“Lex …”
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, but I paused, giving him a chance to explain. He didn’t.
“Please don’t follow me,” I said before shutting the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thought & Reason
The palazzo’s gardens were both immaculate and varied. Manicured English gardens and terraced patches of lush grass and adorable herb and vegetable gardens all flowed into one another. There were small fountains and large fountains, some hidden by hedges or trees or stone walls, some out in the open, some filled with or surrounded by stone sculptures of people or animals or mythical creatures. There was even a tall hedge maze, and in the center, my favorite fountain of all—a small, plain, circular fountain surrounded by a low stone lip with a single pedestal in the center, gently spilling water back into the pool. I loved it because it was the most likely place to find solitude, and there were times when I wanted nothing more than to be alone.
The fountain was so hidden away, so burdensome to get to, and so unremarkable that it was one of the few places I’d never seen another person. Since absorbing half of Nuin’s power, I’d been welcomed as an honorary member of the Council of Seven, filling Set’s long-abandoned seat. And with my new position came a life that was more constricting than it had been back in the Heru Compound save for one thing: at the palazzo, I didn’t have to let guards shadow me wherever I went. There were constant guards patrolling the perimeter of the grounds, not to mention the highest quality security systems and alarms.
I meandered around the bends in the hedge maze, listening to the chirping of tiny birds and the scurrying of critters within the manicured shrubbery. I wondered how long the hedge maze had been there, and if it was original to the grounds. The palazzo had been built by the Council in the fourteenth century, and considering that Nejerets weren’t big embracers of change, instead preferring to hold onto their familiar, antiquated ways for as long as they could, I figured it was a distinct possibility.
Which led to another, more troublesome thought: Have I been here before … hundreds of years ago?
I reached the break in the hedge that opened to the fountain in the center of the maze. It wasn’t a large space, with only several feet of paving stones surrounding the fountain in a geometric fan pattern, and the coziness only made it that much more perfect.
Toeing off my sandals, I stepped onto the sun-heated stones, welcoming their soothing warmth, and lowered myself to the ground to sit beside the fountain. Whether it was because the pose was fresh in my mind from obsessing over the sculpture for the past few hours or because it was simply a natural position for me, I found myself sitting exactly as La Donna Triste had been for the past five centuries.
Lazily, I trailed my fingertips in the crystal-clear water, watching the ripples spread across its surface until they converged with those caused by the trickle of falling water.
I heard footsteps on the gravel leading into the center of the maze, into my sanctuary. I would’ve noticed them when the intruder first entered the maze, had I been paying attention. But I’d been lost in a maze of my own making.
The footsteps stopped as the intruder stepped onto the paving stones, and I inhaled deeply. An enticingly familiar and painfully alluring spicy scent was barely detectable, but it was there. I should have known he would come.
“I told you not to follow me.”
“I’ve never been good at following orders.”
I narrowed my eyes at my own, wavy reflection. “You swore an oath to obey me.”
“You rejected my oath.”
I smiled, just a little.
With a soft plunk, a piece of gravel broke the water’s surface and drifted down the several feet to the bottom of the pool.
“I am that pond, and you are that pebble.”
Raising my eyebrows, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Some girls get compared to flowers or butterflies, but not me. I’m a tiny rock.”
The corners of Marcus’s mouth curved upward the barest amount. “When you came into my life five centuries ago, you must also have been like that pebble. You caused ripples, and though they eventually died away, the pebble remained.” He stepped to the edge of the fountain, the side of his shoe just a few inches from my hand, and crouched down. The fine fabric of his slacks brushed against the back of my arm, and I shivered. “The essence of your being resonates with me so deeply that it was impossible for you to block my memory of you completely.” He placed his fingertips under my chin and turned my head toward him, tilting my face upward. “You changed me, and you couldn’t lock that away.”
I stared into his liquid gold eyes, my unshed tears from earlier finally escaping. “Tell me why you hid it from me.”
Marcus raised his hand higher and wiped away a tear as it glided down my cheek. “This.” He looked into my eyes like he was searching my soul. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
My blood heated, and I had to hold back the urge to scream at him. I shifted, curling my legs under me and turning so I was kneeling, facing him and glaring for all I was worth. “But don’t you see, Marcus? It’s not the possibility that I’ll travel back in time that’s so upsetting—it’s that you don’t think I can handle knowing I’ll travel back in time.” My hands balled into fists, and I howled in frustration. “God, sometimes you make me so mad, I just want to—”
“Hit me?” Marcus arched an eyebrow. “You’ve done it before, Little Ivanov; why hold back now?”
Gritting my teeth, I raised my fists, opened my hands, and splayed my fingers in the air until my hands shook. Before I could give in and actually hit him—which would do no good, considering his muscles were so well-honed he was practically made of stone himself—I pushed off the ground and strode away several steps.
