A Love Neverending

by Rowan Larke

  After a few uncomfortable moments, Mihai hurried out of the room. Once he was gone, Clarissa collapsed into the chair. She twirled the chair to face the desk. Her disheveled hair fell around her shoulders, framing her anguished face. It made the hollows below her eyes look darker. For the first time, he noticed a tracery of lines webbing out from the corner of her eyes. The bottle of rye sat by her elbow; a gun he hadn't noticed sat a few inches away. Jason's entire body went cold. “Tamiel,” he whispered. “We have to stop her.”

  Tamiel shook his head. “Not our job, Jason.” His voice sounded strained, and when Jason took a quick look at him, he could see Tamiel's mouth was set in a grim line. Tears pricked Jason's eyes. Tamiel seemed to notice that too. The look he gave him was full of caution, edged with something else. Compassion?

  Jason got the message in a sudden, blinding blast of understanding. If she went through with it, he could cry. Otherwise, he just had to wait. Holding his breath. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. It was the same way he'd spent every night since his death—holding his breath, hoping Clarissa wouldn't die.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  Clarissa took a long pull on the bottle of rye. There were maybe two swigs left. She looked at the bright white pills, scattered across the pens and Post-it notes inside the drawer. There were enough of them to do the job.

  Her eyes filled with tears, transforming the drawer into a blurred rendering of light and dark. When the tears spilled down her cheeks and onto the desktop, she could see again. And nothing had changed.

  Jason was still dead.

  She had seen him. Touched him. Sheathed him inside her.

  It hurt so much, losing him again, but it hurt less than it had yesterday. That shouldn't be, should it? Not if she'd seen him just a few hours ago. It should hurt more. A wound, nearly healed, reopened. It should hurt like a son of a bitch.

  It did, but not as much as it should. She felt as though she was braced by those other connections that had developed. Maybe that was just the power of Mihai's suggestion, but she felt strong.

  She closed her eyes and picked up the gun. Turning it over in her hands, she was surprised at the weight of it. With a deep breath, she cradled it in one hand and stood. She crossed the room to the safe and placed the gun inside. Once the door was shut, she stood with her palm against the cool metal for a moment before she walked away.

  By the time she reached her desk, she was swallowing back sobs. She reached for the pills, but her fingers trembled so badly, she scattered the pens and sent the pills skittering to the bottom of the drawer. With a sob, she pulled the drawer entirely out of the desk. She had to do this. Now, before she lost her nerve.

  Biting her lip, she turned the drawer over above the small waste can beside the desk. Dropping the emptied drawer onto the desktop, she turned her attention to the bag lining the

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  waste can. She was shaking so hard that her fingers fumbled with the plastic handles, but she tied them, sealing the pens, papers, and pills away from herself.

  When she was done, she staggered toward the bed and collapsed on it. Heat flushed her face, and her palms were slick with sweat. She sagged into the mattress. The blankets fitted around her, cradling her, and she stiffened. Jason should be there, holding her. Closing her eyes, she made herself acknowledge the truth. Jason wasn't going to hold her again. Sobs overwhelmed her then. The worst part wasn't that he was gone, after all. The worst part was that she was going to be okay. Her life would go on and on, and she would love again. She would be happy, and he would still be dead.

  And that was the way it was supposed to be.

  She slammed abruptly against that truth. Once she accepted it, the tears stopped. She wiped her eyes, opened them, and faced reality. This was the way it was supposed to be. It didn't ease the feeling that she was betraying him. It didn't stop her from wishing he had never died. It didn't change any of that—but it made her feel less guilty about being alive. Her eyes closed, exhaustion overtook her, and she slept.

  * * * *

  “She didn't do it.” The words escaped on a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Tamiel nodded, smiling broadly. He looked happier about it than Jason would have expected actually, and somewhat relieved.

