“But River? Emma? You seem so close to them.”
He sighed. “River’s my best friend, has been for a long time. But I never told him about you, either. Some things . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, then looked at her. “Some stuff’s just too painful to talk about, you know? So you lock it away, hide it inside. Like losing you. Loving you and then losing you.”
“They had no idea I ever existed,” she finished, already knowing that was true. “I wondered why you’d never mentioned me.”
“Didn’t talk about you; didn’t chat about my boys. All of it”—he tapped his chest—“I kept in here.”
“What happened to them after . . . well, once you stepped into eternity, so to speak?”
“I never found out.” He flinched at the admission, his eyes drifting shut as if to escape the pain.
“Didn’t you wonder how they fared?” she asked, surprised that such a deep-feeling man could have ever rested without knowing.
“Others among us, they watched their loved ones and families from the shadows. I just couldn’t.” He stroked her nose, letting his fingertip linger on the end of it. “You know, I’m a pretty simple man, always was, and that part of me . . .” His expression grew troubled. “Some parts of me never did change.”
“I waited at the town house for you.”
He said nothing, frowning. “Did you suffer?”
“Did you worry that I did?”
He shook his head. “I thought you were in Elysium. I had to believe that because the alternative hurt too fucking much.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I don’t know how it worked for you, living on all these years like you did, but I found avoidance a pretty handy tactic. I’m sorry. If I’d known, or understood that you needed me . . . still wanted me . . .”
She touched his cheek. “There are many things I don’t recall about my death, Aristos, but I know that I had a choice. I remember a warm light, the way it beckoned to me. I was supposed to go on, but somehow I couldn’t leave. I chose to linger . . . to wait for you.”
“I should’ve come back to Savannah sooner,” he whispered intently. “I never should have left.”
“My choice wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, but I always figured your
death
was—my fault, I mean,” he admitted. “That’s the main reason I was so angry all these years. Not just your dying or . . . that it was because of me.”
“Aristos!” she cried, but he waved her off.
“I should’ve revealed my nature more carefully, not shown up so winged and eager. I mean, we were going to make love. That was scary enough, I’m sure.”
“I did not kill myself. Know that.”
After a long moment, he nodded. “I believe you now. Totally.”
She ran her fingers through his long hair in appreciation. “And I thought you beautiful, my love.”
He smiled languidly. “Yeah, pretty much got that one figured out, too.”
She settled her cheek against the pillow, their faces only a few inches apart. Neither spoke for several minutes; they just lay there, drinking the other in. She studied every line and scar and mark upon his face, lifted a fingertip to a mole she’d never noticed, close to his left ear.
Oddly, she wondered whether his wife had ever done the same, reached out and touched that one detail of his stunning body. “Did your sons have any moles?”
He didn’t answer at first, and she wondered whether perhaps she’d pushed him too hard about his past. Then with a laugh, he said, “They all had a birthmark. Same one as me.” He lifted the long hair from his nape, turning so she could see a small red blotch. “Family gift. Kalias has it, too; Ajax doesn’t.”
But then he grew more thoughtful. “You know, if I’d seen my sons again—even once—my heart would have died inside me. I was aware of it from the beginning, that my life had ended, or at least my normal, human one, and so I never turned back. Let them mourn me however they saw fit, and just . . . lived my duty. My bargain was to save them, and I’d done that. But it didn’t mean I could watch from the hidden places—not when I couldn’t approach them, or talk to them, or . . .” He blew out a breath. “Love them.”
“What of your wife?” It was impossible not to voice the question. “You loved her, as well?”
“I cared for her, but it was nothing like I felt for you from the first,” he answered with a sideways glance. “We were childhood friends, given to each other at birth by arrangement between our fathers. I don’t think she found me very handsome, nor did she care for my humor.” He smiled then. “You, on the other hand, understood me from the get-go. You were the woman I’d longed for, the one I’d kept hoping to find in the back alley of some century, the dusty corner of a random decade. Little did I know that you’d be waiting for me, all flouncy and proper in good ole 1893.”
