by Kristie Cook
“That Daemoni who chased me . . .”
“I distracted him away from you.” He shrugged. “He was weak. My presence was enough to scare him away. He could have known Owen approached, too. As soon as I sensed Owen coming and knew you’d be okay, I took off, still not sure if I was ready yet.”
“So . . . do you want to kill me?”
“I don’t. But I don’t know what’s inside, what they’ve done. We’ll need to be careful again.”
The corners of his lips tugged in a sad smile, and my shoulders sank with disappointment. We’d fought and won this battle so many years ago, but it had taken much time and patience.
“Do you want to kill me?” he asked.
I looked up at him in surprise. “What? Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I can feel the power building in you.” He placed my hand back over his heart.
“I would never want to kill you. Amadis love. We save, not kill.”
“You don’t know what that power will make you want to do. And we won’t know until you change over and have received the full force.” He studied my face and lifted my hair away from my shoulder, twirling a lock around his finger. “And I know you’re changing, Lex. I can see it. You look completely different than you did a week ago.”
I groaned. “I can’t believe you saw me like that.”
“You’d been through a lot, my love. And you were incredibly beautiful to me.” He smiled and winked. I’d forgotten the brain-fog that blanketed my mind when he winked, and I welcomed it, gazing at him stupidly. He laughed. “I missed that look.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You like it when I look like an idiot?”
He laughed again. I loved the sound. “You don’t look like an idiot. You get this look like you adore me, like I’m the only person in your world. And I love that.”
“Well, I do adore you.” I kissed him. And I couldn’t control myself. I wanted him so badly. Needed him. And I needed to show him how much I missed him, how much I loved him and wanted him. How happy I felt to have him back. Kissing wasn’t enough to communicate all of my emotions. I needed to feel him, every inch of him, inside and out. My hands locked against his face as my body ground against his.
“Slow and careful,” he murmured, pulling my hands from his face and gently pushing me back. The fire in his eyes looked controlled. I knew the look. Whatever happened to him over the years, he was my Tristan, and he still loved me. I trusted he wouldn’t do anything to me.
“You underestimate yourself,” I muttered.
“Maybe. But I’m not taking any chances.”
“I’m stronger now. If you hurt me, I’ll heal.”
“You know it’s not about just hurting you. We know we can handle that. Remember?” The gold flecks in his eyes sparkled as he remembered our honeymoon. We’d both had bruises from the supernatural force of our passion, even in the beginning, when I was relatively normal. I couldn’t help but smile. And want him even more.
“I was ready to die last night anyway,” I said with a shrug. “At least now it’d be while making love to you one last time.”
He glared at me. “That’s not funny.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’ve waited too long to see you and hold you again for it to come to such a gruesome ending,” he said, making an effort to keep the mood light. He took my hand and kissed the tips of each of my fingers, then my engagement ring. He lifted the pendant off my chest and noticed the key still hanging there.
“You really waited.”
“Of course.”
“Lucas said they’d convinced you I was dead.”
I shuddered at the thought, then shook my head. “The only news I ever heard was just a couple days ago. A video sent to convince me . . . but I just couldn’t believe it. I knew I still needed to hang on to the hope for you.”
“Thank you,” he whispered as he let go of the pendant, his fingers brushing lightly against my neck.
“Did a vampire really bite me?” I asked, his touch on my throat reminding me.
His face went dark, and he frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”
“You were just in time.” I remembered the blonde bending over, her mouth at my throat, and cringed. “So why aren’t I a vampire now?”
“You have Amadis blood and Daemoni blood. Vampires are nothing compared to that combination. Besides, it takes more than just a bite.”
“Oh.” I shivered, remembering the hatred I’d felt for the blonde. “Who is she?”
Tristan grunted. “Do we really have to talk about her?”
“You don’t want to tell me.” It wasn’t a question. History apparently existed between them, history he didn’t want me to know about. Possibly even recent history. My heart shrunk at the thought. Did he faithfully wait for me as I had for him? Did he have a choice? These were unknowns I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to. I just wanted to be happy he came back to my side—that he wanted to be here with me and nowhere else. But still . . .
He rolled over on his side and sighed heavily with resignation. Here it comes. “Vanessa is a spoiled brat who somehow got the idea in her head a long time ago that she and I should be together, and she won’t give up.”
My throat worked overtime as I tried to swallow the disappointment. “So you and her . . . ?”
He lifted my chin with his thumb to look into my eyes. “Never.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. “She doesn’t seem to think so. And she certainly doesn’t like me.”
He chuckled. “She’s used to getting everything she wants and doesn’t like to be told no. I’ve told her ‘no’ many times. In fact, given the choice, you are my only ‘yes.’”
“So no others I should be worried about?”
“I don’t think so.”
My stomach rolled. “You don’t think so?”
His voice came soft and low. “Alexis, I’ve been around a long time. You know I had a past, but no one else has pursued me anything like Vanessa.”
