“Why would Marguerite do that to Anne?” she asked, glancing back at Jocelyn. “And please tell me my friend is going to be okay.”
“She’ll be fine. When we’re done talking, I can wake her up. She won’t remember anything.”
He was holding her hands so tightly her fingers hurt, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to ease up. The solidity of his touch was comforting and she suspected he actually needed to hold on to her, to reassure himself that she was still there, standing with him.
“Marguerite did all of this because she was jealous. She was jealous of women Raphael was involved with. He had visited Anne earlier that night before I got there, and Marguerite must have seen them together. She seems to have concluded that her relationship with Raphael was more than it was, because I don’t think they were ever actually dating.”
“So she killed my mother because Rafe was in a relationship with her? That’s appalling.” And she didn’t know what was worse—when she hadn’t known why someone would do that, or now that she knew someone had for such a flimsy, selfish reason. But there was a soft, sad comfort in knowing that she had been right about Rafe, that his love had been genuine. It helped to know that her mother had enjoyed the last year of her life with him, and that it was legitimate emotion on his part.
“I’m sorry, Sara. I truly, truly am.”
Sara looked up at him, her brain still processing everything, lingering sorrow from Gabriel’s memories hanging over her. There was so much to ask, so much she needed and wanted to understand. “What happened to you, Gabriel? You were drinking
before
Anne . . . why?”
How could he explain who he was, what he’d been, how he had fallen so hard, so fast? He didn’t understand it himself, and some days he found it hard to comprehend what exactly he had been thinking all those years ago. “Do you believe me when I tell you I’m immortal, that I was an angel once, now a demon?” he asked.
Her eyes were so wise, such a deep blue, so full of the knowledge of life that came from hard living, immense joy and agonizing pain. She nodded. “I believe you’re something more than what I thought or can truly comprehend.”
“I was sent to watch humans, to guide and protect them. But I wasn’t prepared for the suffering, the sadness, the devastation of emotion that radiates from mortals. It was so hard to watch, so difficult not to be able to ease their pain, and it was overwhelming. When I drank, it was easier to handle. I could simply ignore all of it.” That was his shame, but he wanted to face it, admit it, forgive himself for it, and move forward.
“I understand that. I do. I couldn’t sleep you know, like I can’t sleep now, and I would lie there and my mind would race with guilt and grief and fear and I just wanted it all to go away. I wanted oblivion. That’s what the sleeping pills gave me.”
“And now you still can’t sleep.” He touched her cheek, brushing his thumb across the deep bruises under her eyes, the stain of months and months of inadequate sleep.
“Yeah, but it’s better this way. Better to not sleep and be in control. To face my grief, to deal with it.” She turned her head, rubbing her lips over the inside of his wrist, her eyes drifting closed. “And do you notice,” she whispered, “that I can sleep when I’m with you?”
“I’m glad that you sleep better with me.” He wanted to repeat his earlier words, to tell her that he loved her, but it wasn’t time yet. She needed more answers, and when he spoke his feelings, he wanted her ready to give him the same in return.
“And you know what is so very strange? You’re telling me the most fantastical things . . . things I shouldn’t believe. I should assume you’re a lunatic and walk away, but I believe you. It’s like I knew, in my gut, that coming to you would give me answers. And here they are. They’re odd, and overwhelming, but for the first time in a year, I don’t feel afraid. That fear isn’t pressing on me. I feel sick that Marguerite would do this, and I’m worried that she’ll do it again, but at the same time, I just feel relief. The bogeyman has a face, you know?”
“I understand. And I promise you that Raphael and I won’t let Marguerite harm anyone else. Raphael bound her to him.”
“What does that mean?”
Gabriel sighed. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. A lot. Let’s wake Jocelyn up and go somewhere and talk.”
