Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (26 page)

So I waited. His fear was so tangible in the steam that pain lanced through my chest, stopping my breath. It was the pain of my heart breaking for him, for the horror he’d lived for so long and the disbelief he carried that I would, indeed, survive him again.

I touched a kiss on each of his cheeks, though he wouldn’t look at me. “I can feel your pain, Asher. But nothing’s going to hurt me. Especially not you. We’re okay.”

He dropped his forehead to my shoulder and shuddered. “I’m not okay. I don’t know how to be okay.”

The gravity of it all—murder, fear, sex, the love between us we didn’t know how to describe to each other—sank in. I wrapped myself around him every way I could as his shoulders shook and he tried to hide his ragged gasps of emotion.

No, he wasn’t okay.

But he would be someday, if he let me have anything to say about it. The water washed away the salt of our mutual tears as Asher clung to me with more vulnerability than I’d ever seen from him. I cherished his honesty, and the emotion dwindled behind my hands exploring every muscle of his body. He hardened anew inside me, desire exploding like fireworks through my system. He moved once more, unwilling to pull away from me until he was spent for a second time and the water ran cold.

He found the courage to withdraw, then, and I shouted with the ecstasy of another climax as the aura between us burst brilliant blue: he absorbed me, and I absorbed him. As we did before, as we were meant to do forever. He drank in the release, cupping my face, kissing me again.

Wrapped around him once more in the bed, fresh sheets beneath us soaked by shower water, Asher took both of my hands in his and clasped them to his chest, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips. “Aria.”

“Hmm?” I returned his smile, warmed by his skin on mine, this perfect man who made love to me, who showed me a home I never expected.

“I’ve done some terrible things,” he said. “I’ve lied to you. But I need you to believe this. I love you with every moment of everything I am. You’re everything, and I want you forever.”

My breath caught. He loved me, too. I didn’t know what to say, so I lunged forward, kissing him, tasting his breath. “I love you,” I finally managed through his fervent kisses. “I fucking love you so much, Asher. Thank you, thank you for everything you are.”

And then I was lost in the flawless pleasure he offered, and I matched his pace, needing him to the same intensity he needed me. I couldn’t count the number of times I peaked and fell around him, but he drove me on, stroking me inside, forcing me to come over and over again until I begged him to finish, to grant me the final climax, the aura between us that illuminated the cabin. It might as well have illuminated the whole world.

Asher loved me, too. Our souls burned brighter with every release.

I didn’t count the nights as they passed. Time didn’t matter anymore—I wasn’t a ticking time-bomb waiting to go off. I wouldn’t slip up and snap, I wouldn’t take someone’s life without thinking.

I wouldn’t take life at all anymore, and I struggled to wrap my head around the reality of that. Aria was my way out of killing. I wished I’d found her long ago.

Aria’s emotion swelled from time to time, her fears about taking a life tumbling forth. I just held her as she got it out of her system, let her blame me and apologize for it, and when she quieted down she usually drifted into a deep sleep. I knew this feeling so well: guilt, disbelief, and shock. The difference was that she had me to comfort her, to wipe away her remorse with affection, and though I knew I couldn’t take it all away, I did my best to soothe her.

When sleep overtook her fretful soul, I lay awake beside her, unable to stop the tsunami of my own remorse that emerged. She didn’t need to see this part of me. Dealing with the awakening of a succubus inside her was enough without my bullshit. I might not be okay, but I’d make damn sure she was.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, trying to stop the images as they flashed before my vision. Eyes, over and over. The eyes of Kellie, Jeanne, Tami, and so many more. Their eyes were so cold, lifeless, and I couldn’t sleep for fear of the dreams I knew lurked behind slumber.

Some nights, I watched the sky, searching for shooting stars or some sign that I deserved the joy I’d found in Aria. Other nights, I simply watched her sleep. Days ticked by and still I couldn’t rest.

On the edge of the bed once more, the memory of Anita refused to dwindle. My first. My girlfriend, a girl I loved. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyelids, but I couldn’t shake the image of her dead gaze, and the sick feeling in my core that I’d taken pleasure from sex before I knew it could kill. Her eyes were frozen in my memory, stuck open and dead. My tattoo itched, so I scratched it once, hard, and with the motion I swore I saw my fingers closing Anita’s eyes, as I’d done what seemed like forever ago.

