Unforgotten Family (An Ariel Kimber Novel Book 6)

by Mary Martel

  "Ariel?" he prompted, and I startled, giving myself a little shake.

  Shit.

  That was right, he'd asked me an important question I should be mad about because he thought he even had to ask in the first place.

  "Of course I trust you," I immediately shared. Without an attitude, I might add. It was a good thing the question wasn't the other way around, because I didn't think I was the most trustworthy girlfriend at the moment. With good reason, but still.

  "Girl," he said in a low voice. He gave our joined hands a rough little shake. "I like your answer, but I really don't like that look in your eyes right now. Normally you look sad even when I know you're happy. But right now? Fuck."

  He shook his head and his hand dropped away from my face. "Grab some shoes and we'll get out of here. And a jacket. It might get dark out before we get back, and you're gonna want it for the ride back. Don't want you getting cold or sick."

  I stared at him in confusion, not understanding why I'd need a jacket for a ride in his Audi when he could just turn the heat on to take away the chill. Then I decided whatever, it wasn't worth the space it was taking up in my head to think about.

  Taking my hand away from his hard stomach as I took a step back and away from him proved to be more difficult than I'd ever admit aloud. He let my hand go, but only after tugging on it one more time and pulling me back into him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a tender, sweet kiss. It changed the moment my lips parted so I could nip at his bottom lip playfully. He groaned, the noise obscenely loud, and a total turn on that sent a delicious little shiver through me and made my nipples hard.

  He dropped my hand and raised both of his to my neck. His hands went back and tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss and his tongue slid inside. He kissed me like it was his favorite pastime and he could spend the rest of his life doing it and be a happy man.

  Good grief, but I really needed to stop making out with Alexander men inside my closet. It was getting to be just a tad ridiculous and probably something they both deserved to know about, but I'd never actually tell either of them.

  Boy, I really did keep a lot of things to myself. Quinton would be pissed if he knew just how much.

  On that not so happy thought, I turned my head to the side, breaking the kiss. I had no business kissing him while thinking about his crazy uncle.

  "Boots," I muttered, and was happy to see the blindingly white, incredibly beautiful, so beautiful it made me blink up at him momentarily stunned, smile he aimed down at me.

  "And a jacket," he reminded me.

  I guessed it was a good thing we were standing in my closet where I kept those things.

  I found a pair of fabulous black combat boots that had become a favorite of mine. I sank down on my butt right there in my closet and slipped the boots onto my feet that were already encased in a pair of fuzzy socks that were an incredibly lovely shade of pink that I would rather swallow my own tongue than admit to enjoying as much as I did. I laced my boots up and tied em tight.

  I stood and walked to where my hoodie collection hung on hangers in front of Rain's bloody mirror. Quinton must have hung all of my clothes back up for me after I'd passed out, something I hadn't thought about until then. I had been in here every day since then, several times each day, and I hadn't even thought about it. I needed to thank him for picking up after me. He wasn't Dash, so I'm sure he didn't get off on it, and it wasn't like if he'd left it there I wouldn't have put everything back to rights myself.

  I slid the hangers around, not stopping until I came across one that struck my fancy. It was a men's black pullover that was a size too big for me and incredibly soft on the inside. On the front, over the breast, the cracked image of a proud, white wolf stood with its head tipped up, howling away at an invisible moon.

  It was something Damien would have curled his lip and sneered at because it wasn't brand spanking new and hadn't come with a designer label attached. I had found it at a thrift store Simon and Trenton loved snooping through now that they had money of their own to spend. I figured the image of the wolf was cracked because it had been worn and washed so many times. I didn't care, I loved it.

  I put it on, looked down at myself, and grinned. Black skinny jeans that had a hole in one knee that had been there when Damien bought them. Unlike the hoodie the jeans were designer and, going by the tag I’d removed when I put them on today, they costed a scary amount more than my hoodie had. The jeans looked good with my boots, and thankfully there was no pretty pink in sight. My blood red belt with a square, boxy, black buckle with a white skull and crossbones in the center of it finished off my outfit. I looked edgy, like a very witchy rebel who didn’t give a fuck, and I liked it because it suited me very much.

