Immortal Angel

by Lynsay Sands

  G.G. was backing into her apartment carrying one end of a large faux suede sofa that looked very familiar. He was moving slowly to avoid hitting the doors or wall with the feet, but risked a glance over his shoulder at her voice, and smiled, his mouth opening to say something.

  Before he could speak though, she gasped, “That’s the couch from Marguerite’s rec room!”

  “Yes, it is dear. I’ve decided to redecorate and was going to throw it out, but then I thought, why not give it to Ildaria? She can use it until she finds something she likes better.”

  Marguerite’s happy trill was coming from the hallway, but Ildaria couldn’t see the woman past G.G., the couch, and Julius, who was carrying the other end.

  “Isn’t that brilliant?”

  Ildaria turned at Sofia’s cheerful comment to see her over by the windows, setting down the chair that matched the couch. It was a large, overstuffed recliner in the same faux suede as the couch. Mortals wouldn’t have been able to carry it by themselves, but Sofia set it down like it weighed next to nothing. That was one of the benefits of being an immortal. Increased strength, speed, and night vision came with it.

  Straightening, Sofia grabbed the dish towel that had been slung over her shoulder and walked over to hand it to her.

  “I saw them out my apartment window when I went to get the dish towel and ran down to offer a hand,” she explained with a shrug.

  Ildaria just stared at her blankly, not sure what to say or do.

  “There,” G.G. breathed with relief, drawing Ildaria’s attention to the fact that they had made it to the center of her living room and had set the large sofa down. Straightening now, the big man smiled, and then headed for the door, saying, “Now let’s go get that bed.”

  “Bed?” Ildaria echoed with disbelief.

  “It’s the bed from your room, dear,” Marguerite said, moving past her and toward the kitchen with half a dozen grocery bags dangling from each hand. “It’s my housewarming gift to you. I figured since I was redecorating the living room, I might as well redecorate the guest room too. I’m growing rather tired of the rose color scheme in there. I’m thinking all in pale cream.”

  “Marguerite,” Ildaria said with dismay, her gaze sliding from the groceries the woman was carrying to the furniture now filling her living room.

  “It’s a gift,” Marguerite said firmly.

  “But—” She shook her head helplessly, her thoughts a complete jumble. People just did not do these things in her experience. And she couldn’t accept such a generous gift.

  “It’s not generous, dear,” Marguerite insisted. She’d set the grocery bags on the island. “It’s all used furniture that would have ended up being given to charity or sent to the dump if they didn’t deem it acceptable.”

  “Acceptable?” Ildaria asked with disbelief. “Of course they’d deem it acceptable. It’s in perfect condition.” Her gaze slid to the groceries Marguerite was now unpacking and putting away. Her refrigerator and cupboards were going to be full by the time the woman finished. There was everything from fresh fruit and vegetables, eggs, milk, meat, and a multitude of boxed and canned goods, including large sacks of sugar and flour. Shaking her head, she said pointedly, “And the groceries? I suppose they’re a housewarming gift too?”

  “No. They are to aid you in your efforts to make G.G. fall in love with you,” Marguerite said easily, and then reminded her, “G.G. loves food. Greeting him at the door in the mornings with sweet baked goods or meals will no doubt help make him fall in love with you.”

  “Marguerite,” Ildaria said with exasperation, grateful G.G. was not there to hear this.

  Marguerite paused in her unpacking and met Ildaria’s gaze before saying, “I’m very fond of G.G., my dear. And I have hoped for a very long time to find him an immortal he could be a life mate to. I was very pleased when I recognized it was you. You deserve a life mate, and he . . .” Marguerite sighed and confessed, “I no more wish to watch him age and die than his mother does. It would break my heart, and I intend to do everything I can to prevent that and help you claim him. So”—she pulled a package of steaks out of one of the bags and moved to place them in the refrigerator—“these groceries are really for me, not you.”

