by SF Benson
I nod, unable to speak again for fear of crying my eyes out.
“Oh, Antonia.” Marc rubs his hands over my skin, and it tingles. “I wish I could tell you your life could go back to the way it was, but I can’t. In my opinion, you’re better off without that boy. A real man stands up for his woman. It’s a mistake I made years ago, and I’ve never forgotten it. Your ex won’t forget it either.”
I breathe in Marc’s scent—fresh with a hint of pine as if he just showered in a forest. Suddenly, the naked image of this man comes to mind, and I push away from him. Wiping at the tears carving down my face, I say, “Tell me what happened with Cordelia.”
Marc gives me a look that implies he knows what I was thinking. Thankfully, he’s too much of a gentleman to say anything. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “Let’s just say I pulled a Judas.”
“What?”
“You’ve heard of Judas Iscariot?”
“Of course, I have.” I start to say something else, and then it dawns on me. “You denied knowing her. Why?”
“Fear. If I had told the Prefect I knew Cordelia, I may have suffered the same fate as hers. I didn’t think my word could save her life. My denial sent her to the Colosseum and killed her. I’ve borne that guilt for ages.”
“Is that why your soul didn’t cross over?”
“Partly. I think my inability to move on is the simple fact I was a general ass growing up. Wasn’t much better as an adult. When Augustus ordained adultery was illegal, I paid the law no mind. Instead, I fucked my fair share of wives and then some. I killed men with glee. There’s nothing about my life that would have guaranteed my soul safe passage. Once dead, I was an even bigger dick. I returned and killed my father.”
I shudder. “H-how?”
Marc drops his arms and scoots to the edge of the bed. “I appeared and scared the shit out of him. Father was already dying. My action gave him a fatal heart attack.”
“Why didn’t your soul go to Hell?” It seems that’s where it should have gone from what Marc has told me.
“Because souls with the possibility of redemption get to roam the earth. If they were wrongly accused or killed, circumstances might redeem them. Sometimes a spirit will do something which will redeem his or her soul. Those rules haven’t applied to me though.”
His words sadden me, but something fundamental nags at me. “Why haven’t you done anything to bring about your own redemption?”
“Because I’m an irritable old man, set in my ways. You can’t spend an eternity consumed by hate and expect a favorable outcome,” he admits.
Old man? Marc could easily pass for late twenties, maybe early thirties. He may have spent years hating people, but I suspect he’s changed on some level. “Until now?”
Marc glances over his shoulder and affirms, “Until now.”
I’m ready to say something else when my thoughts are interrupted by a beautiful woman wearing the latest in Boho fashion—an embroidered, form-fitting black dress topped with a black trench coat, tons of necklaces and bracelets, high-heeled black boots, and a black fedora. I didn’t even notice the door open.
“Excuse me, but I’m here to collect this man,” she says and points to Marc.
Did he really have the audacity to invite his girlfriend? My gaze swings to Marc. “Your girlfriend?”
The woman laughs and flips her waist-length dark hair off her shoulders. “Not hardly. Marcus and I are friends.”
“She knows, Cherina,” he says quietly.
“Knows what?” the woman asks.
“Antoinette, this is Cherina. She’s my best friend and…a witch,” Marc says.
The beautiful woman smiles at me. “I’m his only friend.”
I should have know a woman with her looks couldn’t be normal. More proof of Falls Creek’s supernaturals.
“Why are you here, Cherina?” Mark asks. “Did I forget something this morning?”
“No, but we do need to do some shopping, and I’m free now.”
I’m surprised when a snippet of jealousy crawls beneath my skin and into my heart. Why should I care if a gorgeous woman with two perfectly good legs steals Marc away? I have no claims on him. I have no claims on anyone. Pushing down the rage threatening to spill over, I say, “Go. You’ve spent too much time here as it is.”
Marc’s gaze meets mine. His eyebrows raise as his chin dips. “Are you sure? Cherina and I can do this later. Much later. My only concern is you.”
