Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  “You don’t have to be,” she said into his hard chest.

  His heart thudded against her cheek. “Yes, I do. He is free to court you. I am not.”

  Layla closed her eyes as if she could blot his words from existence. “Saint . . .”

  The muscles along his arms bunched as he gathered her closer. “Layla, might we just stand here for a moment without arguing? Just . . .” He took a breath, and it seemed he burrowed his nose farther into her hair. “Just stand here and be?”

  What could she say to that? Her heart was breaking a little more every day. His stubbornness was thicker than the walls of Jericho.

  Yes, but eventually even those walls toppled, said a little hopeful voice within her.

  She thought of what Augustus had told her before he’d left. “For too long, St. John has only known to hate himself. It will take a will just as stubborn as his to break him of that notion.”

  Slowly, she let her arms relax and wrap around Sin’s trim waist, and he stiffened a little before taking a breath and easing once more. Layla let herself rest against him. “We can just be,” she told him. “For now, Sin. But eventually, life will go on. Whether you want it to or not.”

  She’d wanted to impart on him that they were no longer simply friends. Not given the depth of feeling she had for him.

  But Sin, the damnable man, simply nodded. “When the time comes that you’ve found a man you want to dance with,” he said quietly, “I will not stand in your way.”

  And her heart broke all over again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Augustus

  He had not been to Vienna in over a century. Though beautiful and rich with tradition, the city held painful memories, ones that he’d never forget or even try to. But to return to the scene of those long-dead moments in time made his losses all the more real.

  Walking along its enchanting streets, taking in the scents of confectionaries behind shop windows, catching the lilting strains of a violin in the cool breeze, tugged on his heart and forced him to remember a time when he’d been his most happy—and his most sorrowful. Yes, the pretty little city on the Danube that called to mind a fairy tale, the place that had inspired human genius such as Strauss and Beethoven, made his heart ache.

  He strolled past St. Stephen’s Cathedral and moved farther into the twisting streets that made up the old city. Over a millennium ago, when he’d posed as a Roman soldier, there had been a camp near this city. So long ago, when the native people were little more than savages, superstitious and fearful. And so very fierce.

  When Augustus had returned the second time, it was the seventeen nineties, and Vienna had turned into a city of culture and refinement. Amadeus Mozart’s music was causing a stir. Augustus remembered the first time he’d heard the young composer’s work. He’d wept, his heart swelling and his throat closing tight. The music had captured his soul and spoke to the melancholy sweetness of life.

  That too, however, was long ago. Now, in the eighteen nineties, the city was still beautiful but a place he’d rather not be. His steps were slow and weighted with more memories as he entered the Griechenbeisl, one of Vienna’s oldest and most beloved inns and dining establishments.

  It had been two centuries since he’d dined here, yet it had not changed. The dark wood paneling and pale stucco vaulted ceiling remained. He requested a table in the Music Room and was soon tucking into a plate of schnitzel, golden and light and delicious.

  Augustus drank his ale and ate his meal as musicians played and patrons chatted. And all the while, he ignored the empty seat before him. Night after night, he’d dined here. Every day for two weeks. They knew him by name now, Herr Augustus. And night after night, he made the same request, for them to fill one of their old steins with fine Russian vodka. He would not drink it, no. The vodka sat on the table before the empty seat.

  No one ever claimed the drink. It was to be expected. The wait staff clearly found it odd—though they never mentioned it to him. They had no notion that Augustus could pluck those thoughts straight from their minds. They did not realize that he wanted them to talk, wanted the gossip that a foreigner haunted their dining room, ordering this specific drink and not touching it.

  Every night, Augustus held out hope that his proffered drink would finally be accepted.

  Not tonight, it seemed. He finished his fine meal and left. Alone once more on the winding streets, he reflected that he might never succeed.