I bit my lower lip and nodded. “So no one . . .” My breath hitched as I forced the words out. “. . . more recently?”
He braced my face in his hands. “Absolutely not. Only you, my love. You have my heart, my soul . . . my everything. I would have let them kill me before betraying my love for you.”
I searched his eyes and only found sincerity. And deep-rooted, soul-bound love.
“I remembered her from a long time ago,” I said, “when she and the others attacked me before we moved to Florida.” That whole night came back to me with perfect clarity, and I remembered being attacked with a certainty I’d never had about it before. I had been right. I hadn’t mixed up the details or confused the real events with a dream, as I had thought . . . as Mom had made me believe. There had been a witch and a werewolf and Vanessa the vampire and . . . “Holy hell! That was you and Owen who saved me!”
He chuckled. “I wondered if you ever figured that out. Owen had been watching you that night. I was hanging out with him.”
“So what took you so long? They would have killed me!”
“We would have never let it get that far, but, first, we had to see how far they would go. If we stepped in unnecessarily, Sophia would have killed us for breaching the secrecy. But when Vanessa showed up, I made Owen go in. And then . . . I just couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stand by and watch without helping him. It was reckless on my part—not knowing if I’d want to hurt them . . . or you.” His voice trailed off at the thought, but then picked up again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. Sophia said you couldn’t know. In fact, Owen was supposed to erase the details from your mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the job completely. He didn’t think it right, and I thought you deserved to know enough to be aware and alert. But Sophia disagreed. She insisted that you at least thought the attack was a dream, until . . . well, until now, I suppose.”
I recalled Owen kneeling next to me after Vanessa and the witch had left, his hands h
overing over me. “But why did Owen say something about a disco?”
Tristan’s eyes tightened for a moment, but then he chuckled. “You probably heard discedo. It’s the Latin word for leave or go away. Part of his memory alteration incantation.”
Understanding overcame me. “That must have been what caused the crazy headache I had the next day. It’d felt like someone had dug around in my brain.”
“I’m afraid so. That’s pretty much what he had been doing.”
I probably should have been angry about that, but the confirmation that I’d been right all along overpowered any negative feelings.
“Do you know I dreamt of you every night after that? Of course, I didn’t know who you were then. And then the dreams stopped—” Ah. I smiled. “They stopped the night I met you, well, when we actually met, that first night of college. Do you remember that night?”
“How could I forget?” A grin stretched across his face. “I thought converting to the Amadis changed my life forever, but I still lived in the shadows. My own shadows, not theirs anymore, but still a darkness as deep as the night. When I met you . . . it was like someone finally turned the light on. Or the sun came out. For months, I could feel something out there, an energy I felt pulled to. But I wanted to resist the draw, not knowing what it was. My darkness blinded me to the truth. It was you—your life and hope and love—pulling me, and I didn’t know it until that night.”
We exchanged grins—along with the feeling of knowing something magical had already been in the works, long before we actually met. He kissed me, and I returned it. And the passionate desire rose again. Damn it! Damn them! Before I got carried away, only to be disappointed, I pulled back and reluctantly rolled out of bed. I really didn’t want to leave his side, part of me still afraid he would be gone when I returned, but I couldn’t put some things off any longer.
“I can’t believe you left me in this disgusting dress,” I said as I headed into the bathroom.
“I didn’t trust myself to undress you.” He paused, then added lightly, “I might’ve taken advantage of you.”
“Yeah, right.”
I looked at myself in the mirror. He’d left the bloodstained dress on me, but it looked like he’d removed all the glass—no lumps under my skin—and cleaned up the cuts. They were completely healed now, and only a few specks of dried blood remained. I wondered if he had healed me. At one time, that had freaked me out—his ability to heal other people—because he had to suck my blood. Not for nourishment, like a vampire, but to clean the wound because it couldn’t heal itself. Now, though, I didn’t care if he’d healed the cuts and didn’t even ask. I drew in some deep breaths, and I felt well, healed. Pulling the dress over my head didn’t bring the slightest ache or pain. I tossed the ruined garment into the trash.
I stood under the hot shower—our shower, it felt natural to be in here now—and let the water flow over my body. It felt remarkably good, washing away years of crusted-on pain and darkness. All of my anger flowed away and swirled down the drain. I wanted to stand there forever, but I also wanted to hurry, to be back in Tristan’s arms. When I turned around, though, I saw him watching me from the bathroom door. A minute later, he stepped in to join me, my soap and shampoo in his hands. His hair hung loose now and to his shoulders, falling in his face. I brushed it away, and his eyes smoldered.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He smiled. “I’m sure I can’t stand it any longer.”
He pulled me into his arms, and we were finally flesh against flesh. The electricity jolted between us, and it had never felt so good. Every touch shocked me. Every kiss on my neck, my chest, my breasts sent a current through my nerves, making my body throb desperately in anticipation. I was so hungry for him. It had been so long. So agonizingly long. I wanted to devour him, to pull him into me, to sink into him. To be one with him again. He finally lifted me to him, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. My back arched, and I moaned as he pushed inside me.
