I turn my back to him. "Did you really think I allowed Tristan to say such things because I reciprocate his feelings?"
Jacelynd stands behind me and lays his hands on my shoulders, tenderly smoothing the thin fabric of my nightgown. I can feel the heat from his body on mine as I hesitantly lean back against him. I've never been this unclothed before a man and when his hand touches the bare skin of my neck, I close my eyes.
His touch moves to sweep suggestively over my exposed collarbone. "I know that when you look at me, you don't see me as the future king. You barely see me as royalty—certainly you don't address me as such, never have. I genuinely believe I could be a dirt farmer and it wouldn't make any difference to you."
"If you were a dirt farmer, we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"Oh?"
I turn around in his arms. "Breaking an engagement with Tristan to marry a poor farmer would hardly constitute killing both our families in vengeance. You barely tolerate each other now, how do you think things will be after he finds out? How well do you think this treaty will hold against the kind of anger my betrayal will elicit? And don't be mistaken, it will wound his pride. You underestimate Lord Elrick and those who rally behind him."
"Jesca, it—"
I suddenly bite into my wrist. "Draw from me. Don't speak, just do as I ask."
He does so reluctantly because of my refusal in the past. He doesn't know how powerful the House of Christianson is or why it's so important to Lord Elrick. No one does but the House of Thorn. It takes a moment for the blood to reach his senses but once it does he drops my wrist and takes a calculated step backwards, his eyes wide in shock. I lift my wrist to my mouth to seal the wound.
"Do you understand now? I wouldn't be of any use to a dirt farmer, not as far as Lord Elrick would see it. But to the royal family? The gift wasn't passed on to my sister or my cousins, but to me and me alone. Why do you think we are here in talks of peace and treaty? They have no reason to cause you trouble so long as they have control over our House. Whoever controls us has dominion over the gate."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"You want me to love you for who you are, not because of what you are. Is it so hard to believe that I would want the same? Tristan desires one thing above all else and it doesn't have anything to do with my affection."
Jacelynd exhales slowly and approaches me again, except this time I do to him what he did to me: I hold my hands away from him, refusing to touch him. He narrows his eyes briefly before placing one hand on my jaw with his fingers swept partially into my hair and wrapping his other arm around my waist.
"He took your hand, kissed your cheek," he says softly. "He wants more than your blood. Even a fool can see that."
"And that's as intimate as it's ever been between us. You have nothing to envy."
"And if the tables were turned? If you had to sit across from me and my betrothed, watch me lovingly stroke her face, take her arm?"
"I never touched him." My cheeks flush with anger. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
The very thought of it makes my heart race. "No, it isn't."
"Then marry me. Damn them all. Damn the treaty and the gate and every bit of it. I'd give up everything for you, the throne—even my immortality if it meant I could spend what life I have left with you." He pulls me tighter to him. "Don't think for even a moment that I'm saying these things without considering the consequences. I want more than a marriage, I want a Blood Tithe. I want eternity with you."
My heart freezes in my chest as I realize what he's just said. I've longed to hear those words since I was old enough to know what they mean. The Tithe is nearly a legend in our shadowed world—more fairy tale than reality. "Then say the words," I say breathlessly.
He looks at me as though he doesn't believe me and a long silence ensues.
I finally say, "According to the laws, a Blood Tithe may take the place of a wedding ceremony. Go look if you don't believe me."
"I know the laws," he says quickly, as though saying the words too slowly will leave me time to change my mind. "I never thought I'd hear them come from you. I thought perhaps after spending several centuries courting you as my wife, you'd finally relent and agree to a Tithe. I never dreamed—"
"If you'd prefer it that way, I can—"
He suddenly kisses me, his mouth warm and gentle on mine, his body hard and strong as I finally relent and cling to him in return. I am breathless when he pulls away.
"As it is within, let it be without. Eternal thirst begotten of eternal love. As one tethered to another, forever seal these souls." He pulls a small hand blade from his belt and slides it in a small line on his neck, then motions for me to drink from him.
I press my mouth to the skin of his neck and draw him in. I'm surprised as his blood grows warmer, tastes sweeter.
"Repeat these words." He takes my wrist in his hand, pausing as he speaks. "Fortai dunam eirtha tulet." Then he pierces my skin and drinks.
I seal the wound and then say, "Fortai dunam eirtha tulet." As I speak, emotions wash over me and I begin to realize it isn't just my emotions that I'm feeling, but Jacelynd's as well. I feel his love, his devotion, his passion, his jealousy and his desire.
He bends down to kiss me and I feel myself sob against his mouth, overcome with all of it, overcome with fear for everyone I love, including Jacelynd, and overcome with the unbelievable joy of seeing to fruition the very thing I'd been too afraid to hope for. But underlying all of those sentiments is a seed of sadness. I never wanted to hurt Tristan and now I find that act, the one I dread worse than I ever could have imagined, inevitable.
I wake up gasping for breath, my heart racing as images still flood my mind. This wasn't like the other dreams. In the other dreams I still had some remembrance of who I'd become, of the assassin I now am. The feeling of having stepped into someone else's skin lingers and leaves me feeling strangely hollow.
