by Vi Lily
"Love," he starts softly, "we cannae take Carlie from Osgar just yet. Cannae take her from my time. The wee lassie's presence has…changed history a bit, so 'tis forbidden fer us to interfere until the, ehm, time is right."
I frown at that last bit, wondering if he's making a pun. Probably, but I'm sure he didn't mean to. I want to argue, but Bogdan chimes in.
"We'll go back to get her the moment the Creator says we can, Gwen. I have a suspicion it won't be too long. I think she's just chippin' away at some hard hearts, softenin' up that cantankerous ol' fart, Osgar. Maybe her time in the sixth century will stop some clan wars from happenin'. Osgar was responsible for startin' quite a few o' them, if I remember right."
Avisha is frowning at Bogdan. "Aye? I haven't heard that."
Bogdan gives his brother a smirk, but it looks kind of sad. "Aye, after you, ehm, copped a squat on the tower and turned to stone, Osgar and his clan attacked the fortress and claimed the land as his own. Fergus to the north took exception to havin' his wife's cousin so close and that started a war involvin' three other clans."
He shakes his head. "It was a bloody mess. Literally. Hundreds died."
I frown then. "So, isn't it a bad thing that Carlie's changing history? I mean, wars are bad and all, but changing history is kinda scary. Who knows what kind of ripple effect that can have."
Bogdan grins at me. "It's confusin', but she isn't changin' history. She's completin' it. She was meant to be there. The Creator showed it all to me the last time I went back."
"Aye," Avisha says as he turns my head toward him with a finger under my chin. "He showed me too. 'Tis meant to be, that the lass stays for a bit longer."
I frown up at him. "Well, if that's the case, let's just go back ourselves."
Avisha shakes his head. "Love, the reason I brought ye here was because yer injury could have taken yer life. I cannae take a chance o' that happenin'. We have tae wait until yer—" he looks at Bogdan then with a raised brow.
"Medically discharged," Bogdan supplies. "You've got a mild traumatic brain injury—a concussion. They did an MRI and said you've got 'second impact syndrome' since you hit your head twice in just a month. There was some swellin' in your brain, so they put you in a medical coma. That's why you've been out for a week."
Well, that explains the IV and monitors.
I glance toward the nurses' station again. I guess it also explains why I'm directly across from them too. You would think, though, if I were in a medical coma and all that they'd be in here checking on me. Pretty sure Bogdan has something to do with that. Being able to influence people would be a cool trick.
Looking back at Avisha, I ask, "Why can't we just go back to before they attacked the fortress? To before they took Carlie? That way, she wouldn't have changed history, right?"
Bogdan answers that one. "Also not allowed. Like we said, the Creator has strict rules against intentionally manipulatin' the past. Besides, meetin' up with your past body is pretty…painful."
Huh?
He laughs again at my expression. "When 'future you' goes back to a point in your own past where you existed, the two of you have to merge. It's horrendously painful." He shudders again.
"And we are no' certain a human can survive it," Avisha adds.
I cringe at that explanation. "Oh." Okay, we won't try that then.
I have a lot more questions about time travel and history and all, but they're gonna have to wait until I can think more clearly. Right now, I really want to get out of the hospital. While I don't get anything but sincerity from Bogdan, I can't completely trust his "persuasion" abilities.
The last thing I want is DEE showing up and dragging me off.
Chapter 13
W E'VE BEEN at Bogdan's for four days. Four restful, glorious days. I'm being pampered by both of the big guys, who seem intent to try to outdo each other in spoiling me. Which is freaking hilarious, let me tell you, and I am going to admit that I'm sucking up the attention.
Avisha brings me a drink, Bogdan following right behind with something to eat. My mouth starts watering right away when I see what it is—pork fried rice. One of my favorites and something I wasn't able to find too often when I was running from DEE.
I immediately scarf it down while Bog laughs, then he takes my plate and heads back to the kitchen. I soon hear the microwave and the smell of popcorn wafts in.
