He shook his head and reached for her hand. “We’ll talk about her later. Since you’ve gone through all the trouble of lying to Siri, let’s actually go down to the city. I want to show you where I live.”
“I know where you live.” She tugged her hand free of his. The narrow-eyed look she shot him warned him not to push his luck.
But where would he be if he didn’t push his luck? What other advantage did he have as a fragile, mortal human surrounded by immortal vampires and icrathari? “You’ve never seen my home.” Jaden walked to the balcony and threw a glance down at the moat surrounding the tower. It was a wretchedly long fall. He calculated the odds of survival and then halved it. The number was pitifully small.
There was, however, no better way to test Ashra’s attachment to him. He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Come on.”
Without another word, he swung his feet over the balcony.
Some part of his mind called him an idiot. The other part prepared to die. The wind screamed up at him. The inevitable impact loomed closer. He twisted in midair and positioned himself to dive into water. His likelihood of survival inched up a few percentage points, but remained in the single digits.
His first contact with the ice-cold water stunned him, less from the chill and more from the shocking realization that Ashra hadn’t saved him.
In that single frozen instant when he knew he would die, a sharp motion yanked him up and spun his stomach into heaving nausea. Bushes and branches slapped at his face, blurring his vision as he was dragged through the air.
He had enough of nearly dying in the process of falling from the sky; he never wanted to leave the ground ever again.
Moments later, Ashra dropped him, almost gently, into a sodden heap on the ground. His heart pounding, he dragged himself upright, stared down at his soaked clothes, and then glared at her. “You waited until the last possible second, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “Of course.” Her golden eyes traveled over his body and a slow, appreciative smile curved her lips. “You’re wet.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m not. You’re crazy.” Laughter coiled in her voice, mocking her severe tone.
“You immortals take life far too seriously.” He reached for her hand and was gratified when she responded. She had deposited him in front of his house, a small hut tucked away in the dense forest that fringed the periphery of the dome. His home offered solitude, a place of quiet away from the busy fields and teeming city square. He led her into the two-room cabin, his footsteps thudding softly on the wooden floor.
He had only been away for less than a week, but his home had already taken on the quiet unease of an abandoned sanctuary. The stray flicker of regret caught him off guard. I no longer belong here. He lit an oil lamp; it filled the cabin with a soft orange glow. He turned back to face her. “Let me change into dry clothes before I show you around.”
“I know my way around the city,” Ashra said, her voice mild. She appeared content to wander through his cabin, occasionally stopping to pick up and examine one of the woodcarvings that decorated the small space.
For a moment, he watched her, an icrathari at ease in a human space. She possessed an angel’s face, a demon’s wings, the instincts of a predator, a mind bound by duty, and a heart that yearned for love. Her rare smiles summoned a matching reflex in him.
As if she sensed his focus, she threw a quizzical glance over her shoulder.
He flashed her a smile before turning away and entering his bedroom where he lit a candle. The dim glow cast a tiny pool of light, but it was enough to see by. He stripped off his wet clothes and toweled his hair and body dry before pulling on a fresh change of clothes.
He rejoined her in the cabin’s main room that served as the primary living space. The kitchen was tiny; the dining area even tinier, consisting of a table and two chairs tucked into a corner of the room. The rest of the small space was a workshop where he crafted furniture and carved wood sculptures from spare pieces of wood.
Ashra turned to face him, a carving of a deer in her hand. “I didn’t realize you were an artist.”
“I make furniture when I’m not fighting vampires and icrathari. A man has to make a living, after all. The carvings I create in my free time, and this one—” He turned away to retrieve something from the back of a cabinet. Carefully, he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a flawless wood sculpture carved from cypress. “This is for you.”
Ashra traced a trembling finger down the polished surface of the carving. It captured every delicate feature of her face, from the subtle upward tilt of her eyes and narrow nose, to the sharp slash of her cheekbones and the faint hint of a smile. Her hair was swept back from her face, as if caressed by the wind, and then frozen in time, the gentle waves of its silken length immortalized in pale cypress.
