Authors: Nicole Grane
I shuddered. I knew he spoke the truth.
“As it is, I despise the thought of owing Damen my gratitude,” he said with disgust.
I looked at the clock, 11:15.
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he warned, guessing my thoughts.
I looked down at my clothes. “I think I’ll wash up a little. Promise you won’t leave me while I’m gone!” I hated how needy I sounded. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Marcus smiled. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek, causing me to smile myself.
I walked with great care toward the bathroom. I stopped suddenly and turned around. “When you came back just now, you said you’d just picked up my car . . .”
“Yes?”
“How did you get me home from the park?”
“I flew. It was the fastest way. A bit tricky not being seen, though,” he added with a smirk.
“Humph, good thing I was passed out,” I muttered under my breath. The corner of his mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile.
I cleaned up as quickly as I could, my body screaming in pain all the while. I couldn’t believe it: My arms already had large bruises where Brian had squeezed them.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again as I pictured him on me. My chest and along the right side of my body had similar bruises. The worst had to be my lower right ribs—they felt broken. I’d have to somehow hide this from Marcus.
“Crap!” I realized I’d forgotten to grab clothes when I came into the bathroom. “Ok, don’t panic . . .” I thought aloud. I took a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around me. “I’ll run to my dresser, grab the first thing I see and run back before Marcus has a chance to notice.”
I held onto the door handle, counted to three, and flung the door open. I didn’t exactly run because my wounded body wouldn’t allow that—so I made my way slowly to my dresser. I yanked open drawers, grabbed a random outfit, and turned toward the bathroom—busted!
“What are you doing?” Marcus was surveying the clothes I’d somehow managed to toss onto the floor.
“Looking for something to wear,” I gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ll just be a minute.” I maneuvered around him and headed back toward the bathroom.
“One moment please,” he said firmly. It wasn’t so much a request as it was a command. I stopped in my tracks.
His cool hand moved lightly over the bruises on my arm—it felt good. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he sighed.
“They look worse than they feel.” I held back the impulse to cry. I was going to be strong. And I might have gotten away with it if he hadn’t put his arms around my waist. I winced loudly, flinching and moving away from him—another mistake. I blew out a painful breath of air.
He dropped his arms.
I couldn’t hide the tears that leaked out the corners of my eyes now. I was practically gasping for air.
“Show me.”
“No! It’s . . . nothing.” I shied away from him.
“Phoebe!” He moved to grab hold of me but paused when I put my hand out to stop him.
“It’s fine. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” I was slightly hunched over, clutching my side as I made my way back to the bathroom door.
“Wait! How bad is it?”
I paused. “I don’t know,” I said in defeat. “I think my ribs might be broke.”
“He hit you?” Marcus hissed. His tone had gone from mad to lethal in a fraction of a second. I was afraid to look at him. I was in too much pain. This accelerated healing, if that’s what it was, made symptoms come on too quickly; I only hoped they’d leave just as quickly. It was nearly unbearable.
“He tackled me from the side and knocked me off the path,” I recalled the painful memory.
“He what?” Marcus snapped, making me flinch once more. “Phoebe you have to show me. If they’re broken, they’ll need to be wrapped.”
“I can’t,” my eyes were downcast. “I don’t want anyone else touching me,” I admitted reluctantly. “I’m sorry.”
Marcus’s voice turned gentle. “I would never take advantage of you; you know that.” I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Phoebe, I can’t take you to the hospital—they’ll notice a change in your blood. You can’t suffer like this.”
I rubbed my hands over my face. I knew he was right. “Be careful,” I pleaded.
“I promise to be as gentle as I can, as well as discreet.”
I nodded. “I’ll just . . . be a minute.”
I went into the bathroom and dropped the towel. It took longer to put my pants on than I’d thought. Bending over was nearly impossible. There was no way I was going to get a bra on. I couldn’t lift my arms high enough to get through the straps. As for hooking it . . . that would be hopeless.
I dug around in my cupboard and found some gauze I purchased last Halloween. Kim wanted to make a mummy for one of our displays. Funny, I never thought I’d need it to wrap myself in.
“Phoebe, are you alright?” Marcus called through the door several minutes later.
I took the deepest breath I could. He was going to freak out when he saw the bruising . . . there was no hiding it now. I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door.
“Will this work?” I asked as I held out some extra large gauze wrap.
Marcus looked at it curiously. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He held out his hand and led me to the edge of the bed and sat me down.