Oh man, can the handsome guy cook. I swear, in just four days I've gained ten pounds. He loves showing off in the kitchen, and I am more than happy to be his cheer section. I guess living for many millennia lets you pick up on a few things—like how to make drool-worthy Italian, Mexican and French cuisine.
Avi—I've picked up on Bog's nickname for him, as well as Avi's for Bogdan—admitted he doesn't know how to cook. Since he only made it to the sixth century before going granite, he never had the need to learn, since he'd always employed servants for such things. All he's able to accomplish in the kitchen is to make a sandwich or pour me a bowl of cereal. I don't care. I've lived on freeze-dried barely-edibles and fast food for so long, anything that doesn't come in a package is Cordon Bleu to me.
Bog comes back in with a big bowl of popcorn, then fluffs my pillows where I lay on the sofa, watching television. A freaking huge television. Like movie theater size. Seriously.
Watching TV is something I really can't believe I'm actually doing. I mean, I haven't seen any shows for the past three years and coming in mid-season is like walking in on a conversation you have no clue about. Instead, I decide to watch old cartoon reruns.
It's making me nostalgic. I miss my friends from DEE.
Bog sits down on the floor at my head and I have to growl at him to move, because he's blocking my view.
"Move your fat head, fathead," I grumble as I push him over. He laughs as he rolls onto his side, managing to keep the popcorn from spilling. He then gets up and sits on the floor near my stomach.
Avi walks into the room then, I swear out of thin air. It's like he can sense whenever Bog is getting too close. He sits at my feet and starts rubbing them. I moan in ecstasy.
"Just checked in on Carlie," he tells me as he rubs my arch. "The lass is just fine."
I nod at him. I still have a lot of guilt over the fact that my baby sister is stuck in the sixth century and I'm here with electricity and hot running water, sprawled on the couch, eating popcorn, watching cartoons. And I still have a few more days of this, until I go back to the doctor and she—hopefully—clears me. Avi is insistent on that.
Through the several times a day that Avi checks on her, though, I know that Carlie is actually having fun. I made him learn how to use a cellphone so that he could take some video of her and yeah, she was playing games with the other kids, laughing and running. She was clean and actually looked like she had gained weight, but that was probably the "camera adding pounds."
I even saw a point when Carlie ran up to Osgar and he picked her up and spun her around, while she giggled and pulled on his beard.
So much for the evil Maurice theory.
Avi told me a few days ago that Sinon had been able to shift to human and had explained to Carlie where I was. She'd told him to tell me not to worry, that she was having fun "camping with Uncle Osgar."
Seriously. Mr. "Kill the Beast" is now "Uncle Osgar."
"I can't believe you want to watch this rubbish," Bog gripes, interrupting my boohoo moment. He points a piece of popcorn at the screen and talks with his mouth full.
"I mean, seriously, lass, how is it possible that the wee sea creatures can start a fire when they're at the bottom of the bloody ocean?"
Despite the fact that it makes my head pound, I laugh uproariously then when one of the cartoon's characters poses the very same question and the campfire poofs out.
Hilarious.
Bog tosses another huge handful of popcorn in his mouth, then turns and holds the bowl for me. I fill my hands and he puts the bowl back on his lap. I notice the jerk didn't offer any to Avi, so
I lean over and hold my hand out to the big guy.
Instead of taking the popcorn, he keeps rubbing my feet while he leans over, staring at me. He then uses his tongue to lick a few pieces from my palm. Oh em gee…I can't even describe the shiver that runs through me then.
His eyes are smoldering—yeah, I now know what all those romance writers meant when they wrote that word—as he stares at me, chewing oh so slowly. He then winks and I swear, I'm just about to freaking melt while my hormones start doing this happy dance-cheer combination that could win all-state competitions.
Avi sits back and smirks at me, probably because the blush that's lighting up my face could heat Bog's mansion. He glances toward the stairs and I know what he wants—"alone time" with me. The problem is, I'm kind of afraid to be alone with him.
Not afraid of him, but afraid of what's going to happen. The inevitable. Something I'm not real sure I'm ready for yet.
