“Ah, Remy,” he breathed. And he laughed.
It was the last possible reaction I’d expected. I’d prepared myself for him to be cold or regretful. In my wildest imaginings, he’d been supportive. In none of the thousand conversations I’d had with him in my head did he laugh.
Asher leaned away and spied my expression. He laughed harder than before, gasping for air. Anger and hurt fought, and anger won out. Glaring at him, I turned and stalked away, picking the nearest path that would take me out of the park. I’d gone two feet when an arm clamped around my waist.
“You’re beautiful when you’re mad at me,” he said, amusement still in his voice.
Tears blurred my vision, and I aimed an elbow into his stomach, attempting to get loose. I ended up hurting myself instead when the limb bounced off rock-hard muscles. I cried out, and Asher turned me in his arms with gentle, inescapable force. The laughter faded from his face as he checked my elbow and placed a soft kiss on the red skin.
My breath hitched, and my anger was forgotten beneath a wave of heat that started where his lips touched me. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and I knew he heard me.
“I’m sorry I laughed,” he said.
“Why did you?” His reaction made no sense.
“I’ve known how unique you were, Remy. What you suspect only confirms what I’ve believed from the first moment I saw you. I thought I knew the worst, but this . . .” One side of his mouth tilted up. “You took me by surprise when I thought there were no surprises left.”
In a halting tone, I said, “I’ll understand if you want to walk away. No sane person would volunteer for this.”
Serious eyes fixed on me, and he said, “Come away with me.”
Startled, I tugged on my arm, but he didn’t let me go. “You are insane.”
“Yes. Completely crazy about you.”
“That’s not funny.” I pushed against him until he finally released me. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his intent gaze and the seductive persuasion in his voice.
“Leave this place with me, Remy.”
Scowling, I felt tempted to punch him again. “Be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Say yes, and I’ll go home now to pack my bags. We can be gone by nightfall.”
He meant it. I stumbled back several steps. The stone bench cut into my thighs and I sat, overwhelmed and tempted. “You know I can’t leave. There’s school and my friends. My family . . . I can’t.”
My voice sounded anguished to my own ears, and I felt torn in two. After so many years alone, I’d found a home and a family. I couldn’t give that up, not when it might be taken away from me soon. But I loved Asher, and I wanted to be with him. Would I have to choose?
“No!” Asher knelt at my feet, pressing my hand to his face. “I would never make you choose. I know what family means to you.”
“Then, why?” I asked, bewildered.
“My brother’s right. They will come for you. When they find out . . .” He shuddered. “The longer you stay here, the more vulnerable you’ll be. What if I can’t protect you?”
The weeks we’d been together, I’d changed in so many ways, but so had he. The return of his mortality brought relief and fear. Relief that he could feel human again, and fear he’d be too human to save me. It would happen again if we stayed together.
My fingers trailed into his hair. “You make me stronger, Asher. I don’t need you to be immortal to save me.”
“I didn’t save you when Dean showed up. I should’ve been there!”
I’d known he blamed himself for Dean kidnapping me, but I’d thought he understood. Pushing off the bench, I kneeled before him, remembering the last time we’d been in this position right after he sacrificed himself to save me.
His skin felt hot, and I gave in to the impulse to touch his scar. “You were. In my heart and in my head. You heard my thoughts, but I heard you, too. I heard you telling me to be strong, to remember my training. I felt you willing me to stay alive until you could find me. You never left me, Asher, not for one second.”
Asher’s eyes held the shattered look I knew I wore each time he told me he loved me. He didn’t see himself through my eyes and didn’t understand how I could love him in return. I could see that I’d have to remind him often.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
“I love you, Asher.”
“I’ll never tire of hearing it.”
Strong arms crushed me to his chest, mindful of my injuries, and one hand wound through my hair to angle my head. He kissed me until we were both breathless, and the heat of his energy scorched through me again. He reached for my uninjured hand, twining our fingers, and I held on to him with all my strength. Eventually, we eased apart and stared at the green sparks warming our joined hands.
When they faded, I raised uncertain eyes to his. “Are you sure, Asher? There’s no way of knowing what will happen if we stay together. This could only be the beginning.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t miss a minute of it. Besides, you need me,” he added, smugly. “I heard you think so.”
I didn’t deny that it was true.
