Annie's Song

by Cate Dean

  She paled. “Marcus—”

  “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  The change of subject startled her. Blinking, she shook her head. “Just the usual workday.”

  “Good.” He opened the door. “I would like to take you out to dinner.”

  “Out. Like a date.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. Damn her charm, he wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t stand upright. “Exactly like a date. I will come for you at seven.”

  Before she could refuse he stepped outside and closed the door between them.

  It had been centuries, but he would romance her, and that stubborn boy. He was Jinn, after all.

  Charm was his stock and trade.

  FOUR

  “Morning.” Eric kissed Annie’s cheek, sat at the small table in their hotel room and lifted the cover off his plate. “Room service?”

  “Rain. Again.” She rustled the newspaper, smiling over at him. “I felt like taking the day off from slogging through puddles and staring at drenched ruins.”

  Laughing, he picked up his fork, sampled the eggs. She watched his eyes glaze over. “You had them put cheese in. Will you marry me?”

  “A man so easy to please? In a heartbeat.” She smiled as she rummaged for the front section. Her smile faded, anger grabbing her as she read the headline. “Oh, hell no.”

  “Annie.” Eric dropped his fork, started to get up. “What—”

  She turned the paper until he could read the headline. “More vandalism at the local standing stones. This time they damaged one of the stones. Damn it—I hate people who think they can violate places like that. Don’t they know—” She cut herself off as nausea burned her throat—quickly followed by the sudden, vile need to throw up.

  Clapping one hand over her mouth, she dropped the paper and ran for the bathroom.

  Eric followed her, crouched behind her, supporting her until she slumped against the toilet. “Here.” He handed her a glass of water, then leaned forward and flushed, taking the glass out of her shaking fingers. “Let’s get you off this cold floor.”

  Picking her up, he carried her back out to their room, laid her on the rumpled bed. She felt clammy, shivering even though she wore a heavy robe. Eric grabbed the throw off the end of the bed and tucked it around her.

  “Talk to me, blondie.” He brushed damp hair off her forehead, worry almost hiding the fear in his blue eyes. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

  “Bad fish was the first time.” Her throat felt raw. “And I had more fish for breakfast. Stupid me.” She smiled—or tried to. By the look on his face, she failed. “I’m okay. I already feel better. Just—seeing the desecration of such a sacred place. I guess it got to me.”

  “I’m going to the grocery down the street, get you some crackers, some ginger ale if they have it. Stay right here.”

  He brushed his lips across her forehead, pulling on his jacket as he headed for the door. Unlike her, he always dressed before breakfast. Habit, he once told her. He’d been interrupted one time too many with an emergency in his vet clinic, and getting dressed took precious time.

  Annie watched him leave, then let out a shaky breath. She hated throwing up. Twice in one week was like torture.

  No more fish for her.

  FIVE

  Claire changed her outfit for the third time, and hated it just as much as the first two.

  It would have to do. She only had enough time to change her earrings and freshen the little makeup she did wear before Marcus arrived.

  Lowering herself to the bed, she pressed one hand against her stomach, feeling ill. Why am I terrified? It is Marcus—and I know him too well to fall for his brand of charm.

  The thought didn’t comfort her.

  “Mom?” Zach stood in her doorway, six feet of nervous. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, sweetie. It’s just dinner.” She ran those words through her head, like a mantra. Just dinner—not a life-changing experience. Just dinner. Looking closer, she saw the concern he tried to hide. “Are you okay?”

  One foot kicked at the floor, his sock sliding across the hardwood. Just as she decided he wouldn’t answer the words burst out of him. “I don’t like that man!” He looked up at her through the curtain of golden brown hair that brushed his shoulders. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Oh, Zach.” Claire crossed the bedroom and pulled him into her arms, rubbing his back. “I know this is hard for you. But I do trust him, and he has proven himself trustworthy, despite his reputation.”

  “Ha!” He jerked away, stabbing his finger in the air. “He has a reputation—and you’re going out with him?”