  “What's going on?” Jason asked as Mihai appeared beside Tamiel. With a certainty he didn't question, he knew that Mihai was there, with him, and as invisible to Clarissa as he and Tamiel had been. Jason looked from Mihai to Tamiel and back again. They both wore happy, triumphant expressions that gave Jason a sinking feeling.

  “You did everything right this time,” Tamiel said softly.

  “Okay. And?” Seriously, someone needed to make sense of all this for him. Tamiel looked suddenly concerned. “You might not like all this.”

  Jason arched an eyebrow. “Gee, because it's all been so peachy keen up to now?”

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  Tamiel laughed, a quick flash of teeth and a short, barking sound, but he seemed lighter than he had since Jason first saw him. Less bogged down by life and death, as it were. Jason grinned. The same could be said about him, he supposed.

  “Enlighten us, Tamiel.” Mihai sounded disgruntled, and Jason turned to face him.

  “You don't know either?”

  Mihai shook his head. “I was asked to go see Clarissa. Find out if she would take my offer to be the new man in her life.” He actually looked a little chagrined, and Jason shrugged. It was as close as he could get to saying that it was all right, because it hadn't entirely been all right. It was, however, done and over with. Right?

  Mihai continued. “It was a test.”

  Jason's knees threatened to give out. “What was a test?” The sinking feeling overtook every other emotion.

  Tamiel answered this time, taking responsibility for it. “Just about everything.” He didn't look apologetic anymore either, and Jason understood Tamiel wasn't apologizing. “What you and Clarissa had…it was special.” Jason's heart ached with the sound of it in past tense. “If you looked at the thread binding you, you'd have seen it. A thin gold thread wound with the red. Making it shine.”

  Jason nodded. He'd noticed the thread between them seemed…sparkly. He'd assumed it was the lighting.

  “True love. Enduring love. This was probably not the first life where you and Clarissa found each other. Probably not the first one that ended tragically either. Because of that, and adding in the fact that I fucked up the reap…”

  “It was all a test.” Mihai finished the sentence, dragging them back on topic, perhaps.

  “You and Clarissa had a series of choices to make. Love over everything. When you severed the connection to Clarissa for her sake. Love over rebirth. And truly choosing it.” Tamiel gestured behind Jason. “You took on the wings when you chose to become an angel. They became truly yours when you accepted that she might move on with Mihai.”

  Mihai looked like this was a bit of news to him, and Jason felt him examining his back. His wings. Jason resisted the urge to look for himself, focusing on Tamiel's words instead. “But

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  Clarissa had choices to make too. If she'd killed herself, you wouldn't have found each other in the next life. Because you'd chosen to join the Host. Your romance would have ended there.”

  “But she didn't kill herself.” Jason was starting to understand.

  “No, she didn't.” Mihai grinned. “And she didn't jump at the chance at romance with someone else either. She realized the offer was being made. But she also understood she wasn't ready.”

  “She did, however, acknowledge the possibility in the future, showing she understood even then that life for her was going to go on.”

  Silence while they all digested what Tamiel had just said, broken by Jason's last question.

  “What was the point? Just to test us?”

  Tamiel smiled,
and it was radiant. An aura of light surrounded him. “To get another chance.”

  Jason's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't mean…not what Jason was thinking. Jason cast a quick glance at Clarissa, asleep in her bed just beyond where they stood. He met Tamiel's eyes. “Don't dick with me like that.” He was begging.

  “I'm not. You two have fought through insurmountable odds to be together. It won't be easy—you will still be apprenticing with me, and she will still be human—but…” His voice trailed off, and he lifted one hand, palm upward, and gestured toward her. Jason felt light-headed. “Seriously?”

  Tamiel laughed again. Mihai's smile was full too, and Jason let hope build within him.

  “Will other people be able to see me?”

  Mihai nodded. “You'll learn to go invisible to them, but you can interact with them when you want to.”

  “Won't it be hard to explain how I've come back from the dead?”

