Immortally Theirs [Legends & Myths] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

She smiled despite her melancholy mood. “I just…” She shook her head, embarrassed by the ridiculous thought. She held the cup up in salute. “Bottoms up.” The cool water slid down her throat. She stared back down into the empty cup and sadness swept over her. Even as she fought the rising tide of emotion, tears filled her eyes and she choked out a sob.

“Claire?” Christian moved closer to her and his fingers brushed her cheek. “Are you okay?”

Claire felt a single tear breach her eyelid and slide down her face. “I just wish…I know it’s silly.” She glanced over at the fountain where the clear spring water emerged from the rock. She sighed and her shoulders slumped. Well, if she was going to cry in front of him, she might as well tell him why. “I just kind of wish the legend was true. I mean, could you imagine not having to worry about dying? To just be able to live without being afraid all the time?”

She looked up into Christian’s face and was surprised by what she saw. Deep sorrow marred his features. He gently wiped the tear from her face with his thumb, his fingers still splayed across her cheek.

“Are you afraid, Claire?” His gaze held her captive.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted nothing more than to tell him about her fear. She had been afraid for so long with no one to talk to.

She nodded. “Yes. He’s going to come after me. Mark—my husband. I knew I wouldn’t be able to run from him for long. I just wanted to be able to live a little before he finds me.”

Claire watched as a struggle seemed to take place behind Christian’s eyes. “What if he doesn’t find you?”

Claire shook her head. “He will. Soon.” She debated about whether she should say the one thing she was sure would send Christian running as far away from her as he could possibly get. “Mark is a professional assassin. He can find anyone.”

Shock registered across Christian’s face, just as she knew it would. But then, instead of fear and the flight reaction she had expected, Claire saw something else pass across Christian’s features. Steely determination settled in his eyes as he stared down at her. Claire got lost in the strong protectiveness of his gaze. She almost wanted to wrap herself up in it and never leave.

“Claire…” Christian hesitated. Claire thought she saw a battle raging behind his eyes. “If it were real, the legend…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “If you could live forever, would you really want to?”

Even knowing it was an impossibility, Claire thought about her answer before she spoke. “If I had someone to share it with, someone who really loved me, I might. And if I didn’t have to be afraid anymore, then yes, I think I would.” She stared into Christian’s eyes and felt the barriers she had built around herself begin to drop. She started talking, unable to stop herself. “I lost my parents in an accident years ago. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and Mom and Dad’s deaths hit me really hard for a long time. My grandparents raised me after that, but they’re gone now, too.” Another tear slid down her cheek. “I’m just so tired of being alone.” Barely realizing what she was doing, she leaned into Christian.

An epic struggle seemed to rage behind Christian’s eyes. “But, what about children, Claire? Would you want to watch them grow old?”

Claire shrugged, knowing this conversation was all hypothetical, but still wanting to answer honestly. “I can’t have kids. We found out after we got married. Mark liked to remind me that I was broken.”

The war in Christian’s eyes reached a tortured peak, but then it was replaced by a look of absolute and utter surrender. Christian pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding up her back. His lips descended on hers in a crushing kiss. Unlike the gentle, smoldering kiss she’d shared with Stefan, this kiss felt different. It was born out of desperation and yearning.

Claire parted her lips, wanting him to take her, to possess her mouth fully. He didn’t waste the opportunity she presented and his tongue plunged into her mouth. He tasted so good, an intoxicating mixture of cinnamon and clove. Her tongue battled with his for dominance as they slid along each other and explored each other’s depths. Her hands sought the hard planes of his chest and she pressed herself into his muscular embrace. One of his hands pushed its way up into her hair and he pulled her to him tightly. His hips ground into hers and she felt the hard bulge of his cock against her heated pussy. Claire’s head swam. Her thoughts were completely lost in the overpowering heat and shared need between them.

A protest ripped from her throat when Christian tore his lips away from hers, until she realized his reason for the abrupt ending of the kiss. A group of tourists stood at the entrance to the grotto, their mouths gaping at the sight before them. She felt her face burn with embarrassment and Christian reached for her hand. He tugged her around the bemused spectators and out into the bright sunlight, leaving their stunned spectators behind.

Claire tried to catch her breath and clear her thoughts, but she didn’t have much success. What the hell was she doing? She’d kissed Stefan yesterday and then turned around and practically mauled Christian! And she’d told him about Mark and what he did for a living. She pressed her hand to her face and shook her head, worry overcoming her. That couldn’t have been a good idea. What if Mark went after the two brothers for giving her a place to stay? Or what if Christian and Stefan tried to protect her from Mark? She knew that scenario wouldn’t end well. Both Christian and Stefan were well built and looked as though they could take on just about anyone in a fight. But Mark wasn’t just anyone and she knew he wouldn’t fight fair.

A cold sense of dread crawled through Claire. It was bad enough that she knew she would die at Mark’s hands, probably sooner rather than later. But she couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to Christian or Stefan because of her. As wrong as it might seem, she was beginning to have feelings for both of them. And they were feelings she knew she shouldn’t indulge, though she seemed to have very little willpower where these two brothers were concerned. Part of her wanted nothing more than to spend her last days on earth learning what it felt like to be truly cherished in the arms of a caring lover, or two, but she needed to find the strength to resist her feelings. The brothers’ lives might depend on it.

The fresh morning breeze rustled the leaves on the trees and blew a strand of hair across Claire’s face. She brushed it out of her eyes, trying to get a better look at the old stone markers scattered throughout the cemetery. She had seen this place several times over the last few days when Christian and Stefan had taken turns escorting her around the city’s landmarks. But this was the first time she’d gotten up the nerve to venture inside the rusty old iron gates.

