Tales of the Otherworld (9 page)

He laughed again. “Both then. Bali first. This weekend. The best hotel I can find.”

“That’s very sweet.” I toyed with the front clasp on my bra. “But the
weekend’s kind of far away, don’t you think?” I slipped out of my bra. “Three days. Four if we can’t get away until Saturday.” I tugged my panties down over my hips. “How many hours is that?”

“Sixty-five,” he said, his voice hoarse as he watched me. “If I can get away early Friday afternoon.”

I laughed. “Already figured it out? Well, then, if you can wait that long …”

His gaze lifted, with some difficulty, to my eyes. “Not really, but I want—”

“—to be a gentleman. Treat me right. Which is probably the sweetest thing a guy has ever done. Under the circumstances, though …” I slipped off my panties. “Making
me
wait doesn’t seem very chivalrous.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You have a point.”

“I absolutely have a point. And, while I do appreciate the sentiment, the most thoughtful, considerate thing you could do right now would be—”

He covered the distance between us and cut me off with a kiss, then showed me just how considerate he could be.

We still went to Bali that weekend. Monaco followed a month later. Both were just overnighters, but that was fine. If Kristof had turned out to be the kind of guy who’d start ignoring his kids when he got a new girlfriend, then he wouldn’t be the kind of guy I wanted to be with.

As a lover, Kristof was everything I could have wanted. Passionate and thoughtful—in bed and out of it. That was new for me. It was all new for me. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school, and this was so far removed from that, I considered myself a relationship virgin. I think Kristof was, too. That sounds strange for a divorced guy, but everything I’d heard about his wife led me to believe that it had been a marriage of convenience, as Cabal ones often are. They select human wives from the upper echelons of society, where women are happy to marry into money and don’t care to know the details.

Kristof had needed a wife and sons. She’d been suitable on both counts. He’d been fine with that, too—sex and emotion were as incompatible in his world as they’d been in mine. Together, we realized how
wrong we’d been. You could have both. A friend and a lover—one person to share everything with, one person you could completely be yourself with.

We knew it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. We didn’t say that, of course. We just wrung as much from it as we could, while we could.

We’d been lovers for almost six months when Kristof got the rare vacation from both kids and work. His brother was taking the boys on a trip, and things were slow at the office, so Kristof took the week off. Then he booked a week in Acapulco for us.

It was an amazing week. Even as a couple, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. That was mutual—we had our own lives and needed the room to live them separately, which made us appreciate those moments of intersection all the more. Having a whole week together was bliss.

We didn’t spend every moment of it side by side, of course. I went into town and scoured the local underground spell shops. Kristof spent a few hours each day on the phone, taking care of business. But we were together more than we ever had been, and it was wonderful.

On our last night together, I was on the balcony, drinking beer and admiring the sunset. Kristof had gotten us a villa so private I could lounge on the deck, wearing only one of his shirts. I’m not the type to do that if there’s any chance of being spotted. I value my privacy with a ferocity matched only by Kristof’s.

He was inside, making his nightly call to his boys as he cooked dinner. When he came out, I had my feet on the railing, enjoying the last rays of sunshine. I opened my eyes to see him watching me, plates in hand.

“You look good,” he said.

“Hold that thought, because right now, what looks
really
good is that steak.”

He laughed and set the plates down on the patio table, then refilled his Scotch glass.

“How are the boys?” I asked.

“Good. Bryce is getting into trouble. Sean’s holding down the fort. The usual.” He took a long drink of his Scotch, then looked at me. “I’d like you to meet them, Eve.”

“What?”

He frowned. “You don’t want to?”

I set down my knife. “No. I definitely want to. I’d love to. Only I’m
not sure how you plan to work that. Do you mean,
see
them? Like go to one of their games, watch from the stands? Or
meet
them? Introduce me as a friend, go out for ice cream.”

“I mean introduce you as what you are. The woman I’m in love with.”

My heart skipped a beat. I had to struggle for breath.

“Or maybe not,” he said slowly. “Okay. If that’s not what you want.”

“Stop that,” I snapped. “You just hit me with this out of the blue. I think I’m entitled to be a bit thrown, okay?”

“And a bit upset, obviously.”

“No, a
lot
upset, Kris.” I pushed the plate away and stood, then waved at his Scotch. “I hope you’ve had a lot more of those than I think you have, because otherwise, I don’t know what the hell is going through your head right now.”

His lips tightened, eyes chilling. “What’s going through my head is thinking that I love you, and I want to be with you, not just grabbing minutes when we can. I want to share my life with you.”

“Tell your family, you mean. Everyone. Including your father.”

“Of course.”

“And how long of a life expectancy do you think I’d have after that?”