And he growled, a deep, guttural resonance.
If I hadn’t heard it before, the baritone sound might have been funny. But I knew that sound, from long ago. My heart raced faster as I looked into his flaming eyes. I tried not to panic and said what I thought he needed to hear, what he needed to be reminded of.
“I love you, Tristan,” I whispered.
The flames died down as he held me still against him, one hand between my shoulder blades and his other at the small of my back. His breathing slowed a bit. He focused on me, only sparks left in his eyes. It worked.
“Mmm . . . I love you, too, ma lykita.”
We were cautious and reckless at the same time. Slow at first, like swimmers testing the water, making sure no danger lurked below. Then quickly giving in to our urgent hunger. Our physical needs were so great, our bodies so desperate, the motions became fast and fervent and frenzied. And the whole thing was over in an instant with an explosive force that racked our bodies as we shouted the other’s name. Holding each other and panting, we crumpled to the floor of the shower. Our hearts pounded like bass drums, not realizing we’d already reached the crescendo.
“That was . . . necessary,” Tristan muttered, and we burst into giddy laughter.
Chapter 9
When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I found a pile of sheets on the floor and Tristan, a towel around his waist, sitting on the freshly made bed. I had to pinch my arm . . . just to be sure. As he rummaged through his old bag, I picked up the sheets and took them to the washer, knowing the sooner I soaked them in cold water, the more likely the blood from my injuries would wash out. I didn’t get my hopes up, though. I probably should have washed clothes first, but I thought we might need clean sheets before I needed clothes. I would get my hopes up about that.
I hurried back to the room to find my lavender stationery in Tristan’s hand, his head bent over as he read the letters I’d written to him over the years. His hair hung like a curtain, hiding his face. Sadness swept over me again. The letters, one for each of our wedding anniversaries, provided glimpses into my and Dorian’s lives each year. They also begged for his return and were full of raw emotion since our anniversary kicked off the Terrible Twos that inevitably sucked me into the darkness, even in more recent years. Tucking the letters into his bag had been my way of delivering them, though I never really expected him to read them. I wasn’t sure now I wanted him to know how desolate I’d been in my worst moments.
I crawled across the bed and knelt behind him, rubbing his shoulders as he read the last one. He didn’t say anything at first. I draped my arms around him and lay my head against his shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice came thick and heavy.
“You know, it felt like a long time only because I couldn’t be with you. But seven years really isn’t that long to me—feels like a year to most people. But for you . . .” He trailed off.
“It was excruciatingly long,” I finished.
“And our son . . . I missed so much. I should have been there for him.”
I moved around to sit in his lap and wrapped my arms around him. I didn’t know what to say, so I just held him as his tears landed on my shoulder.
“I don’t know if it’ll make you feel any better, but I really don’t remember much until I was five or so,” I finally said. “You’ll be there from now on, and you’re just in time for the good part. You missed the middle-of-the-night feedings, diapers, and potty training. Now he’s really becoming a little person.”
“I would have loved every minute,” he said quietly, and I knew he would have. “The first chance I had to get to a computer, I did a search on you. I saw how the media tore you up over your so-called teen pregnancy. I almost went on a murderous rampage.”
I shrugged. “I knew the truth. The people most important to me knew the truth. Including Dorian.”
“Tell me about him.”
A smile automatically blossomed across my face, and my heart warmed. “Well . . . he looks just like you, bu
t he has quite an attitude, like me. Well, you, too. I think he got the worst of us both—but in a good way, because he won’t take crap from anyone. He’s unusually fast and strong for his age and size, and he never gets sick or hurt, even with all the fights he’s been in. Mom says it’s to be expected, with who his parents are. Otherwise, he shows no signs of abilities or powers . . . but every once in a while he gets this look on his face as if he knows something the rest of us don’t.”
I jabbered nonstop about Dorian, and Tristan’s face lit up like the sun. He asked me all kinds of questions and laughed at the stories I shared. A bittersweet conversation for us both.
“I can’t wait for you to get to know him. And he’ll be so excited to finally meet you.” I sighed as I realized how much I missed him.
And then there was the bad news. He already knew from my letters, but I had to say the words, we had to discuss the subject. I hung my head in shame, and the words came out as barely more than a whisper. “As you can see, we don’t have a daughter.”
He pulled me against him, and grief poured through his voice, too. “I’m so sorry. I’ve tried to forget the time I was away, pushing each day out of my mind as the next one started, but I’ll never forget the day Dorian came into the world. The Daemoni celebrated. That’s how they tortured me that day—celebrating that the Amadis would end with you. And it was probably the worst torture of the whole time they held me, because I needed you and I knew you needed me. It almost killed me to think of you suffering through that, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.”