  Mihai laughed this time. “You'll look different to anyone who knew you before. Anyone but Clarissa, that is. She'll know you. Anyone else, though, will see someone new.”

  Jason considered that. Thought about the connections he should have had when he died…only he'd severed them all, he realized. All but the one to Clarissa.

  “We can really be together?”

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  Both men nodded.

  Relief and overwhelming joy nearly knocked Jason off his feet. “We can be together.”

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  Chapter Twenty

  Light pressed against her closed eyes, demanding she open them. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she tried to obey, but it was too bright. She turned her head away and pried one eye slowly open, but even that was painful.

  What the hell?

  Voices muttered to each other.

  Who the hell was in her room? She didn't get to ask. “Don't try to look yet.” That sounded like Mihai. To someone else, she heard him say “Can we dim the light?”

  “He's going to have to learn to do that on his own at some point.” Another voice. Soft, but growly.

  “Not now, though, Tamiel.” Mihai's voice, sharp with anger. “And tuck the wings out of the way too.”

  Well that cinched it. She was dreaming.

  The light dimmed, and she turned to peer over her shoulder. Three men stood there, but as she watched, two of them clapped a hand against the third's back before disappearing. The light dimmed a little more. Her eyes adjusted, and her heart pounded erratically. “Jason.”

  It couldn't be. Mihai had told her he'd moved on. Tears filled her eyes, and she wondered if she'd ever stop crying. If this were a dream, it was a shitty one. Couldn't she just enjoy having him around?

  Apparently not.

  She stared at his hair, which curled slightly at his ears and the nape of his neck. She took in the familiar planes of his face, the dimple in his cheek. She closed her eyes, as if that might shield her against the rush of emotions, as if she might contain them if she stopped staring at his beloved face.

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  “Clarissa,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said. “You are not here. And I'm not going to let myself pretend you are.”

  He laughed. Her heart shattered at the sound, and she screwed her face up to close her eyes even tighter. Not that it mattered. In her mind, she could see how he looked whenever he laughed, and he was beautiful.

  “I'm here, love.” The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he sat behind her. His hand, gentle and warm, cupped her shoulder. “I'm here,” he repeated, and although she knew better, although she understood what she was feeling was nothing more than desperate hope, she turned to face him.

  And she drank him in.

  For all that he looked exactly the same as he once had, he looked completely different too. Lighter. Softer. More at peace. Of course, this was just a dream. So maybe she was projecting? It was she who felt more at peace with his death, so he looked different?

  Great. Now she was analyzing her dreams in her dreams. “Why are you here?” Go straight to the source, as it were. If Jason were some manifestation of her innermost thoughts, he could tell her what they were. Save her a step.

  “To be with you.”

  Not the most helpful answer. He moved to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she followed the progress of his fingers with bated breath, her eyes drifting closed at the moment they made contact. The warmth of his flesh against hers lingered, heating her face even after he'd withdrawn. “Damn it, Jason. Why are you here?” She felt her resolve crumbling. Felt herself falling in love with him all over again.

  Her chest ached with loss and pain and grief. They balled up together to make something huge and overwhelming, and she pressed her fists between her breasts to stem the tide. Between her fists, a thin crimson rope pressed between her hands. Startled, she looked to Jason for explanation, but his face remained impassive. Except for his eyes, so full of love, they shimmered. She looked down. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't ask Jason even one of the hundred questions flooding her mind and sticking in her throat.

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  “Everything's changed,” he whispered. “Everything. You're different. I've grown.” He laughed then, and the sound of it had Clarissa sitting upright in the bed. He'd never laughed like that in life. So carefree and happy and unrestrained.

  “I'm not dreaming, am I?” The words were an offering, and she waited for them to be rejected.

  Jason grinned. “You're not dreaming.”