She played her fingertips across several feathers, pretending they were ivory piano keys, a Chopin piece tinkling through her mind. “I wanted to be a spinster, you know. It was my grand plan. Until I met you.”
“So independent,” he said with a throaty growl. “Turned me flat on, woman. Still does.”
“I do adore your wings,” she admitted with a shy smile. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Wish I’d known that years ago.”
She rubbed her hand across his right wing, the one he had tucked across her bare body. “I do not understand why you ever thought otherwise.” She scowled, thinking back. “Which means that several mysteries remain
unsolved
.”
“You said someone else was in your room.”
She fought against the hazy shroud of memory, reaching with all her strength and will to recall who that person had been. A shadowy figure emerged.
Clinging to Ari, she pressed harder, determined to learn the being’s identity.
Ari was at the window, beautiful, waiting, but then someone called her name.
She turned; his deep voice was commanding. “Don’t open that door,” she heard him warn.
She tried to walk toward Ari, but the man moved closer, threatening. Some warning was issued, but she couldn’t hear it now, couldn’t recall.
The image grew dark and vanished once again.
“It was a man!” she cried. “Yes . . . but . . . no.” She shook her head again. “Not a man. A
male
.”
He leaned up onto his elbows. “You’re saying there’s a difference.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to visualize details from that long-ago night. “It was a male presence. I’m not sure if he was truly a man, though. Do you understand?”
He studied her with interest. “He might not have been human?”
“I was a medium, Aristos. Perhaps he was a spirit of sorts.”
“Or a demon,” he added, eyes alert and bright. “I was in Savannah with my . . . uh . . . job. Trailing a nasty demon trader. A badass entity that had figured out how to convert mortal souls into demonic ones. Not just possession . . . I’m talking turning humans to the darkest side, the vilest kind of transmutation, and against their human wills.”
“Did you ever find that man?” she asked, wondering whether maybe there was a connection between the fuzzy memories she had of a male entity in her room, and his work at the time.
He paled visibly. “Never. He left town, eluding me. We didn’t hear of him again.” Ari took her hand in his. “Jules, darling. Are you telling me you think that Caesar Vaella—that was his name—are you saying he might have been the one who came into your room that night?”
She reached into her recollections, but no matter how hard she tried to penetrate the veil, she could not clarify the male’s identity. “I don’t know, but I am certain,” she said, growing fully convinced, “that whoever or whatever came into my room that night was unknown to me—and was male.”
“If it was him,” Ari said, still appearing highly unsettled. “Then it was my work and nature that caused your death. Jules, God. I’m so sorry.”
She wrapped her arms about him, pressing her cheek against his heart, relishing the vital sound of its beating. “We do not know that. And even if that’s true, that wouldn’t be your fault.”
“It might have been an act of retribution against me. Meant to scare me off his trail . . . or worse.”
“Worse?”
“He might have intended to capture your own soul, and . . .”
She understood the direction of his reasoning. “Maybe my own gifts proved too strong for that, but somehow he lured me toward the river?”
“Or used some of his demon horde, all in an effort to strike at me.”
“Again, you cannot blame yourself! What you do—I can’t even fathom the kinds of evil you battle, the importance of it.”
“But if I’d told you more about what I was—”
“I distinctly recall, Aristos, that you did not tell me sooner out of a desire to protect me. I would never blame you or fault you for that. You are not guilty, and my fate should not be on your conscience. I’ve returned; now we are together. Those are the only things that matter.”
“What of the years when you waited here in Savannah for me? Searching for me?” he asked.
She cupped his cheek, looking deep into his eyes. “Darling, love has many costs. It is our greatest joy as humans, but also our gravest pain. I knew this when I fell in love with you. Knew that you were not human. It was a risk I gladly undertook.”
He said nothing, stroking her hair for many long moments, and then whispered, “And if it’s true that a demon trader targeted you, it means I spent a century blaming
you
for my own deeds.”
