Figures.
“What, no guns?” Scarlet asked, looking around.
“Guns are for losers,” Gabriel said.
“And,” Scarlet looked at the nearest weapon with a crooked smile, “bloodstained battle axes are for winners?”
Gabriel cocked his head and smiled at her. “Exactly.”
After the room of death and daggers, Gabriel led Scarlet down into the basement. He turned several lights on as they descended into Tristan’s part of the cabin, so it didn’t look as dark as Scarlet had anticipated.
But it felt dark.
In layout, it was an exact replica of Gabriel’s quarters upstairs. A vast sitting room with a well-used fireplace was off to the left, and two closed doors were to her right.
In design and overall appearance, however, the brother’s living areas were completely different. Upstairs, Gabriel’s sitting room had artwork all over the place and fancy rugs and a couch and coffee table that probably cost more than Scarlet’s car.
Tristan’s sitting room, however, was lined with shelves of books and in the center of the room stood a covered grand piano—dust collecting atop its majestic back.
Somehow, a giant piano just didn’t seem to fit with Scarlet’s perception of Tristan.
She imagined him lurking in the basement with a few gargoyles and maybe lifting weights while he listened to angry music. Not tickling the ivories while holding a snifter of brandy after reading a classic novel.
“This is all Tristan’s, down here,” Gabriel said. “I’d show you his room, but he’s been moody today and I’d rather not piss him off.”
Scarlet nodded. She didn’t want to see Tristan’s room anyway.
Right?
Right.
She followed Gabriel back up the stairs, her eyes lingering on what she assumed was Tristan’s bedroom door.
She shook herself.
No, I do not want to see Tristan’s bedroom.
When she and Gabriel reached the main floor, Gabriel turned to her. “And that’s the cabin. Feel free to poke around and use whatever you’d like.” He kissed Scarlet’s cheek. “Okay. I gotta go.”
Scarlet’s mouth dropped open. “What?” she nearly shouted. “Right now?”
Gabriel nodded. “I can’t wait around, Scarlet. We don’t have any time to waste. I have to find Nate. The sooner the better.” Gabriel kissed her again. “Don’t worry, I’ll probably be back tomorrow. And it’s fall break, remember? There’s no school or anything, so you can just kick back and relax until I get home.”
Kick back?
Relax?
Was he crazy? Some weirdo broke into her house while she was sleeping and now she was being forced to hang out with a guy who hated her in the middle of nowhere.
How was she supposed to relax?
Scarlet watched his eyes fill with reassurance and she let the fight drain out of her. There was no convincing him to stay. He was trying to help her—to save her. And she should let him.
So, why did she feel like Gabriel was giving her over to the wolves?
Probably because big bad Tristan lives downstairs.
After saying goodbye, Gabriel left Scarlet standing barefoot and alone in the cabin’s big entryway. His car faded down the driveway until all that was left was a trail of dust and an empty cabin.
Well, empty save for the two people inside.
Scarlet looked around for a minute.
She hated that she was, essentially, trapped in the woods with Tristan.
Sure, he was beautiful and enticing in an inexplicable way.
But he was also a jerk.
Scarlet sighed to herself, sucked it up, and headed upstairs to Gabriel’s bedroom.
She needed to find a way to make her time in the cabin not suck.
Starting with a shower.
50
Tristan gathered his arrows from the bull’s-eye for the fifth time that morning.
Target practice wasn’t helping.
It should. It usually did. But something was off.
And Tristan knew exactly what it was.
The cold morning wind whipped around his head as he walked back to his aiming point. He could stay outside all day, if necessary. And he would, if that would keep him away from Scarlet.
Gabriel was a fool.
The more Scarlet was around Tristan, the faster his blood would break her heart.
He just needed to keep his distance for the next twenty-four hours and pray her heart didn’t weaken anymore than necessary.
Whoosh.
Bull’s-eye.
Whoosh.
Another bull’s-eye.
He heard the upstairs shower turn on—Gabriel’s shower.
Scarlet was in Gabriel’s shower.
Tristan swallowed and drew back another arrow.
Whoosh.
Miss.
He hung his head.
The next twenty-four hours were going to be harder than he thought.
51
Scarlet roamed around Gabriel’s room for a few hours, trying to keep herself occupied. Her heart was still thrumming away relentlessly inside her, but she’d almost gotten used to its nonstop jumping.
Almost.
After her shower, she put on some of Gabriel’s clean clothes, but they were too big and felt…wrong.
So, she put on her pajama pants and T-shirt from the night before instead.
Gabriel had a few books on his dresser that she flipped through, but they were all about gourmet food and sporting events and the stock market.
Bor-ing.
His schoolbooks were on a desk in the corner and Scarlet briefly entertained the idea of studying, but quickly dismissed it.
She wasn’t that bored.
She did, however, grab a notebook and a pen from his schoolbook pile and start doodling.