  “You'll explain it all to me, right?” He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. “Later.” Right now, she needed him. She needed him to kiss her. She needed to touch him and be certain he was real. She needed him to touch her. She…needed. Leaning forward, still afraid that this dream bubble would burst, she touched her lips to his. And he tasted like mint, as if he'd just brushed his teeth, and that little detail shattered her fears. There's no way she'd have imagined that. No way she, even in her dreams, would put in that stupid little detail. Tears slipped free as she kissed him, and for once peppermint was sweeter than chocolate.

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  Chapter Twenty-one

  Between kisses, Jason managed to explain to her what had happened. She needed him close, touching her, and he understood that, but he wasn't ready to get naked with her until she understood what had happened. What he was.

  “An angel,” she repeated.

  He nodded, still coming to terms with it himself. “Wings and everything,” he whispered.

  “I don't care,” she whispered. “You're here.”

  And then her hands were unfastening the button of his jeans— jeans? —and she wrapped her narrow fingers around him, and he wasn't able to stop her anymore.

  “Clarissa,” he groaned, and she grinned at him.

  He kissed her, tasting the rye she'd had, a sweet-hot flavor that danced across his tongue. He couldn't get enough, stabbing into her mouth with his tongue and listening to her answering moans. Feeling them, the thrum of her voice across his flesh. They were naked in seconds. He had no idea how or where their clothes went. One moment they were tangled in them, the next they were wrapped in each other. “Hell, Clarissa,”

  he whispered into her mouth.

  He wanted to take his time. He wanted to taste her and touch her and prove to her that he was real, but he was so close already, he wasn't going to last. After. He could ease the throbbing need between his legs and then take his time with her, make her come over and over. Slipping his fingers inside her, discovering her wet already, when he felt the muscles of her cunt squeeze against his hand, he moaned. Loudly. “I need…”

  Clarissa shuddered. “I need,” she repeated, and he thought he might collapse with sudden gratitude.

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  He slid both hands under her ass and lifted h
er onto his thighs. She didn't weigh much, but she was warm against his skin, and he let himself enjoy it for the time it took to inhale. No more. He couldn't wait a second longer. With a shaking hand, he guided his cock into her pussy. The tight ring of flesh squeezed around him as he pushed inside her, and he felt his control slip another notch. Clarissa reached her hands up to clasp the insides of his elbows. She cried his name, and he withdrew, slowly, the drag of his skin against hers almost enough to make him lose it altogether.

  Not yet. He wanted to make this worth her while. He wanted her to come with him.

  “Clarissa.” He managed to grind the word out between his teeth. She arched against him, trying to pull him deeper within her, and he realized she was close too. Maybe not as close as he was, but close. Relief swept through him, and he plunged inside her. He continued to take her, pounding into her relentlessly. A quick thrill of pride rushed through his body, and he realized he was going to last a little longer than he'd thought. Long enough. With a wicked grin, he shifted his weight enough to press his thumb against her clit. She moaned, long and loud, and he shuddered with the intensity of his reaction. He closed his eyes, so he could hear her ragged breathing, could focus on her every reaction to his touch, could feel her draw nearer and nearer to coming. The muscles of his calves clenched. His thighs tightened, the flesh dragging against Clarissa's ass. His arms tensed, and he fought to keep his touch gentle. His shoulders bunched, and he lost all sense of time and rhythm.

  He rode her.

  The slap of his flesh against hers set the pace for the circles he worked with his thumb over her sensitive bundle of flesh. Her thighs tightened on either side of him, her pussy clamping hard on him as she strained to reach orgasm. Her hips bucked; she loosed her grip around him, then suddenly tightened. Her face relaxed into a blissful expression. Her eyes closed, her mouth open on a silent scream or moan of pleasure. He spared a moment to grin, proud beyond words he'd brought her to climax, but his body's need was a clawing demand he couldn't ignore any longer. He roared into the air as his orgasm rode him, as hard as he rode Clarissa himself. Just as he jetted inside her, his body unfurled—each muscle losing the abnormal tautness it had had a