Sweet. Now I’m a fucking charity case. Another reason everyone would be better off without me.
“I’m sure,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll take a nap.”
Slowly, Marc stands. He frowns before saying, “If you’re sure you’ll be fine, I’ll come see about you at dinner.”
“I won’t be hungry.” Thanks to all the steroids I’m on, I don’t have much of an appetite. Besides, I don’t want Marc to come back. The last thing I want is to become attached to anyone, especially him.
A smile is on the edge of his lips. “Even more reason for me to come back. We’ll dine together.”
Watching Marc and his friend leave my room, I think they’d make a great couple. I’m just his sympathetic cause.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Uraeleus
Controlling my anger takes center stage while the decadent thoughts Antoinette was having fade into the background. As soon as Cherina and I step into the parking lot, I stop in my tracks. Fury threatens like a darkening sky as my jaw clenches. Gritting my teeth, I spit out, “What the fuck is going on, Cherina?”
She whirls around, and I notice the storm growing in her eyes. “Stopping you from making a fool of yourself, Uraeleus!”
When did she begin calling me by my last name? “What are you talking about?”
“Since you left the house without a cell phone, I was bringing you one.” Cherina breathes in and out, glancing at the ground. In a calmer voice, she states, “I overheard your conversation with that girl. Why are you telling her about your past?”
“She asked.” My face tightens. “Why does it matter to you?”
Cherina leans closer and says through her teeth, “You’re old enough to be her damned grandfather many times over.” She walks over to her car—an older black BMW sedan.
Yanking open the passenger door, I sit down and shout, “Damn it, Cherina, I’m old enough to be your grandfather as well. My fucking age has never bothered you!”
She inserts the key in the ignition but doesn’t start the car. Instead, she drops her forehead to the steering wheel. “Marcus, you need to stay focused. I saw you lying on the bed with your arms around her. Was that really necessary?”
“Antoinette had her heart broken.” I frown, running a hand through my hair. “Her ex walked out on her.” Seeing Antoinette so disheartened stirred something deep down inside me. For a change, I felt something other than guilt or hatred. “I was comforting the girl.”
My fingers drum against my leg as I turn my gaze to the scene out the window. People—some in good spirits and others obviously shaken—walk to and fro. Every human has someone else to comfort them. Antoinette had no one else at the moment. My action was innocent.
Are you sure?
Cherina starts the motor. “I did not give you that body to comfort her broken heart. You’re supposed to make sure her broken body leaves the hospital, nothing more.”
My head jerks back, and I shoot a glare in Cherina’s direction. “Antonia’s broken body won’t leave the hospital anytime soon if she’s depressed.”
“Do you not hear yourself?” Cherina arches a questioning eyebrow. “Antonia? Really, Marcus?”
“A slip of the tongue. Nothing more.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Arguing with my friend is not on the agenda. Before she can pull out of the parking space, I open the door.
Her dazed stare meets mine. “What are you doing?”
“We need some time apart.” I grip the handle tightly.
&n
bsp; She throws the gear into park. “What do you mean by that?”
“I need my friend right now, not a parent.”
“I’m not—”
“The way I see it you’re either trying to parent or you’re jealous.” I exhale. “If it’s the latter, remember you let me know you weren’t interested in anything physical between us. Carissima, step back and let me do what I need to do.”
Cherina shakes her head. “You’re interested in that child?”
“Antoinette is not a child.” My mind thinks back to the woman lying in the bed. She has the heart of a warrior. She needs someone to teach her to fight for what she wants. “I’m interested in making sure she recovers. If she needs a shoulder to cry on, I’m there. If you want me to stay with you, then don’t question my actions again.” I exit the vehicle and slam the door.
The passenger window slides down. “Wait, Marcus.”
Slowly, I turn around. “What is it?”
Cherina reaches into her purse, removes a plastic card, and passes it to me. “Take this. Whatever you need, charge it to me.”
