“I know.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I tried to fight my feelings for you at first but not anymore. Let’s take it slow, real slow and see what happens.”
She squeezed against his body, saying nothing. Slow wasn’t part of her vocabulary, especially when it came to him. She looked down at the violets. Her deepest, secret desire was to have James with her always. But the only binding between them would be from pure love. Nothing else would do.
9
Charms And Daggers
Upon entering James’s house, Callie was slammed with sensations of loneliness, tension, and suspicion floating through the air like particles of gray ash. The only warmth and brightness came from Sin’s enthusiastic greeting.
She patted his back. “You’re doing well aren’t you, boy?
“He’s his usual pain in the ass.” James softened his words by rubbing Sin behind the ears.
“Where’s your Dad?”
An expression of pain flickered in James’s eyes.
“Gone. He left a note saying he was going to visit old friends nearby.”
“I see.” She walked into the den with its high-vaulted ceiling and banks of windows. “No one’s ever here. Figured you were pretty much loners and didn’t want people getting too close.”
“True. Most of our friends are immortals like us.”
Her eyes widened. “Are there very many of you around? I thought being immortal was rare.”
“Not as rare as you might think. I’d say in a day’s driving distance, there are about six families scattered around these mountains.”
“Wow. You told me there are some females now, right?”
“They’re the rarest of all, but they’re getting more common.”
“Do you know any female immortals?”
His eyes shifted. “I’ve met one or two.”
Alarm tingled down her spine. “If you fell in love with one of them, you would have each other forever.”
“Forever is a long time with one person.”
She didn’t smile. “That’s what you want . . . someone who’ll never leave. I can’t give you that.” She ought to encourage James to seek out an immortal for a mate, no matter how much it hurt. “Would you be able to have immortal children with a female of your kind?”
He pressed his lips together and gazed out the window. “I didn’t want to tell you anything yet, but I can’t lie to you. I never will, Callie.”
“What is it?” Panic stirred in the pit of her stomach. Having James had been too good; maybe the dream was about to end.
“Immortals are sterile. We can’t have children.”
She let out a sigh. He wasn’t breaking up with her.
“Don’t you get it? It’s one of the many reasons we shouldn’t be together.”
“It’s just another obstacle.”
“I thought you wanted to have children one day.”
“Honestly, it’s not something I’ve thought much about. But I suppose I would like to have a couple kids eventually.”
“You could never have that with me.”
She stepped into his arms and held him close. “All that matters is that we have each other.”
James kissed her as if she was his last hope for happiness. Then he stepped back and took a steadying breath. “One day you might hate me for being nineteen forever. We’ll never grow old together or have children.”
“I could never hate you.”
“You feel that way now, but there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t resent me someday. If at any point this is too much for you, I’ll understand.”
“Okay. But I’m not going to run on you.”
The heaviness between them lifted.
James took her hand and led her to the couch.
Callie sank into the expensive leather. “When did your Dad leave?”
“Last week, the same day Sin was poisoned.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“I have no clue.” James shrugged and sat down. “Come here.” He pulled her into his lap.
Something in his tone was off. “Did you two have a falling out?”
He whistled. “I won’t try to deny it. You’re far too perceptive. Carter and I had . . . words. He probably thought it best we have some space.”
“Why did you have words?”
He looked away. “Everyone who lives together has problems sometimes.”
“It was about me.” She nodded in understanding. “He didn’t like me right off the bat. Did he sense I was a witch?”
“He sensed something.”
“You never told me how you knew. Can immortals sniff us out?”
“Not exactly.” James shifted uncomfortably. “Dad . . . Carter . . . told me to be careful around you. Said something about you seemed fishy.”
“And then—?”
“So I followed you one night,” he admitted reluctantly.
She stiffened. “When?”
“Not long after we met. I saw you and your coven having a ceremony in the field by your house.”
“I can’t believe it. Usually if someone’s close by, we pick up on their energy.”
“I was a good distance from you. I can see and hear abnormally well from afar. It’s part of being an immortal, probably to track each other down and detect danger when another approaches.”
“Damn. . . that’s embarrassing that you heard Grandma Jo.” She looked at her hands. “Is that when you cooled off toward me that time? You thought I was a freak.”
“Me? Think you a freak? Remember who you’re talking to.” James took her hands. “Look at me. I’m the freak of nature.”
“Don’t say that.”
He pushed her hands away and stood. “I can’t think when you look at me that way.” He went to the wall of windows, putting distance between them. “You’ve told me everything now about Connors and Lucas?”
She threw up her hands. “Everything. And you were with me when I met Lucas.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear our conversation when you stood by your car?”
His face reddened slightly. “I don’t make it a practice to listen in on private conversations, but I wanted to protect you.”
“I was in plain sight the whole time,” she pointed out.
“Sometimes the unexpected and deadly can be with words and not daggers.”
