2
The dimming light of dusk filtered through the grand windows of the mansion, casting elongated shadows upon the floor where Nicholas stood, momentarily still. His gaze followed Sophia as she ascended the grand staircase, her figure haloed by the soft luminescence of the crystal chandelier overhead. The golden light seemed to cling to her, accentuating the deep red of her long duster coat, flowing behind her like a spilled bottle of Bordeaux.
He waited for her to turn one last time, which she did, casting him the hint of a tiny smile that made him grin. Nicholas”s heart throbbed with a fervent beat, and he wondered if it would always be that way between them. The pull they shared had grown roots deep within the rocky soil of his once guarded heart, twining around him in a way he could not explain. He could only give in to it, and he was glad for it.
Yet, as he watched her climb higher, a shiver of dread crept up his spine. The confrontation with Elias Laxon had left a sour taste in his mouth. What deal had been struck in the shadows? What price would Connor pay—and would they all bear the cost?
Sophia reached the landing and turned the corner, leaving his sight. Nicholas”s desire to follow her, to press her into the softness of their bed and lose himself in the warmth of her embrace, was a palpable force, pulling at him with the gravity of a thousand suns. When they were together, with nothing between them, the rest of the world fell away. He craved it, that connection, the tie that held him to a singular place in time, when he had been lost for so long.
“A-hem,” Leonard uttered, accompanied by a pointed clearing of his throat. Nicholas turned his attention to the servant, a veritable mainstay in the estate home who seemed to blend into the tapestry of the surroundings. Lean, poised, and utterly unimpressed, Nicholas almost chuckled at the way the man stared at him, one brow arched in his impatience.
Leonard held his hand out, palm up, flicking his finger expectantly. “I’ll see the car is returned to the garage, Mr. Neilsson,” he said.
“Call me Nicholas, Leonard. Aren’t we past all the formality?” Nicholas replied.
Leonard’s nostrils flared, his lips pursed.
“No, Mr. Neilsson, we are not.”
Nicholas eyed him, aware the man seemed to have no patience or care for him.
“Is Julius with Alec?” he asked. Leonard knew everything that happened on the estate, from the movements of the kitchen staff and the state of the current grocery delivery to the comings and goings of the Immortal Blooded Ones and their covert operations in the underground facility that spanned an even greater expanse than the mansion. Nicholas knew Leonard was aware of every detail of Alec’s condition.
“Yes, he is. There has been no change with your brother, I’m afraid,” he added curtly. Nicholas was sure he imagined the hint of regret in the man’s voice. It was almost kindly, and completely uncharacteristic of the loyal servant.
“Appreciate the update,” Nicholas replied.
The man flicked his fingers again, the impatience now clearly etched in his gaze. “The keys, if you please.”
Nicholas dropped the keys into the older man’s waiting hand. Leonard closed his fist around them and nodded brusquely, brushing his shoulder entirely too close to Nicholas’s own despite the abundance of space around them.
“Thanks, Leonard,” Nicholas muttered.
He turned his attention away from the smug servant and made his way toward the parlor. His steps hesitated as his thoughts spiraled back to Sophia. The life he once led as a rogue Time Walker, a Blooded One on a solitary mission, had been his identity, the core of his existence. From the days of ancient empires to the cobblestone streets of cities newly born, he had walked a singular path, intent on an impossible task.
But that was before. Before her. Before Sophia”s laughter had become the sweetest melody in the discord of his life. Her love had rewritten his history and recharted his destiny. Nicholas yearned for a future with her, with everything that meant—a home they would grow old in, children, a lifetime.
Yet, how does one who has lived through history settle into the rhythm of a singular modern-day life? Nicholas”s past was a menagerie of memories, each a brushstroke in the vivid painting of his existence. There was a time when happiness had been simple, as tangible as the earth of Eastview Plantation, when days were measured by the setting sun and the seasons” turn. Yes, he had a family, and he once lived a life he meant to return to. Yet now, entangled with Sophia, he could envision nothing more than to spend his days at her side.
The mansion”s parlor, aglow with the twinkling lights of Christmas, seemed like a world apart. The fragrance of pine and the spiced aroma of mulled wine lingered in the air, a reminder of the season”s mirth. And there in the parlor, like a figure carved from ice, stood Connor.
Tall and broad, his uncle was a remnant of the old world, his blond hair and rugged features as much a part of him as the fjords of his ancestral homeland. Nicholas”s footsteps were silent on the plush carpet as he approached, the events of the day still fresh in his thoughts. Would Elias Laxon be an ally, or would Connor”s pact bring ruin upon them all?
The clinking of glass and the amber liquid”s splash were the prelude to the questions in his mind. Nicholas squared his shoulders, ready to face whatever explanation Connor might give. For Sophia, for Alec, for the future they would carve out of the uncertain bedrock of time—he needed to know what they were up against.