Reluctantly, I reach through the open window and take the item from her. “Thank you. I’m coming back to have dinner with Antoinette. Do you have a problem with it?”
Cherina’s shoulders slump. “No, Marcus.”
Staring at the piece of plastic in my hand, I’m torn. Part of me wants to return to Antoinette’s room. Spend the day with her. Practicality wins out though. I need to shop, and I could use a ride. Rubbing the back of my neck, I jerk open the door and step back inside the car.
“Do you mind giving me a ride?”
Cherina laughs. “What am I to do with you, Marcus? Of course, I’ll give you a ride and go shopping with you.”
She starts the car and pulls out of the parking space.
At the end of the day, I’m grateful for Cherina. She allowed me to charge quite a few items to her card—jeans, soft sweaters, T-shirts, underwear, socks (her insistence, not mine), and a pair of comfortable motorcycle boots (my insistence, not hers). She even surprised me with a sturdy, leather jacket. Cherina said I’d want the protection as the weather gets wicked this time of year. As a wraith, I would normally take shelter and deal with the frigid air. Cherina reminded me that wouldn’t work the same way as a human.
The witch also surprised me by dropping me off at the hospital.
“I’ll take your packages back to the house.” Cherina leans across the seat. “Do you want me to come back for you?”
Taking the phone out of my jacket pocket, I say, “How about I call you? Remember, I’m supposed to be here for Antoinette? You and I can visit anytime.”
“Okay, Marcus. Please, be careful. It’s been a long time since—”
“I was in the company of an attractive woman?” Swinging my head from side to side, I say, “Don’t you think I know that? You don’t get to be jealous, Cherina. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Her eyes, twinkling with her own brand of mischief, drag over my body as she chuffs. “See you later, Marcus.”
I watch her taillights leave the parking lot before turning back to the hospital. It’s time for dinner.
This time the various smells in the hospital assault my senses—strong cleaning supplies, the stench of sickness and death, and an unidentifiable odor. When I open Antoinette’s door, the source of the last stink is evident.
“What the fuck is that smell?” I exclaim, scrunching up my nose.
Antoinette laughs. “Stop making that face, Marc. This is the slop they expect me to eat. You’re more than welcome to it.”
She pushes away the tray with a pile of something resembling spaghetti on it. An unappetizingly pale salad and a slice of bread are also on the plate.
“Even a dying man wouldn’t eat that meal. Give me a minute.” Pulling out my phone, I find Cherina’s number.
She picks up on the first ring. “You need me back so soon?”
“No. But would you do me a favor?” I glance over at Antoinette. She’s picking at a congealed, bright green blob.
“What is it?” Cherina asks.
“Palatable food. They’re serving crap and expecting Antoinette to eat it.”
Cherina answers with soft laughter. “The joy of hospital food. I’ll bring you something. What would you prefer?”
Thinking back to Cordelia, I recall her strong appetite especially after a fight. Her favorite dish was Parthian chicken with legumes and a salad. “Can you recreate Parthian chicken with legumes? We need a healthier salad as well.”
“Do you think I’m a member of the djinn? I guess you want a flask of wine too?”
“Would that be too much to ask?” I rub my chin.
“I’ll pick something up. Be there in twenty minutes.” Cherina disconnects the call.
What’s the big deal? After all, she’s a witch. It should be easy for her to recreate an appetizing meal.
“Are you finished ordering dinner?” A smile plays on Antoinette’s lips.
“Yes, but we need to dispose of that rubbish.” Placing my phone in a pocket, I cross the room and pick up the offensive tray and deposit it in the hall.
Antoinette’s musical laughter greets me as I turn back to the room.
“What’s so funny?”
“This isn’t a hotel with room service. All you had to do was leave the tray beside the bed. The nurse would take care of it.”
My nose wrinkles at the leftover stench. “No, thank you. The smell alone might have me sharing a bed with you.”
Antoinette’s laughter starts up again.
Although I’d rather not be the reason for her merriment, I’m glad to hear something joyful from her. It’s proof she will heal.
