Immortal Angel (An Argeneau Novel)

by Lynsay Sands

  “I know you,” he assured her. “You are all your abuela and I talked about. She told me everything there is to know about you, Angelina. Your favorite foods, that you dislike the color yellow, that you love to dance and sing, that you were in choir and have the voice of an angel, that you love dogs, and cats and every kind of animal. That you would rather cut off your own hand than hurt another living being. That you—”

  “Then you know me as a child,” Ildaria interrupted. “I’m not that girl anymore, Juan. Just look at what I did to the last Enforcers you sent after me. I have changed. And I do love G.G., big child or not.”

  He stared at her with bewilderment. “But you are my life mate.”

  Ildaria sighed, and said more gently, “I’m sorry. But I do love G.G. and I have hated and been afraid of you for two hundred years. You could not imagine that would change in a matter of minutes? Perhaps in time, if there was no G.G., I could have adjusted my thinking. But he is here, and I love him, and my feelings for you are conflicted at best.”

  She shook her head firmly. “I cannot be your life mate. I already have one.”

  Juan sat very still for a moment, and Ildaria waited, half expecting him to explode in a fury. Much to her surprise, he didn’t though. Instead, he said quietly, “Then I will just have to wait.”

  “For what?” she asked uncertainly.

  “For you,” he said simply and then stood and said, “I have waited two hundred years for you, Angelina. I can wait thirty years or so more. It will give your mind the chance to adjust the image you have of me, and clear the way for us to be together.” Juan then bowed as if to royalty and said, “Be happy, mi amor. I will find and comfort you when the time comes.”

  He then straightened and left the room. They were all still sitting there in silence when the sound of the front door opening and closing reached them. Juan was gone and she was free, Ildaria realized with something like wonder.

  Sixteen

  “I’m so glad everything turned out so well for Angelina.”

  “She prefers Ildaria, Mom,” G.G. murmured, eyeing the red light that was holding them up and delaying his return to Ildaria. She had opted to wait at the apartment with H.D. so that Sofia could open the Night Club while G.G. took his parents to check out of the hotel they’d apparently checked into before coming to find him and Ildaria in her apartment, naked on her kitchen floor.

  G.G. had learned about the hotel on the drive back from the Enforcer house. He’d been surprised to hear they’d already checked into a hotel, and had seen no need for it when he had a guest bedroom for them in his apartment. And his parents had been more than happy to check out and stay with him instead when he made the offer.

  G.G. might have thought twice about making that offer if he’d realized just how long it would take to drive to the hotel, collect their luggage, check them out, and drive back. City traffic was a grind at this time of day, and then it had taken forever to get his parents’ things together and out to the car. After that, they’d spent a good half hour trying to get them checked out. The woman manning the registration desk hadn’t understood why they wanted to leave when they’d only arrived that day. Was the room not up to par? The bed uncomfortable? Etc.

  G.G. had kept wondering why his father didn’t stop answering the questions, and simply take control of the woman and make her get on with it. But since he hadn’t, G.G. had been forced to patiently answer her questions, assuring her that everything was fine, they just wanted to spend more time with their son.

  “Not really,” his mother said now, pulling him back to the conversation. “In fact, before we left she was thinking she might revert to Angelina now that she didn’t have to hide anymore.”

  “Really?” he asked with interest. It was the prettier name to him, and suited her. She was his angel.

  “Yes. She’s very relieved to be done with all that hiding and running business,” Mary said with a faint smile. “And I’m happy for her.”

  G.G. mumbled agreement, but the subject reminded him of the meeting with Juan Villaverde, and his claims that Ildaria was his life mate too. Bastard, he thought with irritation.

  “Tough luck for Juan though,” Robert commented from the back seat. “It seems to run in the family.”

  “What do you mean it seems to run in the family?” G.G.’s mother asked, turning in the front passenger seat to peer back at her husband.

  “Scotty mentioned that Juan’s son, Vasco, had been one of two possible life mates for a girl named Jess,” Robert explained. “The other man was a Notte. Raffaele I think he said his name was.”