She held the amber up. “I had my charm.”
“You have more faith in that piece of stone than I do.”
“It’s not a mere piece of stone; it’s an ancient, fossilized resin Mom enhanced with magical protective powers. You’re just as bad carrying that knife around all the time.” She crossed her arms in annoyance. “Are we having another fight?”
“It’s not a mere knife. It’s a Bowie twelve-inch blade with handmade Damascus steel forged by folding over a thousand times to give it a higher carbon content.”
“Uh-huh. A sliver of metal.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Okay, point made.”
“You’re not fun to argue with if you’re going to laugh and agree with me so easily.” Her smile returned.
“C’mon, let me show you something.” He returned to her side and pulled her up from the couch.
“Where are we going? Your bedroom, I hope?”
“Actually, yes. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”
“Damn.”
They walked up a spiral staircase forged of iron from Birmingham.
“You know in Feng Shui, a spiral staircase is considered the worst kind of bad luck. All of the energy spirals down the stairs and drains into the earth.”
“Fung . . . what? I’ve lived a long time, but that’s a new one on me.” He led her down a hallway to a room at the end.
A sensual haze made her words clumsy and fast. “Feng Shui. It’s the ancient Chinese belief in circulating Chi, energy, throughout a home by the architecture and placement of objects. Even colors and—” She stopped babbling. “Never mind.”
; They entered his bedroom, and she was immediately drawn to a large sword hanging on the wall. It looked like an antique museum relic and radiated intense heat. A barely discernible reddish-orange haze emanated a couple of feet around it.
“I’ve never seen an object have an aura before.” She walked over for a closer look. “Animals and people, yes. What’s its history?” She reached a hand out to touch the sword.
“Whoa.” James grabbed her arm. “I’m the only one that can hold this weapon.”
“Too late.” Her right index finger was red and already forming a blister.
“Sorry, I should have warned you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She waved off his concern. “Does it burn everyone or just witches like me?”
“Everyone.” He lifted her hand, licked the burnt finger, then gently blew on the tender skin.
Callie’s whole body vibrated and hummed from his breath. Her hand trembled, and he slowly smiled, a knowing look in his dark eyes.
He broke the charged atmosphere by turning and lifting the sword from its wall mounting. “Immortals and their swords are bound together until their last death match—if there is one.” He stroked the sword with a proud air of possession and held it closer for her to view.
She eyed it warily, careful not to accidentally rub against it. “Are you saying this weapon recognizes its master?”
“Not like a pet or something,” he said, sounding slightly offended. “Our broadswords are more like an extension of our body. After a battle, we cleanse it with natural spring water. This rids it of our enemy’s hatred, while at the same time lets us keep some of their power.”
She backed away a step. “So the more you kill, the more powerful the sword—and you—become.”
“Exactly.” He returned the broadsword to its mounting. “I didn’t make the rule, but that’s just the way it is. I’ve only killed in self-defense, Callie.”
She felt his worry and hastened to reassure him. “I hate the thought of you being in danger.”
He appeared even more put out. “I happen to be quite good in combat. Maybe you should worry about the other guy.”
She stifled a grin. “I’m sure you’re great at whatever you do. And I understand about the sword growing more powerful after every encounter. A witch’s wand is similar. The more spells you cast, the more magic the wand stores.”
The tightness in his jaw relaxed, and the guarded look in his eyes melted. “This is the sword I carried when I was in the Alabama Brigade.” He pointed to an engraving on the handle of the saber: ‘CSA.’
“Confederate States of America. This is too cool.” She gazed at him in awe. “You really are old.”
“I see it’s finally sinking in.” He shook his head, still caught up in memories. “When I awakened from the transformation, this sword and the clothes on my back were all I had. Carter explained every immortal has a power sword and to keep it with me at all times for protection.”
“I’ve never seen you with it.”
“It doesn’t exactly blend in with modern attire. That’s why I carry a smaller dagger instead. It doesn’t have the power of my CSA weapon, but with every death match, it gains strength to aid in the next fight.”
Fascinating. “Has the CSA sword lost its power over the years? Now that it doesn’t get any action, so to speak.”
“No. Any weapon an immortal carried at the time of his change will stay powerful until his death. If he dies.”
Her gaze fell to the dresser positioned below the saber. An old-fashioned oil lamp, a small leather, weather-beaten Bible, and a faded black-and-white framed tintype were neatly arranged on the pine surface.
She reached for the photograph, glancing questioningly at James. “May I?”
“Sure, this won’t burn. Can you guess who it is?”
She picked it up and stared. Faded and grainy as it was, the resemblance to James was striking. “Your mom?” She flipped it over and read the inscription on the back: Elizabeth Channing MacLauren, January 31, 1825 - March 18, 1865.