“There’s a little more bruising than I admitted . . . I just didn’t want you to worry,” I added quickly, seeing his darkened expression. He said nothing.
I watched as Marcus unrolled a little of the gauze. He looked at me nervously. “This will be uncomfortable,” he warned.
I nodded my head in understanding.
He moved the towel aside just enough to see my ribs. I closed my eyes; I didn’t want to see his face.
He gasped. “He’s a dead man!”
I turned my head so Marcus couldn’t see the tears escape my tightly closed eyes. I wanted to kill Brian myself.
I felt Marcus pressing lightly on my back where he started to wrap. A low growl escaped him, each time I winced.
I tried to comfort myself with thoughts of running Brian over with my car or letting werewolves rip him to shreds. Part of me didn’t even care if Marcus
did
kill him. I wanted Brian to feel pain like he’d caused me. Why on Earth would he do this? We were supposed to be friends—Phoebe and Damen were supposed to be friends too, but his assault on her wasn’t so very different than Brian’s was on me.
“Phoebe, you need to lift the towel a bit more; this needs to go a little higher.” Marcus’s tone was soft but all business. He was doing his best to detach himself from what he was doing—my guess, he was trying not to run out the door and kill Brian.
I lifted the towel so that it was just covering my chest. You could have heard a pin drop. The silence was deafening.
“I swear to you . . . I
will
kill him.”
“No!” I grabbed onto Marcus’s arm as he moved to stand up, wincing at the pain of it. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone,” I cried.
He looked torn. I knew he wanted nothing more than to rip Brian apart—literally.
“Please Marcus!” I took in a shallow breath. “It looks worse than it feels,” I lied, trying to lighten the mood.
He sat down reluctantly and continued without another word. His eyes, pitch black and swimming with anger flickered to mine.
“How bad is it?” I asked after a few minutes, groaning as he pulled the gauze tighter.
“I’m fairly certain your ribs are cracked.” His eyes met mine for only an instant. This was almost as painful for him as it was for me. “I hardly doubt he was strong enough to break them.”
“Thank you for helping me.” I gave Marcus a small smile. “I know I’m awful to look at.”
“What’s
awful
is that I wasn’t there to prevent this from happening in the first place,” he growled. “I shouldn’t have left you!”
“Marcus, this
isn’t
your fault. You can’t always be there. You need to take care of yourself too.”
“I need to take care of you first.”
I reached out and cupped his face, giving him a small smile. “God only knows what else can happen to me. Since I was bitten, I’ve had nothing but extremely bad luck. If I get struck by lightning tomorrow as I step outside . . . well, let’s just say you might not want to walk so close to me.”
“I hope it hasn’t been all bad?” His hand reached up and smoothed the hair alongside my face.
I couldn’t help but grin. “No. It hasn’t been all bad.”
With help, I stood up and walked over to my closet and found a shirt.
“How are you going to sit in a car for four hours?” he asked from behind me.
“Tylenol. Lots and lots of Tylenol. I’m not staying here. If Damen, or worse Brian, decides to show up looking for me—”
“They wouldn’t reach the door step,” he promised darkly.
I couldn’t help but shiver.
“New plan,” he announced.
“What?”
“You’re coming with me to England. Tonight. Right now.”
“What?” I realized I’d just repeated my question, but somehow I felt I was missing something—like an entire conversation!
“You’ll be safer there. Just until I can deal with Damen,” he explained. “Besides, it will be much more comfortable for you to travel by plane . . . you can lie down across the seats if you need to.”
“But my customers—”
“Will understand that you are unable to personally deliver the jewelry,” he concluded. “We’ll have the jewelry mailed.”
“I guess I could . . .” I thought aloud, debating whether or not I should.
“Pack. I’ll have the plane fueled and ready within the hour.”
“Plane?” My mind was spinning. “You have your own plane?”
“You didn’t think I flew here? Over the ocean?” He watched my confused expression with mild amusement. “Pack and I’ll explain along the way.
“Let me help you.” Marcus opened the car door and helped me in. He went around to the driver’s side and squeezed himself into the seat. He looked funny sitting behind the wheel of my little red car. I tried to suppress the laugh.
“Owww!” I held onto my sides.
“What’s wrong?” he looked as if he was trying to find a safe place to touch me without causing more pain.
“You look so funny driving my girlie car,” I laughed and cried at the same time—the pain was almost worth it.
Marcus glowered at me. “You shouldn’t be laughing; you’ll hurt yourself further,” he snapped.