Something I'm kind of terrified of, actually. Not that I'll admit that, even to myself.
Maybe he does just want to be alone with me. I mean, he hasn't pushed for sex or anything. Not at all. He's only held me, shared his secrets, asked about mine. Yeah, we've rounded a few bases during our kisses, but no home runs yet. And oh man, can the guy kiss. Again, not that I have any experience with it, but I'm pretty sure Avi is like expert level.
I try not to think too hard on how he got to kissing beast mode. He's not the only one with insecurity issues.
Avi doesn't say anything as he gets up and moves to the back of the sofa, then leans over and plucks me up. I think it's kind of rude to just leave Bog without saying a word, especially since he just cooked for me. But what do I say? "Hey, dude, we're going to go up to my room and make out. See ya later. Oh, and some pesto linguini for dinner would be awesome."
Yeah, no.
I see Bog stiffen and look our way. I keep forgetting that he can read my mind—which means he picked up on what I was just thinking.
Great.
I open my senses to him and his pain takes my breath away. It's hurting him to watch us together. He's happy for his brother, but he's torn with jealousy and envy.
And he's really lonely.
I'm pretty sure that Bog doesn't want me. Not like that, anyway. I mean, come on, the guy's looks are what legends are made of. He should be modeling for romance book covers, seriously. And me? I'm not exactly a beauty queen. Most guys don't look twice at me, not unless they're checking out my freaky eyes.
But Bog has sure been putting on a show for Avi. I know it's just to make his brother jealous and possessive. Why, I'm not sure. But the only time these two bozos aren't battling for my good graces are when Avi and I are cuddling. It's then that I know Bog is just screwing with Avi's insecurity issues with his hovering over me, because whenever Avi has me on his lap, or he's holding me while we watch a movie, Bog makes himself scarce.
Probably doesn't want to read my thoughts during those times. Can't blame him.
So there's no reverse harem stuff going on here. I honestly couldn't handle more than one of these angel-turned-human-but-not-really-because-they-can-shift dudes.
As we head up the stairs, my head starts pounding even more, probably thanks to the rise in my blood pressure. The headaches have been lessening a bit, but the dizziness and nausea are still a problem. One reason Avi insists on carrying me everywhere. That, and I think he just really likes to.
I tell him he's a caveman at heart.
Per medical orders, I'm supposed to get as much bed rest as possible for at least a week. The doctor at the hospital—a very funny Ukrainian woman who has forever changed my mind about the medical profession, as in, they're not all Smythe-type psychos—told me that I could possibly even have issues for a few months.
Lovely.
She also told me the confusion could last a long time. Thankfully, it comes and goes and isn't there all the time.
Another thing she warned me—and the guys—was that I could be moody. Like major mood swings. She said "PMS on meth." Good description, I suppose.
Speaking of—I spent the worst part of my period, aka, the horrendous crampy part, unconscious. Yay. Wish I could do that every month. Well, minus the nausea and headache.
As Avi rounds the corner at the top of the stairs towards my room, I think that, other than being pukey and headachey, I could get used to living like this…doted on by two gorgeous hunks, living in a freaking mansion, and treated like I'm fragile glass.
Other than missing Carlie, life is good.
I still have moments of panic when I think about my little sister fifteen centuries away, but I completely and wholly trust Avi—and now Bog, too—when they tell me that she's okay. And not just okay, but "having fun."
Avi said Sinon watches her like a hawk, but since he's shifted into a mouse, I guess that isn't exactly accurate. Avi said Sinon insisted on staying with Carlie, just in case she needs him. Which is cool, because next to fairies, mice are her other favorite things.
Carefully, Avi places me on my bed, then follows me down and immediately starts kissing me. As his hand slides under my shirt, making me shiver and strain for more of his touch, I realize that it's nice not having Carlie around.
Don't get me wrong—in no way does that mean that I don't adore every stinking cell of my little sister's body and miss her like crazy. But it's nice to not have to be the one making sure that she's eating enough, that she's warm enough, that she's happy. It's totally selfish of me and I'm trying not to think too hard about what an awful person I am.
