I also felt the Magic that chased us out of the Citadel. Terletov’s men had followed us for as long as they could, but Kiran had grown up on these winding roads and knew them better than anyone. They couldn’t keep up with us, and they couldn’t follow us for long.
We drove for hours, though, before we finally began to feel relief. We were well into Hungary in fact, before our nerves calmed and our hearts slowed down.
Kiran clutched my hand the entire time, refusing to lose contact with me.
Titus sat quietly in the backseat, neither willing to break the tension nor remind us that he was with us.
We’d just barely escaped. Our children had been threatened and now their secret was out. Our Citadel had fallen.
And now our people were at an even greater and deadlier risk.
This was by no means over.
But at least we were safe.
At least we were together.
We’d left all our material possessions behind, except the ones that mattered most: our wedding rings, Kiran’s crown and the pendant necklace he had given me so many years ago that dangled around my neck.
The rest was all behind us.
And we would leave it there until we could defeat this enemy and rebuild our Kingdom again.
We had been here before. We had fought for the Castle, for our people, for our Magic to remain open and free.
We would never stop fighting. This was what we were born for… what we lived for. And we would stand side by side during this and the rest of eternity.
Kiran was my husband, my lover and my King.
This fight belonged to us more than anyone else. Terletov could try to destroy this Kingdom but he would soon realize our strength and resolve would out match him every moment of every day.
This was our Kingdom.
And he could burn in hell for trying to take it from us.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t believe you,” my husband’s glittering blue eyes narrowed on me, sparking with light from the fire that burned a few feet away.
After we escaped Terletov’s Castle attack, we’d driven straight through Europe until we’d rendezvoused with Avalon and Sebastian in Geneva.
This was somewhat sentimental for Kiran and I, so while the rest of the group had left for South America in search of Kiran’s mother, we had stayed behind for a night to recoup.
Kiran was obviously worried about his mom, but he was equally worried for me and our unborn babies. He wanted to make sure that everything was fine and normal before we endured the plane ride over the ocean.
And apparently, Syl’s good bill of health was not enough for him.
I wasn’t going to complain though. After the day, week, months I’d endured lately, I was ready to relax for just one night.
Tomorrow there would be plenty to worry about and fight for.
But tonight, with my friends and family safe, with Lilly returned and the babies perfectly healthy and buzzing with Magic and life, I wanted to enjoy this rare moment of alone time with my husband.
Currently, we were sprawled out in a bed of pillows in front of a wonderfully warm fire. The lights were dimmed, there was music playing softly in the background and I had just climbed out of a deliciously relaxing bath.
My husband was trying to seduce me.
“I promise you, they’re fine.” I laid back on the pillows and walked my fingers over my twenty-weeks-along inflated tummy.
Kiran scooted next to me and stared down at my stomach as if it would talk back to him and tell him the truth.
“Here.” I grabbed his hand and placed his fingers on the big bump that housed our children. “Feel their Magic.”
Gently he lifted my recently-purchased cami and pressed his palms against my naked skin. His face lit with utter and complete joy at the faint little buzzing that tingled beneath the pads of his fingers and his Magic swelled with beaming pride around the room.
“Are you really alright, Little Ones?” he crooned down at my belly button. “You would tell me if you weren’t. You wouldn’t lie to me like your mum does, would you?”
I was getting ready to punch him, when the most remarkable thing happened. As if in answer to his question my stomach jumped with internal movement. I gasped and Kiran’s eyes grew huge with concern. His hands lifted so that his touch was as light as he could manage and his frown deepened as he stared down at my stomach as if there were an alien inside ready to rip its way to freedom.
“What was that?” he whispered.
I laughed and allowed the happy tears that instantly fell from my eyes. “That was your babies telling you that they are just fine.”
“That was them?” He was still whispering.
I nodded and rested my hands over his so he could feel them again. “That was at least one of them.”
Another small kick out from one of the twins and his expression softened into pure astonishment. “They’re really alright.”
I smiled at him and sniffled from a joy that was so consuming and intense I thought my heart would burst from the sheer force of it. “They’re alright.”
Keeping his hands in place, he lifted his eyes and held my watery gaze. “And you’re alright, Love?”
I nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.
Kiran scooted up even closer and reluctantly removed his hands from my stomach to cradle my face. “You’re sure?”
Finding my voice in a hoarse whisper, I confessed, “I know that it’s bad out there, but I am fine.” I paused before deciding. “I’m more than fine, I’m happy.”
He gifted me with his brilliant smile. His hand coasted down my chest, over my breasts and to my stomach again where he waited for more movement. “I’m more than fine, too,” he said. “I’m very happy.”
“I love you.” The words were an eternal vow on my lips.
“I love you, Eden. More than I knew was possible.” He bent forward and pressed a lingering kiss to my accepting lips. I sighed with longing and anticipation. Moving his kisses to my throat and lower, Kiran mumbled, “Not even born yet and they’re already trying to ruin my plans for the evening.” His fingers danced over my belly before taking a walk south.