“Hey,” Aria’s voice shocked me alert as she stroked my back with a tentative touch. Had I been pleading out loud for the memories to stop?

I met her gaze. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Talk to me, Asher.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to lay all the horror on her. She deserved so much better than that. “I can’t shake the past,” I admitted.

She rubbed my back again. “We can’t change anything in the past. All we can do now is take comfort in each other, and the truth that we never need to go back to our dark places.”

I nodded, but my mind still raced. How could I take comfort in her when I knew I didn’t deserve her?

Aria took my fingers and pulled me to the pillow beside her. She wrapped my arm around her and tucked my hand between her breasts. I splayed out my fingers as she snuggled her backside against me, and her heartbeat thumped lightly into my palm.

I buried my face in her hair and inhaled, the sensation of her heartbeat lulled some of the memories away. Her even breathing reminded me she was alive, and the horror of my life was over. I could move out of the darkness with her, a woman who showed me the possibility of light.

Her vitality smoothed over some of my jagged remorse as I held her, and finally, sleep let me sink down beneath its silent warmth.

“We need to get out of the house,” I said over breakfast, taking a sip of my steaming coffee. “We haven’t even put clothes on in four days.”

“Has it been four days?” Asher asked.

I looked him over from sexy head to sexy toe. “Six, since we arrived here, but four since we stopped getting dressed.”

Asher smirked and dug back into his cereal. How could a man still look so perfect while devouring a mixing bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch stark naked? I giggled and sipped my coffee again, happy his mood from last night seemed somewhat resolved.

He smiled in reply and drank the last of the milk in the bowl, and then rose to take it back to the kitchen. He kissed me on top of my head as he passed, heading to the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

I waited, enjoying my coffee, and he came back down the stairs dressed in khaki cargo pants and a black, button-down shirt, open to the third button with that effortless coolness he wore so well.

“Hey!” I protested. “I wasn’t complaining that we haven’t put on clothes.”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re right. We need to get out of the house, so get dressed and I’ll be back in an hour.”

I frowned. “Can’t I go with you?”

“You will, later.” He grabbed the keys to the Sissy and stooped to kiss me before he left, his scent ringing of toothpaste and Old Spice.

I finished my coffee and had a shower, and as I was pulling on a pair of dark jeans beneath my black, lace-layered shirt, the Sissy rumbled back into the long driveway of the cabin.

I met him at the door, and he wore a sneaky grin. He took my hand and pulled me to the car, tucking me into the seat without a word.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, I got sick of fidgeting and wondering where we were going. I opened my mouth to say something snarky about keeping secrets, when the sign for Gooseberry Falls State Park materialized before us. I shot him a surprised look.

“You did say you like waterfalls, right?” he asked.

I nodded and rolled down the window as we slowed, taking in the scents of humidity.

The park was so empty, it didn’t take me long to figure out Asher had paid someone off so we could have the place to ourselves. We took off on the trails, hand-in-hand, and the fresh, vibrant greenery around trickling falls—some taller than me, and some only knee-high—excited my mood. His hand was warm and strong in mine, and he settled us at a picnic table near a roaring series of falls tumbling into one another in a constant barrage of white that broke on the rocks and left a mist in the air. Birds flitted overhead, accustomed to visitors in the park. I sat on the tabletop and drew a deep breath with my eyes closed, romanced by this gesture, the mist tickling my sinuses like morning dew.

“I’m so glad I’m not at work right now,” I said. I could really get used to this kind of thing . . . Asher’s exclusivity, his finesse, the way he made every moment just that extra special by flexing his wallet muscle. Just because he wanted to, just because he could.

I opened my eyes and Asher wasn’t where I expected him to be, sitting beside me. He was before me on one knee, and I shook my head, confused. I trailed my gaze along the line of his arm, and I settled on a box in his hand with a glittering ring inside it, sapphires and diamonds in the shape of a flower, the petals blue, and transparent, shimmering clear stones around them.