Jaden placed it in her hand. “I carved it from my dreams.”
“You did dream of me.”
“I thought carving it would reduce the relentless focus of my dreams; it didn’t work. In hindsight, it was probably better not to know that I was falling in love with an icrathari.”
Love.
The word shivered through her, a thrill of delight that danced along the length of her spine. She focused on his eyes—Rohkeus’s eyes—when she stepped into his arms. The illusion of returning into the embrace of her prince, however, shattered quickly when his calloused hands caressed her shoulders and back. His were the battle-worn hands of a warrior. They were strong and large and seemed to envelope her frame.
Yet he was gentle, an absurdity that both amused and enchanted her. She could have crushed his neck with as little effort as snapping a twig, but he handled her as if she were as fragile as glass. He slid the gown off her shoulders. She closed her eyes, shuddering when he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the scar on her stomach.
His lips shot waves of sensation through her. Her ancient senses, inured to the ordinary, came alive. A light breeze sweeping in through his open cottage windows brushed against her skin. When he lowered her to his bed, the coarse cotton of his sheets chafed her back and leather wings.
His back and chest were still swathed in bandages. Subtle pain lines furrowed on his brow with each movement. When he entered her, he did so with infinite care. The unfettered, animal-like passion she had always associated with humans was ruthlessly held in check. With an affectionate smile, she stroked his cheek. She had never realized before how sensual self-control could be.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back.”
His eyes, vivid green, locked on hers, glazed with desire—desire that transcended species, transcended time.
His mouth closed on hers, plundering—prince to concubine. He moved against her, claiming her body. She surrendered; it was all she could do. She had forgotten what it was like to be driven to the edge of madness, of need. He forced her to ride on the razor’s edge where pleasure so intense twisted into pain, before allowing her to fall with a scream of ecstasy.
She plunged down and then floated as weightless as a feather.
He caught her. His embrace anchored her. He trailed kisses down her neck before forcing her senses into flight once more. She closed her eyes, her hands fisting into the bedsheets, as her body spiraled out of control.
Only Rohkeus could tear the reins of icy control from her, and simultaneously wrap her in the utter certainty that she was cherished and loved.
The second time she tumbled off the cliff, he followed her with a guttural groan of release.
For a long moment after, they lay on his bed, their limbs tangled. The only light came from a candle glowing by the bedside table. Outside, the eternal night lingered, unchanged.
Yet everything had changed—a minute yet titanic shift in her world.
I have just made love to a human.
Unlike the vampire lovers she had occasionally taken on in the past, he appeared content to linger. With gentle fingers, she combed through his dark hair.
His breath whispered, “I love you.”
His love had found her. How could she ever let him go?
Her fingernails extended, and she drew a sharp edge over her wrist. Droplets of golden blood trickled from the open wound. When she placed her wrist against his lips, he turned to her. He closed his eyes; his tongue laved upon her wrist. Within seconds, the thin lines of pain on his brow faded, and a soft sheen of relief eased over him.
Her blood, ancient and immortal, trickled down his throat, healing him, changing him.
“Transform,” she whispered. “And be with me forever.”
His eyes flashed open. He pulled away.
They stared at each other across the narrow expanse of the bed.
He broke the silence first. “I can’t.”
Ashra’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.
He shook his head. “I want to stay human.”
“But, Rohkeus—”
“I’m Jaden,” he said, his voice sharp. He pushed up from the bed. “I’m not the icrathari inventor-prince who died a thousand years ago. Perhaps there are fragments of Rohkeus in me, but I’m more than that. My life here and now is all that matters, as a human, as Dana’s son, as Khiarra’s brother.”
She turned away before heartache flickered through her eyes.
He reached for her hand and tugged her around to face him. “I want you, but not as Rohkeus. When you think you can accept a human—”
“You’ll die.”