She sketched the symbol burned in her brain over and over until she’d filled up two pages with its design. It was weird she remembered the design so clearly, yet Gabriel—who’d known her for five hundred years—hadn’t recognized it.
Scarlet thought for a moment.
Or…had he?
He’d been interested in it at the beginning of the year, before he’d told her their history, so maybe he knew what it was and hadn’t told her yet.
When Gabriel got home, she was going to ask him again about the symbol’s meaning.
Scarlet stopped doodling and started making a list of things she needed from her house.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Makeup….
Why do I need makeup? Who am I trying to impress, Tristan?
Not in this lifetime.
She scratched out makeup and replaced it with new phone.
Scarlet shook her head as she thought about how casually Tristan had thrown away her phone—her lifeline.
She set the notebook down and left Gabriel’s room.
Tristan owed her a new phone. Today.
Her bare feet padded down the stairs and wandered around the living room and kitchen in search of Tristan.
When the kitchen and living room proved empty, Scarlet made her way down the hallway. She passed the flight of stairs leading to the basement and immediately rejected any idea of venturing down into Tristan’s turf. She could wait him out upstairs all day if she had to. She wasn’t going into the Archer dungeon.
In front of her, the office door was cracked open. Scarlet peeked through.
Tristan sat at the large desk, his eyes scanning a computer screen.
She tapped on the door, chastised herself for being so meek—especially considering she’d known Tristan for centuries—and let herself in like she belonged there.
She wasn’t going to act like a scared mouse around him.
“You owe me a new phone,” Scarlet said, demanding Tristan’s attention. “Today.”
He glanced at her before looking back to the computer. “Not gonna happen.”
Scarlet plopped down on a chair across from the de
sk and leaned forward. “Listen, I understand that you couldn’t care less about me, but I’m stuck here and I’d like a way to communicate with the outside world.”
Tristan closed his laptop screen and met her gaze. “The ‘outside world’ is trying to hurt you. So, forgive me, if I’m not jumping to accommodate your request for a new phone.”
Scarlet squared her jaw and stood up. “You will get me a new phone. And also, I need to run home and get clothes. I didn’t exactly get to pack a suitcase last night.”
Tristan looked her over.
He was probably just making a note of what clothes she did have, but it felt more personal than that.
His eyes ran down her pajamed body. Slowly. Intimately.
Scarlet’s heart kicked up a notch as desire shot through her.
She wanted to slap him.
Or herself.
She wasn’t sure.
“Nope,” Tristan said, looking away from her and opening his computer back up. “No field trips to the outside world.”
Scarlet pressed her palms flat on the desk above Tristan. She was angry. And he wasn’t her boss. “You can’t just keep me here like some prisoner.”
“Then leave.”
She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“If you want to go running around the backwoods of Georgia while some crazy person is hunting you down, by all means, go.” His green eyes flashed. “I’ll tell Gabriel you said goodbye.”
Scarlet pursed her lips.
She was barefoot, without any money or a cell phone, and wearing thin cotton pajamas in the cold autumn of Georgia.
Leaving the cabin by foot wasn’t an option.
Was he bluffing?
She leaned in to examine his challenging eyes more closely.
The smell of leather and soap met her nostrils, shooting warmth and need through her veins.
What is wrong with me?
Her eyes burned as she tried to keep her gaze steady.
Tristan leaned across the desk, his face mere inches from hers. With a menacing voice he said, “You need to leave.”
Scarlet held his gaze a moment longer, before swallowing and pulling back.
She was trapped and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Agh.” She huffed and stormed out of the office.
Even as she walked away, furious and frustrated, there was still a hint of longing in her stomach. Something inside her wanted to run back to Tristan and…hug him.
Or more.
Scarlet shook her head and climbed back up to Gabriel’s room, where she spent the rest of the day flipping through boring books.
And, yes, studying.
52
Tristan woke up in the middle of the night. Hungry.
Which was impossible, since he’d eaten right before he’d gone to bed.
His hunger could only mean one thing: Scarlet was hungry.
He groaned.
His connection to her was getting stronger by the second. And more and more ridiculous. Now he could feel when she was hungry? Ugh.
Tristan stared up at his bedroom ceiling and thought about the girl two floors above him. She was probably still sleeping peacefully, dreaming of Gabriel and rainbows or something.
He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to fall back asleep.
No success.
With a sigh, he got up and trudged upstairs.
He should just stay in bed. He should at least pretend he didn’t feel hungry—he knew he wasn’t.
So, why was he headed into the kitchen to make pancakes?
Because he was weak.
And because Scarlet loved pancakes.
In the kitchen, he quietly got out all the ingredients he needed and tried not to over-think his actions.
Maybe if he hurried and just left a plate of pancakes on the counter, he could go back to bed and pretend he wasn’t a pathetic fool.
He looked at the clock: 1:00 a.m.
That’s what he would do. Make pancakes and flee.
53
Scarlet awoke late in the night to hunger pains.
Amidst all her pouting earlier in the day, she’d failed to eat. And now her stomach was mad at her.