  With a sigh, she moved to her dresser, picked up the clear quartz drops she chose to wear—to help keep her centered. She would need the boost. “There will be a time, Zach, when you bring home a girl I am not fond of; but I will trust your judgment, because I know you have a good head on your shoulders. All I ask is for the same consideration.” Turning around, she met his eyes, saw what she expected was behind all the bluster—he was scared. “Come here.”

  Dragging his feet, he obeyed, but he didn’t object or pull away when she wrapped her arm around his waist. “What?”

  “No one will ever replace you. Not in my heart, not in my life. Do you understand?” He stared at her, tears she rarely saw filling his eyes. “You are my son, Zachariah Wiche. I didn’t know how lonely my life was until you became part of it.” She kissed his cheek, slid her free hand into his hair when he laid his head on her shoulder. “Now, I want you to take total advantage of having the house to yourself. I bought some snacks, and a couple of Lily’s roast beef sandwiches are in the fridge.”

  “Mom—two sandwiches? You don’t want me to save you any?” The hopeful tone—that he hoped she would say no—made her laugh.

  “It’s all for you. Along with a movie or three of your choice from on demand. Remember—I pay the bill, so don’t go crazy.”

  “Thank you!” He nearly smothered her with his enthusiastic hug. “I’m going to go check the new releases!” Claire chuckled as he dashed out of her room—and halted mid step when he barreled back in, hugging her. “I love you, Mom.”

  She was thankful he disappeared again, so he couldn’t see the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  It was the first time he said he loved her.

  *

  Marcus laid his hand over hers, long fingers brushing the edge of her scarred tattoo. Claire swallowed, meeting his gaze across the table. The sounds of the busy restaurant faded.

  He looked incredible tonight, black curls framing his face, spilling over the shoulders of his midnight blue suit. The scar on his left cheek—a memento from his nearly fatal trial with the council of Jinn—had faded, and just made him more handsome. In a dangerous, breath-robbing way. The silver hamsa earring winked at her through his hair. God above, she would have a hard time resisting him.

  “You are quiet tonight.” He turned her hand over, his finger tracing the lines on her palm. She swallowed again, fighting the urge to jump him. “Can you tell me why?”

  Surprisingly, her voice sounded normal. “Confusion, concern.” A smile threatened. “Cowardice.”

  “And alliteration. You may be many things, Claire, but a coward is not one of them.”

  Easing her hand free, she laid them both in her lap, out of reach. Marcus frowned. “I am, because I am going to use my son as an excuse when I say no to whatever you have planned after dinner.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and she knew he was annoyed. “What if I told you I had nothing planned?”

  “Then I won’t need to make excuses. Marcus,” Claire took in a breath, forced herself to keep eye contact. “Zach is scared, and I will not do anything to perpetuate that fear. So this goes slow—probably too slow for you—or it ends.”

  “Claire—”

  “I told you he would come first.” She spoke over him, fighting the need to soothe, to touch, to take him right there in the restaurant— Stop. Dis
tance—I need distance. “And until he feels comfortable, confident in his place in my life, I won’t jeopardize the shaky balance we have right now.” She blurted out the one thing she didn’t plan on telling him tonight. “We’re leaving for England in a couple of days, to join Annie and Eric.” Marcus stood, startling her. He dropped money on the table and pulled her to her feet. “What—”

  “Not a word.”

  They left the restaurant, passing their waiter—who carried their dinner plates on a tray. He opened his mouth, stopped when Marcus stuffed some bills into his shirt pocket. By the time they hit the sidewalk Claire was all but running to keep up with him.

  “Marcus—”

  “No.” He jaywalked across Beach, lifted her to the boardwalk and dragged her after him. Once they hit the sand he picked her up and carried her, dropping her on the deserted beach. “Now we have words.”

