Ever (The Ever Series Book 4)

by C. J. Valles

  “I’ll see you at lunch?” I ask tentatively.

  She stares at me, frowning at the complication the lunch period presents.

  I don’t want to share him. Not yet.

  At this very moment, Ashley Stewart is composing a text to the remainder of their coterie, advising them of Wren’s belated entry into Gideon’s classroom in my company. I smile.

  “Your friends are going to want to talk to you,” I tell her.

  She frowns as I reach to touch her cheek. Turning and beginning to walk down the hallway, I wait until the bell has sounded and the corridor is empty before shifting to the Portland house.

  “He has returned,” I tell my four compatriots.

  “Seeking the last vessel, no doubt,” Chasen growls.

  “And I will enjoy sending him back to hell to serve Victor eternally,” Audra says in a deadly tone.

  I turn to Alistair.

  “I will bring the girl. Please know that she is to me as Persephone is to you.”

  “Then she will be welcomed by all of us,” Alistair replies, glancing at Audra.

  Persephone leaves Alistair’s side and walks up to me, reaching up to take my face between her hands.

  “I always believed you would find the one,” she whispers, placing a gentle kiss upon my cheek.

  Though she is human no longer, Persephone has been—and will remain—our link to humanity and the compassion that guides the most enlightened of humankind.

  13: Tempting

  I bide my time, my moments with Wren something I refuse to take for granted. Asking her to enter a house full of immortals is not a task I am willing to rush. As I watch her pore over her mathematics textbook with a small smile on her lips, I wish for nothing more than to listen to her quiet breaths. No, that is far from the truth. I want more.

  However, I live in the human world, I am in love with a human girl, and I understand and shall abide by the laws of modern human society. A mere two centuries ago, she would have been married with child by now. In this time, though, she is very young and innocent. Still, she commands an awareness well beyond her years.

  I resume my latest reading of Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu. One translation of the French author’s manuscript—In Search of Lost Lime—I find to be the most ironic, purely from my own perspective. At this very moment, a Parisian woman is having a lively debate with an English gentleman via the Internet regarding the work’s early twentieth century English translation. Of course, Proust himself was rather prickly on the subject of the translation, the first volume of which was published the year he died at the age of fifty-one in Paris.

  Fifty-one years of age. Barely a half-century of human life—granted, Proust accomplished more in the field of literature than most humans could if they had two centuries. However, after finding Wren, I now see human existence from a fresh outlook. Love surely is as great an accomplishment as academic prowess. Across millennia, I have learned more than any single human is capable of; yet my existence would have been lacking an ingredient I had thought to be merely fanciful.

  Love, I know now, is what I was missing.

  I love watching him, Wren thinks surreptitiously peeking across the top of her book, momentarily forgetting that I am privy to her thoughts … as well as every other human’s thought in this dimension.

  “Would you stop doing that?” she splutters when she realizes my eyes are fixed upon her.

  Ancient Greek maybe? she wonders, glancing at the worn manuscript in my hands.

  “It is a difficult habit to break,” I tell her with a smile.

  “Rifling through people’s thoughts, you mean? Doesn’t it get boring, after how long … ?”

  She shakes her head.

  Still trying to wrap my head around how long Ever has existed. He doesn’t seem too keen on discussing it, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s afraid that I won’t be able to handle it. And maybe I can’t. Who knows? To me, he looks eighteen. Okay, give—not take—a couple of years. And perfect. It’s hard to describe just how perfect.

  I must tell her; the truth is unavoidable—and when she fully comprehends what I am and what I have done, I will see how perfect I seem to her then.

  “I don’t get bored with you,” I tell her, pulling myself back to the present moment even as I imagine her running from me in terror.

  “Well, yeah. We’ve only had normal conversations going on, what? A week now? We barely spoke before that.”

  She looks down, and I feel my spike of pain mirroring hers. Perhaps this is my penance—to feel her pain as my own.

  “I thought I was doing what was best, what was safest for you,” I offer quietly.

  She grants me a weak smile.

  “I know.”

  I search her face.

  “I don’t get bored with you because your mind is very … unique.”

  She shakes her head, suspicion lighting in her eyes.

  “You were going to say something else.”

  I laugh.

  “I was going to say random, but—”

  Grasping her pillow, she throws it. Catching it before it breaks the lamp, I set it on the bed, smiling again.

  “Now you see why I didn’t choose that particular wording.”

  She smirks.

  “My mind is random?”

  “Most people’s thoughts follow a basic linear pattern,” I tell her. “Most of the time yours do not. It is perhaps the reason for, or an effect of, your ability to pick up others’ thoughts as you do.”

  “What about you? You can do the same thing, even better than I can.”

  “A survival mechanism.”

  She frowns, and I sit back in the chair, hoping to delay the inevitable. To delay the truth that she likely realizes deep within the recesses of her mind, yet refuses to acknowledge in her conscious thoughts.

  “What do you mean?” she asks finally.

  I shrug, causing her frown to deepen.

  “Why do so many creatures—predators and prey—have an acute sense of smell?” I ask.

