Beloved Forever Part 10

Emily lifted a bag of mulch from the rickety shelf against the back wall and dropped it on the ground.

She used it for a makes.h.i.+ft seat and sat down to wait, ensuring she could see the position of the sun through the small window before trying to get as comfortable as possible.

* * * * * She had planned to tell time with the sun's position, but forgot she had no idea how to do that. Emily managed to steal a couple of hours of sleep without dreaming, before the sound of car doors slamming and the sudden swell of heartbeats in her immediate vicinity woke her.

She rose and stretched her tight muscles before slipping from the shed. Emily hovered near the building, watching as nearly the whole town gathered near a plot halfway across the cemetery.

She looked up and saw several people were walking too close for her comfort. Emily ducked around the side of the shed and searched for the sungla.s.ses in her jacket pocket. After putting them on and hiding her hair and as much of her face as possible under the hood, she slipped back around the shed to watch the service from a distance.

Her newly improved vision aided her in seeing just one coffin near a mound of dirt covered by a blue tarp. She could make out the droning words of the Episcopalian minister as he said a final blessing for Sara, but tuned him out. Her gaze remained locked on the white coffin, as she envisioned the white dress Sara had bought for the Christmas dance during their last shopping trip into NYC, just a few days before the carnival.

Her focus s.h.i.+fted at the sound of someone breathing nearby. She jerked her head up and saw a blond-haired man in a dark suit staring at her. He wore large sungla.s.ses that hid his eyes and obscured his expression. Emily ducked her head and took a step away. When she looked back, he was following her, so she broke into a run, obeying her body's order to escape.

She ran into the street without looking and screamed when a car stopped inches from her. Emily's sluggish heartbeat seemed to be pounding in her ears, and she had barely regained her breath when the door opened and Nicholas leaned out enough to see her.

"Get in," he said in a crisp voice. "You've stayed away long enough."

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the man who had paused at the side of the road, then back at Nicholas. It was clear that her immediate future lay with Nicholas, so she walked to the pa.s.senger side and slid inside. He pulled away quickly, and she turned her head back in the direction of the man in the dark suit. His head remained turned in their direction until Nicholas turned a corner. For a moment, she felt safe, before remembering who sat beside her in the driver's seat of the black Subaru Forester. She wondered what her punishment would be for escaping him. He was not a forgiving man.

Chapter Seven.

She didn't want to be the first to break the tense silence, so Emily stared out the tinted windows of the Forester, waiting for him to lash out at her.

"There's sunscreen in the glove compartment." His tone was bland. "It should protect your arm by the window until we get back to the city."

Her eyes widened. Sunscreen? His first words to her were about sunscreen? As she fumbled for the sunscreen, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, out the side of the thick sungla.s.ses. He looked different in the sunlight. His gleaming black hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of his neck. He wore jeans and a white polo s.h.i.+rt with long sleeves. He could have been any other driver on the road. His relaxed posture and one-handed grip on the steering wheel suggested he was comfortable driving. His very ordinariness made her even more frightened of his response to her running away. Would he be so calm and at ease when he tortured her?

"Would you like music? I usually forget to turn it on."

She licked her lips. "Uh, sure." Anything that filled the silence had to be good.

They reached for the dial at the same time, and their hands brushed against each other. Emily immediately jerked away and pressed herself into the seat. He looked briefly in her direction before turning on the radio and returning his attention to the road. Was this part of her punishment? Did he intend to drive her mad with fear and worry before he hurt her?

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a conversational tone.

She cursed herself for forgetting he could read her thoughts.

"Not all of them. Just your strongest emotions."

"Oh." Her voice was a hoa.r.s.e croak. "Why?"

"That's when our connection is strongest-"

"No. Why aren't you going to hurt me?" She forced the words through the thickness in her throat, suddenly anxious to have it done with. "I ran away. You must have searched for me for hours."

He shook his head. "I knew exactly where to find you."

"How?"

"I sent you here, Emily."

Her mouth dropped open, and a strangled sound emerged from her lips. "What?"

"I allowed you to leave. I've guided each of your movements since you broke through the balcony door." He looked at her for a second, and his mouth twisted. "I'm surprised you fell, I'll admit. I should have remembered you aren't used to your new abilities yet."

A million questions rushed through her head, but only one emerged. "Why did you take away the ladder then?"

"I couldn't make it too easy for you to leave."

"I don't understand." Emily clutched her hands in her lap. "Why would you do this?"

"So you could see for yourself there's no going back." He stopped speaking as he merged into the exit lane. "You wouldn't have taken my word for it." She pushed back the hood of the jacket as sweat coursed down her face. "How do I know any of it was true? You could have set up everything-"

He nodded. "I arranged for that particular driver to pick you up and relay the news of your friends."

