Scarlet stood stunned for a moment. Completely speechless.
“It’s dead,” he repeated, over-enunciating the words.
Scarlet blinked. “I love you,” she said simply.
His jaw clenched and his eyes looked pained. “Loving me is reckless.”
She narrowed her eyes and argued, “It’s honest!”
“It’s dangerous, Scar!”
“So?” She threw her hands up, her chest tight with frustration. “Loving anyone is dangerous! There’s always going to be something at stake.”
“Your life is not just ‘something’, Scarlet.” He said her full name and Scarlet’s heart broke. “It’s everything.”
“So what, then? You’re just going to keep pushing me away because you’re scared?”
“I push you away to keep you safe!”
“You push me away because it’s easier!”
“Easy? Easy? Are you insane?” His face hardened as he took a step forward and pointed at her. “Nothing about this is easy! Do you think it’s easy to see you with Gabriel? Do you think it’s easy to watch you die over and over again?” His voice cracked and Scarlet’s heart started to hurt the way it always did when she was in the same room with Tristan yet felt oceans away from him.
“I don’t know what to think, Tristan!” Scarlet’s stomach felt hollow. “You treat me like I’m a disease. You don’t talk to me. You don’t touch me—“
“Because you could die!”
“I’ll die anyway!” Her heart was pounding madly. “We have no cure, no fountain. I’m as good as dead no matter what. But you still barely look at me—“
“Is that what you want?” His voice was loud and angry, but he looked wounded. “You want me to look at you?” His eyes were wild as he walked forward and brought his face close to hers, his cheeks flushed with desperation. “Well, here you go, Scar. Me looking at you.” He scanned her face in frustration. “How’s this? Better? Easier?” he sneered. His hot breath warmed her jaw and neck as he stared at her in anguish.
Pain. Heartbreak. Sorrow. The small space between their hearts was quickly filling up with everything they couldn’t change.
“No. It’s not easier!” Scarlet tilted her chin up. Her heart hurt. Her chest hurt. Her eyes stung with tears. “It hurts like hell. But it’s better than feeling like you don’t want me.”
“I do want you!” he growled, grief and sadness clouding his eyes. “I want you more than my next breath.”
“Then stop pushing me away!”
He looked defeated and broken as he yelled. “I can’t have you, Scar!”
“Too bad!” Scarlet yelled back, a tear escaping her eye as she looked up at him, their faces less than an inch apart. “I’m already yours! I was yours in the forest and I’m yours right here—”
And then his mouth was on hers like wildfire, spreading with reckless abandon against her lips.
Hot and heavy, he kissed her with five-hundred years of need and Scarlet kissed him back with a want more powerful than she knew she possessed. Their lips grazed against one another, sending a blazing sensation down Scarlet’s body. Like butter melting down every inch of her skin, coating her with warmth and filling her with fire.
Scarlet parted her lips, desperate for more. More heat. More love. More Tristan.
Tristan kissed her without reservation. Passionately. Hungrily. Their tongues gliding in and around the delicate flesh of each other’s mouths.
Scarlet pressed as much of her body as possible against his bare chest and hips, bringing her hands up to his large shoulders where they molded against the muscles that flexed beneath her fingertips.
Tristan wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling her against him as his fingers skidded down her back to her hip.
Scarlet buried her hands into his shaggy hair, arching her back to taste more of him, feel more of him as his other hand moved around her body until he was gripping her hips and pulling them closer to his own. Walking her backwards, he pressed her up against the nearest wall and slid his hands beneath her shirt.
His palms molded against her bare hips as his thumbs ran down the sensitive skin of her lower stomach until they were tucked into the waistline of her pants.
Scarlet exhaled in bliss as he kissed his way along her jaw until his warm breath caressed her ear.
Scarlet shivered.
Tristan groaned.
He ran his mouth down her jawbone and to her throat, gently sucking at the delicate skin that lay between her pulse and his lips. Scarlet turned her face to the ceiling, loving the feel of Tristan’s lips on her skin.
His hands held steady to her hips, locking her into place against his body and Scarlet never wanted to be free. She wanted to be forever imprisoned in the space between Tristan’s hands and his heart, where heat and passion collided and her skin hummed in pleasure.
His mouth roamed back to hers and Scarlet eagerly kissed him back, feeling his hand slide up from her hip to her ribcage, a trail of heat tracing after it. With a soft moan, she sank her mouth into his, moving her hips against his body.
Scarlet dropped her hands from his hair and let them fall down his chest, down his torso, wishing she could climb inside him as his hands ran up her sides, pulling her shirt up with them.
Kissing and sucking and breathing against his mouth, she slipped her hand inside the waistband of his jeans and ran her fingers along the tattoo she knew so well. Dipping lower…and lower.
Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear their ragged breathing. Her stomach was exposed, her hot skin rubbing against his tattoo as his hands and his mouth claimed her.
She wanted to be closer to him. So much closer.