  I avoided looking in any of the mirrors in the closet on my way out. I didn't want to see the scar on my face or my hair that I'd simply left hanging down to air dry, and it had, but it was wavy and I knew from experience would look just a wee bit on the wild side.

  Yeah, I could do without seeing all of that.

  Tyson rummaged around on Dash's side of the closet, and I caught him plucking a black hoodie much bigger than my own off a hanger. He put it on and left the empty hanger on the rack where he found it.

  I picked up my bag on the way out, slung it over my head, and stuck my arm through the strap. The wide, black strap crossed my body and the bag rested at my hip. It was black and covered in silver studs. I knew my phone, wallet, and keys were already inside, so I was good to go.

  I followed Tyson out of Dash’s and my little home inside of a home.

  And we did it without speaking.

  "What in the holy hell is that?" I whispered in a quiet, awed voice. It was a stupid question that I obviously knew the answer to because it was a motorcycle and I'd seen plenty of them in my life. Hell, several of Vivian's dick toys had come on motorcycles, but I still felt the need to ask my stupid question because there was a freaking motorcycle parked in front of the garage.

  The whole thing was black and chrome, murdered out completely. It was the single most sinister and sexy thing I had ever laid eyes on in my entire freaking life. I took a step back, almost afraid of the damn thing.

  "Where did this come from?" I asked, when I realized he hadn't answered my first question, the stupid one. I had a feeling this was what Ty had been talking about when he told me to get a jacket so I wouldn't get cold.

  No.

  No freaking way.

  I wasn’t going anywhere on that thing. Right?

  It couldn't possibly be safe.

  There were no seatbelts.

  No helmets in sight.

  Fucking dangerous.

  And sinister.

  And, lest we forget, downright sexy.

  If I went for a ride on that thing, my panties would probably disintegrate, that was how hot it would be.

  Shit.

  Poor Tyson Alexander. He was in serious trouble here and he didn't even know it.

  I looked over my shoulder, back at him, and smirked when I caught his eyes glued to my ass. Thank you, Damien, for the skinny jeans. And thank you, boys, for forcing food on me as often as possible and, essentially, making my ass have a lovely roundness to it that had never been there before. Clearly Tyson appreciated the sweet roundness.

  Maybe I was the one in trouble here. Yay.

  "Ty," I called in a soft, husky voice. His head jerked to the side and his startled eyes came up to mine. He didn't look like he cared at all that he'd just gotten caught staring at my ass. I wasn't surprised in the slightest. "What are we doing here?"

  "We're going for a ride. I want to show you something."

  I'd go anywhere with him, all he had to do was ask.

  Love, it was a crazy, fucked up thing, and it owned you in a way nothing else could. I was a goddamn slave to the emotion. And wasn't that just a little bit terrifying.

  I knew Ty was done with the conversation and had decided it was time for us to get on with thi
ngs when he got on the bike and patted the seat behind him in invitation. "Hop on, girl. I want to get out of here before someone comes along and tries to steal you away from me. I'm gonna sound like a dick, but I'm gonna say it anyway. I'm not interested in sharing you tonight, in any way. Not even just the friendly kind. So," he patted the seat again, "hop on."

  As much as I didn't want to hop on, I really kind of did.

  Safety and caution were what I had used to survive Vivian and the life she had forced me to live along with her. They had served me well up until a point.

  The bike rumbled to life, and Tyson kicked up the kickstand with the heel of his boot. "Hurry, gorgeous. If Uncle Quinton sees us he'll freak and make us stay," he warned just loud enough to be heard over the roar of his motorcycle.

  Hot damn.