  Sadness and regret pressed in on his chest, so heavy and encompassing that he nearly missed the whisper of sound behind him. The attack was nearly upon him before he spun with inhuman speed and lashed out, grabbing his predator about the waist and hauling her close.

  They met with a small thud and a gasp of sound. Augustus held fast to his catch, knowing that she’d try to break free. But she did not. She merely glared up at him, her eyes shining liquid black in the streetlights.

  “A fine way to greet an old friend,” Lena murmured.

  He held her more securely, moving one hand up between her shoulder blades and the other to the small of her back. An embrace he’d longed to indulge in for centuries. She tensed in his arms, but did nothing more.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “for confusing your attempt to obtain my attention with an outright attack. He glanced down at the gold dagger pressed between them, caught in her grip. “Is that a peace offering then, dearest?”

  With a noise of annoyance, she shook free of him, and the carnelian, beaded enamel hair sticks she favored clattered. He remembered that sound. It had his cock thickening, for he’d often heard that very sound when she pulled those sticks free to unravel all that lush, inky hair. When she’d smile at him as if he were a delicious meal and then tempt him, make him yearn to take her to bed. He’d always resisted. A decision he did not quite regret, but he mourned the loss of opportunity all the same.

  “Why is it that you haunt my city?” she asked in exasperation as she pocketed the dagger.

  Her city. Augustus considered it theirs. But he was the only being in existence who knew she favored this place. Lena was very adept at hiding. Even knowing she might be in Vienna, he had to resort to drawing her out, as opposed to hunting her down.

  He gave her a curious look. “Need I a reason other than wanting your company?”

  The pale circle of her face gave nothing away. “We stopped seeking each other’s company two centuries ago.”

  That would be the night he’d asked her to give him her heart. To be his for all time. And she’d destroyed his hope and sealed his fate by telling him no.

  “Not quite true,” he said. “You sought me out not very long ago. Or have you forgotten Layla already?” A cheap shot, he knew, but he could not seem to help himself when it came to Lena.

  As expected, her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “Do not dare try that on me.” Her ire dimmed, and an odd, expectant look came over her. “Is she well? Is she . . . strong? Happy?”

  Most mothers would ask after their daughter’s looks, their deportment. Lena was a fighter and knew that what was most important in their world had little to do with appearance or manners.

  Even so, her question caught him off guard. “You mean to tell me you haven’t checked up on her once?” True, he’d likely have felt Lena’s presence but he’d still expected her to keep an eye on her daughter.

  Lena ducked her head, and the gaslight struck the pale curve of her cheek. “Once. But it was easier to know nothing.”

  Her quiet confession softened his old heart. He cleared his throat. “She has grown to a headstrong, forthright, capable young woman.”

  Lena nodded but did not meet his eyes. Augustus moved a step closer.

  “As to her strength, that is why I am here.”

  Lena’s gaze snapped to his. “What has happened?”

  “She is coming into her immortal maturity. There have been human slaughters, and Layla has been drawn to them.”

  Lena’s expression went sm
ooth and blank. “Sanguis at the cusp of fully turning are generally drawn to blood.”

  “True,” he said. “But then we both know we are not dealing with a pure Sanguis.”

  It had been a convenient cover for Lena to pretend she was something that she was not. And Augustus had played along. Mainly because she’d behaved and he was a fool when it came to her. But now he was done playing games.

  Lena sniffed and began walking. “It’s rude to mention a lady’s origins, Augustus.”

  He followed, his mouth tight. “Good thing I’m not speaking to a lady.”

  “Hurtful words.” She did not appear offended.

  Together, they walked past human pedestrians who spilled from taverns and restaurants. As always in this city, music filled the air.

  “Lena, I have protected your identity, kept the supernatural world from knowing what you truly are. Layla needs guidance.” He squeezed the back of his neck. “It would take but one act to turn her down a bad road.”

  She snorted. “You mean for her to become as me.”

