by Brenda Huber
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, pushing up to a sitting position. He leaned back against the headboard and watched as she pawed through the drawer that he’d previously conjured full of lingerie.
Maybe someday—a long time off from now, of course—maybe he’d find the humor in the situation. Wasn’t it the man’s role to panic at the first mention of that dreaded four-letter word? Just now, however, confusion and hurt had too tight a grip on him, leaving no room for amusement.
He groaned aloud as her luscious bottom jiggled while she hopped and wiggled her way into a tiny bit of lace that passed—just barely—for panties. He should have kept her in bed and loved her into submission. He should have kept himself buried deep inside her and—
Turning, she scowled at him. “You just wipe that lecherous smile off your face and get those ideas out of your head.” She wrestled a lacy scrap of cotton over her breasts, making them bounce and look especially plump, which in turn made his heart beat just a little harder. “I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have given in—” Her words trailed off, muffled beneath the folds of the T-shirt she got tangled up in.
“Come back to bed, tá’hiri. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” After he’d spent the night convincing her that loving him, and being loved by him, was something she couldn’t live without.
Cursing, she tugged the shirt down and turned to search for a pair of shorts. The soft globes of her bottom distracted him again.
She mumbled something beneath her breath. He caught the words forgiveness and sin and mistake.
“Carly, damn it.” He sat up. “Talk to me.”
She kept right on searching, pointedly ignoring him.
He vanished the shorts in her hand, and the shirt off her back. There, that was better. If she wouldn’t argue with him naked in bed, then across the room clad in mouthwatering lingerie would do in a pinch. Smug, he crossed his arms behind his head, reclining once more, and let his gaze wander.
Gasping, she stared down at herself. Scowling, she whirled around and snatched up another shirt.
He vanished it before she could pull it over her head.
“Knock it off,” she snapped, grabbing another shirt with one hand as she leveled a finger at his chest. “Damn it, stop it. Just stop.”
Seeing that she wasn’t about to fall back in bed, he conjured clothing for them both.
Satisfied, she leaned back against the dresser. “I won’t stand between you and redemption, Niklas. Don’t use me as an excuse to quit trying.”
“I’m not using you as an excuse,” he snapped. Sweet Lord, he was tired of that allegation.
“Then how could you forgo redemption, how could you set yourself up for that kind of pain?”
“Pain? What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to die, Niklas. Someday I’m going to die. How could you give up on redemption, give up on forever in Heaven for something…temporary?”
Temporary? There was nothing temporary about the way he felt about her. This—what was between them—was forever. If anyone would know, he should. How dare she try to make this less than it was?
“I didn’t tell you I love you to trap you, or to make you feel guilty.”
“No, you weren’t going to tell me at all, were you?” He climbed from the bed, his own temper surfacing.
She bit her lip. “No, I wasn’t,” she admitted, her soft voice cutting him like a poisoned sword.
He swore. Long and creatively. She turned back to him, her brows lifted.
“Don’t do this, Niklas,” she pleaded. “Don’t, please.”
“Don’t what? Don’t hope? Don’t want a future with you? Don’t love you? Too late.” He paced the room. He wanted to go to her, wanted to shake some sense into her. But he didn’t trust himself to lay hands on her—not just yet, anyway. “This can work, Carly. We can—”
“No, we can’t, Niklas.” She raked a shaking hand through her hair. Then she stormed to the window and threw it open. She filled her lungs before turning to confront him. “Will you age?”
“I can make myself look older. I could—”
“But it wouldn’t be natural for you,” she interrupted. “You could go back to looking like you do now at any time. But I can’t. I have a shelf life. An expiration date. Sooner or later, my body is going to age. I’m going to die. I can’t live like that, waiting, knowing the pain I’m going to eventually cause you. And I won’t let you throw away all you’ve worked so hard for. I won’t make you start all over—”
“Enough!” He slammed his hand against the wall. Every word out of her mouth drove barbed spears through his heart. “I won’t let you slip away. Not now. Not later. I will find a way. Do you hear me? I’m keeping you.”
Shaking her head, eyes huge and filled with tears, she wrapped her arms around herself and turned away. “You can’t keep me, Niklas. You are meant for better things.”
He could see her drawing away from him. He could see it in her eyes, in the rigid set of her shoulders. And it terrified him, because without her there was no future. No hope.
No point.
He’d had no experience with these emotions—the love between a male and his mate, the irrational fear, the unwarranted jealousy, the desperate need to possess—not before her. He’d never even been tempted to let a human mean anything to him. She held his future, his very heart in the palm of her hand. And she was throwing it all away because of some misguided notion that his salvation meant more than she did.
And he didn’t know how to stop her. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to read her aura right now, to have some advantage. Some way to sway her.
Going with gut instinct, he accused, “You know what I think? I think this isn’t about me, and it’s not about forgiveness. At least, not about mine.”