  He was absolutely right. Quinton was really starting to smother me. Toss in Trenton and Simon and it was a miracle I hadn't tried to escape sooner. I looked around in panic, making sure we were still out here alone. We were, but we wouldn't be for long.

  Decision made, I ran the rest of the way to Tyson and the bike. I carefully climbed onto the back behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle. I clasped my arms around him so tightly I worried I might hurt him. That thought wasn't enough to make me let up any though. We weren't wearing helmets and there were no seatbelts, for goodness’ sake. He'd just have to deal with the stranglehold I had on him or I would be getting right back off this thing. No matter the vibrations and the rumbling were making my entire body tingle.

  "Don't let go," he yelled at me over his shoulder.

  I grinned at him.

  Well, duh.

  I held on tight as we slowly rolled down the driveway. I chanced a glance back over my shoulder. Nothing good came from it. Quinton and Trenton stood in the open doorway of the front door. Poor Trenton looked shocked. I'd been so nice to him lately and on such good behavior I'd had the poor sucker fooled.

  Quinton, on the other hand, well, he didn't look shocked at all. More like outraged than annoyed, and ready to chase after us like the freaking Terminator so he could rip me bodily off the back of Tyson's motorcycle so that maybe he could strangle the life out of me, revive me right after, then find some tower to lock me away in until my last, dying breath.

  "Go! Go! Go!" I shouted at Tyson urgently.

  Tyson didn't bother looking back or asking questions. He was a smart guy, he knew. Or maybe he could just feel Quinton's outrage all the way across the lawn and down the driveway.

  If I wasn't so afraid I'd fall off, I would have waved at Quinton and Trenton in goodbye just to poke the angry bears. I didn't dare.

  The motorcycle roared loudly as we shot out of the driveway and practically flew down the road. I laughed happily as the air rushed past us and my hair blew out behind me.

  The feeling that rushed through me, the utter joy at feeling the wind blow past with Tyson's hot, hard body in front of me to hold on tight to, it was indescribable.

  I held on tight with my cheek against Ty's shoulder and closed my eyes, allowing the feelings to wash through me.

  I didn't look back once.

  I simply held on and enjoyed the ride.

  Chapter Nine

  Don’t Say Creepy Out Loud

  I walked through the cemetery, lightly trailing my fingertips across the tops of various tombstones while reading words like beloved sister, mother, daughter, brother, etc.

  Briefly, I wondered if my mother's tombstone called her not only a beloved wife but a beloved mother as well. Then I stopped wondering, because I knew Rain would always do right by me and he wouldn't have let me down or left me out in the cold with this.

  The closer to the woods and the back of the cemetery I got, the more the stones lost their shiny sparkle that came with newness. The stones became older. Some of them with cracks. Some of them even had chunks missing from them in places, the words faded in spots, and others had eroded away altogether.

  A great sadness swelled inside me with each headstone I read over. Death was so final and life was sometimes far too short.

  Tyson walked up ahead of me. His legs, slightly longer than mine, ate up the ground in long strides. I could easily keep up with him if I wanted to. My legs were by no means short sticks. They were fantastically long, but after the ride on the motorcycle and the sensation of being free but pressed up tight to one of the men I loved, well... I was feeling lazy and euphoric in a way I was very unfamiliar with.

  I had no idea what we were doing in a cemetery of all places and I hadn't bothered asking. I had said I trusted him, now I was proving it. Besides, it had been a while now since the two of us had gone on any sort of adventure and I missed it. Truth be told, I missed him. Yeah, we lived under the same roof now and worked in the same building, but as our family grew, my time became stretched thinner and thinner. I needed to spend more time with my guys and to put the rest of my family on hold for a while.

  Which was something I wouldn't be able to even think about until after I got Romero out of his prison and back with his son where he belonged.

  I rubbed my temples and sighed heavily, my euphoric feeling having slipped right through my fingers like fine grains of sand. I seriously hoped this adventure with Ty didn't end with a dead body. I'd had my fill of dead bodies, but they just kept piling up around me anyways.

