Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5)

by Airicka Phoenix

  Eyes the flawless blue of the miles of sky above them rose up and met his. They twinkled with tears and the smile now tipping her lips. “You’d come for me?”

  He brushed away strands of hair from her cheek. “I would follow you anywhere, Ams.”

  ***

  Self-loathing was a tame term for the disgust rising in his throat. Amalie was right. He had no right. How could he ask for her forgiveness when he’d gone out of his way to shatter her? Did he even deserve her forgiveness? What right did he have?

  “What the hell are you doing?” he growled to himself.

  Nothing but the roar of the ocean, the rush of the rain answered back. Neither were very helpful. They couldn’t answer him. No one could, not even himself. Somehow, over the year, the reason behind his decision seemed hazy, illogical, stupid. At the time, protecting her, helping her, had been the only clear thought in his head. He would have—would still—give his own life in order to save her, even at the cost of her hating him.

  So why did he want her back as if his very existence depended on it? Why did her absence leave a cavern in his soul? How could she mean so much to him and he nothing to her? It was some sick, cosmic joke.

  But he had brought it on himself. He had asked for it.

  Well, you know what you have to do if you want her back.

  But was it right of him to want her back? No. It was wrong and selfish. But hadn’t he already proven he was both of those things?

  His feet squished inside his shoes as he slouched inside. He ignored the puddles he was leaving through the corridors, over the antique rugs. He was a man lost in the turmoil of his own pain.

  Garrison nearly jumped out of his seat when Isaiah burst into his office. The door ricocheted off the wall and nearly rebounded back into Isaiah’s face. He grabbed it in time, slammed it closed behind him.

  “I want to stay,” he declared. “I’ll work for you.”

  Composure back in place, Garrison set his pen gently down on the documents he’d been poring over. He folded his hands over time and observed Isaiah with the smallest measure of interest.

  “In exchange for?”

  Isaiah wasn’t stupid enough to bounce on thin ice. “Because I believe what you’re doing with your research will change the world. I want to…” He faltered, cleared his throat and continued. “I want to support you.”

  It wasn’t a lie, Isaiah told himself. Not entirely. He just hadn’t figured out what his own motives were, only that this felt like the most right he’d done in over a year.

  Gingerly, Garrison removed the glasses off the bridge of his nose, folded the arms and set them down next to his pen. He rose, walked casually to the drink cart.

  “And this decision has nothing to do with Amalie?”

  Isaiah didn’t know how to respond. To deny it, he could lose his chance to see her, even in passing, to be forever replaced by Derek as her guard. To accept it, he could lose her anyway, because Garrison would deem the association unhealthy. There was no middle ground once again.

  Garrison poured himself a cup of tea. The scent of lemons filled the air. He brought the drink back to the desk, set it down, but didn’t touch it.

  “You see, Isaiah? I’m not as stupid as you might think.”

  Isaiah stiffened. “I don’t—”

  Garrison put up a hand, stopping Isaiah’s protest. He propped a hip against the corner of the desk, brushed a hand down the front of his navy suit. “I’ve been studying you and Amalie for quite some time. Ever since I brought you home. I wasn’t concerned at first. You were both children, exploring the boundaries. There was no harm from what I saw. But my concerns grew when you became older and something changed.”

  It took all of Isaiah’s training, all his will, his fears and determination to keep his mask from slipping. He meshed his mouth firmly shut, refusing to divulge more than he needed to.

  “What happened, Isaiah?” Garrison pushed to his feet, closed the two feet separating them. “What changed?”

  Isaiah’s bowels turned liquid. His gut turned to ice. But he kept his gaze level, his tone even. “Nothing, sir.”

  “Something did.” Garrison bore mercilessly into his eyes. “Did you forget my warning? Did you let your guard down?” His head tipped to the side. “Did you fall in love with her, Isaiah?”

  The sweat that prickled along his upper lip and his brow was easily concealed by his soaked state, but he was unable to stop himself from swallowing hard.

  “I always loved her, sir,” he murmured, struggling now to keep his words clear. “She was my only friend.”

  Garrison stared at him for so long, Isaiah wondered if he could maybe read minds. He thought of a brick wall. He thought of puppy dogs and unicorns. He thought of everything but how much he really loved Amalie.

  "Love will never get you anywhere, Isaiah." Garrison scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "It will destroy you." He sighed, closing his eyes. "Don't fall for the same trap I did. It is the only force in existence that will drive a man to murder. You will never survive it."

  Isaiah thought of Amalie. He thought of her beautiful blue eyes and the way they lit up when they saw him. He thought of her smile, bright and dazzling. He thought of the way she looked when he finished kissing her, her lips moist, her eyes dark, her cheeks flushed. He thought of the way she said his name as he held her tight against his heart at night.

