“Sorry,” Heather muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. “I just…I just… suck at being the B-F-F of a cursed girl.”
Gabriel gave her a crooked smile. “Well, it’s not like Scarlet is making it easy for you.”
Heather breathed out a laugh. “I know, right?”
Gabriel looked up at Nate. “Should we still go look for Scarlet?”
Nate exhaled. “No. Scarlet seemed to know exactly where Tristan was earlier today. She’ll find him. They’ll fight. He’ll bring her back and we can return to our daily fountain drama.” He smiled. “Business as usual.”
Gabriel bit back a sigh. He hated business as usual.
52
Tristan woke up to the sound of falling rain and distant thunder as his mind replayed the dream he’d had.
A very vivid—very unsolicited—dream about what had happened between him and Scarlet years ago. It had felt so real. Almost like he’d been reliving it.
Which was wonderful.
And terrifying.
He took a deep breath, feeling more alive than he had in years—decades even.
…Centuries?
Tristan opened his eyes to the gray morning light peeking in through the windows of the shack and froze. He was on the floor, beside the smoldering fireplace, wearing only a pair of jeans.
And lying on top of his chest was a beautiful, sleeping Scarlet.
Tucked against his skin like she was an extension of his very heart, Scarlet’s eyes were closed peacefully; her lashes feathered out against her porcelain cheeks.
For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. But then he blinked and the severity of his situation kicked in.
Scrambling out from underneath her, Tristan laid Scarlet on the rug beside him and moved as far away from her as he could. He searched for her heart.
Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead.
When he finally felt Scarlet’s heartbeat in his chest, Tristan sighed in relief. He stared at her for a long time, completely dumbfounded. And angry. And scared.
Scarlet moved a little. Her eyes slowly opened and, upon seeing Tristan, she smiled dreamily. “Good morning.”
He clenched his jaw, loving how her voice poured over him like warm honey and hating that he wanted to hear more of it. He took another step back, now standing in the kitchen of the small house, looking across the room at his visitor.
Reality must have come rushing back to Scarlet because she abruptly sat up, looked around, and went pale. She turned big eyes to him. “Don’t be mad.”
Too late.
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be mad? Are you crazy?”
Standing up, Scarlet shook her head. “I wasn’t try—”
“You could have died!”
“I know it seems strange—”
“I’m trying to keep a healthy distance from you,” Tristan pursed his lips, anger filling his veins, “but I can’t do that if you’re lying on top of me!”
Scarlet blushed briefly before taking on a look of stubbornness. “But you were dying, Tristan!”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Yes I was.
Tristan thought back to the night before. He had, indeed, been dying. But how was that possible?
A rumble of thunder sounded against the walls of the shack as the morning light dimmed beneath the thick clouds closing in on the forest around them. The rain picked up.
“Well, it felt like you were dying,” Scarlet repeated. “I woke up in terrible pain and it was like…like I was dying too. So, I had to find you.”
“And climb on top of me?” Tristan didn’t mean to sound like a jackass, but fear was overriding his manners.
Scarlet blushed again. “The pain went away when I touched you.”
Tristan knew all too well how alleviating Scarlet’s touch was for his chronic pain. Which was why he needed her to stay far away from him. “So?” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “I’m not yours to cure.”
Scarlet’s eyes narrowed and he felt the anger inside her morph into heartbreak. He was a jerk.
He rubbed his jaw. “How long were you touching me?”
Scarlet blinked. “Most of the night.”
He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair. He pinched his lips together. “Are you trying to die?”
She raised a brow. “You mean like you were, just a few months ago?”
Tristan stared at her. Touché.
A few tense moments passed.
“How do you feel?” Tristan looked at her carefully.
She nodded. “I feel healthy.”
Her eyes weren’t flashing.
Her nose wasn’t bleeding.
Tristan crossed his arms. “Well, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“So are you.” She crossed her arms as well.
Ah, there was the Scarlet he’d known for centuries. Sassy. Stubborn. Righteous.
The rain grew heavier and the clouds darkened.
Tristan’s eyes traveled around the room, looking at everything except for the girl by the fireplace. He bit back a sigh. What was he going to do with her?
“You can’t stay here,” he said with a bland tone. “It’s not safe.”
Scarlet scanned his face. “But…I feel safe here.” She looked at his jaw, then his throat, then his mouth….
There was a kitchen counter, a couch, and twenty feet of space in between them. But Scarlet was practically inside his skin.
Safe was the last thing she was.
“Well, I feel dangerous.” Tristan tried to keep his eyes from wandering to any places aside from her face. “So, you need to go.”
A loud crack of thunder shook the windows and they both turned their attention to the storm outside. Trees moved against the wind and rain, and the forest floor was dark with water.
“After the storm.” Tristan shifted his weight and moved farther into the kitchen. “You’ll leave after the storm.”
Although it was still morning, the sky was dark and low, and the shack was filled with shadows and a cold chill. Tristan flicked on a nearby light switch.