Her head snapped up and she whirled around, glaring at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. This is about you being too afraid to love someone else. Being too afraid to let someone else love you.” Clenching his fists at his sides, he refused to yield to the expression of shock and devastation twisting her features. He was fighting for them—for their future. He’d fight dirty if he had to. “You’ve lost loved ones. I understand that. I realize you’re afraid to lose anyone else. But you’re the one who said you don’t want to live with regrets. Won’t you regret not giving this a chance? Not giving us a chance? We—”
“Stop!” she shouted, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. Slicing her hand through the air in front of her, she glowered at him. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’m the reason you can’t return to Heaven.”
“So what? You think once I’m gone you can just go on as you did before? Will you go back to living with your memories? Will you go back to burying yourself in work? Don’t you want more for yourself?” Tears sprang to her eyes, but he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t let her deny her feelings and her fears any longer. Panic drove him. “What will it take, Carly? Will you ever stop being afraid to let someone love you? Trust me, Carly. Trust in me. Give me the chance to show you that we can overcome—”
“Death? You think there’s some way to stop it? I’m supposed to ignore reality? Ignore the way my body will change, ignore the pain, the regret, the anger and resentment I will someday see in your eyes every time you look at me? I’m just supposed to trust you on this?” she demanded. She paced across the room, jerking at the door handle. When it continued to stick, she pointed angrily at it. “You can’t even trust me enough to unlock the door.”
To prove a point, he flipped the lock with a mental flick, and waited for her to bolt. Instead of fleeing, she clutched the door handle like a lifeline and dropped her forehead to the wood panel, her shoulders slumping. But she remained in the room, and his hope surged once more.
“I didn’t mean to ma
ke you feel like a prisoner. Look, I had to talk to the others, needed to make them understand that I’ve decided to—”
“No, you shut me up in this room rather than let me stand at your side,” she cut in. “It just proves my point. You want to make these decisions on your own. But you aren’t prepared to make this decision. And I won’t live my life pretending the impossible could someday happen. You’re old as time, and you’ve probably seen every corner of Earth in your pursuit of evil. But when have you ever actually watched someone you truly love die? That’s what you would end up doing with me. Watching me die.”
“Why can’t you get past that—”
“Because I have seen it, Niklas. I watched him die, knowing there was nothing I could do. The helplessness. The fear. The raw grief. And knowing I was going to be all alone…the anger, the resentment. I won’t put someone else through that,” she snapped. “I won’t put you through that. I won’t let you put yourself through it. Not when you have more important things to worry about.”
How had this spun out of control so damned quickly?
“That’s just”—Lord in Heaven, she had him so frustrated, he was all but stuttering—“just stupid. People grow old and die together all the time.”
“That’s just it though. You won’t grow old, will you? Not naturally. So, you know what? It’s just too bad. Because that’s the way it is. I’m making my decision. I won’t let you give up Heaven just to watch me age and die. I won’t do it.”
“Carly—”
She glared up at him, her jaw set stubbornly, and repeated, “No.”
He seethed. How could she just arbitrarily make this decision for the both of them?
Plopping on the edge of the now made-up bed, she scowled at him. “You’ll get over this, get over me…and I’ll get over you too. It’s just the stress of the situation, the heat of the moment drawing us together.”
“Is that what you honestly think? That what’s between us isn’t real? That I don’t know my own feelings?” Niklas snarled, clenching his fists again and shoving them deep in his pockets. How could she discount what he felt for her?
“I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that this, what’s between us is a bad idea. What I’m saying is that you’ve worked too hard and too long to redeem yourself to throw it all away for something that won’t last. When you fell, by your own admission, you looked at the world, not as a wonder, but as a treasure trove waiting to be plundered. Now? Now you look at it as a responsibility, a weight hanging around your neck. Eventually that’s exactly what I would become. And that would destroy me.”
Clawing, suffocating pain sizzled through his veins. She was slipping right through his fingers. Raking his hands through his hair, he stomped across the room, stomped back. Her words hung heavy between them.
“You can’t return to Heaven if you stay with me. You will earn your forgiveness, Niklas. You can’t set it all aside, not for me.” She pinned him to the spot with a look that was much too knowing. “You’ve never forgiven yourself for turning your back on God. Never forgiven yourself for all the things you did when you fell, have you?”
Her arrow struck far closer to the target than he felt comfortable admitting, even to himself. “You don’t know the things I did—”
“And whose fault is that? You know everything about me. Everything. Because I trusted you with all of it. And you listened. But you offered damned little about yourself.”
“Because my life has been all about death. For the last two hundred years, I’ve existed for the sole purpose of saving the world I ruined,” he said, exploding.
“Saving the world you ruined? All by yourself? Really? You’re a demon, Niklas. Not omnipotent. Not God.” Carly threw words he’d once used on her back at him. “That’s why you’re so defensive. You can’t forgive yourself.”
“I’m defensive because you made this about me, about my absolution,” he growled. “And you’re trying to change the subject. We were talking about you and this ridiculous fear of yours.”