  I would rather not survive then live without, Isaiah thought wistfully. But what did it matter now? He didn’t have it anymore anyway. Any chance of keeping that treasure had long since been destroyed.

  Garrison seemed to pause. He peered at Isaiah again. “Is that all?” Garrison prodded. “Is that why you’re so adamant to be her protector, because she was your friend?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was a good enough lie as any.

  He turned away, breaking the iron-clad grip he had on Isaiah with his eyes. He moved behind the desk, sat. Isaiah remained standing, not really relishing the idea of sitting in wet clothes.

  “You didn’t heed my warning last time, Isaiah,” he began. “I told you to keep your distance from her. I warned you of the consequences your interference could have on her if she became too attached.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “It was sheer luck I managed to intervene when I did.”

  Isaiah had to clear his throat before trusting himself to speak. “Sir?”

  Garrison gestured with a hand. “Even if you didn’t return her affections, she was in love with you. Surely you noticed.”

  Notice?

  ***

  She slept like an angel. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought so, but it never failed to amaze him just how much. Her hair was a basket of ribbons spilled across his chest. Her hands, small and delicate, lay lightly curled next to her mouth. She breathed through her nose and made a soft exhaling sound through her mouth. She was perfectly molded into his side, the way she had been since they were children and he’d wake up with her draped across his stomach, her foot up near his nose. She hadn’t been nearly as graceful a sleeper then. He also didn’t pinch her feet to wake her up anymore.

  Instead, he lightly kissed the riot of ringlets on the top of her head. His fingers glided over the curve of her shoulder, down her arm to her elbow. It took a little longer, but he enjoyed the morning ritual.

  “Amalie?” he whispered into her temple.

  “Five more minutes,” she grumbled, burrowing her face into the hollow of his throat.

  Biting back his chuckle, Isaiah shifted his weight, slipping out from beneath her and lying on his side. Her whine had his lips twitching.

  “What if your father goes to your room and finds it empty?”

  She peeled one eye open, squinted at him. “He’ll come in here and force you to marry me in order to uphold my honor.”

  He laughed. “First of all, he’d probably kill us both and secondly, he wouldn’t have to force me to do anything.” He kissed her gaping mouth. “Come on. Get up.”r />
  Her giggles filled his ear when he nuzzled the spot beneath her the curve of her jaw. She squirmed, but he held her down, biting and nibbling on the smooth stretch of skin. Her squeals faded into soft moans that sent his blood skating with fire. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body arched into his, fitting every inch as though she were made specifically for him. His hand traveled down to her hip. His intentions were to stop her, to restrain her before things went too far, but his hand came up against smooth flesh where her nightgown had bunched, exposing her leg from the hip down and his good intentions scattered.

  “Amalie…” The plea in his voice was raw with desperation; one word from her, one flicker of doubt and it was over. He’d stop.

  But her eyes were as dark as his hunger, her lips red from the being assaulted by her teeth. The pink in her cheeks darkened.

  “I love you, Isaiah.” And that’s all it took. He came completely undone.

  He walked her to her room an hour later, kissing her every step of the way. He couldn’t keep his hands off her or his lips. Her taste was his addiction and he couldn’t get enough.

  At her door, he kissed her long and hard, crushing her to him, determined never to let go. He swore to himself, he didn’t care how he did it, he was going to convince Garrison to let them be together. He didn’t care what he had to give up, what part of his body he had to saw off, he wasn’t letting her go, not for anything.

  With a giggle, she broke the kiss. She pulled back to peer into his face. The sight of her moist, swollen lips nearly crumbled the little restraint holding him in place.

  “Someone will see!” she said, smiling brightly, almost as brightly as the glow in her eyes.

  “Let them!” he said, reaching for her again. “I’m not hiding anymore.”

  Her smile vanished. “What?”

  He kissed her lips, but she didn’t kiss back.

  “What are you saying, Isaiah?”

  His fingers framed her face, his heart swelling with excitement for his new plan. “I’m going to ask your father to let me marry you.”

  Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “That’s…you can’t!”

  “Why?”

  “Because people like you don’t marry people like me!” she hissed, the light in her eyes gone. “My father will never allow it. He won’t let us. I can’t…” she faltered, but she swallowed hard and pushed on, dropping her voice. “I can’t have children, Isaiah! They’ll be like me.”

  Anger coiled inside him. “There is nothing wrong with you!” he growled. “And there will be nothing wrong with our babies.”

  She tried to take a step back, to put space between them. He tightened his hold on her.

  “No,” he said definitively. “The only way I’m changing my mind is if you say no.” His heart picked up tempo. His fingers shook as he touched her tear-stained face. “Tell me you don’t want me, Amalie. Tell me you don’t want us and I’ll never ask again.”