"Jess?" Jacelynd sits up, rests his hands on my shoulders.
I'm tired of crying—really tired of it, but I can't help it, not after seeing as much of my past as I just saw. "You didn't tell me that I took your blood in oath that night."
Jacelynd turns on the bedside light, leaving one hand on me, and looks at me, stunned.
I sob, "'Then marry me. Damn them all. Damn the treaty and the gate and every bit of it.'"
Jacelynd cradles my face in his hands. "Then say the words." He laughs through tears. "You remember that night?"
I nod, sniffling against his shoulder where I've ducked my head. "Why didn't you tell me you were serious about giving up your immortality?"
He hugs me tighter, rubs my back. I already felt grief at the thought of losing him. This sudden remembrance does nothing but magnify that feeling a hundred times over. I hug him with everything I have left, every last bit of energy and strength. I can't say anything because I'm crying too hard. I grieve, not just for what lies ahead, but for the loss of who I once was, for my innocence. For all the sarcasm in the world, I'll never be that girl again. And I'm angry that as much as I now know about my past, I still don't remember everything—nothing before that night and nothing after.
Jacelynd holds me in his arms and gently rocks us, whispering tender and endearing things in my ear. And yet, all I feel is guilt for being who I am.
I am unworthy. Jacelynd is tender and noble. I'm rough, unrefined and jaded—nothing like the poised, elegant creature in my dream. From my memory. I don't realize that I am thinking these thoughts in a way that he can hear them until Jace suddenly pulls back.
"Unworthy? Do you really believe that? You don't remember everything. What you saw was a tender moment, a moment where you weren't being as fiery as normal. It was sweet and endearing and I'll never forget it, but that side of you is just that—a side. One of many."
I laugh, sadly, because I still can't accept that he knows what he's saying. He knows my rank; he's seen what I can do, the violence in my recent past, but …
"Do you have any idea how many men I've killed, Jessica? How much blood I've shed? You think we're close to the same age, but you couldn't be more wrong. For eight hundred and eighty years, I've battled, bled and taken lives for our kind." He leans in again, his lips a mere whisper on my own. "And you think I can't handle one feisty Covenant Assassin?"
"I didn—"
"You didn't capture my heart because you were elegant or refined. Yes, you've been those things and then some, but you've lived through far longer than the thirty-some years that you can recall in your conscious mind. Plagues. Wars. Human hardship and human famine, all of which affected our people. When we first met, I was already a few hundred years old and you were about the same age as the donor whose memories you're carting around now." He laughs. "We've had this conversation before … just slightly altered. When you first found out my age, you were worried about your maturity in comparison to mine. You eventually realized that human or not, men never grow up."
"Wait a minute … you were how old when we met?"
"Three hundred and forty-seven years, to be precise."
People's conversations about their exes usually only encompass a decade or two, tops. Three hundred and some-odd years, on the other hand? Did he ever marry before me? He could have lost any number of human lovers over the years. The thought of it makes me feel sick with jealousy. Trinity had exes and it had never bothered me. This definitely isn't something I'm used to feeling.
A smile creeps across Jacelynd's face and he tilts his head. "You were concerned about that, too."
"You couldn't have heard that," I say.
"After centuries together, I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking. No, I've never been married before and I was too busy fighting alongside my father to even think about courting someone before you. Dating didn't exist back then. Yes, I could've had lovers, but I've never taken relationships lightly."
"Then why choose me? After so long … what about me was so different?"
"Everything. Utterly everything. And believe me when I tell you that Tristan doesn't have anything on me when it comes to knowing how to make every part of your everything feel exactly how I want it to feel." He tightens his hold on my wrists and lends his mouth to kiss my neck. He slides his leg suggestively between my thighs and I close my eyes.
I say between hitched breaths, "I woke up before we got to the whole wedding night part."
Jacelynd laughs against my skin. "'Tis a pity. It was quite memorable. But we have some time on our hands before day breaks." He moves my wrists into one of his hands and touches the bare skin of my collarbone with the other. "Shall I start at the beginning?"
Drunken Lullies
The next day goes by without much ado. Jacelynd assures us that we can do nothing yet, but sitting still drives me mad. There are no more surprise visits from Death Dealers, undead siblings or anyone else. We're all pretty quiet through the evening. And everyone, Jacelynd included, seems almost—I hate to say this—relieved that Lucan isn't with Trinity, as though Iris is somehow the lesser of two evils. My gut tells me to be worried. My common sense tells me to be worried, but then again, the only memory I have of Iris is of her trying to kill me. I suppose they all see her as who she once was.
Nicodemus and Quinn mindlessly watch television while Liv reads a book. Quinn found nothing of value on the iPod, aside from some pictures of Lucan and his friends, which, just so you know, makes me nearly suicidal with grief. He's such a sharp little guy. He dresses cool. He's got unquestioningly good taste in music and even his movie choices rock. He's like an awesome little male version of yours truly. Sigh.