  The tombstones stopped, but Tyson kept right on walking. Right into the stupid woods. It was starting to get dark out, and within the next hour or two it would be completely dark with only a sliver of a moon for light and guidance. The last thing I wanted was to follow behind Tyson on a trail through the woods close to dark.

  I picked up my pace and chased after him. If I had to, then so be it, it was still better than being left behind in the cemetery at night, all alone if you didn't count the dead buried in the ground.

  I believed in ghosts.

  I believed in demons.

  I thoroughly believed both had good reason to hang out in cemeteries amongst the dead. They probably threw raging parties when the living were all tucked away safely in bed sleeping. Or something like that. How the hell would I know what ghosts did in their spare time when they weren't out haunting? Or demons when they weren't out molesting the souls of the pure at heart, or, again, whatever.

  I caught up to Tyson and took hold of one of his hands. He gave mine a gentle squeeze and raised our joined hands. "There," he said. "Can you see it up there through the trees?"

  I looked in the direction our hands were aimed at. Up ahead, through the thick trees and waning light, emerged a white building standing in the distance. I couldn't be certain but, I squinted, it looked like there was a much smaller building beside it. This one a muted gray that stood out less against the trees.

  Whatever this was, whatever we were doing out here, I hoped we didn't have to walk this path back in the dark. It was already semi-dark in the thick of the trees. They were so dense that they blocked out the remaining sunlight, sucking its magical rays right out of the sky. And the trail gave off a creepy vibe. I imagined that vibe would intensify after the sun set.

  Had I really said I was ready for an adventure? Turns out I was a big, fat, stinking liar.

  "It's a church," Tyson informed me, thankfully dragging me out of my thoughts. "It's been preserved by magic and can only be seen by those who possess the ability to wield it. The only problem is you have to be an Alexander, either by blood or by marriage, in order to be able to walk through the door."

  He lifted our joined hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against the top of my hand in a sweet kiss. His eyes came to mine and they twinkled mischievously. "Sadly, you're not an Alexander yet. So you won't be able to enter. Don't you worry though, gorgeous, we'll come back when you're an Alexander and you can check it out on the inside."

  Hopefully it was dark enough—yeah, go ahead and call me a hypocrite, I didn't give a fuck, it was the sad truth—he wouldn't be able to see the color my cheeks were undoubtedly turning
at the mention of my taking on his last name through marriage. I didn't have the heart to tell him that if I ever did get married, I had no intention of ever taking on a name different from my own.

  If they wanted to call me Ariel Alexander, they were more than welcome to. It wouldn't negate the fact I'd always, always, be Ariel Kimber. Besides, there were five other last names besides his and my own that I would be able to choose from, because no way would I ever just marry one of them. I didn't care if it was not legal and probably highly frowned upon. That didn't mean a ceremony couldn't be performed and vows made to be kept until death do us part couldn't be uttered. Even if I did eventually legally marry one of them, we could all have that together, and despite it not being legal, it would mean everything to us. I was sure of it.

  I cleared my throat and studiously avoided making eye contact. Since he'd ceased speaking, I asked the questions I assumed he wanted me to ask of him. "Why is it spelled and how come only Alexanders can enter the building?"

  Better question—why had he brought me here with him?

  "Our ancestors used to live here," he shared. "They built the church. They built the family crypt. And, further back, deep into the woods, there are the bare bones to the house that my great great whatever built and his family lived in. My ancestors are buried in the small, fenced in lot beside the church. My grandfather, Quinton's dad, his casket is in the crypt where he insisted and made certain it would be. My mother and father are in the ground. My grandmother is right beside them. That's how big of an asshole my grandfather was. Uncle Quint is supposed to go in the crypt with grandpa even though that's likely the last place he would ever want to lay to rest when searching for peace. Grandpa didn't much give a fuck about anyone outside of himself, which explains pretty much almost everything."