  “You arrogant—” Claire kicked off her shoes, so angry she wanted to punch something. Preferably his face. He had embarrassed her, dragging her around like a boy with a prize, shushing her like she was five. “How dare you treat me like that. And if you try an ounce of your damn hocus pocus on me, Jinn, so help me I’ll jam your own fist down your—”

  He kissed her silent.

  The tenderness, the power of it, had her gripping his arms, her legs refusing to hold her. His arms slid around her, hauled her up against his chest. Heat surrounded them, wind and sand brushing her bare skin. That heat spread through her, and she stilled as she realized what Marcus was doing.

  Pulling away, she met his eyes. Gold swallowed the jade green, proof that he was using his power to soothe her. “Stop—Marcus, please—don’t waste your healing—”

  “Claire. You have been, and always will be deserving of my care. And as much as I hate to make the comparison, I am like Annie. I know all your secrets, and I love you anyway.”

  “Heaven above.” She lowered her head to his shoulder. “You certainly know how to humble.”

  “That was not my intention. This was: you are important to me. I am willing to wait until Zach accepts my presence in your life.” He settled her to the sand, long fingers closing around her hand. “And there is no expiration on that. Take as long as you need, as long as he needs. Though I would prefer sooner rather than later.”

  His smile made her ache. His words eased the weight on her heart.

  “I’ll work on it. Now, Jinn, since you paid for a meal we didn’t eat, the dinner we do eat is on me.” She raised her hand before he could argue. “How does a steak dinner shared in the back of my shop sound?”

  “The twelve ounce porterhouse from Billie’s Pub?” He bent over her hand, kissed her palm. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

  “My boys and their meat.” Still in turmoil from his kiss, she freed her hand, picked up her shoes. “If we hurry, there may still be some of her apple pie left.”

  She laughed as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the boardwalk. They stopped long enough for her to slip on her shoes. She didn’t bother with her hair; the evening damp had its way with her waves, and nothing short of a full dunking would calm them.

  “Claire.” Marcus cradled her cheek, those beautiful gold-laced green eyes studying her. “We will make this work. Whatever it takes, we will be a family.”

  She closed her eyes, felt his lips brush over hers. Family.

  The one thing she always wanted.

  The one thing she never thought she would have.

  SIX

  Annie rolled over, blinking at the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Sunlight—

  She sat, nearly blinded by the bright room. And bolted across the room as the now familiar nausea clutched her stomach.

  Crouching over the toilet, she threw up, dry heaves cramping her muscles. Strong hands closed over her shoulders, held her until she found control of her body. Gasping, she stretched out on the floor, cold from the tiles seeping through her pajamas, soothing her overheated skin. Eric leaned over her, pushed tangled curls off her cheek.

  “Not fish this time,” he said. She shook her head, miserable. “I’m going to have the concierge find a doctor—”

  “No,” she whispered, flinching at her raw voice. “Let me just rest. If it’s the flu, I’ll know in a few hours—”

  “And if it’s not? I won’t take the chance, Annie.”

  “Please.” She hated doctors—hated the thought of them, ever since a cold, clinical surgeon informed her that her parents were dead, in a tone that could have been ordering takeout, for all its concern. “If I’m not better by tonight, I’ll see a doctor. You go—don’t miss the bus tour because of me.”

  Eric helped her up, guided her to the bed and helped her settle, tucking her in like a child. “I’ll have the front desk send up some medicine. Don’t you leave this room. That’s not negotiable. I’m not taking the bus tour without you, but I will leave for a while, to let you get some sleep.” His lips brushed her forehead. “You’re not feverish.” He stood, relief on his face. Pushing one hand through his sun streaked hair, his voice moved into lecture mode. “Drink fluids, take your medicine, and stay in bed, Annie. You need to rest.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  He flashed a smile, brushed a kiss over her cheek, and left her alone.

  She curled up on her side, her stomach aching and hollow. Just the thought of food made her nauseous. Though she thought she could manage a little water. The pretty crystal carafe on the nightstand was in easy reach. Carefully, she sat, poured half a glass of water and took an experimental sip. It stayed down, felt good on her raw throat.