  “That isn’t fair! You deserve better—”

  “There is no one better than you. You’re it for me. I won’t ever want anyone else.”

  “You’re leaving for school tomorrow.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be back in four months, plenty of time for you to think of what kind of wedding you want once I graduate next year. Just say yes!”

  She laughed, tearful. “This is crazy! You’re crazy!”

  He grinned. “Then we’re the perfect pair. Marry me!”

  Crying and laughing, she threw herself into his arms. “Yes!”

  ***

  Yes. He had noticed.

  Chapter 15

  Amalie

  Amalie had long ago given up all desire to exist. Living each day was just another stone leading to the day when she would finally die. It was her biggest wish. Her only wish. Once upon a time, her wish had been Isaiah and a life with him, but like all dreams, she had awakened from that and it was almost completely faded. There were moments she longed for those days, but they were quickly contained, stuffed deep in the recesses of her mind.

  There was nothing for her in those dreams. She may not have had anything to live for, but she didn’t thrive on pain and torture either, Lord knew she got enough of that in her reality.

  Carefully, Amalie turned her head, just a notch and studied the man sitting across the room. He hadn’t moved, not once since claiming the seat next to the door. From her favorite spot on the floor next to the terrace doors, she could only make out his face and shoulders, but she knew he sat with his hands resting on the armrests and his feet perfectly shoulder-width apart. There would be no expression on his face and he wouldn’t be looking at her. Instead, those gray eyes would be fixed on something far in the distance, something only he could see.

  Derek rarely spoke and never unless she spoke to him first or he had to relay a message. His strong, quiet presence was comforting, especially since she had no idea how to talk to people. She knew there was an art to social etiquette, she was just never taught it, because she would never be given the chance to use it. It would be a waste of her time to learn.

  The thought almost made her laugh. She laid her head back and turned to face the endless smear of blinding white stretching far into the horizon.

  It wasn’t raining, but there were teardrops running in rivulets down the glass. It always made her think that the clouds were crying for her. That something in the universe cared.

  There were very few options for a person denied death, especially when the very thought of existence was the burn of battery acid through the soul. Too often, Amalie wondered if she had cried the ocean into existence. There wasn’t a single moment she could remember when she hadn’t sat there, looking out at the world, weeping.

  Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was a child. Maybe she was weak. She certainly felt it and hated herself a little more. But to be strong meant being tortured back into submission. Being weak was the only thing keeping her sane.

  A deafening click sent her scampering to her feet. Derek rose as well, not as recklessly, but gracefully with his hand resting almost casually on the hilt of his weapon.

  Tomas strode into the room, briefcase in hand. He took one step over the threshold, caught sight of Derek and faltered. His watery eyes darted anxiously from Amalie to the man towering a good two feet over him.

  “Is there something I missed?”

  “Gabriel Tomas?” Derek ventured in his smooth voice.

  Tomas shifted, his unease apparent in the thin sheen of sweat glistening across his brow. “Yes?”

  He reminded Amalie of a rat, cornered and scared. Any moment now, she expected him to squeak and bite his own leg off to escape. The stench of his fear filled the room and she wondered just what had him so nervous. Was he worried she’d told someone? Was he worried that she’d been believed and Derek was there to gut him? All those thoughts brought a surge of triumph rising through her. She almost wanted to grin.

  “Mr. Garrison has cleared you,” Derek said.

  Tomas blinked. “C…cleared me?”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You are Ms. Garrison’s tutor, aren’t you?”

  “Y…yes…yes!”

  Derek, without a word, motioned for Tomas to step deeper into the room. He waited until Tomas edged through the door before reaching around him and shutting the door, sealing the rat into the room. Tomas looked about ready to soil himself.

  When it became apparent that Derek wasn’t there to unman him, Tomas scurried to the desk and set his briefcase down. He tossed wary glances over his shoulder to where Derek remained standing.

  “Uh…are you…leaving?”

  Derek lifted a brow. “No.”

  Tomas dropped his briefcase onto the back of his foot. He muttered a curse, swooping down and snatching it back up. “I…I don’t work under observation.”

  Unfazed, Derek regained his seat, looking every bit a dangerous warrior or a king atop his throne. Amalie had never wanted so much to hug him than she did at that moment.
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  Clearing his throat, Tomas unclipped the flap on his briefcase, pulled out the necessary books and papers. He set them out on the table, his hands not quite steady.

  “Amalie.” He yanked out the chair for her.

  Amalie shuffled forward, still not at all eager to get close to him, even with Derek there. She took the offered seat, pushed herself in.

  Tomas didn’t touch her, but his eyes wished her a slow and painful death as he rounded behind her chair to stand blocking her from Derek. His cold eyes cut straight into her as he leaned over to organize the pages in front of her. There was no mistaking the accusation in the stare. He would happily flay her alive if it were a possibility.