Chapter Fourteen
The wind whipped at Alex’s face as he accelerated down the open road. The air was humid and heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the guilt weighing on him.
He’d spent a restless night after his run-in with Malaki.
Like a coward, he’d fled Ivy House this morning, but not until Rosa had arrived.
Not wanting to leave Cilla alone in the house, he’d waited out of sight until he’d seen her and then slipped away.
Needing to work off an excess of tension, he’d walked to the garage to check on his bike.
It was a bonus that it had been fixed and waiting.
The trees rushed by in a blur as he pushed the Harley and himself harder. There was no way to outrun the self-loathing consuming him. Cilla was an assignment and he’d made love with her.
He took a turn way too fast, both rider and bike precariously balanced as he leaned into it.
A squirrel darted across the road. He swerved, barely avoiding the small animal.
Cursing, he eased up on the gas and wrestled the machine back under control.
Wrecking his motorcycle a second time wouldn’t help matters.
He’d only just got it back—thanks to the magnanimous gesture from his father.
The repairs had been costly and would have wiped out most of his cash if he hadn’t had the credit card.
He had no idea if the card would work if he tried to use it again. His lips twisted into a smirk. More than likely it would be declined. Nothing had been straightforward or easy about this situation from the beginning.
He whizzed past the welcome sign for the town of Redemption, partly surprised the engine didn’t sputter and die. Not that running away was an option. Not unless he wanted to spend eternity imprisoned with no freedom, no powers, and no reaping—an unending hell.
The farther from town he got, the greater the tug in his chest. Was his father responsible or was it his unexpected connection with Cilla?
He’d eased up on the gas without realizing it and rolled to a stop across from a gravel side road.
Thick tree growth blocked the view of the house on the property from the road, but a sign with a white background and large purple lettering proclaimed it the home of the Little Lavender Company.
This was where Samael was staying with a local woman.
It was no coincidence he’d stopped here.
Removing his helmet, he held it in one hand and dragged his fingers of his free one through his hair.
The yearning to see his older brother, to talk to him, took him by surprise.
It wasn’t as though they were kids. He’d been on his own for thousands of years, living independently.
But there were only two people in the world who understood what his life was like.
And only one of them could relate to his present situation.
And he was currently only yards away. Before Alex could decide if he was going to try to connect with Sam, Malaki swooped in front of him, landed on the sign, and pecked at the wooden frame.
Caw!
Alex’s stomach knotted. Barely controlling the urge to hurl his helmet at the bird, he jammed it back on his head. “So that’s the way of it, is it?”
Beady eyes stared back at him before Malaki bobbed his head.
Breaking the rules meant forfeiting the assignment and living with the consequences. Sam’s help was off-limits, at least for now. “So be it. This would have been easier if the old man had outlined the restrictions rather than leave me clueless, but I guess that’s part of the game he’s playing.”
Alex turned the bike around and headed toward town, toward Cilla. The scythe charm on his keychain swayed and glinted in the sunshine. It was a sharp reminder of who and what he was.
There were no loopholes when dealing with Death. When it came down to it, there was only one choice—reap Cilla’s soul when the time came. Whether his father would deem his conduct “proper” remained to be seen. That was a subjective decision, with Death as both judge and jury.
Reaping was more than a job. It was a huge part of his identity, what he was at the core of his being.
Even with that calling, there’d always been a void inside him.
Millennia of living—making money, taking risks, and tackling new challenges—had kept the emptiness at bay, but none had fulfilled him.
That was the word his father had used—fulfilling.
If he’d hoped Alex would find it in this assignment, he was doomed to disappointment.
He rode through the town without taking note of anyone or anything, all his attention on getting back to Ivy House. He headed up the familiar road and turned into the driveway to park. When Cilla departed, the building would remain, but the heart of it would be gone.
No, fulfilling was not the word he’d use. Excruciatingly painful would come closest. But as he’d done since he’d taken his first soul, he would do what he’d been created to do.