Nicholas chuckled. "Didn't you wonder why he was willing to take such a low fare for the drive to Huxley?"

She frowned, realizing how small a fee one hundred forty dollars was for a cabbie driving that distance, round-trip. A small flutter of hope stirred when it penetrated her thoughts how he had manipulated her.

"The rest is an illusion too."

"Even what your brother said?" He shook his head. "The FBI agent chasing you was real, Emily.

Everything you discovered last night is the truth. I knew you had to see your past before we could move on to the future."

"We aren't moving anywhere," she snapped. "I want nothing to do with you."

He seemed unconcerned by her defiance. "You'll change your mind."

She lapsed into a sullen silence as they reentered the city, refusing to even look at him as he negotiated through traffic and turned down Bleecker. A few blocks later, he pulled into a parking garage. Curiosity caused her to break the silence. "What are you doing?"

"There's no parking near the apartment building." He rounded the corner of the first level and parked beside a red Cadillac. "We walk from here."

She got out of the Forester reluctantly, unconvinced he wouldn't turn violent as soon as they entered the apartment, and the car seemed moderately safer. She resisted when he picked up her hand, struggling to pull away. Emily hissed with pain when he tightened his grip. With a glare, she submitted to his hold as they walked to the elevator.

Two other people were in the car when the doors opened. They were glued to each other and whispering softly, punctuating every few words with breathy giggles. Both seemed oblivious to sharing the elevator with Nicholas and Emily as it whisked them to street level.

They stepped out of the elevator and left the small building housing it. The sidewalk was full of activity, and the autumn sun burned high in the sky. Emily's skin felt hot, and she put up the hood of her jacket.

She glanced at Nicholas, who seemed unaffected.

"It's all in your head," he said softly. "Yes, the sun is stronger to us, but it isn't really burning you beyond a mild sunburn. You've been influenced by too many years of exposure to the media version of our kind."

She s.h.i.+vered when he said "our kind". She wanted to protest she wasn't any kind, but it would be a waste of breath. Last night, she had accepted what she was, but wasn't ready to hear a reminder every time he spoke.

He moved with fluid grace, seeming to dart through every small opening between the other pedestrians.

Emily felt like a graceless klutz next to him, as she tried to mimic his movements. To her surprise, her gait grew smoother when she concentrated on the way each muscle moved. She was keenly aware of every aspect of her body, from the sluggish heartbeat in her ears, to the muscles in her legs bunching as shewalked.

"Beautiful." Nicholas gave her a tender smile. "You'll soon be able to move like this without thinking about it."

His praise broke her concentration, and she stumbled. He was there to catch her, and she crashed against his chest. Their faces were inches apart, and Emily's breath caught in her throat when she met his eyes. She could see and feel how strongly he believed she was beautiful. It made her feel beautiful and sensual, as if she was a creature of sensation, without consequence. She wanted to sink against him and feel his lips on hers. She wanted more than that, and her body clamored for her to give in to her urgings.

Her own desires frightened her more than his. She cleared her throat and pushed against him. His arms dropped away, and he took a step back as she swayed unsteadily for a second before regaining her balance.

He took her hand again, and they continued down Bleecker. As they pa.s.sed the alley, a wave of fatigue swept through Emily, and her head started pounding. Her legs turned to jelly and refused to move her forward.

"You must be starving and exhausted." Nicholas put his arm around her waist and led her to the front of the brownstone. She leaned heavily on him, unable to muster the energy to walk on her own. "I hadn't planned on your fall, or I would have rations on hand. I'm afraid you'll have to make do."

She didn't bother to ask for clarification as they entered the foyer and bypa.s.sed the rows of mailboxes.

Nicholas took her straight to the elevator and propped her against him while they waited for the car to appear. She questioned how suddenly the wave of exhaustion swept through her, but was too tired to focus on what was happening or even be suspicious of Nicholas. Part of her suspected he was manipulating her again, but she didn't care right then. All she wanted was to sleep for years. Her stomach growled, reminding her she wanted to eat too. Her mouth watered when she thought of blood.

Intellectually, her reaction disgusted her, but she couldn't deny she craved the taste.

On the fourth floor, Nicholas lifted her into his arms and carried her to apartment 4-A. He rang the bell with his elbow, and Tremont opened the door within seconds. He looked alarmed as they walked past him, and he followed behind.

Emily wanted to rea.s.sure him, but couldn't lift her head from Nicholas's chest. It was too comfortable being held in his arms, and she wanted to tell him to put her down, but was afraid of falling. A part of her didn't want to lose the connection with him. She quickly squashed that thought.

Nicholas pushed open the door to her room and laid her on the bed before he turned to Tremont. "Bring blood."

"There's only a tiny bit left from the last s.h.i.+pment you received from the blood bank, master."

"Blood bank?" Emily asked in a daze.