And then her eyes caught fire, pain ripping through the core of her body and sucking the air from her lungs as agony wracked her insides. An involuntary whimper escaped her mouth and, like a toy being snatched from her hand, Tristan abruptly pulled away from her—taking his lips, his heat, and his heart with him.
Everything inside Scarlet cried out at the disconnection. It was agonizing, not being connected to Tristan, even though her pain his immediately stopped once he pulled away.
A moment passed as Scarlet waited for her heart to calm down.
When her eyes had finally cooled, Scarlet opened them to see a terrified Tristan standing on the other side of the room. He was breathing heavy and his hair was a mess.
But his eyes….
His eyes were horrified.
“Tristan, I—”
“I hurt you.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking like he wanted to die. “I hurt you,” he repeated.
“No,” Scarlet lied, shaking her head vehemently.
But lying was futile.
Because of their connection, Scarlet knew Tristan had felt her pain. She couldn’t deceive him. She couldn’t convince him to bring his lips back to hers.
It was over.
Their kiss, their touch. It was over.
Tristan would never kiss her again.
51
“Scarlet did what?” Gabriel could hardly believe his ears as Heather explained how Scarlet had left to find Tristan. Running out the back door, Gabriel started calling Scarlet’s name.
Clouds covered the moon, making it impossible to see anything in the dark night.
Gabriel ran back inside the cabin to get a flashlight.
Heather met him at the door and bounced up and down nervously. “Don’t be mad, don’t be mad. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you just left her?” Gabriel charged into the kitchen, throwing open cabinets in search of a flashlight.
“Only for a minute. To find you.”
“You shouldn’t have left her, Heather!” Gabriel walked down the hallway, to the office. Where the hell did they keep their flashlights?
Heather
’s face was red and flustered as she stopped in front of him. “Well, if you hadn’t been sleeping like a comatose rock, maybe we would have made it back down to the basement before little Miss Escapes-A-Lot got away!”
Nate’s voice tumbled from the stairs above them. “What’s a gamer gotta do to get some sleep around here?”
Gabriel turned his face to Nate. “Heather lost Scarlet.”
“I did not!” Heather balled her fists at her side.
“What?” Nate’s sleepy eyes rolled. “Ah, man. Did she go after Tristan?”
“Yes.” Heather started babbling a million miles a minute. “She just woke up in pain, and then she started rolling around on the floor and crying. Then she was all like, I have to find Tristan because he’s dying. And I was all, No, let me get Gabriel and then Scarlet started groaning and gasping and I totally panicked and ran upstairs. But it was like waking the dead in Gabriel’s room and I had to actually jump on top of him to rouse him from his beauty rest and then, when we finally made it back downstairs, she was just…” Heather took a shaky breath. “Gone.”
Without warning, Heather broke into tears.
Gabriel blinked as he watched her cry. He looked up at Nate and raised a brow. Nate shrugged.
“Heather?” Gabriel said. “Why are you crying?”
Heather hid her face in her hands. “I don’t want her to die. I didn’t know what to do. It was so scary and she…she looked like she was in so much pain….” Heather sniffed and cried harder. “I don’t want her to die. It’s all my fault.”
Feeling like a complete ass for accusing Heather of not watching over Scarlet, Gabriel gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey…I’m sorry.” Gabriel pulled her into an awkward hug. “Hey…hey…it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I just freaked out, that’s all.”
Heather sobbed into the cotton shirt he wore and Gabriel moved her blond curls away from her snotty face. “You didn’t do anything wrong and Scarlet’s going to be fine.”
Maybe.
Gabriel looked at Nate for answers.
Nate nodded. “If Scarlet went after Tristan, then I’m sure she’s already found him.” Nate yawned. “She said Tristan was nearby, so he’s probably yelling at her right now for coming after him. And she’s probably yelling right back. You know how they are.”
Yeah. That sounded about right.
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Gabriel looked back down at the blond mess against his chest. “See? Tristan’s probably lecturing Scarlet about running away as we speak.” Gabriel tried to smile. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Heather’s tears started to subside and she sniffed as they pulled away from each other.
“Sorry,” Heather muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. “I just…I just… suck at being the B-F-F of a cursed girl.”
Gabriel gave her a crooked smile. “Well, it’s not like Scarlet is making it easy for you.”
Heather breathed out a laugh. “I know, right?”
Gabriel looked up at Nate. “Should we still go look for Scarlet?”
Nate exhaled. “No. Scarlet seemed to know exactly where Tristan was earlier today. She’ll find him. They’ll fight. He’ll bring her back and we can return to our daily fountain drama.” He smiled. “Business as usual.”
Gabriel bit back a sigh. He hated business as usual.
52
Tristan woke up to the sound of falling rain and distant thunder as his mind replayed the dream he’d had.
A very vivid—very unsolicited—dream about what had happened between him and Scarlet years ago. It had felt so real. Almost like he’d been reliving it.
Which was wonderful.
And terrifying.
He took a deep breath, feeling more alive than he had in years—decades even.
…Centuries?