The markers were old. Beyond old. Many of them were so worn that the identities of the people buried beneath them were gone, long erased from history and memory. Some were made of smooth white marble, while others were chiseled from coquina stone, the same material she had seen used on so many of the older structures around town, including the casa. Made up of countless tiny shells compacted together over the ages, the stone itself contributed to the ancient feel of the Historic District.

Claire had never liked cemeteries. They conjured up too many bad memories of losing her parents and grandparents. But she had felt pulled to this place every time she’d passed by its gates, until she could resist no longer. The cemetery was located near Christian’s bed-and-breakfast, well, it was also Stefan’s she supposed, since she’d learned that he and Christian owned the house jointly, even though Stefan apparently hadn’t lived there in many years.

She wondered what could have made him leave such an enchanting place. She could well imagine what had drawn him back. The old city seemed magical. Towering oak trees lined the narrow streets and spread their canopies over the lanes. Spanish moss draped over most of the tree branches and hung down, creating an eerie, yet captivating, atmosphere. At night, street lanterns cast swaths of light against the centuries-old architecture. If it weren’t for the cars, Claire could almost convince herself that she had stepped back in time.

She had spent countless hours roaming the streets, always accompanied by either Stefan or Christian. They had insisted on escorting her whenever she ventured outside the casa walls to explore the historic city.

Claire was still trying to come to grips with her reactions to both brothers. Mark had secluded her so much over the last few years that she hadn’t had much of an opportunity to be around anyone else. She had assumed her fear of Mark would translate to fear of other men. And she supposed, in some ways, it did. She had seen the white-haired man from the bar several times over the last several days and each time it had felt as though a cold hand of dread had gripped her heart.

But she didn’t feel that way about Stefan and Christian. In fact, she had found herself craving their company more and more. They were both everything Mark wasn’t. Kind. Compassionate. Genuine. But Claire knew it was much more than just their company she craved. The kisses she had shared with each of them had awoken feelings in her she didn’t even know she had. And even though both brothers seemed to be trying to suppress their feelings since she had shared those heated kisses with them a couple of days ago, she had gotten the impression that they were having as hard a time as she was.

Just being near Christian or Stefan was enough to send her thoughts and her body into overdrive. She had wondered more than a few times what it would be like to be taken by one of them. Or both of them. Heat flooded her face and seeped through her to settle in her pussy at the scandalous thought. It was so unlike her to have any desire for sex, much less to think about having it with two men.

She had been a virgin when she had met Mark. His idea of sex had consisted of fifteen minutes of him getting off and then leaving her alone and unsatisfied, knowing there should be more to it but unable to figure out what she was missing. And that was back before he started beating her. Once the physical abuse started, the bad sex ended. She was certain Mark found his sexual satisfaction elsewhere, and for that she had been grateful.

Wandering deeper into the small cemetery, Claire meandered aimlessly between the old headstones. Many no longer stood straight and they leaned toward the ground, unable to resist the effects of time and gravity. One group of stones caught her attention. They stood within a three-sided iron fence near the center of the cemetery. Fresh flowers sat atop the graves, which Claire thought was odd, considering the age of the graves and the fact that none of the other graves were adorned with flowers.

She moved closer to them and then gasped as she read the carvings on the stones. She knelt on the ground, her eyes riveted to the markers. The coquina was just as worn around the edges as the other headstones in the cemetery, but the names and dates on these stones seemed to be freshly carved, even though the deaths had occurred centuries ago. The stones bore the de la Fuente family name. She brushed her fingers over one of the stones, her fingertips tracing the name engraved there.

“Nia.” Stefan’s voice startled her.

Claire turned and looked up at him. “Are these your ancestors?”

A dark shadow passed across Stefan’s face. He inclined his head and indicated the stone Claire touched. “She was a Timucuan Indian, a native to these parts before the Spanish arrived. She fell in love with my grandfa—with Domingo.” He pointed to the stone to Claire’s left. “She died of a broken heart.”

The stone bearing the name of Domingo de la Fuente indicated his death in 1692. His wife, Nia, died less than a year later, in 1693. One larger headstone stood to the right of Nia’s grave. It bore the names of three people. Juan, Elena, and Isabelle de la Fuente all died on the same date in 1689.

“What happened to them?” Claire frowned as she stared at the dates on the larger stone. The little girl, Isabelle, had only been six years old when she died.

Stefan didn’t answer immediately. He walked closer to the grave and swept his hand across the top of the marker. When he finally spoke, his voice was hushed and rough. “It was a fire. Isabelle had been helping moth—Elena, with dinner in the house. Juan and his sons were in the barn. They heard screams and smelled smoke. They ran to the house, but Juan wouldn’t let the boys go in. Their father ran inside to rescue their mother and sister from the flames spreading through the house. None of them made it out. The roof collapsed and trapped them all inside.”

Claire stared, horrified, at Stefan as he told the story. Stefan’s eyes had taken on a faraway look, as though he were recalling events he had witnessed, rather than retelling the story of a family tragedy that had been passed down through generations.

“That’s so awful.” Claire looked back to the headstone. “Those boys—one of them must have been, what? Like, your great-great-great-grandfather, or something?”

A sad smile turned Stefan’s lips and he looked away from the graves. “Something like that.”

Claire looked around, but she didn’t see any other graves bearing the family name. “Are the brothers buried here? What happened to them?”

Stefan smiled sadly and shook his head. “No, they’re not buried here.” He didn’t elaborate, but just stared off into the distance.

Claire didn’t understand how events that had happened so long ago could affect him so severely. She had been eleven years old when her parents were killed in the car accident. And even though she still mourned for them, she didn’t fall apart when she thought of them, as Stefan had seemed about to do when he spoke of his long-dead ancestors.