He smoothed the hair off her face. "They believe I suffer from a rare illness that requires constant transfusions. It's convenient to sustain us, but we still need fresh blood." He turned back to Tremont, saying, "Bring what you can find. It should tide her over until tonight."

Emily's tongue felt thick when she asked, "What happens tonight?" He removed his sungla.s.ses and hung an earpiece in the pocket of his jeans. "It's time you learned to feed on your own."

She feebly shook her head.

He touched her cheek. His tone was firm when he spoke. "You will hunt and eat if I have to force the blood down your throat."

She wanted to protest his dictate, but couldn't find the energy. She didn't even fight when Nicholas took off her sungla.s.ses and hoodie. She put up her hands when he pulled at the T-s.h.i.+rt, but he pushed past her weak resistance. She tried to roll off the bed when he went to the dresser for pajamas, but didn't make it far.

He treated her like a recalcitrant child as he removed her jeans and slid on the pajama pants. His dark eyes burned brightly when he removed her bra, but his fingers were quick and efficient with the top.

Soon, she was dressed and under the covers.

"I want to shower," she whispered.

"Later."

Tremont knocked on the door and entered with a winegla.s.s of deep-red liquid. Nicholas took it from him and sat on the bed beside her. He lifted and propped her against his arm, then held the gla.s.s to her lips.

She consumed the blood eagerly, blotting out the part of her urging to spit it in his face. Emily drained the last drop and whimpered, wanting more. She licked the rim of the gla.s.s, then her own lips, catching his eyes as they followed her tongue. She heard him groan, and a small smile teased the corners of her mouth. He pulled the gla.s.s away, and she reached for it. "More."

"Tonight," he said in a soothing voice. "Sleep now and recover some measure of strength." Before he had even gotten up from the bed, she was asleep.

1664, Virginia Elspeth looked up from the hearth as Griselda burst into the room. She tucked a strand of auburn hair escaping her mobcap behind her ear and stepped away from the hot fire. "It is about time you showed up. I do not want to stand here all day."

Griselda waved a hand, ignoring her sister's rebuke. "He is here."

Her eyes widened. "Whom?"

"Vallsade, the trapper." A teasing glint appeared in her blue eyes. "But I suppose you do not care, sister?"

Elspeth's cheeks bloomed with color, and her eyes darted to the doorway. "Shush," she hissed. "You cannot speak of such things. What if Johanna heard you? She would run to the master." Griselda lowered her voice. "I heard him tell Abel he would stay the night if Lord Tremont permitted. He is pa.s.sing through on his way to Jamestown."

A giddy sensation swept through Elspeth, and she had to fight back a giggle. She longed to tear off her ap.r.o.n and run to greet Nicholas properly, but couldn't. Instead, she returned her attention to the bubbling stew and struggled to appear calm. "Mr. Vallsade always has such interesting stories."

Her sister giggled and started to say more, but Johanna's arrival caused her mouth to close with a click.

The housekeeper eyed them both with displeasure, pursing her mouth. As always, an immaculate striped dress and roomy ap.r.o.n covered her rail-thin body. Not a strand of her mousy brown hair peeked out of the lap cap. "You appear short of tasks, Griselda. Allow me to fill your time."

"I-".

She ignored the interruption. "The hearth in the main hall needs a good cleaning."

Griselda grimaced. "But I cleaned it two days ago."

Johanna's smile was cold. "Clean it again." She cast a disparaging glance at Elspeth. "Heaven knows Lord Tremont would not wish your sister to leave the kitchens for something so menial as scooping cinders." Her mouth twisted. "He values her culinary skills too highly."

With a sigh, Griselda inclined her head and scurried from the kitchen.

Elspeth's shoulders tensed as she awaited instructions and scathing remarks from the slightly older woman. The last thing she wanted to do was stand there during one of the housekeeper's tirades when Nicholas was so close.

"Culinary skills," she repeated in a low voice. She shook her head. "Lord Tremont will have a visitor this evening. Ensure you have proper food, and not the slop from last night."

She bit back a retort about the slop from the night before, because she didn't have permission to speak unreservedly to Johanna, who was a freewoman. "Yes, ma'am."

With another sniff, Johanna left the kitchen. When she was gone, Elspeth laid the ladle on the wooden table and sat on a stool. She cast an anxious glance at the door leading out the back of the cross-plan house. She wondered if Nicholas would try to see her immediately. As much as her heart yearned for a glimpse of his face, she knew it would be too risky. If Lord Tremont caught them, he might extend the length of her contract as punishment for disobeying him.

She rose from the stool and went to the bowl of dough, lifting the cloth and removing the lump to knead it briskly. A small smile darted across her mouth when she imagined Johanna's face on the bread dough.

How satisfying it would be to pound her against the table a few times.