“Not for awhile.”
She flung out her hand. “What is a human lifespan compared to eternity? When you’re dead, I’ll be alone. Again.”
He flinched.
“You’re human,” she continued, grinding the words out through gritted teeth. “Everything’s a short joyride for you. You risk your life as if it doesn’t matter; it is going to end anyway, sooner or later. It isn’t as simple for me. Long after you’re gone, I’ll still be here, defending the city.” Her delicate hands clenched into fists. “You can afford to follow your whims. I have to make choices I know I can live with for eternity.”
“And those choices don’t include me?”
She closed her eyes. Her throat worked. “They can, if you choose to be a vampire.” Her eyes flashed open and locked on him. “I cannot take all the risks, Jaden. We have to meet halfway.”
“I…” He shook his head.
“We are not monsters. I wish you could understand that.”
“I do.”
“But you will not become what we are. Why?”
Jaden managed a faint smile. “Let me show you. Come with me.”
In silence they dressed.
Jaden walked up to her. He wrapped a dark and heavy cloak around her shoulders, and pulled the hood over her head.
“Is this supposed to be a disguise?” Ashra demanded. “It’s pathetic.”
“We won’t get close to others. Besides, it’s not the full moon. No one’s going to be on the lookout for vampires and icrathari.”
“Are we that predictable?”
“You have been for a thousand years.”
He led her to a cottage at the edge of the town, set far back from the fields and the busy marketplace. The home was larger than most, a sturdy brick structure with slate roofs that hinted of wealth. He knocked on the door, and a young girl admitted him. “I’m here to see your great-grandmother,” he said.
She frowned but stepped aside. “She’s tired. You can’t stay long. Who’s that?” She nudged her chin at Ashra.
“A friend,” Jaden said. He ushered Ashra into the house and up the stairs to the gable bedroom.
Beneath the steep slope of the ceiling, a woman, frail and wrinkled, presided from a bed swamped with pillows and heavy quilts. She looked up, her eyes cloudy. “Who is it?” her voice wavered.
“Jaden Hunter.” He closed the door behind him.
“Ah, my boy.” She beckoned to him with a trembling hand. “Come closer, and—” She raised her face as if to sniff the air. “—your companion.” Reaching out, her shriveled hands grasped Ashra’s cloak.
Ashra held her ground as the groping hands caressed her face.
“Who is this young woman scented with jasmine? No…” The curiosity on the old woman’s face transcended into reverence. “Too flawless to be human. An immortal.” Her hands slid around the back of cloak and fumbled when she grasped the horned wings. “An icrathari.” She collapsed against the safety of her pillows, her ancient face ashen.
“I am Ashra.”
“You rule Aeternae Noctis.” It was not a question.
“Yes.”
The old woman raised her face, as if searching for Jaden. “The eternal night, has it ended?”
“No.” Jaden shook his head. The bed sank with his weight as he sat beside the old woman. He reached for her outstretched hand. “There is no end to the night. The problem is not as simple as it appears.”
The woman cackled. “The solution is rarely as difficult as you imagine. You have already accomplished the near-impossible, Jaden Hunter. You have met the icrathari, and they have not yet killed you.”
“I contemplated it a few times,” Ashra confessed.
The woman’s laughter hooted through the gable room. “He was trouble, from the start, the last child I blessed before my vision darkened. I still see his eyes, those endless emerald depths, as if they had seen eternity.”
Ashra threw Jaden a thin smirk. “Ah, yes, those troublesome eyes.”
The old woman turned her face to Jaden. “Why did you come?”
“You lead us, Mater Matris—”
The woman’s lips parted in a toothless grin so delighted and infectious that both Jaden and Ashra smiled in response. “No, I do not lead, I only celebrate.”
Ashra’s brow furrowed. “What do you celebrate?”
