by SF Benson
Too bad Rob couldn’t have shared some of Marc’s qualities. It should be him sitting with me through the night. It should have been him bringing me a good dinner and sharing it with me. It should have been my no-good boyfriend willing to hold my hand through this endless pain. What I need is one of those fictional boyfriends. The kind that would be the perfect man—extremely handsome, loving to a fault, and unbelievably great in bed. Too bad that man only exists on the pages of a good romance novel.
Marc stirs on the chair, but doesn’t wake up. Something’s troubling him. Sensing it troubles me. It was bad enough hearing his thoughts…seeing those images. Now I’m feeling emotions—his emotions. The agony Marc’s in makes me grimace, albeit a little too loudly, and shut my eyes.
“Antonia?”
The vinyl-covered seat groans beneath Marc’s large frame. Muffled steps approach the bed. The mattress dips, and a hand lands on my forearm. Opening my eyes, I look at his gorgeous face. Suddenly, the pain isn’t so bad. This beautiful man eases my suffering with a simple touch. Surprisingly, it saddens me, reminding me of what I’ll never have—a man in love with me, not someone catering to me out of pity.
“What’s wrong, Antonia?”
There’s that slip again, but I’m not going to dwell on it. Honestly, I like the way it sounds. Swallowing hard, I say, “Nothing. Everything. You admitted to being an asshole in your lifetime. Can you explain what makes a man leave a woman when she needs him the most?”
An unreadable emotion, like a shadow, darkens Mark’s face as his eyes lower. “I have no explanation for your friend, but I can tell you why I did it.” He scratches at the dark hairs covering his jaw. “I was a coward. At the time I only thought of myself. Have I told you this story yet?”
“Not all of it,” I say quietly.
Marc bobs his head. “Augustus—the emperor at the time—was afraid someone would kill him. The man saw conspiracies around every corner. Most of them were false, but not all of them. Cordelia was a part of a very real scheme that was thwarted. My love was caught passing out parchments—you’d call them flyers—in the marketplace. Guards brought her before the Prefect and called upon me to identify her.”
“That’s when you denied her?”
“Yeah. Admitting knowing her came at a steep price. In short, I wasn’t ready to lay down my life for another. Not even for a woman I loved.”
“Rob didn’t need to die for me,” I mumble. “I only wanted him to stand by me.”
“In his mind it could be the same thing. Do you think he would have been strong enough to see you broken and dying?”
“No.” Rob could barely look at my feet, blistered and torn, after a day of dancing. Ballet is beautiful to watch, but it’s hell on your feet. “It doesn’t excuse him though.”
Marc glances down at me. “No, it doesn’t, but it’s his mistake. Don’t blame yourself for his shortsightedness. One day his decision will come back to haunt him.” Marc’s head bows. “Unfortunately, he won’t be able to undo it.”
Unspoken pain radiates off this man. I wish I could do something to ease his agony. Marc carries his guilt like the boulder Sisyphus was charged with. Centuries worth of blame is too much for anyone to bear. If I weren’t immobilized in this damned bed, I would hug him. Something tells me no one has shown Marc kindness in eons.
“I wish it were so easy.” Pushing past the memories haunting me, I say, “Rob and I were together for five years. A long time—”
“No, it really isn’t. You have yet to live your life, Antonia. Trust me, five years is a drop in the bucket. When you get to five hundred, we’ll talk.”
Looking up at Marc, I force a smile. “Said the spirit turned human.”
“Exactly.” He pushes the hair from my face and cups my cheek. “You should get some sleep. Forget about the boy calling himself a man. He doesn’t deserve you, carissima.”
The warmth from his hand feels nice. I want to melt into the palm of his hand. “What does that word mean?”
“Carissima? It’s Latin for dearest.”
Wow. Rob often called me babe, but when he said it, it sounded more like a whine than an endearment. Something tells me I could get used to having Marc in my life.
