Rialto slept peacefully but Seta could see the tracks of dried tears on his face. She reached out to brush an errant curl away from his forehead but her fingers did not find purchase. A sob left her throat before she could stop it and Rialto’s caregiver murmured in her sleep from the nearby cot. Unsure whether it was a reaction to hearing her, unsure if that was a possibility, Seta cautioned herself to remain silent. There wasn’t anything they could do to harm her in spirit form, that she knew about, but she dared not tempt them to find some way to banish her from her son’s life, just in case.
She still felt weak from the events of the night but nowhere near death. She was more confused than anything, and a little betrayed. She’d led her whole life believing herself to only be Spanish. There was a whole other side to her she would have had no clue about had Roberto Garibaldi not thrown her off that cliff. Her mother had plenty of opportunities to tell her the truth of her paternity, but she never bothered. She’d only judged her, ridiculed her because of her relationship with a married man. Seta had been fooled, but what was her excuse? How could she have broken her marriage vows to her father and conceived her with another man? And who was that man? Atsidi’s father, Hastiin Sani’s son. Hastiin Sani was her grandfather, Atsidi her brother. Who was her father? What was his name? She had not seen him in the battle or when she’d been discovered by Atsidi and the hunters defending the sheep. Did he know she was there? Did Atsidi know she was his sister? Hastiin Sani had called her his granddaughter. He’d known all along.
The faint hum she’d felt since waking up a vampire intensified, pulling her out of her thoughts. She stood, surveying the room, but only she, Rialto, and the caregiver occupied the small space.
She walked to the window and looked out. A man stood on the cliff she’d been thrown from her last night as a mortal. The same man who’d saved her life by turning her into something else. Seta gave one last longing glance to her sweet child before turning back toward the window and focusing on the man whose very essence seemed to call out to her.
He showed no surprise when she appeared before him.
“Eron.”
“Seta.” He gave a slight bow. “I see the Navajo taught you quickly.”
She stepped back, surprised. “You knew?”
“The enchantment I was given allowed me to send you to a place of my choosing. I had spent many years with the Navajo and know of their gifts. I know you must hate me for sending you away from Rialto, however this was the only way I could keep you safe and allow you to still see him. I could see how being away from him was destroying you, turning you into something you are not, or at least were not before this atrocity befell you.” He gestured toward the cliff’s edge with his head.
“I was very angry with you,” Seta advised. “Then I saw my son.”
“I felt it. I feel everything.” His eyes darkened. “What happened earlier? I felt complete rage, then it seemed you were slipping away. I feared I had sent you to your death.”
“The Navajo were attacked by a group of white men under the cloak of night. They were going to slaughter them all, including the women and children. I defended them.” Seta lowered her head, letting her gaze fall. “I was horrible. I became consumed. I am not sure exactly what I did to them, I let my fury consume me and I released it. Those men … I ripped them apart without touching them. All around me lay blood and bone.”
“They intended to kill children. You did what needed to be done.” Eron placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted until she met his gaze. His eyes warmed her cold heart as his gaze roamed over her face. He used his other hand to move a lock of hair out of her eye and his touch sent a tingle through her core.
His touch…
“You can touch me. How? I am in spirit form.” Seta backed away. “Is this a dream? Am I not here?”
He grinned. “You are here and I am here with you … in the same way.”
Realization dawned. “You are in spirit form.”
He nodded. “We are the same form, allowing us to feel as if we were in our bodies.”
“Are we dead?”
Eron laughed out loud. “Not any more than we usually are. The Navajo taught me as well.”
“How? I thought you had to be Navajo to send your spirit away.”
He frowned. “It is easier for Navajo, not to mention for anyone who speaks the language. Anyone can learn with enough time and practice and I have plenty of time. It took what felt an eternity for me to learn despite my own gifts. How did you learn so quickly? I know you have great magical ability. Still … the language alone should have taken some time, and … you are not Navajo.” He angled his head sideways, studying her.
“I cast a spell so the Navajo and I can understand each other, and I think you are figuring out that I am Navajo. I did not know until tonight.”
“How?”
“The man I thought was my father, was not. My father was Navajo. My parents traveled before I was born. My mother once told me of the savages from the land with red dirt. She must have spoken of them. I will learn more when I wake.” She frowned. “I should be sleeping. I must have longed for Rialto so badly I sent my spirit here without trying. Why are you here now, like this? It is night here. You should be awake, hunting, living. Are you still here or did you and Christian have to leave because of what I did?”
“We are near. I felt your spirit was close so I sent mine.”
“I could still see and speak to you if you were in your body.”
“I know.”
“Why send your spirit then? Why did you not come to me in your body?”
“I thought you were dying earlier,” he said, cupping her face. “I thought I had lost you, and when I felt your spirit near I had to come to you like this.”
“Why?”
“Because, damn it.” His mouth covered hers, his hands slipped from her face to her waist, pulling her tighter against him.
Seta allowed herself to be taken away by his kiss, to feel the things she vowed to never feel again. She gripped his shoulders, marveling at the strength she felt. She smelled his manly scent, felt his warmth as if they were skin to skin, not spirit to spirit.
“I had to touch you,” Eron whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “I had to feel you or surely I would die.”
“You sent me away,” Seta reminded him, confused. “If you feel this way, why did you cast me away from you?”
“I was supposed to kill you.” He closed his eyes, groaning in anguish. “You killed two men, guilty only of relation to a man who had wronged you. If you had been any other vampire I would have ended your immortality that very moment. I should have killed you.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper. “Heaven forgive me, I can not kill you.”