by Anne Hope
The mere thought of having her love only to lose it crippled him. He’d been here before, had felt the same joy that now threatened to crest inside him. Then, in one fell swoop, it had flattened him and left him empty.
He closed his eyes. He had to. Looking at her made him feel too much, made him want things he wasn’t sure he could have.
“Adrian?”
He heard the doubt in her voice, the uncertainty, and he cursed himself for not reacting the way he should. The way she expected him to.
He pushed his lids open and forced himself to look at her. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.”
Raising her chin, she pressed her lips to his. It was the lightest of caresses, a brush of silk across his mouth, but it was more potent than all the kisses they’d shared combined, because now he knew she loved him.
“No, I scared you,” she whispered, her breath feathering over his cheek. “And that’s okay. This thing between us, it scares me, too.”
How did she do it? How did she read him so accurately? No one else had ever been able to do that, not even Angie.
There was something different about Emma. She was Angie and she was Emma and she was something more. Something pure and good and honest, a treasure he desperately wanted to keep.
“I don’t want this to end,” he confessed. “Ever.”
A smile ghosted over her lips. “Neither do I.” She kissed his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “But if it does—” She bracketed his face, her whole countenance glowing. The way she touched him, gazed at him like he was the treasure instead of her, healed everything damaged inside him. But her next words… Her next words broke him. “If it does, this time, you can let me go.”
A strange sound tore from his chest, split him in two. Violent shudders shook his shoulders, and he was powerless to stop them. The sounds continued to come, ragged sobs that were as foreign to his ears as the moisture gathering on his face.
What the hell was happening to him? Why did his heart ache so damn much? But more importantly, why did he feel beaten and depleted, yet strangely liberated?
Emma wrapped her arms around him, pillowing his head against her breasts, stroking his back. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Let it out. Let the pain go.”
Was that what was happening? Was he letting go of the past, allowing grief to release its hold on him? Had he even cried when Angie died? He couldn’t remember.
His kind didn’t mourn the way humans did. They weren’t capable of open displays of grief. They just held it all inside until pain morphed to numbness. Until loneliness crept in and hope ceased to exist.
But right now, Emma was breathing life back into that hope, resuscitating it. With every stroke of her palm, he felt it stir inside him, slowly expand to fill the empty space where his soul had once dwelled.
The third will inspire hope.
“We’ll get through this,” she soothed.
The tightness in his chest eased. His shoulders finally stopped shaking, and he was able to wrap his arms around her waist.
She kissed the side of his head. “We’ll find a way.”
And in that halted breath when she held him against her heart, he believed her.
Chapter Thirty
Several days passed, and Emma was starting to grow antsy. She called the hospital in Phoenix daily to check on her mom, using the untraceable phone Adrian had given her. Each time she called, the nurse reassured her that her mom was recovering nicely, but Emma still longed to hear her voice. That morning, when the nurse had asked if she wanted to be connected to Christina’s room, Emma had been tempted to say yes.
But she hadn’t. The last thing she wanted was to make her mother a target again.
“Would you like some coffee?” Adrian’s voice snapped her out of her daze, and she spun around to face him, the phone still gripped in her hand.
He stood at the threshold of the kitchen, watching her wear a hole in the tiles.
“No, thank you. I’m way too wired as it is.”
He ate up the distance between them, pried the phone from her fingers and placed it on the kitchen table. “How’s your mother doing?”
“Better. They plan to discharge her at the end of the week.” Urgency tangoed with anxiety within her. Once her mom left the hospital, Emma would have no way of reaching her. “I have to get in touch with her before then. But I’m afraid if I call her, she’ll want to see me, and I’m not sure how I can make that happen.”
He said nothing, studying her with that probing stare of his.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” she told him. “What are you thinking?”
He sat at the edge of the table, bringing his gaze level with hers. “There may be a way. A way we can bring her here to the development without the Kleptopsychs tracking her.”
Excitement plucked at her spine. “Really? How?”
“If someone were to cloak her, her trail would be impossible to follow. She could go wherever she wanted, and the Kleptopsychs wouldn’t be able to locate her.”
Emma scrunched her forehead in confusion. “Then what are you waiting for? Do it. Cloak her.”
Regret flattened his mouth. “I can’t. There’s only one person who has that ability.” His tone took on the morbid quality of a storm. “Cal, leader of the Watchers.”
She understood what he was suggesting and shook her head adamantly. “No. I won’t let them use me against you.”
“Hear me out.”
Her heart sprinted out of control, and she began to stalk the room again. “You said the Watchers plan to destroy the Nephilim. That includes you and Eddie and everyone in this community—”
He gripped her by the shoulders, pulled her toward him until her back rested against his body. When she settled down, he wound his arms around her waist. “This community is already at risk.”
“Because of me.”
“No. Because of my mother.” His breath tickled the side of her neck, filled her with liquid warmth. “Marcus thinks a flood is coming. My kind may be immune to a lot of things, but we’re not immune to drowning.”