She rolled out of Gabriel’s comfortable bed and rummaged through his backpack, hoping to find a candy bar or banana or something.
Nothing.
She looked back at the warm bed. Did she really want to go downstairs and hunt for food?
Her stomach growled.
Yes. She did.
Scarlet sighed and rubbed her eyes before heading downstairs. She’d find a quick bite to eat and hurry back to Gabriel’s room.
Her heartbeat was loud but her footsteps silent as she stepped onto the main floor and rounded the corner into the kitchen.
She blinked.
There, with his back to her, stood Tristan.
Quietly cooking in the middle of the night.
Scarlet’s first instinct was to run back upstairs and avoid him altogether. She’d find a piece of gum or something to hold her over until morning.
But the smell of pancakes stopped her in her tracks and made her mouth water.
Tristan turned around and, seeing Scarlet at the far end of the kitchen, paused.
Neither of them moved for a moment as they locked gazes.
Scarlet felt something twitch inside her.
Something about the darkness outside, the comfort food inside, and Tristan looking at her like he’d been expecting her, made Scarlet feel….
Loved?
I’m insane. Obviously, my hunger has taken over my body and devoured all my brain cells.
She tucked her lips in and eyed the pancakes Tristan pulled from the pan. “Making a midnight snack?”
She tried to sound light and casual. Normal. Friendly.
Not because Tristan deserved it, but because she wanted pancakes. And Tristan, apparently, was keeper of the pancakes.
He looked away from her. “Something like that.”
He was tense. She could almost…feel it.
Scarlet shifted her weight. “Oh.”
Tristan didn’t look at her. “Are you hungry?” He moved around the stove to a plate piled with pancakes.
“A little,” Scarlet lied. She was starving.
Tristan nodded with his back to her. “Feel free to eat, then.”
Scarlet’s mouth watered even more, excited at the prospect of delving into a buttery pancake mountain.
Not wanting to stand around like a princess waiting to be served, Scarlet walked up behind Tristan to grab a plate off the counter and serve herself.
But when she neared his back he turned around, unaware she’d been so close behind him.
Their chests rubbed together for a split second, and Scarlet’s eyes went blind with a flash of colors.
Click.
A memory grew in her head.
Tristan was dressed in modern clothes and making her pancakes.
It was nighttime, and his hair was longer but his eyes were still a brilliant green. He was smiling as he put a plate of pancakes before her and she was laughing. On top of the pancakes was a smiley face made of fruit….
“Sorry,” Tristan mumbled, moving away from her, and pulling her out of the memory.
As Scarlet’s eyes regained focus, she blinked and looked at Tristan. “I remember you….”
Tristan’s eyes widened.
She cocked her head to the side. “I remember you…making pancakes for me…before.”
Tristan’s chest fell with his slow exhale. “Yes, well,” he looked away from her and brushed his hands against the pants he had on, “I’ve made food for you before.”
Scarlet raised her eyebrows, wondering if maybe Tristan hadn’t always hated her.
Maybe he’d even…liked her…in the past?
In last night’s memory, he’d held her in the forest. In tonight’s memory, he made her food and seemed happy to be with her.
So, what had changed between
them?
Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “Gabriel’s a lousy cook. So, you know. I help him out sometimes.”
Scarlet wrinkled her brow.
Something in his words didn’t ring true.
She nodded and pulled two hot pancakes onto a plate for herself. “Can I ask you something?”
She set the plate down and leaned against the counter, facing Tristan.
He hesitated.
She could tell he wanted to leave, she could feel him debating it inside himself.
Their “connection” had to be both ways—it was the only way to explain how she could feel what he felt.
His voice was strained like he had to force words out of his mouth when he slowly answered, “Uh, Sure.”
Scarlet wrinkled her brow and innocently asked, “Did you always hate me?”
It wasn’t a fair question, and it was a bit immature, but she didn’t care. Tristan had made her feel unwanted and unwelcome…but he was willing to share his pancakes with her?
It didn’t make sense.
Tristan’s face held no expression. “You think I hate you?”
Scarlet shrugged. “Do you?”
Tristan looked at the floor, then at the wall, and finally at Scarlet. “No.”
Their eyes locked for a minute and Scarlet’s chest tightened. He was so beautiful and guarded, like he had a thousand secrets and no one to trust.
She watched his green eyes and felt…sad. There was something hollow and hopeless about the way he was looking at her and she wanted to fix it.
Scarlet’s voice was soft when she stated, “You don’t hate me.”
He looked at her steadily. “No.”
Something warm and safe came over her as she scanned his face, trying to figure out just who Tristan Archer was.
He was more than Gabriel’s brother.
He was more than a guy with immortal blood.
In the back of her head, and the center of her heart, he was something…more.
Her eyes searched his for a long moment, before falling along his square jaw line. They traced down to his chin…then back up…eventually landing on his lips.
Lips just like Gabriel’s; full and perfectly shaped.
But something about Tristan’s mouth seemed…sexier….