I turned my head and looked out the window. It was safer not to look at him. The temptation to laugh was too great.
“Hey, what about your motorcycle?” I asked. Thinking back, I hadn’t seen it outside the house.
“I parked it in your garage. I hope that’s alright?” He glanced over at me.
“Yes, of course.” I liked the idea that something of Marcus’s was being stored at my house.
I tried to sit still and not talk too much. My ribs felt like they were on fire. Even conversation hurt.
“Luckily, the airport is only a few minutes away,” he said. “It’s rather quaint really.”
“Quaint?” I groaned, trying to get comfortable in my seat.
“Yes. Old fashioned, charming.”
“I know what quaint means,” I nearly snapped. “I don’t need a dictionary definition.” I tried to recline back in the seat. I couldn’t get comfortable for a five-minute ride . . . how the hell was I going to last on a ten-hour flight?
“You must be in pain, you’re crabby.”
My mouth popped open. “Yes, I’m in pain. How can you sit there and joke about it?”
“Because if I don’t, I’ll jump out of this car right now, track Brian down, and literally rip him apart, piece by piece!”
I closed my gaping mouth and looked forward for the remainder of the drive.
Marcus pulled into the long-term parking, put the ticket in the window, and got out of the car. He came around to the passenger side, opened my door, and extended his hand. I looked at it with apprehension. With one swift movement, he scooped me out of the car painlessly.
“Would you like me to carry you?”
“No, I can walk . . . just not fast,” I added quickly.
He set me down on my feet and took up my luggage. We walked through the little airport, with his arm around me for support. We moved though the security gates, and continued down a small hall that led to the private planes. There, standing apart from the others, was a beautiful Lear jet.
“Is that yours?” I gasped.
“I’ve impressed you, at last!” he laughed lightly as he bounded up the stairs and into the plane. He returned for me a few moments later, still smiling.
Without warning, he gingerly lifted me up into his arms again. “We don’t have all day for you to decide whether or not you can climb stairs, or wait for you to do so,” he said with a wink. Actually, I think he enjoyed any opportunity to hold me—something he’d been missing for centuries.
I leaned my head against his chest and inhaled as deeply as I could without causing physical pain. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment . . . I suddenly felt very sleepy, as I always did when I’d taken in too much of him.
“You rest here until we take off,” he instructed as he sat me down on a luxurious leather seat and clasped my seatbelt for me.
“Where will you be?” I grabbed onto his hand in a panic.
“Right beside you.” He reached out and cupped my cheek in his hand. “Relax. You’ll be fine.”
I nodded and, with some reluctance, released his hand. “Wait! Then, who’s going to fly the plane?”
“I have a pilot.”
“Is he a . . .” I looked around to see if anyone else was there, “. . . vampire too?”
“No.” Marcus was quick to answer.
“Does he know that you are?” I whispered.
“Yes. I hired him many years ago. He’s very discreet, and very trustworthy. I needed to find you without any of the others around . . . I couldn’t risk anyone else finding out what I was doing here.”
Just then, a slender man with dark black hair and green eyes walked through the door. “Good afternoon Sir . . . Miss,” he bowed his head and I nodded in return. “Sir, I have several messages for you from Mr. Raymose, and one from a Mr. Balfour.” He handed Marcus the slips of paper.
I turned to Marcus in a panic. He ignored me.
Marcus took the papers. “Was Damen here personally?”
“Yes Sir. Not more than half an hour ago.”
Marcus held a hand out in my direction. “Richard, this is Miss Phoebe. She does not wish to see Mr. Balfour under any circumstances.” He looked at Richard in an odd way—like the two of them shared some sort of code I wasn’t privy to.
“Very good, Sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Yes. Here is our flight plan. I’d like to take off immediately. We’ve already shown the officials our passports.”
“Yes Sir.” He took the itinerary from Marcus and headed into the cockpit.
“He’s a polite one! Why does he keep bowing and calling you Sir?”
“I told you I was a nobleman—a lord actually. I’m part of the royal family,” he said casually.
My mouth popped open, something it was doing a lot of.
“My family line is different than the one that holds the throne today,” he added. “We had to arrange it that way. I don’t want to call attention to myself. People would notice that I’m not aging,” he explained.
“Well,
you’re
certainly full of surprises.” I shook my head in disbelief.
Marcus took the seat opposite me and began looking through his messages.
“Marcus, Damen was here?” I spoke in a low voice, just in case Richard could hear.