“And what are your plans for the evening?” I giggled.
“To prove to you how much I love you.”
“And how were you going to do that?”
“Let me show you,” he suggested with a nibble on my collar bone.
“Please,” I gasped.
And then he did.
Thank you to the reader for inspiring another story from Eden and Kiran. At the end of Endless Magic, I thought that the Star-Crossed series was finished forever. But it was because of you that I continued writing the second saga; and it was because of you that I revived Eden and Kiran for their own novella. I loved getting back in their heads and exploring life for them after marriage. So thank you, for your love for them, your excitement for their story and for your continued devotion to this great love that will always be my favorite love story.
Rachel Higginson was born and raised in Nebraska, but spent her college years traveling the world. She married her high school sweetheart and spends her days raising their growing family. She is obsessed with bad reality TV and any and all Young Adult Fiction.
Please keep reading for a sneak peek at my upcoming contemporary adult novel, The Five Stages of Falling in Love. (released later 2014)
Chapter One
Six Months after Grady died
I snuggled back into the cradle of his body while his arms wrapped around me tightly. He buried his scruffy face against the nape of my neck and I sighed contentedly. We fit perfectly together, but then again we always had- his big spoon nestled up against my little spoon.
“It’s your turn,” he rumbled against my skin with that deep morning voice I would always drink in.
“No,” I argued half-heartedly. “It’s always my turn.”
“But you’re so good at it,” he teased.
I giggled, “It’s one of my many talents, pouring cereal into bowls, making juice cups. I might just take this show on the road.”
He laughed behind me and his chest shook with the movement. I pushed back into him, loving the feel of his hard, firm chest against my back. He was so hot first thing in the morning, his whole body radiating warmth.
His hand splayed out across my belly possessively and he pressed a kiss just below my ear. I could feel his lips through my tangle of hair and the tickle of his breath which wasn’t all that pleasant first thing in the morning, but it was Grady and it was familiar.
“It’s probably time we had another one, don’t you think?” His hand rubbed a circle around my stomach and I could feel him vibrating happily with the thought.
“Grady, we already have three,” I reminded him on a laugh. “If we have another one, people are going to start thinking we’re weird.”
“No, they won’t,” he soothed. “They might get an idea of how fertile you are, but they won’t think we’re weird.”
I snorted a laugh. “They already think we’re weird.”
“Then we don’t want to disappoint them,” he murmured. His hand slid up my chest and cupped my breast, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You are obsessed with those things,” I grinned.
“Definitely,” he agreed quickly, while continuing to fondle me. “What do you think, Lizzy? Will you give me another baby?”
I was getting wrapped up in the way he was touching me, the way he was caressing me with so much love I thought I would burst. “I’ll think about it,” I finally conceded, knowing he would get his way- knowing I always let him have his way.
“While you’re mulling it over, we should probably practice. I mean, we want to get this right when the time comes.” Grady trailed kisses down the column of my throat and I moaned my consent.
I rolled over to kiss him on the mouth.
But he wasn’t there.
My arm swung wide and hit cold, empty mattress.
I opened my eyes and stared at the slow moving ceiling fan over my head. The early morning light streamed in through cracks in my closed blinds and I let the silent tears fall.
I hated waking up like this; thinking he was there, next to me, still able to support me, love me- hold me. And unfortunately it happened more often than it didn’t.
The fresh pain clawed and cut at my heart and I thought I would die just from sheer heartbreak. My chin quivered and I sniffled, trying desperately to wrestle my emotions under control. But the pain was too much, too consuming.
“Mom!” Blake called from the kitchen, ripping me away from my peaceful grief. “Moooooom!”
That was a distressed cry, and I was up out of my bed and racing downstairs immediately. I grabbed my silk robe on the way and threw it over my black cami and plaid pajama bottoms. When the kids were younger I wouldn’t have bothered, but Blake was eight now and he’d been traumatized enough in life- I wasn’t going to add to that by walking around bra-less first thing in the morning.
He continued to yell at me, while I barreled into the kitchen still wiping at the fresh tears. I found him at the bay windows, staring out in horror.
“Mom, Abby went swimming,” he explained in a rush of words.
A sick feeling knotted my stomach and I looked around wild eyed at what his words could possibly mean. “What do you mean, Abby went swimming?” I gasped, a little out of breath.
“There,” he pointed to the neighbor’s backyard with a shaky finger.
I followed the direction of his outstretched hand and from the elevated vantage point of our kitchen I could see that the neighbor’s pool was filled with water, and my six year old daughter was swimming morning laps like she was on a regulated workout routine.
“What the f-“ I started and then stopped, shooting a glance down at Blake who was looking up at me with more exaggerated shock than he’d given his sister.
I watched her for point one more second and then sprinted for the front door. “Keep an eye on the other ones,” I shouted at Blake as I pushed open our heavy red door.