“You’re insufferable, and infuriating, and”—I turned, pointing at him, and he froze in the middle of rising—“do not get up, Marcus.”
For once, he listened to me and eased himself back down, sitting fully on the paving stones. He extended one leg in front of him and bent the other, propping his arm on his knee. Wearing his fresh white dress shirt, pewter-gray slacks, and Italian leather shoes, he looked like he was posing for a high-fashion photo shoot. The observation only angered me further.
I started pacing on the opposite side of the fountain. “You were right not to compare me to a flower or a butterfly, I’ll give you that, but do you know why?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Because I’m not some fragile, delicate thing. I’m not going to break if you push me too far. I mean, I’ve been shot in the stomach, I’ve watched you die thousands of times, my God damn father is a psychotic megalomaniac hell-bent on either controlling the world or destroying it, and I currently contain half of the power of the strongest Nejeret who ever lived …” … and in another timeline, I killed Set and watched you die, really die, I didn’t say.
I stopped pacing and glared across the fountain, placing my hands on my hips. “Not you and not all the hard truth in the world is going to break me, so just—damn it, Marcus, just stop trying to protect me from the truth. Stop holding back. I can handle it.” My hands slipped from my hips to hang limply at my sides. “I can handle it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two & One
Marcus watched me with an unreadable expression for dozens of heartbeats, tens of shaky breaths, an eternity of say-somethings.
I swallowed roughly as I held his gaze, refusing to look away … refusing to show weakness.
“Are you finished?” His tone was cool, controlled; it was his on-the-brink-of-snapping tone, which always gave me shivers.
I swallowed again and nodded.
Very slowly, Marcus rose until he was standing at full height. He started prowling toward me around the edge of the fountain.
I took a step backward.
“My delicate little butterfly …” Colder. More controlled.
I backed away another step.
He sneered haughtily. “My prec
ious little flower …” Ice and steel.
I glanced behind me, looking for the gap in the hedge, seriously considering fleeing. It was a purely instinctive predator-prey reaction. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not really, but I still never felt completely comfortable around Marcus when he was like this—unpredictable and domineering and absolutely, completely in control of everything.
I started to turn, started to take a step toward the opening.
“Stop,” he said, and I did.
I scanned the tall hedge, trying to come up with some way to diffuse him, to take back some of the control.
“Those are things I might have called other women,” he said. “Other lovers.” His words stung worse than a slap in the face. He knew that one of my weakest points was my jealousy of the hundreds, maybe even thousands of women he’d been intimately involved with over his long life, and he was prodding me—goading me—on purpose.
I narrowed my eyes.
“But never you, Little Ivanov. I would never call you either of those things.”
As he took a few final steps, closing the distance between us, he reached his hand into his right pocket. I glanced down as he removed the lapis lazuli falcon pendant, broken chain and all. “You are the only woman I would ever call my she-falcon … the only woman I would ask to wear my symbol … the only woman who makes me feel like I don’t have to hold back …”
I stood as still as La Donna Triste as Marcus held the necklace up, knotting the broken chain behind my neck so the falcon pendant once again rested against my breastbone.
“You are the only woman who’s ever made me feel like I’ve been set free.” He ran his fingertips ever so lightly up and down my neck. “And if I try to protect you from hard truths”—his fingertips traveled lower, moving over the bare skin on my shoulders—“it’s only because I’m selfish.” He hooked his thumbs under the thin straps of my sundress and pulled them over the curves of my shoulders. “It pains me to see you upset, and I don’t like to be pained.”
I sucked in a breath as he started unfastening the tiny buttons running the length of the front of my dress. My heart galloped.
“I try to protect you because I love you, not because I’m holding back … never because I’m holding back. Not with you.”
A flush spread over my skin as Marcus undid enough buttons that the top half of my dress slipped down, baring me from the waist up. My thin, lacy bra was the only thing keeping me even partially decent. “Marcus …” I crossed my arms over my chest protectively and glanced over my shoulder toward the opening in the hedge. “What are you doing?”
“I need you to feel how much I love you, Lex.” He slid his hands around me, finding and unclasping my bra within seconds. As he guided its straps over my shoulders and down my arms, he pulled my forearms away from my chest. “I need you to feel it … to understand. I need you to understand …”
His lips were suddenly on mine, silken and feverish and greedy, and his hands were behind my head, tangled in my loose waves, running down my back, hitching up my skirt. His need—his desire—was so intense, it acted like lighter fluid on my own, and heat blossomed low in my abdomen.
Yes, I realized, this is what I need, to feel how much he loves me … to feel him.
My fingers found his belt buckle as he pushed down my underwear, and I had it unfastened by the time I was kicking the lacy fabric away. Marcus broke our kiss, and gasping for breath, I looked down as he knocked my hands away. With a soft grunt, he opened the front of his trousers so roughly that the top button popped off. He shoved his pants down, freeing himself as he dropped to his knees and pulled me down onto his lap.