  Ildaria didn’t know how to respond to that and glanced to Sofia for help, but the other woman raised her hands in a “leave me out of it” attitude and headed for the door, saying, “I’ll go bring up the other chair.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Marguerite called after the towheaded woman, and then waited until she was gone before moving around the island to Ildaria’s side and taking her hands. “Breathe,” she instructed gently.

  Ildaria took a deep breath, and then used it to blurt, “I can’t accept all of this.”

  Marguerite nodded as if she’d expected that reaction, but then said, “Well, I have to say, I think that is very selfish of you.”

  The words made her blink in disbelief. “What?”

  “I have already mentioned that G.G. means a great deal to me and I would hate to lose him to mortal death.”

  “Si, well, that’s the groceries,” Ildaria said uncomfortably. “But the furniture—”

  “That’s necessary for his seduction too. Besides . . .” She squeezed her hands gently. “Dear girl, do you not realize how unhappy I would be imagining you here in this apartment without any furniture? It would prey on my mind,” she assured her. “So it would please me if you accepted these gifts in the spirit in which they were intended and saved me that suffering.”

  “I—You—” Ildaria stared at her helplessly, even more unsure how to respond, and then Marguerite glanced past her and smiled brightly.

  “Oh, look. You have a dining room set too,” she said, releasing her hands and leaving the kitchen to examine the table and chairs. Running one hand over the glass surface of the table, she grinned and said, “Julius will be relieved. I was considering renovating the dining room and giving you that furniture as well, but now I will not bother.”

  “Marguerite!” Ildaria gasped and then shook her head. “This is too much.”

  “It is used furniture, Ildaria,” Marguerite said gently. “An excuse for me to get new things for myself. Although, I admit I really wanted to buy you new furniture for your new apartment, but Julius was positive you would not accept new furniture and in the end I agreed he was probably right.”

  “He was right. I wouldn’t have accepted new furniture,” Ildaria assured her grimly.

  “But you will accept this, will you not?” she said now. “Aside from my concern for G.G., you cannot make the men carry it all back down. Besides, it will ease my mind to know that you are not sleeping in a sleeping bag, or sitting on the floor while taking your leisure.” Expression becoming sad, she added, “It really would cause me a great deal of distress to both lose G.G. and to imagine you in an empty apartment, and right now I am trying to avoid stress. I am with child, you know.”

  “I know,” Ildaria said with a frown, and then blinked and asked with disbelief, “Marguerite Argeneau, are you trying to guilt me into accepting this furniture?”

  “Not at all,” Marguerite assured her, and then gave a sniff and added, “Really, Ildaria, you have to get over the idea that everything is about you. This is about me. I am merely explaining the consequences of your actions should you refuse this gift I wish to give you,” she said with a shrug. “You do not want me to lose my baby, do you?”

  Ildaria stared at her blankly, feeling guilty at the suggestion that she was being selfish and threatening Marguerite’s unborn child. None of that was true, of course. Was it?

  “Give it up, Ildaria,” Julius said, reentering the apartment carrying a mattress as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper. Passing through the living room, headed for the short hall to the bedrooms, he added, “You cannot win in an argument with my wife. I know this from experience.”

  Ildaria let out a slow breath, her gaze sliding distractedly to G.G. as he entered the apartment,
carrying part of her bed frame from her room at Marguerite’s. When he beamed at her, she smiled weakly back, and watched until he disappeared down the hall before turning back to Marguerite. She opened her mouth and then closed it as she struggled with herself, but finally she gave in and simply said, “Thank you.”

  Marguerite beamed at her. “There! See? That was not so hard, was it?”

  “Saying thank you?” she asked uncertainly.

  “No, dear.” Reaching out, Marguerite squeezed her hands again. “Letting others in.”