Eventually the silence does everyone in and Jacelynd, Quinn, Blake and Nicodemus all make their way to their various rooms to turn in for the night, which leaves Liv and me by the roaring fire. I'm freezing again, so I'm not in much of a hurry to go anywhere, though I do wish Jacelynd hadn't turned in so soon. I want to be near him but I know I can't sleep right now and I don't want to keep him up.
An idea occurs to me as I am scrolling through little man's music when I hit Flogging Molly.
"Liv."
She looks up from her novel with bleary eyes. She must be at the good part—whatever that is. "Hmm?"
"Everyone's gone to bed."
She nods and I know the word "duh" crosses her mind, though I doubt she'd ever say it aloud.
I quietly get up from the couch, go to the antique writing desk that we probably bought brand new—ugh—and dig out a pad and a pen.
"What are you doing?" she asks, a hint of dread in her voice.
"You sound like I'm always up to no good."
"You are always up to no good."
"Well, if the shoe fits, I suppose." After leaving a brief note for Jacelynd, I grab Liv by the hand and drag her to her feet. "Let's go. Think there are coats in the closet?"
"Where are we going?" she whines.
"The pub," I say like she's just asked the stupidest question ever. "It's Ireland. There's always a pub."
"Ah, shit, Jess, really?"
I'm beside myself. "Did you just curse?"
"Yes, I did. Are you sure this is a good idea?" She walks over to one of the closets in the entry hall and pulls out two coats. She hands me the one that I'm fairly certain is Burberry.
I take the plain black one from her other hand. "Heathcliff will still be a pompous ass when we get back, so live a little, eh? We're coming right back, I promise."
She sighs and gestures for me to take the lead.
There is a small village a short distance from the castle. Five hundred sheep, nine thousand rocks and no streetlights later, we're there.
"See. There's a pub." I smile as we park the car and get out. There's even one of those old wood signs hanging above it.
How charming.
That's all well and good, but what's really fascinating is the reaction we receive when we walk in.
"Stall your balls, lads! World's already ended!" the bartender yells and suddenly the whole place lights up with hoots and hollers. "We've weapons come to drink our beer!"
I look at Liv, who waltzes to the bar like a pro and orders two whiskeys. "Missed you too, Sean."
"What does 'weapons' mean?" I ask.
Liv grins. "Disagreeable women."
"You do know us!"
"Shite, Jessica. How long has it been?" Sean—I assume this is Sean—pours our drinks and sets them on the bar. "Drinks are on the house."
Liv answers for me, "Too long. Ten years."
"Ya haven't missed much here. Just the same ol' piss artists, pining away our living. Or, I should say pinting away our living!"
Liv laughs and I down the whiskey, not the least bit bothered by the burn.
"Pour me another one, Sean!" I like this guy.
"You might want to slow down on that," Liv says. "Little stronger than the wine."
Sean tilts his head suggestively. "Another for each of ya?"
Liv shakes her head. "I probably won't finish this one. Many thanks, though."
Hands pat both of us on the back and greet us while we drink. Liv does her best to whisper their names to me, but we'll be good if I remember my own name by the end of this.
"Jaysus! Don't go in there for a wee bit, lads, I just reduced the jacks to rubble." A door slams shut to our right and out walks a tall brown-haired gent. He stops in his tracks when he sees us and I gather, like everyone else in here, that he recognizes us.
"Murphy!" Liv gets up and hugs him, but his eyes are glued on me.
"For feckin' sake, Murph. Stop smiling like a cat with a fish-flavored arsehole. It's just Jess," someone says beh
ind me. I think Liv said his name was Sully?
"I'm lookin' for me dead da, 'cause I must be in the hereafter." Murphy takes a seat between Liv and me. "Where the feck have you been?"
"Well. Kind of a long sorty … storty … story." Man, Liv wasn't kidding. This stuff is strong.
Murphy laughs and rests his hand on my shoulder. "Well, wherever you've been hidin', welcome home! I finally got the plums to ask Catherine to marry me. Got three brats to show fer it." He pulls out a wallet and shows me pictures of his children. They really are quite cute. They'd be a lot cuter if I could see straight.
"I knew she'd say yes," Liv says.
"That ya did!" Murphy gets up and goes behind the bar and brings out a fiddle. "I think this calls for me talents. Seeing how the world's endin' and all."
Several patrons near us boo playfully and throw things at him—nothing heavy, mind you. He grins and starts to play, and though he can't sing worth shite he belts out the bits that he knows of an Irish ballad.
Before I know it, the whole damn place is hopping. Liv grabs me off the stool and drags me into a frenzied dance. Everyone is laughing and I can't remember ever having this much fun. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain are the reasons I was depressed. Those recesses are apparently closed for renovation because I haven't the first clue as to what they were. And neither Sully, Sean nor Murph can tell me.
I have no sense of time when I'm drunk. I didn't know this about myself, but I count the glasses that Sean has lined up on the bar and drinking that much doesn't happen in the span of half an hour.
"Sean. Is your last name, O'Malley?" I ask, clearly inebriated.
"Liv, she's drunk," Sean says.
"Yeah, I know. Jess, I think we need to go home." She stands and tries to help me off my stool. "Tries" is the operative word here because it doesn't totally work.
Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) Page 21