He dismounted, rubbed his thumb over the silver scythe charm, and pocketed the keys.
The grand old Victorian looked tired. He could relate.
The years had not been kind to either of them.
Removing his helmet, he tucked it under his arm and hurried up the porch steps.
The door was unlocked. Rosa likely hadn’t locked it behind her when she’d arrived.
Why would she? She wouldn’t have any idea what had transpired yesterday unless Cilla decided to share.
The air inside was cooler than outside but by no means cold. There was no central air, only individual units for the guest rooms and in main areas of the house. It had been constructed at a time when builders had made use of prevailing winds and windows to keep the space habitable.
The sound of female voices lured him down the hallway. Cilla was seated at the island laughing at something Rosa had said, but her smile slipped away when she noticed him. “You’re back.” She popped off the stool and hurried to the sink to rinse her mug, keeping her back to him.
His stomach sank. “I went to Grady’s Garage first thing this morning. I’ve got my bike back.”
Rosa looked from one to the other, removed her apron, and tossed it on the counter. “I’m going to do the grocery shopping before it gets too hot.”
Cilla spun around, her gaze darting to Rosa’s. “You can do it later, can’t you?”
“I won’t be long.” She grabbed her purse, stopping long enough to issue him a warning. “Don’t make me regret this.” Then she was gone.
“Ah, I should get to work. I’m getting a late start on the day. I’m sure you have things to do now that you have transportation.” Her gaze darted around the room, everywhere but at him. He’d expected many reactions from her after last night, but not nervousness.
He set his helmet on the counter and drank in the sight of her, hoarding memories for a future when she no longer existed.
There was nothing exceptional about the shorts and sleeveless shirt she wore.
They could be found at any department store.
It was the woman who made them exceptional.
As always, her coppery hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head.
She wasn’t a woman who fussed with her appearance, but her natural beauty shone through.
When she tried to walk around him, he stepped into her path, leaving her no choice but to finally look at him.
“Was there something you needed?” The smile she offered was the one she’d give any guest. After last night, it pissed him off.
All the reminders he’d given himself on the way back to the inn about not getting in any deeper, about remaining dispassionate, meant nothing when faced with the reality of Cilla.
“Yes. This.” He snaked his arm around her waist, pulled her toward him, and captured her mouth. The restlessness and uncertainty that had been riding him all morning vanished beneath the taste of her—sweet with a hint of coffee and blueberry.
Every muscle turned to stone as he fought the need to toss her over his shoulder and drag her to bed. She didn’t immediately respond, but neither did she tell him to stop.
Desperation drove him to lick the seam of her lips. When she gasped, he slipped inside, not demanding, but coaxing, reminding her of what they’d shared, how good it had been between them.
With a sigh, she slid her hands up his chest and stroked her tongue over his. His big frame shuddered with relief. She hadn’t turned him away.
It was pointless to further their relationship. There was nowhere it could go and it was bound to end in tragedy, but he couldn’t stop himself.
The kiss spun out for endless minutes, both of them taking and giving.
Unable to get close enough, he lifted her off her feet and sat her on top of the kitchen island, wedging himself between her legs.
When his erection pressed against her, she stilled and raised her head.
Her lips were swollen, her eyes glazed with passion.
She shook her head, as if to clear it. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him away.
…
After lecturing herself nonstop about keeping her distance, she’d crumbled like a house of cards at the first real test. She cleared her throat. “Last night was amazing.”
“Damn right it was.” His hair was mussed from his helmet. Wearing an open leather jacket, jeans, and a tight T-shirt, he looked good enough to eat. He cocked his head to one side, staring at her lips. When she licked them, his gaze narrowed.
What had she been saying? She was acting like a lovesick schoolgirl. “You’re not going to be in town long. It’s not smart to get involved.”
His lips thinned and his brows lowered. “We’re already involved.” It was said as a challenge, as if daring her to deny it.