“Any change with Alec?” Connor asked as Nicholas entered the parlor. Nicholas was glad to see him add a splash of liquor to a second glass. His uncle took a sip and held out the offering to him. Nicholas accepted it, letting his breath out in a slow sigh. Connor took to a leather armchair, sitting on the edge of the seat, his eyes following Nicholas.
“No. He’s still sleeping, or unconscious, whatever you care to call it,” Nicholas replied. He looked down into the amber liquid, swirling it before he tasted it, welcoming the burn that ran down his throat. Alec remained unresponsive, and Nicholas was starting to lose hope that he would ever open his eyes.
Nicholas paced the length of the dimly lit parlor, the walls adorned with ancient tapestries that seemed to absorb his mounting tension. Connor, sitting with the casual ease of a man used to command, watched him, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand.
”Alec will wake,” Nicholas muttered, more to himself than to Connor. It was an assurance he had repeated countless times, a desperate pronouncement to ward off the dread that crept into his heart each time he looked upon his brother”s still form.
Connor”s voice broke the silence, steady and certain amid the storm of Nicholas’s worry. ”It can take time, Nicholas. Especially given the circumstances of his passing and the time he spent in the grave.” His eyes held a glint of knowledge, a shadow wrought from years of bearing the immortal curse.
Nicholas stopped pacing and turned, his frustration taking hold. ”It”s been weeks, and there”s been no change.” The words hung heavy between them, each syllable a weight on his lips.
”Yes, weeks in this time, and weeks in the grave before that. But for Alec, right now, time is a different beast,” Connor said, setting his glass aside and rising to his feet. He moved to stand beside Nicholas, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. ”Immortality does not adhere to the same rules we do. Mortal death, for our kind, is a deep slumber. The act of rising is a rebirth that we cannot always predict.”
Nicholas felt the tension in his body, the rigidness that had taken hold since they had unearthed Alec. ”And what of his time in the grave? The darkness he was left in—will that affect him?” The questions came from a place of fear, a brother”s fear that the darkness had claimed more than just Alec”s body.
Connor sighed. ”The grave, the prolonged absence of light, and life—it is a complication, indeed. The physical body remembers the trauma, and the mind... it can create a barrier, a defense against returning to a world that was once a source of pain.”
Nicholas”s fists clenched. ”So, we sit here and wait? We just hope that the barrier breaks, and he returns to us as if nothing happened?”
”In essence, yes,” Connor”s response was solemn, the furrow in his brow deepening. ”We wait, we hope, and we give him the strength of our presence. Our kind have a resilience, a will to endure. Alec”s spirit is no different than any other immortal.”
The room seemed to close in around them, the vast collection of books and artifacts spanning the walls a hint of the years that Connor had lived through and the knowledge he had accumulated. His experience with the peculiarities of their kind offered some measure of insight into the otherwise maddening wait for Alec”s return to consciousness.
Nicholas exhaled slowly, allowing Connor”s words to ease the tightness in his chest. ”What if he doesn’t rise? What then?”
Connor met Nicholas”s gaze, unflinching. ”We will face that if we must. But I’ve seen it before, Nicholas. The spark of life in our kind refuses to be extinguished, even after centuries. It flickers in Alec still. Patience is our only choice right now.”
The notion that time, something they both had in abundance, could be both a salve and a torment, was a paradox that Nicholas struggled to accept. Yet, as he considered Connor”s assurances, the knot of panic that had taken residence within him began to loosen.
”I trust in your experience,” Nicholas conceded. ”And in the bond of our blood.” He had no choice but to place his faith in his kinsmen. Throughout the years, Connor had proved his loyalty, aiding Nicholas even when others of their kind condemned him. Despite the bounty on his head, Connor did everything in his power to find Nicholas before others did—and in the end, when it mattered, when the chance to save Alec was in his grasp, Connor stood at his side. They made a stand together as kinsmen, and for that, Nicholas was still in awe.
Connor met his gaze, a silent pact between them. ”Alec will rise. And when he does, we will be here to guide him through the disorientation, to remind him of who he is, and who we all are as a family.”
A family—something Nicholas had feared would be forever fractured. Yet, standing there with Connor, in the warmth of the parlor, he allowed himself to believe that the fractured pieces could be made whole once again.
“But you didn’t come here just to talk about Alec, did you?” Connor asked. Nicholas nodded, his eyes meeting Connor’s over the rim of his glass. Connor was right. Alec was not the only problem they had. The events of the afternoon could have ended badly, yet the alliance Connor made did not sit well with Nicholas.
“Elias. How much trouble will he cause?” Nicholas said. He wasn’t thrilled with the knowledge that the man once meant something to Sophia, and he was even less happy with the thought that they owed a debt to him.