“What’s next, sweetheart?” he asked.
“I want to find my grandfather. My mother believed he might be able to help us.”
Asher threw a glance at the iPod still sitting on the stone bench. He knew the importance of that last recording. Rising to his feet with his usual grace, he bent to help me up.
“Are you ready to listen?”
Was I? Could I hear Anna’s voice without the rage and bitterness I’d felt last time? I gauged my tangled feelings. Anger was there, but then so was love, the two emotions forever knotted together when it came to my mother.
“Yes,” I whispered, then added with more certainty, “Yes.”
“Shall we,
mo chridhe
?”
He scooped up the iPod and took my hand.
A pessimist most of my life, I believed that the worst could and did happen. Yet, standing in the sunny clearing with Asher loving me, possibilities unwound before me, painting a hazy but possible future. Maybe we would have the future I’d dreamed of yet.
A memory came to me unbidden of my mother, and it didn’t hurt like before. She recited a line from an Emily Dickinson poem to me that she’d heard somewhere, and it had stuck with me.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
“Emily Dickinson?” Asher said, surprised. “My sister loves that poem.”
Facing him, I smiled. “You know, one of these days, your eavesdropping is going to get you in trouble.”
He smirked. “Don’t be mad because I’ve discovered all your secrets.”
“You think I don’t have any more secrets?” I said, amused.
“You don’t.” When my expression didn’t change, doubt flitted across his features. “Do you?”
Silently, I strode to the head of the path leading back to my house.
“Remy?” he called after me. “You don’t have any other secrets, do you,
mo chridhe
? I’m not sure my heart can take it.”
Not all surprises were bad. It hadn’t taken long for me to discover how those few minutes of immortality, of possessing Asher’s power, had changed me in some small, physical ways. I couldn’t wait to see Gabe’s face the next time we trained.
Asher’s confused gaze met mine. “Remy?”
“Catch me if you can, Protector,” I called over my shoulder.
With a laugh, I sped out of the clearing with supernatural speed, my feet scarcely meeting the ground as I dodged trees. In the distance, I heard Asher’s startled laughter as I disappeared, followed by the sound of his light footsteps chasing me.
Nearing the exit to the street, I slowed, entirely willing to be caught. Asher almost ran into me where I leaned against a tree under a canopy of branches sprouting new green leaves. The recording could wait.
“I love you,
mo chridhe
.”
His lips touched mine, and I felt his smile when I responded.
Always.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a long time in the making. It took a village, as they say.
A huge debt of gratitude is owed to my agent, Laura Bradford, who always believed in this book and these characters. You don’t know how much that meant to me.
To my lovely editor, Megan Records, you gave me the opportunity to continue Remy’s story. Consider my world changed forever—thank you for that and for everything that you give back to the book community. These other wonderful KTeen people contributed to this novel, including Alicia Condon, Craig Bentley, Arthur Maisel, and Alexandra Nicolajsen. Thanks for your hard work!
Kate Hart, you were my very first beta reader
ever,
and I owe you my everlasting gratitude for not mocking me for that early draft. I’m honored to call such a talented writer my friend.
I wrote this book in my first semester at Spalding University’s MFA program under the tutelage of my faculty mentor, Ellie Bryant, and continued to edit it with my second semester faculty mentor, Eleanor Morse. I learned so much from each of you and owe you so much. Thanks also to the Spalding students who workshopped chapters of this novel in Barcelona, including Jackie Gorman, Jenny Barker, Kendra Sigafoos, Carmen Bryant, and Kristin Doherty.
I hardly would have dared to write this book if not for the encouragement of Virginia Gannaway, Roger Perez, and Laurie Wielenga urging me on chapter by chapter. You were my cheerleaders, from Chapter One until I typed
THE END.
Thank you.
Along the way, many readers offered comments on various versions, and I am indebted to them, especially Cindy Corpier, Debra Driza, Laura McMeeking, Kari Young, Krista Ashe, Holen Mathews, Kathy Bradey, Nicole Runyan, Stephanie Kuehn, and Trish Leaver.
I also owe a shout out to the Class of 2k12, Bookanistas, Apocalypsies, and YA Rebels groups. Thanks for being there with me every step of the way this last year.
And finally, to my family, thanks for being you. I love you more than Kraft Blue Box.