She pivoted in his embrace and angled her chin to look at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying no one is safe. Not as long as the Kleptopsychs are out there, doing what they do.”
Pressure built inside her, and she released it with a sigh. “And this Cal, you trust him?”
“No. But right now, the Watchers are our best bet. Marcus said each of the Sacred Four has some kind of destiny to fulfill, and if they succeed, we can stop the flood from coming. It’s the only chance we’ve got.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if my destiny isn’t to kill your mother but to kill you?”
“It’s not.”
She raised her palm to the area right beneath his collarbone, where the heart-shaped birthmark marred his skin. “Are you sure? Are you sure this mark will protect you from me?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He buried his fingers in her hair, stroking her scalp. “This is bigger than you and me. It’s bigger than all of us. We can’t handle it alone.”
She knew he was right. Destiny could only be avoided for so long. Sooner or later it caught up to you, whether you wanted it to or not, and hers had been nipping at her heels for years.
“Marcus swore the Watchers won’t do anything unless they absolutely have to,” he tagged on after a short pause. “He’s got a family now. He’s not going to risk it.”
Emma nodded meekly. What choice did she have? Maybe these Watchers could help her figure out how to stop Kora, help her harness this phenomenal power she was rumored to have. If she learned to understand it, she could learn to control it. Then Adrian would be safe.
She made her decision. A decision born of desperation and a growing sense of inevitability. “Okay, on one condition.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nestled her face against his neck. “I get to stay right here with you until the end of the world.”
She felt h
im smile. “I think that can be arranged.”
Adrian wasn’t entirely convinced he was doing the right thing when he dialed up Marcus, but he punched in the numbers anyway.
The truth was, there was little else he could do. Emma was coming apart at the seams. She was on edge, distracted, the phone he’d given her practically fused to her hand. He knew she’d only be able to resist temptation for so long. Eventually, her resolve would shatter, and she’d contact her mother. Then their enemies would home in for the kill.
The Kleptopsychs were patient that way, a pack of vultures waiting for that perfect moment of weakness to pounce. There was no doubt in his mind that they’d released Christina Russo with the sole purpose of luring Emma out of hiding.
As long as either woman could be tracked, they were both vulnerable. Cal’s cloak would provide some measure of protection. Of course, that didn’t mean they could let their guard down. He’d learned the hard way that a cloak wasn’t foolproof. There were other ways to find a person if one was determined to do so.
Marcus answered on the third ring, interrupting Adrian’s musings. Silence followed as he worked up the nerve to speak.
“Hello? Anyone there?” Marcus’s voice boomed through the phone.
“It’s me,” Adrian finally said.
Now it was his father’s turn to be silent.
Adrian hesitated. He thought of Eddie, of how upset the Rogue would be if Adrian called in the Watchers. Things were already rough between them as it was. He thought of Emma and everything they’d been through together, of the gift she’d given him when she’d freed him from his grief. And finally, he thought of the look Marcus had given him the other day. A look a father gave his son.
Exhaling air that had grown stale in his lungs, he tightened his grip on the receiver and spoke words he’d never expected to hear himself say. Not unless the world was ending. “I’m ready to strike a deal.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The late-afternoon sun cast a harsh glow over the land, giving it a rugged beauty, not unlike Adrian’s. This place suited him, Emma realized—the untamed fields that stretched toward the distant mountains, the roughness and the isolation, the contradictory blend of jagged stone and wild flowers dotting the landscape. Adrian, too, was a walking contradiction, all hard lines and sharp edges, but with a tender core.
She stood on the front porch, taking in her surroundings with new eyes. She saw the neat rows of houses, the pristine walkways bordered by newly planted acacias. Then she studied the backdrop, a frenzy of trees and boulders and dry, cracked earth. It was as though he’d gone to great lengths to bring order to chaos, civilization to a forest that refused to be tamed.
Was that how he saw himself—as something wild that needed to be tamed?
“What are you doing out here?”
She loved the sound of his voice. It was smooth and cultured, with a gruffness that suited the land.
“Waiting.” Her mother was being discharged from the hospital today, and Marcus had promised to pick her up and bring her to the ranch.
“It could take a while before they get here,” he warned. “Marcus didn’t give me a time.”
“I don’t mind. This place, it’s so pretty. I never get tired of looking at it.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Only he wasn’t gazing at the landscape. He was gazing at her.
Heat swamped her cheeks, and she glanced away. “Is that silo still functional?” She pointed to the tall tower on her left, a few yards from where the road veered and disappeared into the woods.
“I don’t know.” He glanced at it absentmindedly, as though he’d forgotten it was there. “It came with the property. I never got around to tearing it down. There are some stables on the northern border of the ranch as well.” He indicated the general direction with the back of his hand. “And a barn to the west.”
Anticipation slid through her. “I think my mom will like this place. Once she gets over the fact that it’s inhabited by Rogues.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “She won’t shoot us on sight, will she?”
“I sure hope not,” she teased. “Think Marcus is dumb enough to give her a gun?”