Tristan opened his eyes to the gray morning light peeking in through the windows of the shack and froze. He was on the floor, beside the smoldering fireplace, wearing only a pair of jeans.
And lying on top of his chest was a beautiful, sleeping Scarlet.
Tucked against his skin like she was an extension of his very heart, Scarlet’s eyes were closed peacefully; her lashes feathered out against her porcelain cheeks.
For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. But then he blinked and the severity of his situation kicked in.
Scrambling out from underneath her, Tristan laid Scarlet on the rug beside him and moved as far away from her as he could. He searched for her heart.
Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead.
When he finally felt Scarlet’s heartbeat in his chest, Tristan sighed in relief. He stared at her for a long time, completely dumbfounded. And angry. And scared.
Scarlet moved a little. Her eyes slowly opened and, upon seeing Tristan, she smiled dreamily. “Good morning.”
He clenched his jaw, loving how her voice poured over him like warm honey and hating that he wanted to hear more of it. He took another step back, now standing in the kitchen of the small house, looking across the room at his visitor.
Reality must have come rushing back to Scarlet because she abruptly sat up, looked around, and went pale. She turned big eyes to him. “Don’t be mad.”
Too late.
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be mad? Are you crazy?”
Standing up, Scarlet shook her head. “I wasn’t try—”
“You could have died!”
“I know it seems strange—”
“I’m trying to keep a healthy distance from you,” Tristan pursed his lips, anger filling his veins, “but I can’t do that if you’re lying on top of me!”
Scarlet blushed briefly before taking on a look of stubbornness. “But you were dying, Tristan!”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Yes I was.
Tristan thought back to the night before. He had, indeed, been dying. But how was that possible?
A rumble of thunder sounded against the walls of the shack as the morning light dimmed beneath the thick clouds closing in on the forest around them. The rain picked up.
“Well, it felt like you were dying,” Scarlet repeated. “I woke up in terrible pain and it was like…like I was dying too. So, I had to find you.”
“And climb on top of me?” Tristan didn’t mean to sound like a jackass, but fear was overriding his manners.
Scarlet blushed again. “The pain went away when I touched you.”
Tristan knew all too well how alleviating Scarlet’s touch was for his chronic pain. Which was why he needed her to stay far away from him. “So?” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “I’m not yours to cure.”
Scarlet’s eyes narrowed and he felt the anger inside her morph into heartbreak. He was a jerk.
He rubbed his jaw. “How long were you touching me?”
Scarlet blinked. “Most of the night.”
He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair. He pinched his lips together. “Are you trying to die?”
She raised a brow. “You mean like you were, just a few months ago?”
Tristan stared at her. Touché.
A few tense moments passed.
“How do you feel?” Tristan looked at her carefully.
She nodded. “I feel healthy.”
Her eyes weren’t flashing.
Her nose wasn’t bleeding.
Tristan crossed his arms. “Well, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“So are you.” She crossed her arms as well.
Ah, there was the Scarlet he’d known for centuries. Sassy. Stubborn. Righteous.
The rain grew heavier and the clouds darkened.
Tristan’s eyes traveled around the room, looking at everything except for the girl by the fireplace. He bit back a sigh. What was he going to do with her?
&
nbsp; “You can’t stay here,” he said with a bland tone. “It’s not safe.”
Scarlet scanned his face. “But…I feel safe here.” She looked at his jaw, then his throat, then his mouth….
There was a kitchen counter, a couch, and twenty feet of space in between them. But Scarlet was practically inside his skin.
Safe was the last thing she was.
“Well, I feel dangerous.” Tristan tried to keep his eyes from wandering to any places aside from her face. “So, you need to go.”
A loud crack of thunder shook the windows and they both turned their attention to the storm outside. Trees moved against the wind and rain, and the forest floor was dark with water.
“After the storm.” Tristan shifted his weight and moved farther into the kitchen. “You’ll leave after the storm.”
Although it was still morning, the sky was dark and low, and the shack was filled with shadows and a cold chill. Tristan flicked on a nearby light switch.
“Whatever.” Scarlet climbed onto the couch with her knees tucked beneath her and watched Tristan as he moved about the kitchen.
He tried to busy himself with something—anything—that would keep him from looking at her.
He started opening cabinets arbitrarily. “Are you hungry?”
Food. Food was a good distraction.
“No,” Scarlet said.
Tristan nodded, but kept his eyes on the contents of the cabinet before him. He wasn’t hungry either. He closed the cabinet and started fiddling with random objects in the kitchen.
A towel…the soap bottle…a fork on the kitchen counter.
“So….” Scarlet twitched her lips.
He turned the sink on and began washing the fork. It wasn’t dirty, but he washed it anyway. “So…” he repeated.
He didn’t feel like small talk. Or big talk.
He scrubbed the fork with a soapy sponge.
Scarlet cleared her throat. “You know the tree picture I found?”
He rinsed suds off the fork and nodded.
“It’s actually a map to the fountain of youth.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the backrest of the couch.
Awry (The Archers of Avalon, Book Two) Page 25