“Is it really a ridiculous fear? You don’t exactly have the safest of professions. You slay demons, Niklas. Literally. You could die just as easily, leaving me behind just like my…” Her voice trailed away, and she shook her head, her eyes suddenly haunted. “Either way, we’re bad for each other.”
Out of control. This whole conversation had spun completely out of control. He had to get them back on the right track. Somehow. He had to get her to admit to this fear she had. Only then could he get her to move beyond it and accept him and their future together.
“No, this is about you being afraid to love me. Afraid I’ll leave—”
“No,” she retorted, pushing to her feet. “This is about me letting you go.”
“You’ve been doing that right from the beginning,” he said, the realization knocking him back on his heels. “I fell in love with you, and all this time, you’ve been deciding it was over.”
“I didn’t ask you to—”
He snatched up a book, hurled it across the room where it crashed against the wall and exploded in a shower of loose pages. “You love me. Damn you.” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “You love me. But you can’t wait to get rid of me. You understand me so well, but you don’t know a damned thing about me.”
He grabbed the end of the dresser and upended it, tossing it across the room as easily as he’d tossed the book. Gasping, she leaped back, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before while the dresser crashed into the wall, splintered and broke apart. And that, too, made him mad.
Damn her. Damn her for doing this. Damn her for making him care and then pushing him away. The fear in her eyes drove him crazy because, for once, that fear was his fault. “You’re wrong, tá’hiri. I do know death. Intimately. For so long I’ve touched death. I’ve become its greatest weapon. And it’s become a black void inside me…consuming me little by little until I fear there will be nothing left of me. But when I touch you, when I hold you, when I make love to you…there’s so much life, so much hope. The light swallows up the darkness. There is no death. There’s no fear, no pain. There is only you.”
“Niklas, don’t—”
“Don’t what, be angry? Don’t be hurt?” He faced her, throwing his arms out. “Don’t take it to heart? Again, too damn late. I love you!” He slapped the flat of his hand against his chest. “I want something for me! I want you. I want to spend the rest of your life loving you. But that’s my damn problem, isn’t it?”
“Niklas—”
Unable to listen to another word, he shimmered from the room. She’d ripped his heart from his chest and left it in bloody shreds at his feet. What more was there to say?
Chapter Twenty
Niklas paced the kitchen, clenching and unclenching his fists. The demonic urges inside him pulsed and shook with rage, darker and more violent than normal. How could she say such things? How dare she give him her love, and then brutally rip it away? Damn it, he’d devoted the better part of a century to snatching innocent victims from demon rituals and sacrifices. He’d saved souls. And forgiveness? How dare she lecture him on forgiveness?
How could she deny him? How could she deny what they could have together?
Judas Priest’s “Painkiller” exploded in the room.
“Where have you been?” Niklas barked into the phone.
“Busy,” Mikhail snarled back. “What crawled up your butt and died?”
“You talked to any of the others yet?”
“Yeah, Sebastian brought me up to speed. Hope everybody saved up their frequent flyer miles. No telling where the Chosen One’s gonna pop up.”
“Great,” he muttered, suddenly feeling drained, and more than a little dismayed at the fact the relics no longer held such urgent priority for him. Not since Carly had tossed his feelings back in his face. Not since she’d made it clear she didn’t want w
hat he had to offer.
Defeated, Niklas pulled a chair from the table and dropped onto it. He propped both elbows on the table and dropped his forehead to the palm of his hand.
“Gideon called. Said he’d be back to the farm.” Mikhail paused, shifted the phone. “Pretty damn quick would be my guess.”
Niklas drew a deep breath and willed some of the tension to drain away. A part of him was still furious with Xander, and Gideon as well. They’d had no business putting Carly in jeopardy as they had. But hearing that Gideon would be back with them soon—particularly since he’d been walking such a razor’s edge between salvation and self-destruction lately—well, Niklas hadn’t realized he’d been so worried until the weight lifted from his chest.
He dragged a hand over his face. “When are you headed in?”
“Probably about the same time as Gideon. I got one stop to make, and then I’ll be there.”
“Fine.” Niklas eased back in the chair and conjured a beer. After the day he’d had, screw his one beer limit. Right now, he’d be willing to tap a keg. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
He disconnected the call and immediately thumbed in Asher’s number.
Three rings, and then a flat, “Yeah?”
“I need a favor.”
“Favors don’t come cheap.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“What’s the job?”
“Ronové.”
“You want Ronové’s head, you’re gonna pay—”
“I want him alive,” Niklas interrupted.
Asher’s bark of laughter was mirthless. And short. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what that demon is capable of?”
“Right now, I’m capable of a whole lot worse.”
A heavy moment of silence passed. Finally, Asher sighed. “Where? When?”
“There’s an old warehouse on the outskirts of Ridgefield. 1226 West Clayton. The sooner the better.” Niklas tipped the beer to his lips, guzzled. “How much is this gonna cost me? You want it wired to the same place as last time?”