“Life, in all its transient glory. This morning, Shaun Gallagher and Brenna Toole asked me to bless their engagement. They won’t stay married long; he is too fickle, she is too needy, but for a time, they will be happy. Not an hour later, Nicole Harris brought a child, her fourth, for my blessing. She still misses the two who were taken from her after their fifth birthday, but for a time, her heart has stopped bleeding.” Her unseeing eyes drifted to the window. “Soon, I suspect, John Teeter will storm in here to end his marriage to Beth. She has wandered too often, and his pride is too hurt to salvage their relationship. The end will bring sorrow and guilt, but it will fade to relief. In time, they may even recall with affection the early years they shared, when they lived and loved with fierce joy. I am too old now to leave my bed to attend funerals, but when life ends, the people gather, not to talk about death but to celebrate life. It’s all we can do; it’s all we have, these few precious years.”
“It does not have to be few,” Ashra murmured.
“Ah,” the old woman said, as if she understood. Her cloudy eyes flicked back to Jaden. “But is it life if it never ends, if the promise of death does not infuse every moment with its priceless life-giving breath? It ends, it always does, but if you lose sight of the end, each moment matters less.”
Ashra’s golden eyes narrowed. She shook her head and turned her back on the old woman. “Come, Jaden. We are done here.”
She stalked from the wise woman’s house. The strength and certainty of her stride did not betray the confusion that pitched in her stomach. She scarcely waited until she and Jaden were enveloped once more in the privacy offered by solitude before turning on him. “Is that how you see my life? Meaningless and without joy?”
“It’s different when you have forever. Without the urgency, the need to make each moment count—”
“You understand nothing. Every decision, every moment counts for me.” She crossed her arms across her chest to ward off the sudden chill. “You stupid, arrogant human! Do you think that because your life ends, it has meaning?”
“Duty doesn’t offer meaning. Each day is a burden to you.”
Her jaw dropped. “What do
you, a twenty-eight-year-old human, know of responsibility? Your willingness to stand between your murderous sister and an icrathari is more a statement of your irrationality than your commitment to duty. What are you compared to the vampires who have labored for centuries to defend the humans who hate and fear them?” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Until you choose to defend more than your own pitiful and judgmental species, until you step into the line of fire to uphold a vision you disagree with just for the sake of love, you have no right to judge me.”
A dull throb pulsed through her head. Her eyebrows drew together, and she glanced up at the tower. “Siri activated the emergency beacon. Something’s happened; I have to go.” She shrugged off the cloak, spread her wings, and took to the air.
“Ashra!”
She threw a glance over her shoulder. Her wings beat down on the air, the slow rhythm keeping her aloft.
Jaden reached a hand out to her. “Take me with you.”
She scowled. “Why? We have nothing more to say to each other.”
“We haven’t even begun to talk.”
“We can’t bridge the gap between us.”
“We haven’t even tried.”
“You did, by trying to shame me into despising the four thousand years of my life.”
“No, that’s not—”
“I don’t care if that’s what you intended to do. It’s what you almost succeeded at doing.” The angle of her wings shifted, spinning her around in midair.
He called after her. “I want to show you how humans are different, how it’ll be better for us both if you let me love you as a human.”
Love.
His words jolted her. Her wings folded against her back. She landed without a sound and stalked up to him. “Better? Knowing I could lose you any day?”
“Not even vampires or icrathari are immortal.”
“But we live until we are killed. We don’t age or die of sickness. Infinity is within our grasp. All you have is eighty years, maybe less.”
“Eighty years, lived with purpose, with joy, is enough for me.”
She shook her head. “Not for me.”
He seized her hand. She let him, knowing she could tear it off at a moment’s provocation. How much more of herself did she hold back from him, from this weak and fragile human who presumed that his meager lifespan and the temporal love he offered would be sufficient for her? The alarm pulsed through her skull yet again. She twisted her wrist out of his grip, caught him around the waist, and pulled him into the air.
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