Authors: Crystal Collier
52
Sharing
The bowl Sarah had been carrying lay shattered on the floor, water spilling across the floor boards, cleaning rag still clasped in her hand.
Her mouth snapped shut. “Well, if that’s the way it is!” She turned and swept down the hall.
Alexia reddened from head to toe. She couldn’t look at Arik, too shocked by her own behavior and missing hair barrettes. What must he think of her—attacking him like that?
His fingers squeezed too tightly over her arm. “Go. She is not going to listen to me.”
She scurried out the door, after her aunt, heat radiating her entire body. She stopped in front of Sarah who stood stone still, arms crossed.
“Have I become blind, or have you actually been
trying
to deceive me?”
“No, Sarah. I-I wanted to tell you.”
She grabbed Alexia’s sleeve, tugging her toward the kitchen. “Oh, yes, but you could not bring yourself to say anything when it might spoil the fun!”
Alexia dug in her heels, bringing Sarah to a halt. “He saved my life. Twice.”
Her aunt’s scowl softened. “What?”
“Please do not be angry. I wanted to say something, I just—”
“Angry?” Her face crinkled in a flash pain, but a stubborn smile twitched at her cheeks. “He saved you and you are apologizing for loving him? I have never heard a more doltish thing.”
Alexia ached to take away her aunt’s disappointment, and could not help but love her more for the forced courage and acceptance.
“Charles will be overjoyed!”
She started. “Sarah, you cannot tell anyone, please.”
“Oh, come—”
“Father hates Arik.”
“What?” Sarah laughed, her voice cracking like it might take a turn for tears. “Why would he—?”
She seized her aunt’s shoulders. “Please. This has to be
our
secret.”
Sarah glanced around her. Arik stood at the end of the hall, watching them.
“I will not utter a word,” her aunt promised. “But you cannot keep it hushed forever, not if you intend to—”
“I do not know what I intend yet.”
“Well, from what I saw, he at least intends.”
Gooseflesh prickled down her arms, warmth returning to her cheeks.
Sarah motioned with her rag-hand. “Do not be afraid of me. I would love to see you with him.”
A grateful smile formed on her face, but it died. Sarah would never see them together, not if she chose him.
“Now if you will excuse me, I have to rid myself of this,” she lifted the rag, “seeing how you will not be needing it.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Alexia kept her head down as she returned to Arik, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. He slipped the missing barrettes between her fingers and lifted her chin.
She smiled timidly up at him. “She keeps her word.”
“Dangerous.”
“But nice.”
He shook his head, chuckled uneasily, and kissed her.
***
Alexia did not see her aunt for the rest of the afternoon, but at dinner one might have never guessed Sarah had spent the hours raging or in tears.
“What is the matter with you two? Are you afraid to touch in front of me?”
Alexia glanced timidly at him, seated next to her—so close their knees met. He took her hand, lifted it for Sarah to see, and returned wordlessly to his meal. The connection rendered Alexia giddy, head spinning. How could he think about food when her stomach churned at the notion?
Sarah smiled at her from across the table. Alexia grinned back uncertainly.
Her aunt seemed bent on pushing them together, initiating activities that required dual participation, and when it came time to retire she proclaimed, “I am off to bed—not that everyone must follow my example.”
Alexia could hardly believe the insinuation as Sarah trotted away, leaving them alone in the upper hall.
“She is certainly approving.” He frowned, one brow raised.
“And trusting—of you.” Alexia pointed a finger right into his chest.
He pulled her into his arms. “Then perhaps I had best send you right after her.”
Her grin faded as she recalled the vision he’d shown her of the attack. No matter how much time she spent with him, it would never be enough to sufficiently express her gratitude. She nuzzled into his chest, absorbed by the closeness, like tucking into the wings of an angel while a storm raged just beyond the windows.
He sighed.
She glanced up. “What is it?”
“I need to go, Alexia.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Do you really?”
He smiled, brushing a lock away from her lashes. “There are others in need of my talents.”
“Oh.” She pinked. “Indeed. You cannot leave them to suffer because of me.” And yet the idea of separation . . . She let out a short breath, fighting the panic as it worked to seize her chest, forcing herself to speak before her throat closed off. “Take me with you?”
“We both know you do not wish to leave.”
“And if I do?”
He clasped her shoulders and held her away. His gaze drew unsteadily on hers, tides swelling, threatening to engulf her.
“I want to be with you,” she said.
His lips descended. She rose to meet them. He enwrapped her completely, devouring what little self control lingered in the height of their passions. Her body molded to his. She could feel the power of his muscles, the strength behind his determined grip, the hunger which fused them as one.
She found it then, a haze of smoky thought, clarifying into perception, an alternate thought process—his. He wanted to take her with him, to take her completely, to make her his, permanently. She glimpsed places she’d never been, beautiful secluded buildings, grand cathedrals, distant cities, a country inn, a little church . . .
She occupied a new space—not in her own head, not in his, a place between. Did he perceive her thoughts as well?
Yes.
He felt her gratitude for saving her, the concerns of being abandoned by him, the fear of losing her family and dread of an undefined future, her embarrassing desperation to be what he wanted, what he needed, even the timid desire to give herself to him.