Connor returned to his seat in the chair, sinking deeply back, his gaze careful.
“We need his support. If he keeps pursuing the bounty on your head, he will find out we took Alec from the grave and brought him here. It’s pure luck we managed to kill all the mercenaries that day and none of them escaped to report back. I know you understand how important it is that the other Keepers do not discover what we’ve done,” Connor explained.
“Sophia told me about their history. Is that going to be a problem with him?” Nicholas asked. He did not like the way it felt to consider a connection between Sophia and any other man, yet the rational side of him knew Sophia lived a life before she met him. The basal jealousy that burned in his gut, however, was a different matter.
Connor looked at him for a prolonged moment before he replied.
“I expect he’ll honor our alliance. He’ll keep his distance until he needs something,” Connor said.
“Immortals can be killed, so you’ve enlightened me. I’m sure he’ll fall like any other in a fair fight,” Nicholas muttered. “I can end the threat, Connor.” It was more than that to him; years of living in distant times emboldened Nicholas. He was accustomed to settling his disputes in a permanent way, rather than by allowing his enemies to continue breathing. That truth was the driving force when he sought to end Nathanial Bacon to prevent Alec’s death, and it resurged with the knowledge that Elias Laxon presented a threat to Sophia.
“That option is completely off the table,” Connor snapped. His brows narrowed, the command in his words etched plainly on his face. “Yes, we ended a pack of mercenaries that was sent to collect the bounty on your head, but they were only underlings. We cannot strike against another Keeper. I’ve told you before, Nicholas, we have laws. By the nature of our existence, we must abide by those laws. Immortality demands it. There’s no purpose in living forever if we’re in constant battle with each other. You’re one of us. You’re going to have to wrap your head around that fact if you hope to have any kind of future with Sophia—and Alec.”
The reality of his own immortality sobered him somewhat. It was a fact Nicholas tried not to dwell on in much depth, yet it was always there, chipping away at his hope for normalcy. The painful truth was that if not for his relentless actions to save Alec, none of them would be immortal. Like Alec’s mortal death, Connor’s immortality—and his own—was completely Nicholas’s fault.
Nicholas let out a low sigh, running a hand over his face as if the pressure might dull his racing thoughts.
“How long have you known these Keepers? Exactly how old are you, Uncle?” he asked.
Nicholas was surprised to see the levity return to Connor’s face. A hint of a grin surfaced, the tension fading. “Oh, well, after my mortal demise, I traveled a bit to other times. I image I’m over a thousand years old now. Not quite as old as Julius and Ronan, but I didn’t care to linger in places as long as they did,” he admitted. “What about you? You didn’t leave a trace of your whereabouts. I never knew where to look for you, let alone how to track you.”
It was an interesting notion to put a number on, and one he avoided over the years as he slowly realized that there was something amiss in his Time Walker body. Nicholas shrugged, taking a long swallow of his drink before he replied.
“Two hundred fifty years, I suppose. Maybe closer to three. It didn’t matter, before now.” Before he met Sophia was the unsaid, and he could see that Connor knew his intent. It hung there, heavy in the air between them.
“She would take the elixir, if you asked her,” Connor said quietly. The smile faded, and Nicholas shook his head.
“I would not ask it of her. She’s been clear, it’s not what she wants,” he replied. “She only wants a mortal life. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“And you’ll watch her grow old, and simply accept it?” Connor prodded.
The bottom of his stomach seemed to drop then, that uneasy surge of panic when something was very, very wrong. The thought of watching her live a mortal life and then face the inevitable end of that life was a notion he blocked from his mind. He could not consider it, or he would become a man he did not wish to be—a man Sophia could not love. A desperate, devious, man, bent on convincing her to join him in immortality. And that was the crux of it, after all they had been through.
“It is her choice, Uncle. I will never take that from her, as I took it from you and my brother,” Nicholas replied.
”Nicholas—” Connor argued, his voice trailing off as the sound of soft footsteps announced Sophia’s approach. The crackle of the fire punctuated the silence as Sophia glided into the room, her attire a stark contrast to the solemnity that had settled over the two men. The plaid flannel pants and button-down tunic, playful and spirited, softened the lines of concern etched on their faces. Their conversation was over, and Nicholas was glad for it.
Connor’s lips twitched into a wry smile at the sight of her. “Sophia, a word of advice? Next time you wish to wander off to Philadelphia, try not to give an old man such a fright,” he chided, his tone light but the concern clear in his eyes.
She rolled her eyes affectionately, settling onto the couch. “Oh, stop your fussing. I can handle myself. Besides, I should be the one concerned after your little chat with Elias Laxon.”