The morning light brings clarity—even men like Marc don’t stick around. Men like Dr. Jason Rogers, however, are like pesky flies, not knowing when to leave. I steel myself for another grueling round of unnecessary, prying questions.
“How are you today, Antoinette?” he drawls while tapping on his tablet screen.
“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you would stop that noise,” I point out.
Dr. Rogers lifts his eyes from the device. A wavering smile settles on his face. “I’m sorry. I guess I could not use the tablet.”
Whoever heard of a clueless doctor? “Just turn the damned sound off.”
A nervous laugh comes from him. “Of course. I should’ve thought of it.”
“How long are we going to do this?” I ask.
“Our talks? For as long as you need them. I’m here to help you recover, Antoinette.”
Sarcasm creeps into my voice. “So you’re going to help me walk again?”
“No, but I can help you deal with your situation in a more constructive matter.”
What would be constructive is if someone injected the good doctor with enough high octane so his speech picked up. It’s like listening to that damned rooster from one of those Looney Tunes episodes—plain irritating.
The exasperation encourages more nastiness. “Oh, suicide isn’t an acceptable means of dealing with my situation?”
Dr. Rogers rubs the back of his neck before exhaling loudly. “Let’s talk about what’s really bothering you this morning.”
Ignoring his request, I ask, “When do I get out of this place?”
“Mm…” He looks back to his device. “According to your chart, you could be released as early as tomorrow. I’d like you to stay on a little longer, however, to continue our talks.”
“No offense, Jason, but I’d like to go home. Talking to you isn’t my idea of fun,” I admit.
The man doesn’t even address my obvious dig at him. Instead, he gazes into the distance and suggests, “We could have sessions on the days you come in for therapy.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell. “Why do I need therapy? I’ll be in a damned wheelchair!”
He doesn’t react to my outburst. “After your initial recovery, you need to do physical therapy and rehab. You still have some sensation below the waist. PT and rehab could help you walk again.”
My eyes widen, and my mouth slackens as the scornful attitude evaporates. In a much calmer voice, I ask, “You’re serious? I can dance again?”
“I said nothing about dancing, Antoinette. Walking, however, might be possible.”
If I can walk, I can dance again. No matter what this doctor says—or anyone else—I’m not ready to let my whole reason for living go.
Marc shows up around noon. He has the ridiculously beautiful witch with him again. He might not see her as girlfriend material, but she could be. I’d prefer it if she weren’t though.
Really? Where did that come from?
“Afternoon, Antonia,” Marc says. “You remember my friend Cherina?”
“Yeah,” I say curtly. Personally, I’d like to forget her. Maybe make her disappear.
The statuesque woman lifts an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side, studying me for a moment before setting a small picnic basket on the bedside table. “I brought you some lunch—chicken noodle soup and a salad. There’s some of my special brewed tea as well. It’s guaranteed to help you recover your appetite.”
Marc pulls up a chair and smiles brightly. “You’re in for a treat. Cherina spent the morning preparing the soup.”
Feigning politeness, I return the gesture. “Thanks. I’m sure it’s delicious.”
The witch squints at me as if she’s searching for something and then turns to Marc. “A word pleas
e, Marcus?”
A pinched expression crosses his face as he stands. “I’ll be back in a minute, Antoinette.”
The two of them step out of the room, but their voices drift through the door.
“Marcus, you need to be careful with that one.”
“Cherina, not this again.”
“Yes, this again. That girl is interested in you. And you’re too blind to see it, Old Man.”
“Drop it, please. How many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying? Antonia isn’t a girl. She’s a grown woman entitled to feel however she wants.”
Thank you!
“Fine. Just be careful. Somebody’s going to get hurt if you’re not.”
Her heels click down the hall. Seconds later, the door swings open, and Marc’s wide grin greets me.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “Cherina can be a little protective of me.”
Understatement. “Thanks for standing up for me.”
“You heard?”