“That’s her. She died awful young; everybody did back then. It was a hard life. We all deserted her . . . Dad, all her sons. My biggest regret will always be that I went to war instead of staying home and protecting her.”
Callie wrapped her arms around him. “I thought time was supposed to heal all wounds,” she whispered against his chest.
“Not for me. I have forever to mull over every mistake. The time I spent with my real family was so short. I took everything for granted.”
Callie squeezed him harder. She could make him forget all the sadness of his past. At least during her lifetime, she could try, if he would let her love him. But she suspected he would always keep a bit of his heart guarded. It was his way of protecting himself from the inevitable grief of watching another mortal die, leaving him alone yet again.
“I’ll never leave you, James.” She cupped his face in her hand.
“Sure you will.” He tried to smile. “Everyone leaves me behind eventually. It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe you should try to find one of those rare immortal females.” It hurt even saying the words.
“I’ve met a few, but they didn’t do it for me. Not like you.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was probably as close as he would give. “You could try harder.”
“You don’t really mean that.”
She stared into his troubled brown eyes. Eyes that had seen it all. She could never give him up.
“No, I don’t mean it,” she agreed.
He kissed her suddenly. A flood of desire washed over her entire body as she pressed into him with a desperate longing. He crushed her to him and then abruptly pushed her away. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room.
“I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Let’s get out of here.” He turned and strode out the door.
She lingered, staring at the washed-out image of his mother. So little left of that long-ago time. Only now did she understand the feelings of separateness and loneliness that immortality held for James.
Somehow, she had to find a way to make it all work. First, she had to come into the fullness of her power at the coven initiation, rid herself of her father’s evil, and convince James to take a chance on loving.
Good thing she was an optimist.
10
Immortal Allies
His lungs constricted from the smell of smoke, and his mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood as he crawled in the red clay dirt. Just a little farther. His ears picked up the husky breath of a nearby predator. His heart beat as loud and heavy as a war drum. The end was near, and he realized he didn’t want to die after all. Another four feet and he could hide behind the brush and trees …
James fought through the panic. You’re dreaming again. Wake up, damn it. He bolted upright in bed, heart still thundering.
The dead silence of the night shimmered with danger. Too quiet. His senses hummed in warning. His gaze roamed the bedroom, searching for another immortal waiting to pounce. He glanced at the nightstand, about to fling back his blanket and grab his sword, but abruptly stopped. On the table’s surface were the book, a lamp, and the leather pouch of crystals from the coven.
The pouch’s drawstring was open and the contents spilled out. It had been closed when he went to sleep. The green malachite stone was split into two pieces. An omen of impending danger, the witches had warned.
He eased up from the mattress and padded over to his broadsword. The metal was warm and solid as he flexed his palms against the grooved hilt. Outside the window, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the outline of tall pines. He searched the treetops but only spotted a couple of owls.
The enemy must be inside.
Careful not to make any noise, he pulled on a pair of discarded jeans at the foot of the bed. He crept toward the doorway but swiftly turned and eyed the crystals glimmering on the nightstand. Hell, it couldn’t hurt to carry them. He changed direction, scoope
d them into the leather pouch, and stuffed the whole thing in his pocket.
Sword in hand, he eased open the bedroom door, flattening himself against the wall. When nothing lunged at him, he cautiously moved down the hallway, trying to sense the presence of another. If he was lucky, maybe Dad had quietly returned home and slipped into bed. But a quick glance in Carter’s room showed the bed unmade.
Someone else had invaded their home.
He approached the iron stairway and instantly spotted the silhouette of a man standing by the wall of windows in the den, a broadsword hanging by his side. There was something familiar in the man’s profile . . .
“We meet again, James MacLauren.”
He recognized that voice.
James flipped on the light switch. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice tight with fury.
Lucas stepped away from the windows. “Time we had a chat about my daughter.”
He made his way down the stairs and entered the den, stopping a few feet from Lucas. “Why come in the middle of the night? If you think I’m intimidated that you managed to break in, you’re dead wrong.”
Lucas smiled grimly. “Now’s the perfect time. Carter’s away and Callie’s nowhere near to keep us from speaking freely.”
James watched him closely for any sudden moves. “Talk? Guess that’s why you’re carrying your sword.”
“A last resort.”
James gripped his sword tighter. “Speak your peace and then get the hell out of my house.”
“Very well. Callie’s a special girl, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He paused, but at James’s silence he continued. “Of course, she’s either told you or you’ve figured it out for yourself. Did she also tell you she will soon become an even more powerful witch?”
“Yeah. Get to your point.”
Lucas stepped forward. “She belongs to me, not you,” he said slowly.
“She belongs to herself.”
He made a slight tsk-ing sound. “I meant Callie belongs with me. Her place is with my coven.”
Charmed and Dangerous: An Appalachian Magic Novel (Appalachian Magic Series Book 1) Page 15