It was just early fall in rural Connecticut; the grass was still green, the mornings foggy but mostly still warm. The house next to us had been empty for almost a year. The owner had been asking too much for it in this economy, but I understood why- it was a beautiful, stately colonial with cream stucco siding and black decorative shutters. There were big oak trees offering shade and character in the sprawling front yard and in the back, an in-ground pool that was the drool-worthy envy of my children.
I raced down my yard and into my new neighbors. I hadn’t noticed the house had sold, but that didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t the most observant person these days. Vaguely I noted a moving truck parked in the long drive.
The backyard gate must have been left open, because even though Abby had taught herself how to swim at the age of four- all by herself, the end result giving me several gray hairs- there was no way she could reach the flip lock at the top of the tall, iron fence.
I rounded the corner and hopped/ran to the edge of the pool, the gravel of the patio cutting into my bare feet. I took a steadying breath and focused my panic-flooded mind, long enough to assess whether Abby was still breathing or not.
She was, and happily swimming in circles in the deep end.
Fear and dread quickly turned to blinding anger and I took a step closer to the edge of the pool while I threw my silk robe on the ground.
“Abigail Elizabeth, you get out of there right this minute!” I shouted loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.
She popped her head up out of the water, acknowledged me by sticking out her tongue, and promptly went back to swimming. That little brat.
“Abigail, I am not joking. Get out of the pool. Now!” I hollered again. And was ignored- again. “Abby, if I have to come in there and get you, you will rue the day you were born!”
She poked her head back up out of the water, shooting me a confused look. Her light brown eyebrows drew together, just like her father’s used to, and her little freckled nose wrinkled at something I said. I was smart enough or experienced enough to know that she was not on the verge of obeying, just because I’d threatened her.
“Mommy?” She asked, somehow making her little body tread water in a red polk-a-dot bikini my sister picked up from the Gap last summer- it was too small which for some reason made me more angry. “What does rue mean?”
“It means you’re grounded from the iPad, your Leapster and the Wii for the next two years of your life,” I threatened. “Now get out of that pool right now before I come in there and get you myself.”
She giggled in reply, not believing me for one second and resumed her play.
“Damn it, Abigail,” I growled under my breath- not that I was surprised by her behavior. She was naturally an adventurous child. Since she could walk, she’d been climbing to the highest point of anything she could, swinging precariously from branches, light fixtures and aisles at the grocery store. She was a dare-devil and there were moments when I was absolutely adored her “the world is my playground” attitude about life. But then there were moments like this, when every mom instinct in me screamed she was in danger and her little, rotten life flashed before my eyes.
Those moments were happening more and more often. She was testing me, pushing every limit and boundary I’d set. She had been reckless before Grady died, now she was just wild. And I didn’t know what to do about it.
I didn’t know how to tame my uncontrollable child- how to be both parents to a little girl who desperately missed her daddy.
I focused on my outrage, pushing those tragic thoughts down, into the abyss of my soul. I was pissed, I didn’t have time for this first thing in the morning and no doubt we were going to be late for school- again.
I slipped off my pajama pants, hoping whoever had moved into the house- if they were watching- would be more concerned with the little girl on the verge of drowning than me flashing my
black, bikini briefs at them over morning coffee. I said a few more choice curses and then dove into the barely warm water after my second born.
I surfaced, sputtering water and shivering from the cool morning air pebbling my skin. “Abigail, when I get you out of this pool, you are going to be in so much trouble.”
“Ok,” she agreed happily. “But first you have to catch me.”
She proceeded to swim around me in circles while I reached out helplessly for her. First thing I was doing when I got out of this pool was throwing away every electronic device in our house just to teach her a lesson. Then I was going to sign her up for a swim team- because the little hellion was very, very fast.
We struggled like this for a few more minutes, well I struggled, she splashed at me and laughed at my efforts to wrangle her.
I was aware of a presence hovering by the edge of the pool but I was equally too embarrassed as I was preoccupied to look. Images of walking my children into school late again, kept looping through my head and I cringed at the dirty looks I was bound to get from teachers and other parents alike.
“You look hungry,” a deep masculine voice announced from above me.
I whipped my head around to find an incredibly tall man standing by my discarded pajama pants holding two beach towels and a box of Poptarts in one arm, while he munched casually on said Poptarts with the other.
“I look hungry?” I screeched in hysterical anger.
His eyes flickered down at me for just a second, “No, you look mad.” He pointed at Abby, who had come to a stop next to me, treading water again with her short child-sized limbs waving wildly in the water. “She looks hungry.” He grinned at me, his mouth full of food, and then looked back at Abby. “Want a Poptart? They’re brown sugar.”
Abby nodded excitedly and swam to the edge of the pool. Not even using the ladder, she heaved herself out of the water and ran over to the stranger holding out his breakfast to her. He handed her a towel and she hastily draped it around her shoulders and then took the offered Poptart.
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