  “To hunt or to escape, I guess.”

  I nod.

  “And they live longer for it.”

  She shudders. Her mother, who is in the next room, rises and approaches. I turn to face Caroline, and Wren drops her textbook, startled by her mother’s abrupt entrance. Caroline’s eyes travel back and forth between us.

  At least they’re fully clothed, Wren’s mother thinks in relief.

  “Yeah, Mom?” Wren asks peevishly.

  “I was just checking up on you guys. Are you hungry?”

  “I think we’re all right,” Wren says tightly.

  “Oh, okay. I’m going to the store. You need anything?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  Wren sighs as her mother wonders silently whether it is wise to leave her daughter alone with me.

  “Ever, are you staying for dinner?” Caroline asks.

  “If you don’t mind,” I smile at her invitation.

  “Not at all. I’ll be back sooner than you think possible.”

  Wren, who is clearly annoyed by her mother’s protective instinct, looks over at me.

  Like she can’t leave us alone for a half hour. Then again, the thought of reaching out and touching Ever is painfully tempting. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she can’t leave us alone. Besides, I don’t want to torture my mom.

  Wren claps her hands together.

  “You know what? I’m kind of thirsty.” She turns to me, smiling widely. “Do you want to go downstairs and study in the living room?”

  She crawls from the bed, and we both follow Caroline downstairs. When I take a seat on the sofa, Caroline collects her belongings and leans forward to hug Wren, whispering her gratitude. As soon as the front door closes after her mother, Wren casts a look in my direction.

  “Was that as weird for you as it was for me?” she asks.

  “She cares very much for you.”

  “Yeah, she’s my mom. … And you are
every mother’s worst nightmare.”

  I study her, trying to determine which rationale she is basing this upon.

  “Older, tempting,” she clarifies. “And you have a motorcycle, which I’m never telling my mom. Not in a million years.”

  Tempting. I consider this. That is not a term I would have used to describe myself, even allowing for the fascination my physical appearance seems to generate. After all, no human but Wren knows enough about me to consider me tempting, and I find it pleases me that she does.

  “I’m tempting?”

  “Yes, very,” Wren says primly before turning away from me and hurrying toward the kitchen.

  I follow her, finding her self-consciousness amusing, given that she knows that her thoughts are not hidden from me. Holding a glass of water, Wren leans back against the refrigerator just before noticing my presence. With a high-pitched yelp, she releases her grip on the glass, which I retrieve from mid-air and hold out to her.

  “You can’t sneak up on me like that. I thought you were …”

  She shakes her head, taking a generous swallow of the water as she tries to slow her heart rate.

  “Better? I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  Taking the glass from her, I set it on the counter before sweeping her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. As I bend toward her, skimming my lips across neck below her jaw, she shivers and unconsciously leans toward me. Very abruptly I understand the human fascination with vampire mythology. And what am I, if not a monster? Certainly I am capable of snuffing out her vitality just as a vampire, and if I am reckless, I could—very easily—destroy her mind. The desire I feel for her is only increasing … and it is dangerous to both of us. Pulling away, I look down at her, feeling the same temptation she spoke of.

  “Your mother was right about leaving you alone with me.”

  Wren’s smile belies her unease. Reminded of the danger I pose, she returns to the living room and sits on the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest. She refuses to look at me, and as much as I have wanted to delay the inevitable, I can no longer. When she finally looks up, I am prepared.

  “Have there been many others like me?” she asks carefully.

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Enough.”

  She swallows.

  “Millions?”

  I shake my head, and she looks down at her hands again.

  I need to hear him say it, she tells herself.

  “And you killed them?” she asks quietly.

  “Many, yes, if they were about to be taken. Others, I destroyed that part of them that could hear or see beyond the capacity of the normal human mind.”

  She swallows again.

  That could have been me. I could have died that morning. Because of Ever.

  “Wren … I’m sorry.”

  Sorry is an insufficient word to describe my regret, but anything I could say would be inadequate.

  “Are you sorry you did it, or sorry that I know?” she whispers without reproach, her breathing becoming shallow.

  Looking into my eyes, she sees the pain and regret in my expression even as I conceal the memories that could kill her. She feels pity for me, a creature whose intention was to destroy her, and this causes her to wonder if her empathy makes her a bad person.

  “What would have happened if you hadn’t done it?” she asks quietly.

  “They would have been taken, and eventually they would have outnumbered us. Most of those like you ended up in asylums before we found them. Theirs was not a pleasant existence.”

  Her face turns pale as I speak.

  “Many were unable to shut out what they heard and saw, or it came to them any time they were near other people. They could close their eyes, turn away, and they continued to absorb everything going on in the minds of those around them. Sleep would become impossible, and it drove many to suicide. In modern human culture they were often diagnosed as schizophrenic. Before that, they were burned as witches or demons—”

  Imagining herself bound atop a pyre, she takes a ragged breath and holds up her hand.

  “Stop. … I can’t take any more right now.”

  I want to reach out and take her in my arms—to provide solace from what I have told her—but I know better. She has every right to demand I leave her presence and never return.