  “Yes.” He grabbed her elbow and tugged her to a halt. Her nostrils flared but Augustus did not heed. “Is that what you want for her? To become Damnation? To crave the blood and destruction of others?”

  And there was the truth of their ugly past. Lena was Damnation. And Augustus was Judgment. He’d been sent out to destroy her and had ended up in a cat-and-mouse game with the beautiful young fiend, so that he’d found himself enjoying life once more. He’d found himself falling in love with the enemy.

  Lena blinked up at him, her expression blank—as it always was when she became most distressed. “No,” she said finally. “It is a lonely and dark life.”

  “Then help me. Is she full Damnation? Who is her father?” Even now, the question was bitter on his tongue.

  “I told you years ago, she is only a half-breed,” Lena said calmly. “And capable of good. Give her the push and she will be extraordinary.”

  “That is not enough, Lena.” He tried to let her arm go but his fingers would not obey. “Who is her sire?”

  She stepped closer to him, bringing her slight breasts against his chest. Everything in him went tight. Her slim arm wrapped around his neck. “Tell me,” she murmured, her breath gliding over his parted lips. “Do you ask for Layla or for yourself? Is this not a simple case of jealousy?”

  “God’s teeth,” he ground out. “Do you not know me at all? To think I would put personal feelings before Layla’s safety—”

  The blasted woman put her finger to his lips. “Oh, I know you care. And I do know you, which is why you cannot hide your petty jealousy.” Her red lips curled. “Really, Augustus, as if I’d have anyone else but you.”

  But she wouldn’t have him. That was the point.

  The thought ran heavy through his heart, distracting him from her hands upon his cheeks. He blinked down at her, a warning blaring in his mind a moment too late. Lena gave his head a sharp twist, breaking his neck in an instant. Her dark, lovely eyes were the last thing he saw before everything went black.

  Resentful as he was towards Augustus and the position he’d backed him into, Sin wholeheartedly appreciated one feature of his changed nature: wings.

  He bloody loved having wings. Nothing on this earth quite compared to the rush and freedom of flight. Even in those first days of his training, when Augustus had warned that most newly turned Judgment became air sick, Sin had never faltered in his love. Nor had he ever felt ill when flying. More like exhilarated, joyous. The world looked different from a few thousand feet up.

  He flew now, catching wind currents that shot him upward, swirled him this way and that. The cold, wet air did not bother him in the least. It was a kiss against his skin. Up here, over the black layer of clouds that covered London, everything was clear, the night sky so deep black it appeared a cloth of the finest velvet, strewn with a million glittering diamond stars.

  For a long time he simply drifted, his wings spread wide, his body relaxed. Then he tucked his wings in and dove. Down. Down. Wind howled in his ears, cold prickles of water stinging his cheeks. His insides lifted against his spine, protesting the rapid fall. Sin tightened his body further and kept his head down.

  Like a bullet, he punched through the thick cloud layer, black and dense and laden with the stench of coal. Sin held his breath. Another few seconds and he was shooting out of the clouds.

  All of London lay before him. A vast, intricate network of streets and lanes, glittering with lanterns and lit windows. Gray snakes of smoke coiled from countless chimneys, and people bustled to and fro. Sin took it all in on a glance, then snapped his wings wide.

  The instant drag pulled at his muscles and yanked his body back, slowing him considerably. His wings protested in pain, but it was a delicious sort of pain, one borne of pushing his physical endurance.

  Holding himself steady, he floated a ways then angled towards his landing spot. Using his wings now, he flew towards the great dome of St. Paul’s, now silver-gray in the night. The mere sight of the cathedral soothed him, made him feel at home. For better or worse, London was his home, and St. Paul’s dominated the city’s skyline.

  With light feet, he landed on the balustrade of the Golden Gallery, the little balcony that circled the uppermost portion of the dome. And then nearly lost his footing as a feminine voice spoke.

  “About time,” said Layla, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re quite the showman, Sin.”