  G.G. glanced at his stepfather in the rearview mirror, curious to hear this. Jess was the name of the friend Ildaria had lived with in Montana. Her life mate’s name was Raffaele, but Ildaria hadn’t mentioned anything about Vasco being a possible life mate for Jess too.

  “What happened?” Mary asked with interest.

  “Apparently, Vasco lost out to Raffaele, just like Juan lost out to our boy,” Robert said with a shrug. “Bad luck in love seems to run in that family.”

  “Poor Juan,” Mary sighed, and settled back in her seat with a shake of the head. “First his son, and now him. I do feel sorry for him.”

  G.G. scowled at the words, his hands tightening briefly on the steering wheel as he thought, poor Juan my ass. The man was an arrogant arsehole, and he’d taken control of him and made him sit down. That had really pissed him off. G.G. hated being controlled. On top of that, the man had been insulting as hell about him, calling him a childish mortal. And all because he dressed casually and wore his hair in an unconventional style. He owned a nightclub, for heaven’s sake. He wasn’t a Wall Street drone who had to prance around in designer suits and really awesome gold watches. He could buy that watch if he wanted to. He had money, two businesses, and property. He wasn’t some ne’er-do-well flunkie.

  “Imagine searching for your life mate for two hundred years,” his mother said now. “Knowing who she is and that she’s out there, but searching year after year, decade after decade, and then finally, when you do find her, it’s too late. She’s claimed another as her life mate. Poor Juan.”

  “Yes, poor Juan,” G.G. muttered, bringing a sharp look from his mother.

  “You don’t sound very sympathetic, son,” Mary said, her tone disapproving. “Try to imagine if your roles were reversed.”

  “If our roles had been reversed I wouldn’t have been a jackass and attacked Ildaria,” he assured her, and then said unsympathetically, “He did it to himself.”

  “You’re right, of course,” she agreed sadly. “If he hadn’t attacked her all those years ago, she wouldn’t have run, and he probably would have claimed her at eighteen as he’d planned. You never even would have met her.”

  G.G. blinked at that and then frowned. He couldn’t imagine never having met Ildaria. The woman had become such a big part of his life in this last month that he didn’t know what he’d do without her. Hell, he didn’t want to know what he’d have to do without her.

  “Of course, that wasn’t really his fault,” his mother added judiciously. “Attacking her I mean. He was spaced out on that opium, matzas, and cocoa.”

  “Opium, mescal, and coca leaves,” G.G. corrected absently, still thinking about what his life would be like without Ildaria in it.

  “Right. That,” his mother said and fell silent for a minute, but then shrugged and added, “But I’m glad he’s decided to roll with the punches. Although, I suppose that must be easier when he knows it will all work out for him in the end. He just has to be patient for twenty or thirty years more and then he can have her.”

  G.G. stiffened at the suggestion. “What do you mean he can have her in twenty or thirty years?”

  “Well, being mortal, you won’t live much longer than that,” she pointed out. “And once you die, he can come claim her as his life mate.”

  “Over my dead body,” G.G. muttered.

  “Exactly,” she said, sounding chirpy.
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  G.G. eyed her sharply.

  “Well, it’s true,” she said, shrugging helplessly.

  “Yeah, well maybe I’ll live fifty years just to spite the bastard,” he muttered.

  “Not the way you eat, dear. You like your fried foods too much,” she responded at once.

  G.G. glowered at her. Not that his mother seemed to notice. She was shaking her head now, her mind on poor Juan.

  “Yes, I imagine twenty or thirty years is the best we can expect, and then we’ll lose you to a heart attack or stroke or something.”

  G.G. thought his left eye might be twitching and looked in the rearview mirror to see if it was visible.

  “On the bright side,” Mary went on, “at least, we won’t have to worry about little Angelina after you pass. She won’t get all mopey and weepy and depressed like most immortals do when their life mates die.” Turning toward him in her seat, she exclaimed, “Do you know, I’ve heard some even go rogue when that happens. But our little Angelina won’t. No sir, not with Juan waiting in the wings.”