“Whatever.” Scarlet climbed onto the couch with her knees tucked beneath her and watched Tristan as he moved about the kitchen.
He tried to busy himself with something—anything—that would keep him from looking at her.
He started opening cabinets arbitrarily. “Are you hungry?”
Food. Food was a good distraction.
“No,” Scarlet said.
Tristan nodded, but kept his eyes on the contents of the cabinet before him. He wasn’t hungry either. He closed the cabinet and started fiddling with random objects in the kitchen.
A towel…the soap bottle…a fork on the kitchen counter.
“So….” Scarlet twitched her lips.
He turned the sink on and began washing the fork. It wasn’t dirty, but he washed it anyway. “So…” he repeated.
He didn’t feel like small talk. Or big talk.
He scrubbed the fork with a soapy sponge.
Scarlet cleared her throat. “You know the tree picture I found?”
He rinsed suds off the fork and nodded.
“It’s actually a map to the fountain of youth.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the backrest of the couch.
Tristan looked up at her with a quirked brow. “Really?” Sink water emptied into the drain as Tristan stared at her.
Scarlet nodded. “But we haven’t figured out how to read it yet. Nate’s still working on that.”
His adrenaline began to race. With a map, they could break the curse. They could all be free.
“If you can’t read it, then how do you know it’s a map?” Tristan turned the water off and started drying the fork.
Scarlet shifted on the couch, her dark hair sliding over her shoulder. “We went through some Avalon records and I found a journal that belonged to my father.”
“You did?” Tristan asked skeptically.
“Yeah.” She nodded. ?
??Crazy, right?”
Tristan nodded.
Crazy and convenient.
“Anyway,” Scarlet continued. “My dad’s journal had a similar drawing, claiming it was a map. He was trying to find the fountain, too.”
“Why?”
“Because he was addicted to fountain water.”
Tristan blinked. Apparently, he’d missed quite a bit during his isolation. “Any other breaking news I should know about?” He finished polishing the fork in his hand and put it away.
A shudder of apprehension crawled through Scarlet and crept into Tristan.
“What?” He closed the drawer he’d placed the fork in and looked up with curious eyes.
Scarlet cocked her head to the side and paused. “Is it weird?”
“Is what weird?”
She bit her lip. “Feeling everything I feel?”
Only when you’re making out with my brother.
Tristan shifted his weight. “Is it weird for you to feel everything I feel?”
She thought for a moment. “A little.” Her eyes skirted the floor. “It feels…intimate.”
He nodded slowly. “It is intimate.”
Raw. Honest. Intimate.
Deadly.
A wave of desire rolled across the floor, curling around Tristan with heat. He couldn’t tell if the emotion came from him or Scarlet. But neither one of them tried to push it away, which turned him on.
And scared the hell out of him.
He cleared his throat. “So, what were you going to say? When you felt nervous a second ago?” He looked around for another dish to clean, but the kitchen was spotless. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Oh.” Scarlet blinked. “I was going to tell you that Laura might have something to do with the Head Ghosts, which means she might know about me and the fountain.”
Fear prickled the back of Tristan’s neck. “What makes you think that?”
Scarlet exhaled. “She knew your name without me telling her. She has this secret flower hidden in her closet. She bought a ton of special blue weapons from the same guy who had my father’s journal. But mostly, Heather had a memory lapse after she went to my house yesterday. And Laura was at my house.” Scarlet shook her head. “It could all just be a coincidence and I might be crazy, but—”
“You’re not crazy.” Tristan crossed his arms. There. That was something he could do with his hands. “I never trusted Laura.”
Tristan tensed up. If Laura was responsible for sending the psycho Ash guy after Scarlet, Laura would die.
Scarlet’s eyes grew large. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “I don’t trust anybody.”
Except Gabriel.
And you.
He needed to stop talking.
“Right.” Scarlet nodded.
A sharp howl of wind slapped rain against the side windows and Tristan watched a shiver tumble through Scarlet. For the first time since waking up, he took note of what she was wearing.
Which wasn’t much.
A tiny, satin top hugged her chest and a pair of very short shorts hung from her waist. She was probably freezing.
He walked over to the fireplace beside the couch and started putting more wood into the hearth from a pile against the wall. “Sorry it’s cold in here. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the fireplace as he struck a match from the mantel and coaxed flames from the timber within. “Do you need other clothes?”
Like maybe a tunic? Or some coveralls?
Please say yes.
“No,” Scarlet said. “I’m fine.”
Tristan bit back a groan. He was trapped in a cold cabin with the only girl on earth he wasn’t allowed to touch.
And she was curled up on his couch with more skin exposed than not.
Once the flames came to life, Tristan stood up and turned around, looking down at Scarlet.
Don’t look at her legs. Or her chest. Or her neck. Or her lips.
She was like one big eye trap.
He pushed his eyes away from Scarlet and started looking around the room. In the corner was a stack of new, thick blankets he’d bought. Walking to the corner, Tristan retrieved the softest blanket he had and carried it back to Scarlet. “This should keep you relatively warm until the rain stops.”