  Glaring, Sin willed his wings gone and jumped onto the balcony. “Sneaking up on me is dangerous, Layla. I might have ripped your head off.”

  Her pretty eyes rolled. “First, I cannot sneak up on you when I’ve been standing here all along. Second, you might try to rip my head off, but that does not mean you would succeed.”

  Sin snorted. “I wouldn’t try, because I have fast enough reflexes to stop myself before making that strike.”

  “Hmm . . . I seem to have missed the demonstration of those reflexes tonight.”

  Bloody annoying woman. Though he was more annoyed at himself for failing to notice her in the first place. “How did you know I would be here?” he could not help but ask.

  Layla pushed off from the wall. She was wearing a man’s suit, her hair neatly plaited in a rope down her back. When she came abreast of him, she stopped and looked up at the sky. “You shot from the clouds like a comet.” Amusement lit her eyes. “Did you know your wings glow with white fire when you dive?”

  “Hell.” He ran a hand through his now wet hair and scowled. “I did not.”

  “I suspect Londoners would rationalize the sight as a rather large shooting star. But for beings such as us, you give them a perfect beacon to follow.”

  Good god, it was akin to listening to Augustus’s lectures, only worse because this was Layla, the woman he was supposed to protect.

  “That does not explain how you arrived here before I landed.”

  A small smile played over her rosy lips. “When you were a boy, you used to climb a tree or go to the rooftop of Evernight Hall whenever you were upset.” The thick fan of her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes to him. “Always the highest spot. I figured you would do the same now.”

  He’d been alone in his thoughts for so long now that it was a strange sensation to realize someone knew him to the core.

  Layla turned a fraction, lifting her face up to him. “What troubles you, Saint?”

  The old nickname had him wanting both to smile and press his hand against his aching heart. He did neither. “It is nothing, little bird.”

  “Ah. And now you lie to me.” Slowly she shook her head. “Rather disappointing, that.”

  What he wouldn’t give to tell her everything, to kneel down at her feet and beg her to hold him just for a little while. Or perhaps forever.

  The angry possessive side of him wanted to rail at her for having the temerity to even ask. How could she not know why he’d needed to fly? Did she honestly think he enjoyed watching he
r dance and flirt with dozens of men? When he could not be one of them?

  God, he wanted to shout his ire, tell her that she belonged to him and he to her.

  But he could do none of those things. So Sin moved away from temptation, running his hand along the cold granite balustrade to keep his mind grounded in the here and now.

  “I tend to disappoint a great many people, Layla. Do not expect me to fall into some sentimental heart-to-heart confession. I am no longer that boy.”

  He could feel her gaze like an icy weight upon his shoulders. It took everything in him to turn and face her, keeping his expression bland. Even so, the sight of her large brown eyes, now wide with something that looked very much like pity, was a kick in the gut.

  When she spoke, her melodic voice was low but strong. “I have not thought of you as that boy for some time, St. John. Nor am I that girl. More is the pity that you do not realize we are both very much adults.”

  A pained look spasmed over her fine features and then she broke apart before his eyes. One minute whole—the next moment, a fluttery flock of birds rose into the night sky.

  Sin watched them go then bent down to pick up Layla’s discarded clothing. Bringing the linen shirt to his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Green Irish grass and the salty tang of the sea—Layla. Home. Need. Lust.

  Oh, he was quite aware that they were no longer children.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was amusing to Layla that Sin apparently thought he was being sly in his attempt to slip out of the house unnoticed at the stroke of midnight, for he was as quiet as a British regiment marching down Whitehall. Which was decidedly odd, considering he appeared to be creeping along the front walk, sticking to the shadows, as if trying to blend into them.

  Layla watched him go from her hidden spot beneath the front porticos. He hadn’t heard her follow, so perhaps he had some sort of hearing impediment. This did not bode well if he was to be her guard. Which was why she decided to keep watch over him.