While Avi breathes warm breath on my neck as he kisses his way down to where my neck meets my shoulder, I think that, yeah, maybe I am being selfish, but dammit, I'm eighteen and I've had a hell of a lot on my shoulders for over three years. So maybe I should give myself a break. Avi said Carlie is healthy and happy and for that I'm grateful.
Most of all, though, I'm damned thankful that she's out of Smythe's reach.
>†<
The lass's little gasps of pleasure were driving him insane. Every fiber of his being wanted her…and wanted so much more than what he knew she was ready to offer.
Avisha had to continue to remind himself that she was a young girl. Nay, a young woman, he corrected himself. Unskilled and untried, but still a woman who knew what she wanted. And what she might not be ready for.
He knew that he needed to take things slowly. Very slowly.
As he moved his lips across her collarbone, he thought that it was still inconceivable that Gwen wanted him, especially in knowing that a part of him was a hideous gargoyle.
Even more shocking, the lass was unaffected by Bogdan's beauty.
He mentally shook his head; that wasn't entirely true. He had seen the way she'd looked at his handsome brother, her eyes roving over his perfect form in appreciation. But the way Gwen looked at Bogdan reminded him of the way humans in his day had examined the Roman and Grecian statues—enjoying the art, but not necessarily wanting to take it home.
Avisha smiled to himself as he kissed just below her collarbone, near the top of her breasts. It was his arms that she turned to, his kisses she accepted. Even in gargoyle form, the lass had seemed to want him, to want his affection. It made him want to rush the lass to the nearest religious official and speak the vows he knew she would want in order commit their lives together. He wondered if he could persuade her to accept the vows spoken before the Creator that would make her his—officially, anyway—without the need for man's religion.
The Creator certainly didn't require a man in a suit to bond two mated souls together.
He moved his lips up her neck, humming in pleasure as she arched to give him better access. He slid his hand a bit farther up under her shirt and ran his fingers over her ribs, pleased to feel that the lass was starting to fill out a bit. She had been much too thin when they'd first met.
Her small breasts were contained in some sort of contraption under her shirt. He skimmed his palm over the peak of one and smiled against her
neck when she arched again, pushing herself into his hand.
"Easy lass," he whispered. "We'll no' take this too far. At the moment, I have a great need to feel ye, to touch ye."
His words didn't calm Gwen; in fact, she seemed to stir even more after he spoke.
"Avi," she breathed, "I want you—"
A crash from somewhere in the mansion interrupted her words and he paused his movements, listening intently to discern whatever had caused the noise. When another crash and a yell followed, he leapt off the bed.
"Stay here, lass," he says as he fumbled with the doorknob. "Do no' open the door fer anyone. Ye ken?" He waited for her nod, then he turned the lock on the doorknob like Bogdan had shown him, hurrying out and closing it quietly behind him.
Chapter 14
I WATCH Avi leave the room after he struggled with the doorknob. It dawns on me that he obviously has no idea how to work the knob…sixth century door "latches" pretty much consisted of a piece of leather and a wood bar.
The door closes behind him and suddenly I can't breathe. It's like the air leaves the room with him, but I know I'm just on the verge of a panic attack. I don't get them often, thank God, but man do they suck. I fill my lungs a few times, trying to control my breathing.
All my instincts scream for me to run. To hide. Because I know with every part of my being that the DEE-men have found me. Again. I wonder for the millionth time how they found me. It can't be from my stay in the hospital, because I know that Bog did his persuasion thing and so they didn't take my DNA sample.
Plus, Bog paid the bill with cash and he used a fake name for me, claiming I was a tourist the guys had befriended. So, of course the nurses started treating me kind of crappy because they assumed I was some American bimbo. Little did they know, I'm technically a Norwegian virgin.
So there has to be a tracker somewhere on my body, which makes my skin crawl with wanting to get it out.
The crashing and yelling I'm hearing means Avi and Bog are fighting them, fighting DEE-men. It's my fight, not theirs.