In time.
Cherina returned to the hospital with something she called Chicken Marsala, rice pilaf, and a salad. She provided a small bottle of white wine for me and a carton of an unfermented grape juice for Antoinette. With dinner behind us, I prepare myself for a night sleeping on a chair. Thankfully, Cherina glamoured the room to hide my presence from the nurses and doctors.
“You’re not really going to stay here all night?” Antoinette asks, her eyebrows touching.
“Didn’t I say I would stay by your side? I will not have you undoing my good deed.” Winking at her, I adjust the pillow behind my head.
“If you insist on staying, you could share the bed with me.”
Uninvited images dance in my head—kissing Antoinette, holding Antoinette, having sex… As tempting as her offer sounds, it’s wrong. Cherina made it clear earlier. I’m too old for this nonsense.
Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I say, “The chair will be fine.”
Antoinette’s bright pink cheeks let me know she saw those images too. Not good. Not good at all. My thoughts could get me convicted.
“Maybe I should call a nurse and have a cot brought in for you,” she offers.
That’s not happening either. Without seeing me, Antoinette’s request will seem strange. “Stop worrying about me. I have slept on far worse than a cushioned chair. If you go to sleep, I might be able to leave for a while and return before you awaken.”
Her eyes flutter closed but then pop open again. “Marc?”
“Yes, Antoinette?”
In a quiet voice full of tension, she says, “Tell me more about Cordelia. Why did you fall in love with her?”
It’s been a long time since I thought of why I loved Cordelia. Lately, memories of her filter through my mind like water from a broken dam—no way to stop them. Leaning back in the chair, I begin. “Her strength. The fire that burned within her. She was an amazing warrior.”
“And her looks?” Antoinette asks, her attention anchored on me.
“Oh, Cordelia was a beautiful, beautiful woman.” I pause and study Antoinette for a moment. “You favor her. The same nose and eyes…even the same color hair. Cordelia was tall for a woman, but had curves that mesmerized.” Her image comes to mind, and I exhale.
&n
bsp; “How did you fall in love?”
“After seeing her fight for the first time, I found excuses to return to the Colosseum. I made deals with other guards so I didn’t miss a battle. At some point, I guess she finally took notice of me. One night, Cordelia came to the Castra Praetoria, the barracks for the Praetorian Guard. I fell in love with her that night.”
“Why?” Antoinette tilts her head to the side. “What was so special about her coming to the barracks?”
“It was beyond risky. If Cordelia had been caught, she could have been imprisoned. No one came to the barracks, especially women. If our families needed us, word was sent and we responded. Women and children were seen as distractions. For Cordelia to risk so much meant she loved me,” I explain. A lump forms in my throat as a dullness settles in my chest.
Antoinette shakes her head. “For a man who claimed to love her so much, you had no problem tossing her aside.” Her words are scathing but true. “Just to save your own neck.”
“Enough talk. Get some sleep.” I curl up on my side, not willing to delve into my own stupidity.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Antoinette
Sometime during the night I wake up. The delicious smells from dinner linger in the dimly lit room. Marc is sound asleep on the uncomfortable chair. Why won’t he go home and let me be?
Instead of going back to sleep, I take a minute and look at this handsome man—this former spirit who saved me and refuses to let me die. I wonder if the classic good looks—symmetrical bone structure and high cheekbones—are truly his or just the body he was given. Marc’s perfectly straight nose despite all the fights he claims to have been in makes me doubt it.
Honestly, the man could be chiseled straight from marble like a piece of Roman architecture. He’s perfect. Even the sexy stubble and eyes like bright blades of green grass add to his beauty. One word to describe Marc? Beautiful. Okay. Maybe two words—indefinably beautiful.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder what it was like to be Cordelia and have Marc in love with her. Did he cater to her every need? Wait. He did say he wasn’t attentive, not like this. He wasn’t the best boyfriend material, but somewhere, somehow, he’s redeemed himself.