  “Great,” G.G. growled, his hands tightening on the steering wheel again.

  “Don’t worry though, we’ll make sure she makes it to your funeral.”

  “What?” he asked with disbelief. “Why the hell wouldn’t she make it to the funeral? She isn’t going to take up with Juan the minute I’m dead.”

  “Well, no of course she won’t mean to. She obviously loves you. I mean she must. She did pick you over that handsome, sexy Juan Villaverde. And she would want to be respectful when you die.”

  G.G. nodded with a grunt, but was thinking he could have done without his mother calling Juan handsome and sexy. Did Ildaria think he was handsome and sexy too?

  “But you know how new life mates are, Joshua,” his mother added now. “Why, you’re a new life mate yourself, so I know you understand.”

  “Understand what?” he snapped.

  “About Angelina and Juan,” she said as if that should be obvious. “You know the minute he gets word that you’re dead he’ll shower, shave, put on his best suit, and fly straight to Angelina’s side to offer condolences and support. She’s his life mate after all.”

  “She’s my life mate,” G.G. snarled, but in his mind he saw Ildaria opening the door to Juan. The man had flowers and a shit-eating grin.

  “And of course, she’ll be crying because she loves you so and she’s lost you, and he’ll take her in his arms to offer comfort, and . . . Well, you know how new life mates are,” she repeated.

  He did know, and the Juan of the shit-eating grin in his mind was now ravishing Ildaria up against the still open door.

  “Bloody hell,” G.G. barked furiously, but his mother wasn’t done.

  “It’ll be sex, pass out, sex, pass out, and so on. But we’ll be sure to stop by to collect her on the way to the funeral to ensure she isn’t passed out and missing it.”

  That, he realized with dismay, was a very real possibility. Juan could be at Ildaria’s side and screwing her the day after he died if he touched her bare skin, even her hand would be enough.

  “That’s only if you die suddenly of a heart attack or something,” Robert commented, his tone thoughtful. When G.G. glanced at him in the rearview mirror, hoping for something encouraging, the man pointed out, “You might end up dying of cancer or some other long drawn out disease.”

  “Oh, my yes,” his mother said with realization and started nodding like a bobblehead. “In that case, Juan would probably be here in Canada, waiting for you to pass.”

  “Christ,” G.G. breathed with dismay.

  “I can see it now,” Mary went on in a dramatic voice. “You pale and wasted in your hospital bed, Angelina at your side . . . Juan at hers.”

  “I will not have that bastard at my deathbed,” G.G. snapped. “The vulture can just wait until I die before showing up.”

  Undeterred, his mother continued, “You’ll take your last, gasping breath and then pass peacefully away.” She actually made a choking sound, rolled her eyes up in her head, and then let her chin drop to her chest, imitating his death. Him. He was her one and only dear son, and she was making a mockery of his death.

  Eyes popping open and head rising again, she continued, “Angelina will start to weep inconsolably, and Juan will take her in his arms to offer comfort and . . . well, you know new life mates,” she repeated pragmatically.

  Yeah, he knew new life mates, G.G. thought grimly, actually visualizing the scene himself. God in heaven, they’d be screwing on top of his corpse before he was even cold in his deathbed in that scenario.

  Mary heaved a sigh and said now, “I suppose I’ll just have to think of it like a donor situation.”

  G.G. blinked away the nightmare of Juan and Ildaria doing it on his emaciated old-man body and asked uncertainly, “A donor situation?”

  “Well, they do say the families of organ donors find comfort in the knowledge that the loss of their loved one has given a second chance to the people who have received their organs,” she explained. “I’m just thinking I should probably think of it like that too. Your passing may not give organs to others, but it will certainly give Juan a second chance at love and life . . . and Ildaria.”

  “God in heaven,” G.G. muttered.

  “It’s nice we won’t have to worry about Angelina though,” Mary added. “Neither emotionally nor financially. Juan apparently has scads of money. And she’ll have a title with him too. She’ll be a lady. Lady Angelina Villaverde,” she informed him, sounding impressed, and then explained, “I gather Juan is a lord by birth.”