I point to the door. “It’s made of wood, not stone.” Lowering my hand, I say, “But why is she protective of you?”
Marc opens the basket and removes a thermos and a couple of large mugs. “Cherina didn’t lie when she said she’s my only friend. It’s my fault. The supernaturals in Falls Creek know me as being a disagreeable asshole. I’ve done nothing to dissuade their opinion.”
He gives me a spoon, but his hand lingers a little too long on mine. Electricity passes between us, and our eyes meet. Thankfully, my stomach grumbles.
Marc removes his hand and says in a low voice full of guilt, “Eat up.”
The delicious aroma tickles my nose, and I dip the spoon into the soup. Unfortunately, my mind won’t let me eat in peace. “What has your grumpy nature got to do with Cherina being protective?”
An honest question. Personally, I think the witch is interested in Marc and sees me as her competition. So untrue.
Is it, really?
Marc says, “Cherina looks out for me. She’s also responsible for giving me this body. Call it a short-term loan. She thinks I shouldn’t get attached to anyone since I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” He turns up his mug and drinks his portion of soup.
“Oh.” Lifting the spoon to my mouth, I pause and ask, “How short is your loan?”
“When you’re on a solid road to recovery, I return to my former self.” Marc eyes me over the rim of the cup. Something flashes in his gaze, and then I feel the weight settling on his heart. Sadness tinged with regret.
Unable to form an appropriate response, I nod and continue eating. Emotions, thick and turbulent, fill the silence.
After lunch, Marc packs away the leftovers and the dishes. He goes to the window, stretches and takes in the sun. His movement reminds me of a cat after it finishes a meal. The sun calls through the glass, and the animal responds.
I clear my throat. “Marc, I might be released from this hellhole tomorrow.”
He turns from the sunlight, and his shoulders, along with his facial features, sag. Marc crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “So soon? Your surgery wasn’t that long ago. Don’t you still have pins or something in your back?”
“I do, but I get to go home and lie in my parents’ bed to finish recuperating. It’s our health care system at its finest. You only get to occupy a bed for as long as it’s absolutely necessary. It’ll be good to go home,” I lie. My fingers fidget with the top of the blanket. Home is not the place I want to go.
“What of your rehabilitation?” Sorrow, heavy like a winter’s coat, wraps around Marc’s voice. “Can your parents handle it?”
“Knowing my parents, they’re already retrofitting the house to accommodate me. Dr. Rogers said I’ll return to the hospital for my therapy and rehab. I’m sure my father will arrange for someone to come to the house for it.” When I spoke to Mom earlier today, I heard construction noises in the background. “Worst case scenario, I’ll have to stay put for another day or two until things are ready.”
A small sigh slips from Marc’s mouth as he turns to the window.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
URAELEUS
Antoinette’s news doesn’t make me happy. When she goes home, I return to the spirit world, but I’m not ready. Something else I’ll admit? This woman fascinates me.
It’s not simply the fact she resembles Cordelia. Something unexplainable is happening with Antoinette. At first, I thought the strangeness was confined to our shared thoughts, but when I touched her in the hospital, I felt it. I know she did too. There’s a palpable energy between us. Although it scares and excites me, I’d like time to discover what it means. Besides, Antoinette could use my guidance. She’s a strong, capable woman who needs someone to show her the possibilities aside from dancing.
Her parents won’t do it. Much like Augustus, they’re ready to shelter her, protect her from any danger—real or imagined. Someone needs to enlighten them. You can’t outrun fate. When your number’s up, there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. Fight it too hard, and you might end up like me. A fucking, dissatisfied wraith who’s ticking down the centuries to when this world implodes, ending misery for its inhabitants—myself included.
If I play my cards right—and I was always quite the Tesserae player in my day—this can still work to my advantage. I don’t plan on staying here forever. Just long enough to see where things could go with Antoinette.