  Marguerite turned and walked back into the kitchen then, leaving Ildaria standing alone between the dining room table and her no longer empty living room. In that moment, it occurred to her that this apartment was like her life. She’d lived more than a century without anyone in her life. It had been as empty as this apartment had been when she’d led Sofia in two hours ago. But then she’d met Vasco and Cristo, and Jess and Raff . . . Now her life was filling with people, just as her apartment was filling with furniture. The problem was, she was more comfortable with the open, empty space. While the couch and bed offered more comfort than the floor, they could break, become damaged or have to be removed. They also presented opportunities to stub her toes and trip over things.

  Letting people in meant giving them the opportunity to hurt you. It was a lesson Ildaria had learned young and she had learned it well. She had always thought of herself as fearless and brave. But that was easy when you had nothing to care about and nothing to lose. Now . . . Ildaria was scared.

  Six

  Ildaria pushed through the dark oak door of the front room on the second floor of the Night Club and paused with surprise to take it in. There were four rooms in the club, the main bar and dance club on the main floor, and two alternate rooms on this floor. She knew the back room was a game room with pool tables and arcade games, but this was the first time she’d seen the front room. It was impressive in an old English manor kind of way. She could see it appealing to some of the older immortals. In fact, each room seemed to have been created to appeal to a different age group of immortal. The dance club was for the younger immortals. The bar catered to the mid to old immortals who came for company. She supposed the game room would appeal to different age groups, but this room seemed most suited to old, old immortals who were probably coupled.

  The clink of glasses drew her attention to the man presently cleaning the room and a small smile curved her lips as she watched him work. The high green Mohawk didn’t really fit with the black dress pants and dress shirt he was wearing. Jeans or leather would have suited him more, Ildaria thought as she watched him carry a half-full tray of glasses to the next table, one of many small side tables that accompanied the groupings of sofas and chairs in the room. G.G. bent, set the tray on the table and began gathering the used glasses and adding them to his growing collection.

  “I don’t know why you don’t have Sofia and the others help with cleanup,” she said to announce her presence. “It would be done in no time with the three or four of you working.”

  G.G. stilled and then glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment, his gaze moving over her slowly before he turned back to continue gathering glasses. “They work long hours as it is. The shortest night in the summer is nine hours, but it can be as long as fifteen hours in the winter that they have to work. And they do it without complaint,” he pointed out. “Letting them go at closing is the least I can do.”

  “You work longer,” she pointed out. “You start early to prep, and clean up after. Surely—”

  “The Night Club is my business. I get the profits. As such, I should work longer hours. Most business owners do. No employee is paid well enough to have to work as long as I do.”

  Ildaria raised her eyebrows at the words and reminded him, “I do your books. I know how well you pay your employees, and you pay us all ridiculously well. On top of that, you’re charging us a pittance in rent for the apartments and house. It barely covers the cost of electricity and water. Not to mention that your prices in the club are very reasonable. Your profits are a lot smaller than they could be.”

  G.G. shrugged and moved to the next table to gather the glasses there. “How much money does a person need? You can’t take it with you. Besides, I pay well so that my employees are happy. Happy employees make good employees, and good employees stay.”

  “You’re a good boss,” she said, meaning it. He cared about people more than money. Few businessmen were like that.

  G.G. snorted with disbelief, and shook his head. “I used to be. Now I’m turning into an aging pervert who spends all his waking hours fantasizing about one of his employees, and his nights dreaming of her.” Straightening, he turned to wave his hand toward her with exasperation. “I mean look, I’ve put you in glasses, for heaven’s sake.”

  Ildaria reached up to feel her face, surprised to note the eyeglasses resting on her nose. She hadn’t even realized they were there until he mentioned them. She’d never in her life even imagined wearing them. She was immortal. Immortals didn’t need glasses. The nanos saw to that. But she was wearing glasses . . . which meant this was a dream.

  Ildaria let her gaze skate over the rest of her outfit now, wondering if anything else was unusual. But she was wearing a black skirt and white blouse, one set of several she’d purchased to work at the fancy restaurant in Montana where she’d sometimes acted as hostess and sometimes as server. She’d been fortunate that they were just as suitable for her job in the office here and she hadn’t had to buy new clothes.