  Until these bouts of nausea, she’d been fine. Better than fine, with two weeks of nothing but Eric and the day’s plans to ponder over, to enjoy. It felt like it had been years since she had such a long stretch of drama-free time. Not that she was complaining—it was an exhilarating way to live. And exhausting.

  She would have to recharge like this every once in a while, because she didn’t plan on missing out on any of Claire’s adventures—even if it was the wild ride of raising a teenage boy who had once been a rogue angel.

  Now if she could just shake this bug, she and Eric could—

  She stilled as a horrible thought burned into her mind.

  No . . . God, no—I can’t be . . .

  Mentally, her throat dry, she counted back the days, the weeks to her last period. She was never regular, so missing a month wasn’t cause for a flaming panic party. It had been—God, she couldn’t remember.

  “Bring on the panic party,” she whispered.

  Climbing out of bed, she dressed as fast as she could, praying she wouldn’t run into Eric outside. She would head away from the high street, hit the chemist on the next street over, and slink back here. If he beat her back, she’d just lock herself in the bathroom until she knew.

  Once the idea that she could be pregnant took hold, it burned out every other thought. She didn’t even remember her path to the chemist, and lost all awareness of her surroundings. Until she stood in front of the shelf, staring at the assortment of pregnancy tests.

  It was too soon. She wasn’t ready—God, was Eric ready? She didn’t even know if she had what it took to be a mother.

  Please, I can’t be—not yet—

  Cutting off the pointless repetition, she grabbed three different tests and stood in line to check out, trying to look as unconcerned as possible. And she managed, until she set them on the counter, and the cashier started to gush.

  “You’ll be knowing the truth in just minutes with these—quality tests.” Winking, she rang them up, then handed over the bag that thankfully concealed them. “Take yourself back to the mister, let him share the joy. The best to both of you, lass.”

  The woman’s final words, spoken with such warmth, eased Annie’s desire to crawl quietly out of the store. More than every step she’d taken, every wild denial that tried to blast out the thought, this stranger’s quiet blessing drove home the truth she already
knew.

  She left the store, took in a deep breath, and started back toward the hotel. Every detail, from the brightly painted storefronts, to the people hustling around her, was sharp, clear, and so full of life. She wanted to cry, to marvel, to be in awe of the possibility that she, Annie Sullivan, could be like the woman walking along the sidewalk, holding the hand of a beautiful little girl, smiling at her bright chatter.

  Heart pounding, she made her way to the hotel, both relieved and disappointed that Eric wasn’t there. She locked herself in the bathroom, broke open the first test, read the instructions, peed on the stick, and huddled on the edge of the bath tub, staring at the small square, waiting for her life to change.

  The two pink lines lodged her breath in her throat. She shook the stick, hoping it would change, wanting it to stay. Both lines stuck, mocking her attempt to change the truth. Not satisfied, she took the second, then the third.

  And found herself, huddled on the floor, staring at the line of test sticks, each one happily informing her that yes, she was pregnant! Congratulations!

  She lowered her head to her knees, tears stinging her eyes. And heard the door to the room close, announcing Eric’s presence.

  “Annie?” Footsteps approached the bathroom. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I brought some soup—the hotel owner’s wife heard you were sick, and brought it over herself. Annie?” The door latch jiggled. She pulled herself up, sat on the tub. “Unlock the door, Annie, you’re making me nervous.” Using the wall, she stood, still lightheaded, but no longer nauseous, and flicked the door lock. She was sitting on the tub again by the time Eric opened the door. “What are you . . .”

  His voice faded as he looked at the floor. She watched his gaze move from the pile of torn boxes, to the neat line of test sticks, and finally, to her.

  “The answer is yes.” She stood, panic roaring back through the shock. “You got me pregnant.”

  He looked at her, then down at her still flat stomach. “Pregnant.”