“Yes, he left this letter addressed to you.” He started to hand me the letter, but I shunned away from it, wincing as I did so.
“Very well,” Marcus sighed. He opened the letter and began relaying the message
“He says he knows you’re with me and that he doesn’t want to hurt you. He needs to see you, he has to explain . . .”
“Explain what?” I snapped. “There’s nothing to explain!”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Phoebe.” Marcus gave me a disapproving look.
I rolled my eyes. “Sorry . . . just . . . read the letter,” I said impatiently, ignoring Marcus’s frown.
Dearest Phoebe,
(Marcus choked on the salutation.)
Please allow me to apologize to you for having to write this letter. I know that Marcus is looking after you right now and would never allow me to speak to you in person. I must first tell you that you are in no danger from me. I wouldn’t hurt you anymore than I’d hurt myself.
This must all seem so confusing to you. I understand that you have acquired many of my memories, but I must tell you that you only have bits and pieces of the past. That being said, you must allow me to explain that I didn’t intentionally harm Phoebe. I only wanted to love her. I never meant to ravage her the way that I did.
Marcus stopped reading and looked up at me, a look of betrayal hung heavy in his eyes. As if he thought I’d been keeping something else from him.
My breath caught. My hands were clasped over my mouth—I was absolutely speechless. “Marcus, I . . .” I shook my head back and forth. “I don’t remember that,” I said honestly.
The muscle under his eye ticked as he looked back at the letter and continued to read:
As for the baby you spoke about, I am truly sorry you have the burden of carrying that memory with you. But, Phoebe gave me no choice. She asserted herself between Marcus and I; she wouldn’t let me pass without a fight—she was unfailingly loyal that way. I’ve regretted her death deeply and have carried the loss of her life with me these many centuries.
You and I are connected now in a way that cannot be broken. You have always been the love of my life, and now you belong to my world! Your father cannot deny me you any longer. I can finally end this war once and for all. The werewolves will have the freedom they’ve so deserved, and I shall have you. We will be together very soon!
With all my love,
Damen
Marcus put the paper down and began looking at the other notes.
I was on the edge of my seat. “That’s it?” I gasped. “You’re not going to say anything?” I snatched up the letter and read it myself.
Marcus stared at me incredulously. “There is nothing more to discuss. If he wishes a fight, then he shall have it.”
“You’re going to fight over me?”
“I will
die
before I let him have you. You. Are. Mine!” His eyes had all but turned black.
“I’m not a prize,” I snapped, turning my attention to the window. I was flattered, and infuriated at the same time. That Marcus would actually
fight
over me . . . he could get himself killed.
“Phoebe, look at me.”
I faced him reluctantly.
“You are my life. You always have been. I’ve been without you for far too long. I won’t allow him to take you from me. Not again!” His resolve was undeniable.
I pursed my lips. I tried to take a deep breath—my ribs still burned like they were on fire.
“Darling, please. Don’t worry yourself about this; I’ll take care of it. Rest yourself.” He gave me a warm smile before he resumed his reading.
“Rest? Are you crazy? There is a psychotic lovesick werewolf who has concocted an insane plan to win my heart—like that will somehow put an end to a war that’s been going on for a thousand years,” I argued. “Let’s not forgot about delusional Brian, who thinks that he can excuse his behavior by saying my scent was so appealing he couldn’t help himself—he
had
to have me.” I rolled my eyes and continued my rant. “Then there’s the vampire . . .” I motioned to Marcus who was watching me, as he no doubt thought I was cracking up. “ . . . Who thinks I’m such a treasure he’d risk his life to keep me. I don’t know which one of you is the craziest!”
“This has to be a dream,” I thought out loud as I scrubbed my hand over my face. “No. Not even my imagination would hurt this much,” I grumped as I held my ribs again. “Stupid, Brian!”
I became aware of Marcus’s stare. I had to look away.
“You
are
a treasure,” he spoke softly. “I knew the moment I saw you in the garden, centuries ago, I’d love you the rest of my existence.”
I turned back toward him. My anger, melting a little . . .
“I’ve loved you for so long . . . even in death . . . there is no other way for me to exist. Now that I have you back . . . I can’t lose you again. I won’t lose you again!”
“But to risk your life for me . . . I’m not the same Phoebe you loved so long ago.” I felt sad as I said this. I so wanted to be that Phoebe for him.
Marcus leaned forward and took my hand. “You
are
my Phoebe. You fill the hole where my heart should be . . . I would
die
for you!”