My edit button fell into a waterfall and tumbled down through the rapids as I stared, slack-jawed, at the jewels and the immaculate man holding them. “Oh my fucking God, that must have cost a fortune.”

“Aria Hyacinthe,” Asher said, his eyes glowing with humor and sincerity, “will you marry me? Velcro yourself to me in every way possible?”

Emotion rose in my throat, but I let out a giggle instead of crying. His eyes widened with surprise, and then I launched myself at him and tackled him to the wet ground, ruining his shirt as I kissed him. He laughed against my lips.

“Of course I will, Asher,” I said, breathless. “Of course I will.”

Gypsy wasn’t about to waste a moment of time once I told her of our engagement
.
She arranged everything within a day, and set a date two weeks out. I rented the entire property of Grand Superior Lodge—the hotel and all the classy log cabins—for guests. Mom and Dad’s old friends RSVP’d with eagerness, and Gypsy made some calls to the other guests.

My sister pitched half a fit when I asked her to take Aria to pick out a dress. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help, but the intimacy of selecting the gown made her uncomfortable, she explained after she threw a hurricane of curses at me. I told her she just needed to nod, smile, and swipe my credit card for whatever Aria wanted, and she agreed to go. They returned home in a sneaky humor and wouldn’t show me what they purchased, even when I begged Aria in private.

“Gypsy would be disappointed,” she explained. “We picked everything with you in mind.”

I shook my head with protest. “The wedding day is supposed to be about
you
, not about me.”

“No, it’s about
life
, lived together. And the day is for
you,
Asher, the incubus I love. You deserve this.”

I didn’t have words to express the gratitude that surged through my soul at her words, and the pride that my sister cared about me enough to bite down her objections, though she often couldn’t show it the way she might have wanted to. So I said nothing, only took Aria into my arms and tossed her onto the bed, where I worshipped her perfect body for hours with mine.

Morning broke over the beach
off the back of my cabin, all pinks and blues in the sky as the sunlight warmed the glittering water. I ate a few dozen eggs and we drove north to the lodge. I settled Aria into her bridal cabin at the Grand Superior Lodge and said some polite hellos as guests admired the log cabins, adorned with cascading arrangements in every shade of blue and white flowers. Gypsy really outdid herself, and I found it a little bit funny that the first extravagant wedding in the family was mine, not hers.

I sobered a bit at the realization that because of me, Gypsy had never found an opportunity to pursue her own happiness. Marriage, for her, must seem so far out of reach. At least now she didn’t need to take care of my bullshit anymore. Maybe now she’d have time to find a match for herself, if I could keep my protectiveness enough at bay to not scare off the person she chose.

I double-checked that security staff was adequate for the size of the event just before the guests of honor arrived in a limousine. I greeted the two men with a vigorous handshake and the woman with a cordial kiss on the hand. Gypsy and I led them to Aria’s bridal cabin. I let us through the door, and winked at Aria perched up on the kitchen table, painting her toenails. She glanced up and grinned at me, and then her grin faded as she took in the sight of the people who followed me into the cabin.

I crossed the open space of the ornate, log cabin to her side. I steadied her as she stared at the man behind Gypsy. My sister introduced him smoothly: Dorian Nikolaos, just arrived from Greece. Aria’s father.

He was enormous, bigger than me, and the black starbursts of his pupils confirmed what Gypsy suspected: he was an incubus. The only other incubus we’d found despite years of research. I suppressed a wave of territorial protectiveness that swept over me in such close proximity to another of my kind. I knew, firsthand, the danger an incubus presented to all the ordinary people out there, waiting to celebrate my marriage. Butting antlers with Aria’s father wouldn’t make this meeting easier, so I kept my expression serene as my bride nervously wrung her fingers in her lap.

She slid off the table and wavered on her feet, so I wrapped my arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, “I’m here if you need me.”

She stepped forward, wide-eyed, and Dorian took her hand, admiring his daughter. “Let me introduce Draven Nikolaos, my eldest son,” he gestured to the man behind himself, also an incubus with a low-tied brown ponytail, “and Charlotte Hyacinthe, my other daughter.”