Scarlet sat up on the couch and took the blanket from his hands, her blue eyes grateful and curious as they traced down his face. And then his chest.
Her eyes fell to his tattoo, lingering on the design while desire ran wild inside her.
Yeah.
This wasn’t going to work. One of them needed to remove themselves from the room immediately.
Without a word, Tristan walked away from Scarlet’s eyes, shutting himself inside the small bedroom in the back of the shack. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and across his face.
The rain would let up soon and then Scarlet would leave. Right?
Right.
Right.
53
Gabriel rubbed his face as he, Nate and Heather all looked at the ancient map on the kitchen counter. Scarlet hadn’t returned all day, but Nate insisted she was with Tristan and probably just held up by the storm.
Heather tapped her fingers on the counter, her glossy nails clicking away as she looked at Nate. “How do you know so much about Head Ghosts and maps and everything?”
Nate shrugged. “I’ve been alive for a very long time.”
“Huh.” Heather looked from Nate to Gabriel. “So, can you guys, like, run super fast?”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Uh…no.”
“Can you control people with your mind?”
“No.”
“Do you have an extra strong sense of smell?”
Gabriel sighed. “We’re not vampires, Heather. We’re immortal.”
“Yeah, but what does that mean?”
“It means we don’t die. Ever.”
Heather thought this over. “But what good is eternal life if you don’t have any super powers?”
“My thoughts exactly!” Nate started rooting around in the kitchen cabinets. “I mean, if I don’t get to wear a cape and save damsels in distress, then I may as well spend all my waking hours playing video games where I can do just that. Right?”
“Yep,” Heather said. “So, how old are you guys supposed to be?”
“Four-hundred and nine—”
“No, I mean how old do you say you are?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Eighteen. Twenty-one. Thirty. Whatever is most helpful.”
Nate smiled. “We have IDs for pretty much any age under forty.”
“You do?”
Gabriel nodded. “Nate takes care of all of our legal documents.”
“Passports, birth certificates, driver’s licenses.” Nate grinned. “I’ve got us covered.”
“Do you make them yourself?” Heather asked.
“No, I’ve got a guy. But every fifty years or so I have to find a new guy.” He shook his head and muttered, “Mortals.”
Heather looked back at Gabriel with a smile. “So, if you’ve got a fake ID guy, we could, like, go clubbing?”
“We’re not going clubbing.”
Heather narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you the boring brother? Are you, like, the disciplined, no-parties-ever, I-always-follow-the-rules brother?”
Nate snorted. “Gabriel spent most of the 20s in a constant state of parties and girls and he spent most of the 60s traveling with a rock band called Monster Freedom.”
“Wait.” Heather wrinkled her forehead as she looked at Gabriel. “I thought you couldn’t fall in love with anyone but Scarlet.”
Gabriel glared at Nate before turning to Heather. “I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t date.”
“Date?” Heather smiled and wagged her eyebrows. “Or date?”
Gabriel rubbed the side of his face. “Can we talk about something else?”
Heather clucked her tongue. “Fine.
” She looked at Nate. “So, what were you up to in the 60s? Parties? Dancing? Space travel?”
Nate paused.
“What?” Heather asked.
Nate cleared his throat. “No. I was married.”
Heather’s lips parted. “You were?”
Nate nodded. “I fell in love with a girl named Molly when I first moved to New York. She was beautiful and perfect and accepted me just the way I was. Immortality and all.” He swallowed and looked at the floor.
Silence filled the room and Heather quietly asked, “What happened?”
Nate looked up and blinked. “Death.”
Heather’s big eyes looked sad. “How did she…?”
“She was mortal.” Nate tucked his lips in. “There was nothing I could do to keep her with me.”
Gabriel watched as Heather turned her eyes down, staring at the counter. “I’m so sorry, Nate.”
Nate took a deep breath and went back to hunting around in the kitchen. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
Gabriel knew Nate had never been the same after Molly died. In fact, her death is what put him into a near-constant state of isolation. He shut himself in his house for years, finding different ways to keep busy.
That was probably the reason he started playing video games; they distracted him from reality.
“For all the glamour of living forever,” Nate continued, speaking more to himself than to Heather, “immortality is really just a long curse. Finite life is precious; it’s fleeting and significant. But immortality…immortality isn’t living at all. It’s a permanent existence void of meaning. And it forces you to choose between falling in love with someone who will die, or never falling in love at all.” He looked at Heather again. “It’s a curse.”
“That’s kinda pessimistic. I mean,” Heather sat up straighter. “What if you get to meet another perfect girl? What if you fall in love again? Wouldn’t immortality be worth it?”
Nate smiled sadly. “I have lived many lifetimes and if there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that there is only one great love for each person.” He swallowed. “Molly was my great love and the day she died was the day my soul ceased to have real meaning. But I’m not bitter about it. I found my great love and, for that, I am more blessed than most.”