The fire popped, as if emphasizing her point, and Nicholas, eager to steer away from troubled waters, reached for levity. “It’s Christmas Eve. Maybe we can put off worrying about immortal politics until after the eggnog?”
Nicholas sat down heavily on the leather couch, leaning back into the cushioned depths next to Sophia.
He couldn’t help but notice the small package she held. In the palm of her hands was a square, neatly covered box wrapped in festive paper that glittered in the firelight —and the sight filled him with an innocent curiosity that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was a simple thing, but it spoke volumes when the future seemed uncertain.
Connor”s gaze lingered on the gift before he let out a weary sigh. ”I think I”ll retire for the night,” he announced, rising from his chair. ”This old man needs his rest if he”s going to be of any use to you young ones.”
As he made his way to the door, he paused, his eyes softening. ”Should I put on a movie for you two? For old times” sake?” There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice, a longing for the days when life was simpler, and their battles were fought in the glow of a television screen.
Sophia”s smile was tender, seemingly touched by the memories of a past that had been so different. ”I remember those times, Dad,” she said. ”But tonight I think we’ll just enjoy the fire. Goodnight.”
Connor nodded, a silent understanding passing between them, and with a final glance back at the pair, he left, the sound of his steps fading into the stillness of the house.
Alone now, Nicholas turned to Sophia, the fire casting a warm glow on their faces. Amidst the crackle and pop of the flames, he met her gaze.
“What’s that you have there?” he asked, nodding toward the gift. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy pink, and he wanted nothing more than to ravish her senseless on that leather couch in the glow of the fire.
Sophia followed his gaze, her fingers tracing the edges of the wrapping. “Oh, just a little something for you. But it can wait.”
The moment between them stretched, comfortable and intimate, as the glow from the fire bathed the room in a golden hue. Shadows danced along the walls and the crackling of the logs was a song of simpler times, a reminder of the warmth and life that continued unabated outside the reach of their long-lived dramas.
Nicholas turned to her, his voice dropping to a whisper that mingled with the hiss of the fire. “Sophia, we need to talk—”
She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him briefly.
“If this is about today, I’m sorry, I won’t go off alone again,” she explained.
“It’s not that. Well, yeah, that’s part of it, it’s too dangerous right now for you to go anywhere alone,” he stammered, not entirely sure how to broach the heaviness in his heart. “We need to discuss your future. Your life,” he added, as gently as he could muster.
She gazed back at him curiously, as if the intent of his words slowly impressed upon her. Her brows scrunched together above her pointed gaze.
“My life? It’s our life, isn’t it? That’s not going to change.”
Her words were a soothing balm to his soul, and Nicholas found the courage to continue. “I want everything with you, Sophia. You’ve filled my existence with something I never knew I was missing.”
The fire flickered in her eyes as she smiled, and the room seemed to hold its breath, bearing witness to their declaration. “And I want everything with you, Nicholas. All your tomorrows, all our todays.”
She brushed off the seriousness of the moment and held out the small gift, her gesture simple yet profound. It was an avoidance and they both knew it, but he wanted her to have her joy. As Nicholas took it, their hands touched, and he could not resist pulling her close. He kissed her gently, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as the ache settled heavy in his chest.
She laughed, breaking away as the embrace turned heated. “Open it, Nic,” she urged him, thrusting the gift into his hands.
He fumbled a bit with the intricate wrapping, not entirely sure how to loosen the tightly bound bundle, so he ended up ripping it in a very graceless manner and tossed the paper aside, eliciting another rash of giggles from her. When he lifted the lid of the box, he was surprised to see a key, sitting neatly on a bed of flattened cotton. He raised a curious brow.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“There’s more. Keep digging,” she said. He obeyed, pushing the stuffing aside. Below the white fluff was a raw Bloodstone, set in copper, hanging from a thick rawhide lanyard. It was dark green, nearly black, with flecks of bright red scattered on the front surface. He took it from the box, the stone heavy and warm in his hand, and his eyes moved to meet hers.
“The key is to the townhouse,” she said softly. “And the Bloodstone—the stone is mine. Well, I’m giving them to you, both of them. I want to be wherever you are, Nicholas. No matter where you need to be, if it’s here in my time, or if it’s in past with your family, I want to be there with you.”
Her eyes glistened, and he felt his heart stutter inside his chest at the impact of her gift. She had given it all to him—her life, her love, her future. And he felt unworthy of it, of all those beautiful parts of her, as if the darkness of how he had lived his solitary life somehow stained the pureness of the love she meant to give him.
With the glow of the fire illuminating her tear-stained cheeks, he took her in his arms, urgent and purposeful when his lips found hers. She bent to him, molding beneath his touch, and he could think of nothing more than keeping her with him, by his side, for each day forward.
No, he did not deserve her. But he would never let her go.