  Her shoes were different though, Ildaria noted. They were still black high heels, but open-toed, and the black bow had been moved to rest on the band across the top of her foot rather than the heel. A quick swipe of her hair told her that it was up in the customary bun she wore to work, though. So he’d only changed the shoes and added glasses. Not much of a change to her mind, and she turned her thoughts to wondering how she’d been so slow to realize this was another shared dream.

  The answer was obvious. Despite the fact that she was asleep, it seemed so real, and so natural. It wasn’t like she’d pushed through a door into an upside-down circus or something. She’d walked into one of the rooms of the club and had assumed she was awake and this was reality. But in reality she hadn’t seen much of G.G. for the last two weeks since she’d moved into the apartment and the dreams had started. He’d been avoiding her. It hadn’t started right away. The night she’d moved in, he’d checked on her in the office often, and had his breaks there with her and H.D., sharing meals and chatting comfortably, laughing a lot. An hour before closing, he’d shown up to tell her that her eight hours were up and she and H.D. should go up to her new apartment and relax. He’d pick up H.D. once he’d cleaned up after closing.

  Ildaria had taken H.D. upstairs and played with the pooch. When G.G. finished cleanup and showed up to collect his pup, she’d greeted him at the door with the offer of hot chocolate and they’d sat on her couch talking for several hours before he’d left for his own apartment. Ildaria had dragged herself off to bed then and fallen into the first of their shared dreams.

  The next day had followed the same pattern, with G.G. checking on her often, sharing his meals with her, and enjoying hot chocolate and laughter together as they unwound afterward. Again it had been followed by a restless sleep full of shared dreams. Those dreams had continued every day for the last two weeks, but her waking hours had slowly changed. G.G. had started sending Sofia to check on her rather than doing it himself, and then he’d stopped having meals with her, and finally he’d stopped having hot chocolate at the end of the night too, claiming he was too tired for it. Now, the only time she saw him was in dreams. She supposed that alone should have told her this was a dream, because in reality, she would be upstairs with H.D., not searching him out in the club after closing.

  “The damned glasses were supposed to make you less attractive,” G.G. said with irritation, drawing her attention to him again. “They were supposed to slow me
down a little so I wouldn’t jump you the minute you walked into the room. Instead, you look hot as hell. Like some sexy librarian or something.” He clucked his tongue with self-disgust. “I’m dressing you up in my dreams like a bloody sex doll, Ildaria. If you had any idea—”

  Pausing abruptly, he scowled and turned back to his task, his movements abrupt and angry now as he swiped up glasses and slammed them onto the tray.

  “G.G.,” she said with a small frown and crossed the room quickly to his side. But the moment she touched his arm, he jerked upright and stepped back.

  “No. Don’t touch me,” he snapped, and then closed his eyes on a sigh when she retrieved her hand and stared at him with embarrassment and confusion.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed wearily. “I’m just tired. I spend my days having all these dreams that leave me feeling like I haven’t slept at all, and then I spend my nights working the door of the Night Club, but fantasizing about you the whole time.” Irritation flickered over his face, and then he burst out, “And I know the customers are reading every dirty little thought in my head. They give me these knowing looks and grins as I let them in. They know that I’m stripping you naked in my mind and—”

  He closed his eyes on a short laugh, and muttered, “And now I’m talking to myself in my dreams.”

  “Talking to yourself?” she asked with confusion.

  His eyes opened, a wry half smile twisting his lips. “Well, dreams are supposed to be your subconscious trying to work out things, right? So, really you’re me.”

  Ildaria stilled, realizing that he didn’t know that these were shared dreams. G.G. knew about immortals, and she’d assumed that he’d recognize that these were the shared dreams that immortals and their life mates experience. In fact, she’d been waiting for him to comment on them. But apparently he hadn’t yet realized that was what was happening. He thought he was just having sexual dreams about her.

  “G.G.,” she began, but paused when he suddenly took her hands in his.