The link broke.
He stumbled back and caught himself on the wall, eyes wide.
She stepped toward him.
He lifted a hand. “Not yet.”
Alexia waited, panting with him.
The heaving of his chest slowed. “I did not initiate that sharing.”
“No?” She clasped a hand over her mouth.“I did that?”
His gaze narrowed, and he turned away. “I did not mean to let my guard down. I am sorry.”
Like the winking out of a star, a little piece of her shriveled. He was sorry? Sorry he’d opened up to her?
“This is going to complicate . . .” He exhaled. She moved toward him, but he spun away. “Please, give me a moment.”
She watched him pace, saddened, detached, lonely almost. “I would not tell anyone—”
“The Soulless assimilate their prey’s intellect.”
“What?” She tried to make sense of that. Assimilate? Consume? Absorb?
“One touch on a Moonless night, Alexia.” The harshness of his tone startled her. “That is all it would take, and every secret stored in your head could fall into their grasp.”
Including whatever she knew of him.
She bristled. “I appreciate your worry, but I have survived thus far.”
He huffed. “Have you now? And why do you think that is?”
A glimpse of him saving her in the woods returned. “Apparently you will always be there to change me back.”
“Which I will be required to do every month, every single month for the rest of your existence if they even suspect we are—” Arik’s lips froze. His pupils dilated, focused right through her. “Great God in heaven!” He drove both hands through his hair and paced right past her, head shaking.
“Arik?”
He pressed a fist to his mouth, his brows low. She reached for him and he dodged away from her hand.
Stung, she stood back, a strange coldness settling over her. Why would he not allow her to ease his agitation?
He stopped with his back to her. “I should have stayed away from you.”
“No—”
“The dream is real, Alexia.”
She lost a moment.
The
dream? The nightmare that came every year on her birthday and occasionally between? Black-caped creatures circling her, lying in the street, the blue-eyed man reflected in her dead stare?
He took a deep breath and looked at her, his oceanic eyes a whirlpool of despair. “Your death will destroy so much more than me. Do you understand that?”
She shook her head. What had he just said?
“It will kill me, Alexia.”
Frustrated he was reading her, she scowled. “Do you believe if you had stayed away from me we might both miraculously survive?”
He exhaled heavily, and began pacing again, both hands tearing through his hair.
“Arik, please—”
He halted. “Why do you wish to leave with me, Alexia?”
Because I do not want to be without you, no matter the cost.
He turned back, capturing her eyes with the net of his earnest night sky. She steeled herself against the invasion.
“No matter the cost?” he asked.
She threw her hands up in frustration.
“And yes, me
invading
your thoughts would be a regular part of your life, that much I can assure you.”
“Until I learn to block you out.”
He chuckled and spat, “You cannot block this talent.”
She glared. He was already insufferable.
His tone softened, shoulders dropping slightly. “Do you want to know about terrors that would keep you up at night?”
“Yes.”
“You want to feel what it is like to lose everything you love?”
Her chest tightened. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
His voice deepened, eyes wide and vulnerable. “You are willing to die for love?”
She hesitated. He waited expectantly, ready for an answer, eyes yearning for the reassurance she couldn’t give. She set her jaw and met his stare.
His brows lowered, a slight tremor shaking his words. “Good night, Alexia.”
“Good night, or goodbye?”
Silence.
He straightened up, the truth plain in the set of his mouth, his eyes hardened to sapphires.
Her heart stopped. Bitterness sprang up, resentment for all he’d put her through—and would he now threaten to make her endure alone? He had no proof that their being together would lead to her dream’s fulfillment. “You cannot
know
the future.”
A sardonic chuckle rattled out of him. “And why not? You do.”
She staggered backward.
He groaned and covered his face. When his hands fell away, no emotion remained. “Our time together will be one of my most treasured memories. You will forgive me when you no longer remember it.”
She blinked at him. “I could never forget.”
A sad smile touched his cheek. “Someone will do the forgetting for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not suffer. That I promise.”
“You can erase memories?”
Tired lines weighed his eyes. “They can be altered, but that is not
my
gift.”
She flushed, her ears ringing. Was that why he seemed to know her and she had no recollection of him? He had sent someone who forced her to forget before?
She covered her mouth. “How could you?”
His gaze snapped to hers.
She backed into the wall, head shaking. “No.” Tears stung through. How much had he taken? Hours? Days? Weeks?
“Stop.” His jaw clenched.
And there he went, pillaging her thoughts. “Or what? You will lie to me more?”
He wheeled around, his fists balled.
“Tell me!” she shrieked. “What have you taken?”
He cornered her. “To protect the Passionate, sacrifices must be made.”
“And my memories are but one of those insignificant sacrifices?”
His eyes flashed up, pure onyx, angry, dark stone. “Any number of sacrifices have been made on your behalf.”
Her breath caught. He may as well have punched her. That terrible moment in the woods blazed through her brain, the terror, the tears, his resolve and willingness to give all. Moisture prickled in her eyes. “I did not ask you to sacrifice for me.”
His gaze lowered. “You did not have to.”
A sob caught in her throat.
His eyes pinched in anger, muscles bulging in his jaw. “But we will not perpetuate my mistake.”