  “I should leave you.”

  After a few moments, she nods.

  “I’m truly sorry, Wren.”

  Standing, I hesitate before leaning down and kissing her cheek. I look back once. Her expression is vacant, her thoughts swimming. There is a realistic possibility that I will lose her, whether as a result of her choice, or because of her nature—which is to grow old and die, or … I shake my head. The thought of her being taken and used by Victor or Iago is too much to bear.

  I aimlessly walk the streets near their house. Hours that formerly passed by like seconds now seem interminable. Was that kiss upon her cheek my last? In this moment, I belong nowhere. I have alienated myself from my kind, and Wren, as much as I would like to call her mine, is where she belongs with her mother.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Chasen says, appearing beside me.

  His expression is contrite, a rarity with Chasen, and his apology causes me to regret my deception, however necessary it may be.

  “How could you have known? Iago appeared as any other human until the moment he revealed himself to her.”

  “Yes, but I should have known better. I know Iago’s nature as well as you know it. He is as the fox is in this world—sly and only waiting for his advantage.” Chasen frowns. “What I cannot understand is what he wanted with a human girl—not that I understand why your interest is so keen.” He pauses. “Will you come to the house?”

  With a nod, I reappear in the main room of the Portland house. Chasen stands before me, his blade drawn. I am, perhaps unfortunately, unsurprised.

  “I must know how deeply within you this human frailty runs,” he says.

  “Yes, let us see,” Audra echoes from behind me.

  I nod, smiling coldly. If they incapacitate me, they very easily could kill Wren, but that is not their intent, because to do so would fracture us irreparably—and make it that much easier for Victor to take this world. Raising my arm and sending out a burst of energy strong enough to kill a human, I watch as Chasen hurtles toward the glass wall, which, like walls of the house on the coast, is reinforced. My blade already drawn, I turn to face Audra, who raises her weapon with both hands.

  “Does this girl truly mean so much to you?” Lightning fast, she lashes out, missing my chest by millimeters. “Or is she merely an infatuation?”

  Chasen appears behind me and takes a stab toward my abdomen as I shift behind Audra. Placing my blade at her throat, I grip her arm and extend it outward, pointing her blade at Chasen while mine rests against her skin. This could go on for centuries if we allowed it.

  “If anything, I think you will find him to be that much more ruthless in the wake of what he has found in this girl,” Alistair says, appearing on the sofa.

  Dropping the blade from Audra’s throat, I nod at Alistair.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Were you both as opposed to my presence?” Persephone asks Chasen and Audra as she appears next to Alistair.

  “Yes,” Audra says without hesitation. “But, at the very least, you were no mere human.”

  Persephone smiles benevolently, and my attention shifts as Wren turns off the lights in her bedroom climbs into bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  What would I be like if I had spent an indefinite span of time stuck between interchangeably horrible options? she wonders silently. Or the better question might be: how did Ever develop any sense of conscience or remorse given his circumstances?

  Closing her eyes, she says my name, searching for me with her mind. Perhaps Chasen and Audra were correct, and I have absorbed some facet of human fragility. Regardless, all I want is to go to her. Rather than appearing in her b
edroom without warning, I shift to the ledge below her window and tap on the glass. By the time Wren jumps from the bed, I am on the street below, standing beneath the streetlamp where she can see me. Approaching the window and looking down at me, she imagines Michael Furey, James Joyce’s tragic literary figure, staring up at her from her dream.

  The scene is straight out of the dream I had. … Am I dreaming again? she thinks uncertainly.

  Leaving the window, she turns on her desk lamp and looks around her room, feeling the wooden floorboards beneath her feet and her fingernails digging into the tender skin of her palms.

  I could sneak downstairs in a button-up nightshirt that doesn’t come to my knees. Not a good idea. Or I could get dressed. Or I could just open the window, she debates.

  Shifting to a darkened corner of her room as she turns toward the window, I startle her. Before she can scream, I shift in front of her and gently press one hand to her lips as I grip her with my other hand. She struggles before looking up, her eyes bright with fear and fury. When I release her, she continues to glare up at me.

  “That is the second time today you’ve done that,” she whispers in a fierce tone.

  “Why did you call my name if you didn’t want me to come here?”

  She smirks.

  “Oh, ha, ha. It was an experiment. I didn’t think it would work!”

  “Then you didn’t want to see me?” I ask in amusement.

  Scowling again, she walks to her bed.

  “Well, I was hoping it would work.” She climbs into bed. “And, yes. I wanted to see you. So? Sue me.”

  Placing her desk chair at the edge of the bed, I sit down and watch as she pulls the covers over herself. I shake my head.

  “That is the oddest expression.”

  The evolution of human idioms, which seem to constitute the majority of human speech, is fascinating, particularly as young humans typically are ignorant of these sayings’ origins.

  “Okay.” She smiles. “If you don’t like it, you can take a hike.”

  I study her face, acutely aware of how much I crave her company.

  “I wanted to see you as well.”

  “Were you close by?” she asks, imagining me standing beneath her window all night.