He made a show of considering her question. “Nah, the Watchers favor blades.”
“Then I guess as long as you keep your distance, you’ll be safe.” The easy banter felt good, almost normal. When they joked around this way, it was hard to believe the world could be coming to an end.
The lighthearted mood ended too soon, and Emma’s anxiety spiked again. “Are you positive the Kleptopsychs won’t be able to track her?”
He wrapped his fingers around the wooden railing. “Yes. Cal’s cloak is virtually impossible to breach. And Marcus said he’d be traveling via the catacombs. It’s very hard to track anyone down there.”
She nodded, satisfied. “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted. “I know it hasn’t been that long since I last saw my mother, but it feels like an eternity. I’m terrified that she won’t be the same, that they broke her somehow.”
Adrian slid his palm across the railing and covered her hand with his. “If she’s as strong as you are, I’m sure she’s okay. And if she isn’t—” he squeezed her fingers, “—we’ll find a way to fix her.”
Did he have any idea how much his words comforted her, how he banished her fears just by being here? She turned her palm upward, lacing her fingers with his. Warmth flowed between them, a binding energy that grew stronger each day they spent together.
Things had been different between them since the day she’d told him she loved him. It had torn her heart to shreds to see him break down that way, but it had all been worth it in the end because he was finally healing.
The changes in him were subtle—an easy touch, an unguarded smile, an uninhibited laugh—but each was a sign that he’d finally let go of the grief and the guilt he’d nurtured for so long. There was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A gleam that could only be hope, and that gave her hope.
Part of her wondered if that was the reason he’d reached out to his father. Maybe by forgiving himself, he was finally able to forgive Marcus as well.
Almost in answer to her thoughts, two silhouettes emerged from the trees—one tall and square, the other small and stooped.
Emma’s breath stilled. She released Adrian’s hand and descended the steps. Unable to decide if she wanted to laugh or weep, she did a bit of both, sprinting across the rocky terrain toward them.
“Mama?”
Christina looked worn and beaten, older somehow. Her features collapsed when she saw Emma, worry releasing its hold on her. “Baby? Is that you?”
Emma rushed forward and gathered her mother in her arms, crying openly now. Her mom’s arms were thin, nothing but skin and bones, but the strength within them surprised her.
“I’m sorry I left you.” Emma allowed her own guilt to flow free. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought.”
“No. You did what you had to do, what I wanted you to do. You stayed safe.”
Why didn’t that make her feel any better?
Emma pulled back and examined her mom’s face. “Did they hurt you?”
“They tried, but I didn’t break. I didn’t give you up.”
They hugged again. Her mother’s warmth and familiar scent enveloped Emma, making her ache. “I know, Mama. I know.”
This time, when they drew apart, she finally noticed the man standing beside Christina. She knew at a glance that he was Adrian’s father. He had the same wide build, the same dark hair and penetrating blue eyes. For a second she couldn’t help but stare, shocked by how young he looked. Then she remembered that his kind didn’t age.
“You must be Marcus.”
He nodded, scrutinizing her with the same interest she’d bestowed upon him. “And I’ll venture a guess and say you’re Emma.”
Adrian had told him all about her in exchange for the Watchers’ cooperation. For days, Emma had been dreading t
his moment. But now that she was finally face-to-face with Marcus, her anxiety eased. He reminded her so much of Adrian, she couldn’t help but trust him.
She extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, but we’ve actually met before, a long time ago.”
In her past life, no doubt. Her life as Angie. “Sorry I don’t remember you.”
He grinned. No dimple dug into his cheek, but the effect of his smile wasn’t any less potent. “It’s to be expected.”
The earth rustled behind her, and she felt Adrian approach. Everything inside her resonated whenever he drew near.
Her mother’s gazed latched on to a point beyond Emma’s shoulder. “You!” A look of unmitigated horror contorted her features. “Get away from my daughter. I won’t let you near her again.”
Emma turned to find Adrian standing behind her, staring at her mom with a similar look of recognition and shock. “Tina?”
Years ago when he’d lived in Manhattan, Adrian had made a habit of collecting rare, beautiful objects. One of those objects had been a mosaic. Whenever he would look at it too closely, all he’d see were the individual fragments that composed it, bits and pieces of colored stone and glass. But when he stepped back, all of a sudden an image would take shape.
That was precisely what happened as he stood in the clearing staring at Tina Paxton. The picture finally came together, and he cursed himself for his blindness.
He almost didn’t recognize her. He’d only encountered the woman once before, when he and Angie had first moved to Spokane. She’d come for a visit, anxious to meet the man her daughter had shacked up with, none too pleased about the situation. She’d been much younger then…and pregnant. With Emma.
Staring at her now, he saw that time and strife had carved their marks on her face. She looked tired and worn. Her skin was no longer smooth and healthy, her hair cropped short and streaked with gray. But her eyes—eyes which were now filled with fury and condemnation—were exactly as he remembered. Both Angie and Emma had inherited those eyes.