Sadly, a phone call from Victor interrupts my afternoon. He’s called a special meeting at the Temptation Club. I don’t have to guess what it’s for.
As I step through the door of the two-story building, the metallic stench of blood assaults my nose. With each passing day, humanity becomes more substantial. Things that haven’t affected me in centuries have returned with a vengeance. This latest stink makes me want to lean against a wall in a back alley and puke my guts out.
I take in the surroundings as my boots thud across the dance floor. It’s the first time I’ve been in the club as a human, and it’s not a welcoming feeling. Gone are the subtle sensations warning me of the various monstrous beings. Seated at a table are The Najex, Victor, and Brady’s girl—Audra. Suddenly, I feel like a lamb going to slaughter. Not good at all.
“Took you long enough, Marc,” quips the shapely wolf.
My eyes lock onto hers. “What are you doing here?”
“I speak for myself and the Romeros.”
The corners of The Najex’s eyes crinkle. “I told you she holds the family jewels.”
Her head rocks toward him as her eyes narrow. “Watch yourself. I don’t care who you are. Start talking smack, and your ass will be mine.”
The Najex lifts an eyebrow. “Now that could be interesting. I have tons of females in my stable. Having a wolf could prove enticing.”
Why the hell did Audra have to go there? The Najex is as perverted as he is evil. You don’t suggest anything around him unless you’re willing to pay the price.
“Enough!” Victor shouts. “I didn’t call you here to bicker.”
I hold my ground and fold my arms over my chest. “Why did you call us here?”
“You,” the vamp begins, “were called as a courtesy. Technically, as a human you have no business with Council.”
“Technically, I’m not human,” I interject.
Victor rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Look, you started this endeavor, so I decided to include you.” He lifts a glass of crimson to his mouth. After a healthy sip, the vamp lowers the goblet and continues. “So, I’ve considered your offer. You realize my acceptance is an act of treason within my own coven?”
The Najex speaks up. “If you are to lead, then I’m sure you’ll find a way to handle any uprising.”
“I hate to say it, but I agree with The Najex,” Audra adds. “Brady and I make decisions daily our packs don’t like. You have to stand up and let your coven know what you say goes. If someone doesn’t like it, they can find another home.”
This is intrigu
ing. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anyone agreeing with The Najex on anything. Usually his suggestions are met with plenty of opposition, and Luc ends up searching for an amiable compromise. This time, however, there’s no need for a go-between. If Victor is going to do this, he has to find his own path in the darkness.
Victor’s turquoise gaze churns like the ocean before a storm. He picks up his glass, stands, and walks over to me. “What say you, Old Man?”
Here’s my opportunity for an about-face, to not be the disagreeable cur in the group. My first inclination is to simply say I agree and walk my ass out the door. For some reason, though, that doesn’t sit well with me. Rubbing the back of my neck, I make eye contact with the kid.
“Nobody likes change. Your coven will push back, but you have to be the greater force. Doing it with a heavy hand isn’t the answer though. Be yourself. Hear their arguments. Find a diplomatic way to deal with the situation.”
Victor says, “That sounds like a plan. Thanks.”
“Hot damn!” exclaims Audra. “I never thought I’d see the day when Marcus Uraeleus uttered advice worth listening to.”
Even The Najex softly laughs. “I agree. Perhaps this form makes you more pliable. If that’s the case, you have my vote to maintain this body, Old Man.”
An errant smile tugs at Victor’s lips. “Be careful, Uraeleus. You might find a friend or two on my Council.”
“So you’re taking the position?”
“My mind was already made up before I called the meeting. Kelsie likes the idea of being able to move back into town or at least being able to come and go as she pleases.”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I ask, “Then why the meeting?”
“I wanted to confirm my thoughts. I’m fully aware there will be Coven members who’ll fight me on this change, including my mother. My goal is to prevent any backlash. What I want is the backing of Council to support my decisions. I don’t need anyone going behind my back.” Victor turns and eyeballs The Najex.