  “Is he?” he asked, grinding his teeth now. Of course his mother was impressed with titles. She was English.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, sounding enthusiastic. “On the flight here, Scotty told us Juan Villaverde was born in Spain to a lord. He only moved to the Dominican Republic later. He was a lord there, and still is I suppose. Lord Juan Villaverde.”

  “Don,” Robert said.

  “What is that, love?” G.G.’s mother asked, craning her head to peer at her husband again.

  “The Spanish title for a lord is Don,” he explained. “He was Don Juan Villaverde.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then his mother squealed with glee. “Oh my God, Angelina has a real-life Don Juan in her future!”

  “The hell she does,” G.G. said in a low grating voice.

  “She doesn’t?” her mother asked with confusion.

  “No. Because you’re going to turn me.”

  Ildaria rolled over sleepily and fell out of bed, landing on the hard floor with an “oomph.”

  Not bed, she realized as she opened her eyes. The couch. She’d fallen asleep on it last night waiting for G.G. and his parents to return.

  A yip drew her attention upward to see H.D. standing on the couch, staring down at her with an expression that seemed to suggest he wasn’t impressed with her inability to stay on the couch.

  Sighing, she rolled over and sat up to give the dog a soothing pet. “Sorry, buddy. Did I wake you?”

  H.D. nuzzled her hand, apparently forgiving all.

  Smiling faintly, Ildaria yawned and then glanced toward the clock on the wall, her eyes widening when she saw that it was well past two o’clock in the afternoon.

  “What the hell?” she muttered, getting quickly to her feet, but then she stood there, briefly frozen by uncertainty. Checking out of a hotel and collecting their luggage couldn’t take this long. Maybe G.G. and his parents had returned, found her sleeping, and simply gone to his place rather than wake her. Or had they not returned yet? What if they’d been in an accident?

  Cursing, she strode to the door of her apartment, and unlocked and pulled it open. Tybo and Valerian were standing talking by the stairwell door, but paused and turned to her at once. Lucian had decided she should continue to have a guard until Juan flew back to South America. It was just in case the man was tempted to grab and drag her back with him to try to convince her to change her min
d and be his life mate.

  Ildaria had no idea when Juan was expected to fly back home, but until he did, she had babysitters. Which was actually kind of handy right now, she thought, and opened her mouth to ask them if G.G. and his parents had returned, only to curse instead and scramble after H.D. when he bounded past her into the hall to run barking toward the two Enforcers.

  “No, no, no,” she said sternly, scooping him up just before he sank his teeth into Tybo’s boot. “Bad doggy.”

  H.D. stopped barking and resorted to growling under his breath at the amused Enforcers as she cuddled him to her chest. With the beast no longer a threat, she offered an apologetic smile to the two men and asked, “Did G.G. and his parents stay at his place last night?”

  When Tybo raised his eyebrows at the question, she grimaced and confessed, “I fell asleep on the couch waiting for them and just woke up.”

  “Ah.” Tybo nodded. “Yes. He stayed with his parents.”

  She frowned unhappily at that news. “I wish he had woken me up when he got back. I baked a cake and . . .” She shook her head. “I guess we can have it today when they wake up. Or maybe I should make them breakfast,” she muttered, turning to head back toward her door. Pausing there she turned back to ask, “What time did they get back? I don’t want to start breakfast too early and have it go cold waiting for them to get up.”

  The two men exchanged a glance and then Tybo said, “Yeah, I’d hold off on that then. They might not be up for a while yet. It sounded like they were up pretty late last night.”

  “Oh.” Ildaria swung back to her door, and then remembered H.D. and peered down at him with resignation. “Right. You probably have to go outside.”

  “I’ll take him,” Valerian said at once, moving toward her.

  “Oh, no, it’s okay,” Ildaria began, but Valerian was already taking the dog from her. He was careful to keep his hands away from H.D.’s mouth, she noticed.

  “It is either me or all three of us since we are to guard you,” he pointed out. “And I can use the fresh air.”