We both groaned as he sank home, filling me completely, almost too much. With a hiss of pleasure, I rocked against him, savoring the feast of sensations—his hands gripping my hips, his breath hot against my neck. Him, inside me.
His fingers clenched, holding my hips in place, and he pulled his head back so he was gazing into my eyes. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Don’t see.” Ever so slowly, achingly so, he lifted me then lowered me back down. “Don’t hear.” He repeated the deliberate motion. “Don’t smell and don’t taste.” Again. “Just feel, my Lex. Just feel.”
A hoarse sound that was part laugh, part groan rose from my chest, and I grasped onto Marcus’s shoulders, feeling the hard muscles bunching as he continued to move my hips, gradually increasing the pace. I focused on nothing but him, nothing but the sensation of being joined to him … the mounting pleasure … the burgeoning ache … the devastating amount of unbridled love.
His breaths were coming faster, harder, as were mine. “Do you feel it? Do you feel how much I love you?”
And I could. His love for me was a tangible thing, a cord stretching between our hearts, resonating with the intensity of my own feelings for him. And it thickened, strengthened, solidified as our souls merged, making our bond even more unbreakable. He was inside me, not just physically; his ba was intertwining with mine, making us, for a few glorious minutes, a single, unified entity.
“I feel it,” I breathed. “Oh God, Marcus … I feel you. I feel you … your ba … oh God …” My fingers dug into his shoulders as my pleasure swelled.
“Yes,” Marcus hissed, and there was no more talking. There was only a brief eternity of ecstasy as we relished being truly joined.
CHAPTER NINE
Future & Past
“I think we missed our meeting with the realtor …” I tapped my toes against the surface of the water in a haphazard, staccato rhythm. I was sitting at the very edge of the pond, my knees drawn up to my bare chest and my arms wrapped around my thighs. Marcus was sprawled on his side behind me, still wearing all of his clothes, tracing hieroglyphs on my back with his fingertips.
He chuckled, the sound low and silken, going a long way in recharging my spent desire. “We can reschedule.”
“For tomorrow?” I craned my neck to look back at him.
He shook his head, his golden tiger eyes filled with apology. “It’s too dangerous right now, Little Ivanov. I wish …” Sighing, he shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just too dangerous right now.”
I offered him a small smile. “It’s okay. I understand.” Looking back at the fountain, I watched the water ripple around my toes. “Does it bother you that you can’t remember me … from before?”
I heard the rustle of clothing, then felt the press of soft lips against my shoulder. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it hasn’t happened yet … for you. I’m still holding out hope that, one day, you’ll unblock my mind, and I will remember.”
***
Thanks for reading! You’ve reached the end of Resonance (Echo Trilogy, #1.5), but Lex’s adventures continue in Time Anomaly (Echo Trilogy, #2).
CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF LEX AND MARCUS?
NEWSLETTER: eepurl.com/BSdK5
WEBSITE: www.lindseyfairleigh.com
FACEBOOK: Lindsey Fairleigh
TWITTER: @LindsFairleigh
PINTEREST: LindsFairleigh
LOVE THE ECHO TRILOGY?
Reviews are always appreciated. They help readers find indie authors like me, which enables me to continue writing. Great places to post reviews:
Amazon
Goodreads
Are you a book blogger or reviewer? If you are and you wrote a review for Resonance that you’d like me to see, please don’t hesitate in sending a link to the review to [email protected]. If you’re interested in being added to the ARC list for the rest of the books in the series, please include that in the email.
MORE BOOKS BY LINDSEY FAIRLEIGH
ECHO TRILOGY
1: Echo in Time
1.5: Resonance
2: Time Anomaly
2.5: Dissonance
3: Ricochet Through Time
THE ENDING SERIES
After The Ending
Into The Fire
Out Of The Ashes
Before The Dawn
THE ENDING BEGINNINGS
Omnibus
I: Carlos
II: Mandy
III: Vanessa
IV: Jake
V: Clara
VI: Jake & Clara
FOR MORE INFORMATION ON LINDSEY FAIRLEIGH & THE ECHO TRILOGY:
www.lindseyfairleigh.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsey Fairleigh lives her life with one foot in a book—as long as that book transports her to a magical world or bends the rules of science. Her novels, from post-apocalyptic to time travel and historical fantasy, always offer up a hearty dose of unreality, along with plenty of adventure and romance. When she’s not working on her next novel, Lindsey spends her time reading, planning her farm, and trying out new recipes in the kitchen. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her rather confused cats.
www.lindseyfairleigh.com
Resonance: An Echo Trilogy Novella (Echo Trilogy, #1.5) Page 4