An hour later they had dropped Jocelyn at a hotel after securing her apartment door shut with plywood and feeding her a ridiculous story about rambunctious teenagers running wild through the apartment complex after too many beers. She seemed baffled that she had somehow missed it, but Sara had convinced her she’d had way more wine than she actually had. Now Gabriel and Sara were standing on the deck outside an ice cream shop overlooking the beach and the ocean and he was telling her about his punishment.
Sara leaned on the wooden railing and blinked at him, a strawberry smoothie in her hand that she wasn’t drinking. “You’re saying women become addicted to you? Like they crave you and have to have you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It happens when I touch women.”
“Like Rochelle?”
“Yes.”
Sara shivered. “Oh, God, that’s awful.”
“That’s why I can’t . . . why I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you.” He frowned, realizing that he may have tried, but he hadn’t completely succeeded. “I haven’t done a great job of that.”
“But you touch me. I’m assuming way more than you ever touched Rochelle, and I’m fine.”
“That’s true. I only touched Rochelle on the arm once. But it just means you’re stronger—a lot stronger—than her. She has a weaker will. But eventually you’ll succumb if I were to touch you as a lover.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe me.” He was absolutely sure of it. “Don’t you remember the letters from Jane Gallier? The court records of the women fighting? Think of Rochelle, her tears, that blood running down her wrists. I don’t want you to end up like any of them.” He wanted her to understand exactly what he was saying. “That would be my biggest regret, if I was what finally broke you. After all you’ve survived, if it was me that finally stripped away your strength, I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t.”
“I don’t want to be without—”
Gabriel cut her off. He didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. He couldn’t hear it. Sara was ten times a greater temptation than alcohol had ever been and he needed to clamp down, hold together his emotions, build up his control until it was an impenetrable wall with barbed wire on top. He was going to do that, because he wanted to be with Sara, wasn’t willing to give her up.
“I don’t want to be without either. You know, in some ways it would be easier to walk away from you. But I’ve been doing the easy thing my entire existence.” He was sorry for that. Wanted to stand firm and stop passively letting everything slide over and past him. He wanted to control his own destiny and stop hiding from it. “I want to be with you, spend time with you, love you. And while I can’t touch you, I can share my life with you. I want to share my every day with you, do you understand?” It was a hell of a lot to ask, and he shouldn’t, but he had to. He had to know that he had tried, offered her what he could.
Sara gripped the railing tighter, her hair blowing over her shoulders, the smoothie tipping so far over in her clenched hand he was expecting the lid to pop off. “Be together, but no touching?”
“No touching.”
She didn’t say anything, so Gabriel sighed, his heart aching for what he couldn’t have as he looked across the beach. It was a quiet view, the heat of Florida different than New Orleans. There was humidity in the air, but somehow it wasn’t as lush, as damp and smothering as southern Louisiana. The foliage on and around the deck was manicured, the houses in all directions new and crisply white and ivory, the retail buildings all soldiered along the main roads. It was very beautiful, he had to admit that. But it didn’t touch his soul.
“I’ve never been out of New Orleans,” he said. “I’ve only seen Florida on TV and in movies. It’s pretty here. Peaceful.”
“You’ve never been out of New Orleans? Why not?”
“I’m bound to New Orleans in exchange for a shorter punishment.”
“Then how are you here?”
Love. That’s how he was there. “I came to protect you.”
“But . . .” She rested her smoothie on the top of the railing and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What does that mean for your punishment then?”
“It means it won’t be shorter.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know when I came here . . . I was mad at you for not coming with me and I was being stubborn.”
“And I didn’t know about Marguerite or I never would have let you come by yourself. I thought you would be safe because I knew Raphael was in New Orleans. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. None of this was your doing, and I made my choice to defy my binding freely and clearly. Trust me, I don’t regret it.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I have to go back,” Gabriel said, trying to keep his voice even. He didn’t want her to feel guilty, didn’t want to influence her choice in any way. “Will you come back with me?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Sara said, even as she knew she wanted to. Her heart was screaming that all she needed was a ticket and she was there. That it should be easy. He said he loved her. She knew she loved him.
