, wary, like a mouse trying to remain undetected. It was this deliberate effort to disappear that caught his attention.
Dante sat up straight when she spoke. Something about her rich intonation that flowed like silk across his face, the smooth sound at odds with her bland appearance, sent a frisson of excitement into his chest. He glanced at her over the top of his book.
Her strawberry blonde hair brushed her shoulders, and freckles dotted a cute button nose. She ducked her head shyly at the customer and bit her lip. When she made eye contact to run the credit card, those soft lips tensed. But then she smiled at a comment from the customer, and her entire face lit up, transforming an average countenance into a radiant one. A jolt of longing froze Dante in place. Where had that emotion come from?
Soulful chestnut eyes behind black frame glasses flitted toward the door. That warm gaze slid over him like she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
Vad i helvete? What the hell? Since when did a woman not stare at him or resist his beauty? It must be because her glasses weren’t calibrated properly. No other explanation made sense.
When the door opened, she startled like a frightened deer and pulled the gray cardigan around her. He tensed, ready to dart over to her. How odd. In his hundreds of years on this Earth, he’d never experienced that strong of an urge to safeguard someone, especially not a woman he hadn’t even properly met.
What would she look like beneath that shapeless sweater? The alabaster skin of her neck was cruelly hidden from his view by the sweater’s modest neckline. Were her curves lush or subtle? Would her breasts fit easily in his hands or did she hide more bounty? Damn it, he couldn’t tell, and that limitation only made him grit his teeth in frustration.
Another customer, a middle-aged man, wandered between Dante and the cashier. No longer able to hide behind the book, Dante craned his neck to continue studying the woman.
Her delicate hands as she worked the register made him wonder how those hands would feel on him. Would they drift like silk against his hard lines and angles? Desire tightened his groin, and he shifted to relieve the unexpected pressure.
How could he be this interested in a woman without her reciprocation? Yet here he sat, responding like a randy schoolboy. Was this the woman he searched for? Or was he just on another of his kvinna hunts, led by his overactive libido?
If this twenty-something woman was Jessica, she stood in stark contrast to her stepfather. Raymond Jackson had been large boned and full of burly cruelty. Sharp rage speared Dante. Ja, if this were Jessica, she wouldn’t have stood a chance against that monster.
When she slipped out from behind the counter, Dante nearly missed the movement. He couldn’t resist following her thin frame, clad in a flowing pale pink skirt, as she floated down the aisles.
She sidled around customers, adroitly melting into the bookshelves to avoid contact. When she took several swift steps, her hips swayed unevenly and one foot scuffed against the hardwood floor.
As she stopped and cocked her head to the side, he dove into the next aisle and grabbed a book at random. Opening it, he flipped through the pages, pretending to study the content.
From a row over, her smooth voice rolled over him as she directed a customer. The soft rustle of her skirt brought back unbidden memories of homespun cloth and whispers of parishioners in his village’s Lutheran church. So strong was the memory that he smelled tallow candles and wood polish. He blinked.
As he heard her walk away, he inhaled the faint scent of coffee, flowers, and book pages.
When he stepped out of his aisle to follow her, she ran into his leg, squeaked, and stumbled. Dante wrapped his hand around her slim upper arm to keep her from falling. Her head didn’t even come to his shoulders, and he fought an overwhelming need to fold her into his arms.
When she tilted her head up, the color drained even more from her pale face, enhancing the delicate freckles over her nose. He devoured the view of her alabaster skin from her cheeks, over her jaw, and down her neck—until that damned sweater impeded his ability to explore further.
>
She tugged against him again, and when he let go, she darted away like a frightened rabbit, her hands fluttering as though she couldn’t decide where to place them.
“Can ... can I help you?” Her soft voice, laced with a hint of a quaver, couldn’t have shocked him more if she had yelled.
As her warm espresso gaze darted to him and away, her cheeks reddened beneath the freckles. There, that response was more like it. Now that he stood close enough for her to see him properly, she was clearly overwhelmed by his handsomeness, like every other woman.
“Just browsing the stacks,” he said.
He gave his suave words just enough innuendo and mentally patted himself on the back when the red flush crept down her creamy neck. Fullstandig. Perfect.
For someone more than 300 years of age, he still had the goods to impress the ladies.
“Did you find something interesting?” Her voice cracked as she indicated the book he held. She must be overcome with nerves, so great was her attraction to him.
“Oh, yes, I did find something interesting. And some books, too.”
Most women batted eyelashes and swooned at this point. In control, in his element, he created a seduction—a work of art. Truly, he was a maestro. She only had to absorb his charm, and then the pump would be primed.
“Hmm, well. You’ve picked out an interesting topic.” The corner of her pink, moist mouth rose, and those impish brown eyes widened. Her tongue darted out to wet those soft lips.
She most likely imagined his masterful kisses and caresses. Her attraction to him was obvious. He had her. Dante straightened to full impressive stature and stood poised to reel her in.
Until he noticed the book in his hands: The Woman’s Guide to Successful Breastfeeding.
Air whooshed out of him like a rapidly deflating balloon.
He would salvage this one. He was Dante. Women never said no to him.
“I, um, like to be well read.”
She quirked one fine eyebrow above her glasses rim and wrinkled her nose.
What? Was she poking fun at him? At him? How did his never-fail charm become a train wreck in the space of two breaths? Inconceivable.
Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay) Page 21