Juliana dozed, lost in a dreamy half place where all that mattered was Ari: his body next to her, the rushing tide of love and pleasure that hummed through her. And the fact that he slept beside her, snoring lightly and fully at peace.
The moment was rare and precious.
Still, a disturbing sensation seemed to be edging closer, circling up against her thoughts like some vulture wanting to attack Ari and their newly reestablished love. The dream moved in on her, more threatening, seizing hold of her. She tried clutching at Ari’s side, but she was lost in the water.
It was so deep, the waves so high, that she kept sucking down gulps of it. She worked her arms to try to stay afloat, but her dress was soaked, pulling her lower and lower.
Aristos! I do not want to die!
She tried screaming the words, feeling the suction of the river. It meant to claim her. She began to feel tendrils wrap about her ankles and kicked at them, but the thick folds of her dress and bustle made the fight impossible.
The creatures hissed and moved up around her thighs, then caught her about the waist.
Even submerged, she could hear their laughter. “Daughter! Daughter is ours,” they taunted. “Into the water; here you belong.” They kept repeating those words like a wicked, deathly chant.
She tried to breathe, but her mouth filled with more water.
Aristos! I do not leave you willingly!
she screamed inside the prison of her mind . . . as everything went black.
But then, just as quickly, light encircled her, the water was gone—and she stood on West Jones Street. It was still stormy, yes, but . . . different. There were fast-moving carriages, and she’d held Ari tonight, hadn’t she?
Suddenly a woman approached her, and unlike so many of those always around her, this beautiful person could see her; in fact, she was walking right toward her.
Yes! This was the one who’d allowed her to come back
, Juliana thought, and smiled joyously. It was her angel!
“I thought you’d rather not have that awful dream,” the glorious being told her. “Nasty business that, and no real need for you to confront those memories.”
“Was that how I died?” Perhaps this woman would know and could answer some of her many questions. Juliana glanced down the street. “This looks like the moment when we made our arrangement, but I’m alive again.”
“Oh, you’re alive again, and I’m communicating with you in your dreams. It’s the only way I can surface. For now.”
“Surface?”
“Poor choice of words for a woman who drowned herself, I suppose. I have a great love of irony—one reason I was so enthusiastic about offering you our special bargain.”
Juliana fought a sense of confusion at the angel’s words and tone, which seemed cruel and taunting.
“You told me you could help me live again, be with my Aristos.”
“And you are alive. I fulfilled my portion of the agreement.”
The entity’s face, which had seemed so kind and lovely before, suddenly transformed, becoming threatening and harsh. Her eyes assumed a rapacious gleam that caused Juliana to shiver. “This is only a dream,
friend
. I had to speak with you in this quiet place, while you slept.”
Juliana nodded, trying to understand. “There is something required from me? In repayment for your wonderful gift of life?” she inquired of the woman. “I . . . I don’t recall any such part to our arrangement.”
“Of course not. I wanted it that way. And it was better for our purposes.” She smiled sympathetically at Juliana, but that expression was chilling, not an encouragement. All that beauty seemed to be an overstatement, a garish attempt to hide an uglier aspect lying underneath.
The angel had thick mahogany hair that waved all the way down her back to her hips, utterly unlike the conservative style she’d displayed before. Now instead of being intricately braided atop her head, it fell like an exotic covering, the only garment that concealed her breasts. Upon her hips, she wore a low-slung skirt, a sheer wrap that gleamed with pearls and jewels. They sparkled in a suggestive pinnacle at the front, emphasizing her intimate area. Not concealing, but highlighting the tufts of dark hair that gleamed beneath the fabric. Before, she’d been in a golden robe, clad as Juliana had always imagined an angel would be.
“I am grateful,” Juliana said, remembering her manners. “Very thankful for what you’ve allowed me.”
The woman gave a flourish of her hand, smiling again. “But of course,
Juliana
.”