Yet she needed to stay home in Florida, process everything she had learned, reflect, think about what she wanted to do. Decide if it was realistic to accept what he was offering, a platonic love affair. That in and of itself was an oxymoron. The idea of living with him, loving him, yet never able to have a sexual relationship sounded torturous, maddening.
But so did being apart from him.
What she wanted was to be with Gabriel.
What she needed to decide was how she could do that and retain her sanity.
He was immortal.
She was very much mortal.
At the moment, staring out at the water, watching wave after wave roll in, she didn’t see how she could have everything. Yet wasn’t sure that she could live with nothing.
“I won’t push you,” he said. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, and it’s your decision, but know that I want you with me.”
She glanced over at him, wanting to touch him, to lean against him, stroke his hair, feel his lips on her. How could she ache for that and never have it? How could she not know, just once, what it felt like to have him inside her, their bare skin touching everywhere, her ankles locked around his waist, the sweet scent of sweat and sex hovering between them, his dark eyes staring down at her?
“I love you,” she said softly.
His eyes went wide and his jaw shifted, hands clasped together in a fist as he leaned over the railing. “I love you too.”
She knew that, but it was lovely to hear him say it again, even if there were no easy options for them. “But I need time to think and I’m exhausted. Let’s go get a room at the hotel. There are no flights to New Orleans until the morning anyway, I’m sure.”
He nodded.
Sara had no idea what she would decide to do in the morning, but she knew how she wanted to spend the night.
And it wasn’t sleeping.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gabriel wanted to say something to Sara, anything, to convince her to go back to New Orleans with him, but he knew what he was suggesting was a huge sacrifice for Sara, more than it was for him. He was asking her to live with him without any hope of marriage or children or a normal sexual relationship, giving up the chance to date and meet a man who could give her all of those things.
It was more than he should ever expect her to have to live without.
So he bit his tongue and kept his damn mouth shut when he really wanted to coax and cajole and remind her of the love he felt.
And she was tired, overwhelmed, processing what she had learned about demons and the death of her mother. She didn’t need his selfish whining, didn’t need to make an impulsive decision based on emotion and wake up in two years, five years, regretting the choice, the time she had wasted.
So Gabriel didn’t say a word, getting them a room at the hotel they had put Jocelyn in, a standard chain hotel with pleasant staff and lots of floral prints blanketing the lobby and the room itself. He didn’t have any luggage, and Sara had left her bag at Jocelyn’s apartment, so he secured toothbrushes and other necessaries at the front desk, and was putting them in the bathroom as Sara kicked off her sandals. When he walked back out, he was a little surprised to see her standing in her tank top and bikini panties, bent over the bed and systematically removing all the pillows but two, tossing the unwanted extras onto the other bed in a way that made her ass shake a little with each throw.
The view was one he certainly appreciated, and it created an immediate response from his own body, but it also confused him. Sara wasn’t one to run around in her underwear. But then again, she was clearly just getting ready for bed and she had no pajamas with her, so it meant nothing more than that she wanted to be comfortable.
“I’m going to call the airline and see about getting a flight back tomorrow,” he said. “Check times.”
“Okay,” she said, heading into the bathroom.
He heard the water running and her brushing her teeth. That wasn’t the answer he had wanted. He had really been asking if he should get two tickets or one, but he didn’t want to ask that straight-out. So he just called the airline on his cell phone and got flight times and asked about availability. Reassured that there were plenty of seats on the three o’clock afternoon flight for the next day, he left it at that and hung up. Sara had gotten into bed already and was lying with her eyes closed.
She was so quiet. Gabriel didn’t like that. It made him nervous. He shucked off his T-shirt and used the other toothbrush. In the bathroom he debated leaving his jeans on or not, and decided they were dirty, he was tired, and he wanted to be completely comfortable. The jeans went and he got into bed in his boxer briefs.