He stopped, glass halfway to his mouth, and went completely still and pale, and I knew he hadn’t planned this, or even thought it through.

He put the tumbler down. “I’d never let anything happen to you, Eve.
Never.
” He straightened. “I want this. More than I’ve ever wanted anything, and my father will understand that. I’m more than just a son. I’m the future of his company. Most days, I
am
his company. I would like to think that my happiness would be enough for him to overlook his prejudice against witches, but I do know that I’m too valuable to lose.”

“Yes, you are.”

He knew what I meant. He was too valuable to lose to
me.
I wasn’t just a witch. I was a dark witch with seriously questionable connections. I was, in my way, just as ambitious as Kristof. Cabal sorcerers didn’t even marry supernaturals, and it was for this very reason—so no one would disturb the sanctity of the inner family. Not even a wife could jeopardize their hold on power.

I could sign a writ in blood saying I had no interest in the Cabal’s business, and it wouldn’t matter. I wasn’t just unsuitable, I was a threat.

“I want to make this work, Eve,” he said. There was a note in his voice
that made my heart ache—a little boy who never got what he really wanted, not ever, and who knew that wasn’t going to change now.

He looked up. “If I could make this work, would you…?”

“Yes.” I met his gaze. “I would. But not at any risk to you or your sons.”

“And not at any risk to you.” He nodded, straightening again, that imperious Nast ice seeping back into his eyes. “I’ll find a way. It may take some time, but I will find a way.”

It wasn’t the same after that. A little something had been added into the mix that hadn’t been there before—hope.

We’d both seen the possibility that this could be something real, something lasting, maybe even something forever. We’d seen it and we knew that the other wanted it, and that changed the timbre of the relationship.

But we both knew the problem was as close to insurmountable as they came. The Capulets and the Montagues had nothing on the five-hundred-year feud between witches and sorcerers, and that was only the most superficial problem. A Cabal heir could not be allowed to marry a powerful supernatural with a past as unsavory as mine.

We never actually discussed the problem. That would be depressing, and we still cherished our time together too much for that. But ideas would float into the conversation.

Was he set on marriage? Or would a common-law arrangement work? How about separate homes? It wouldn’t make a difference, we realized. However we arranged it, I’d still have the same influence over him.

What if he wasn’t heir? That idea came from him. His father would never allow it, though. If Kristof said he was stepping down, his father would eliminate the reason. Same if Kristof tried to leave the company.

There was only one possible solution. One so desperate we didn’t discuss it, not even in the vaguest terms. Over the next couple of months, every now and then, when we made love, Kristof would forget to use protection. And I’d forget to remind him. It had happened before—we’d get caught up and “oh, shit” afterward. Only there weren’t any “oh, shit” moments now.

As solutions went, this really was the last act of desperation. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a child. I was pretty damned sure I wasn’t. But Kristof was an amazing father, and I was determined to be just as good a mother.

It really did look like the answer we needed. Nothing meant more to the Nasts than family, and with one “whoops” I could join that family and give them the excuse they needed to accept me.

So it was no surprise that three months after our trip to Acapulco, I missed my period and when I tested, the results were clear. I was pregnant.

I called Kristof and left a message with his answering service. We’d started doing that months ago, working out a code that no one would question. I asked him to meet me for lunch at a place we sometimes went, outside L.A., where he stood no chance of running into anyone from the Cabal.

I’d agonized about how to do this. The news seemed better conveyed in private, but it also seemed like something to celebrate, something to “do right” the way he had with our first night together. I decided on the restaurant, but I’d meet him outside first and tell him before we went in.

I spent the rest of the morning waiting for Kristof to call back. I wasn’t too worried when he didn’t; it only meant that he couldn’t make the call privately. Before heading out, I called the service and confirmed that he’d gotten the message. He had, so he’d be there.

Only he wasn’t. I waited outside until it started to look like I was loitering. Then I went in. I started ordering a Coke, then changed it to a milk.

I was pregnant.

Oh God, I was pregnant.

The reality of that didn’t hit until I ordered the milk. I was pregnant with Kristof Nast’s child. What the hell had I been thinking?

I got a lot of deep breathing in while I was waiting. Good practice for eight months from now, I was sure.

It would be okay. Something must have come up. Or the answering service was mistaken and he hadn’t gotten the message.

“Miss Levine.”

I turned. A man in a suit approached. He had graying blond hair and blue eyes I’d know anywhere.

“Mr. Nast,” I said, rising, extending a hand.

He ignored the hand and stopped in front of me. “My son isn’t coming.”

I slammed my expression into neutral and my brain into high gear. “So you figured out that I’m working for him? Or did he finally tell you?”

“I know you’re doing a lot more than working for him, Miss Levine.”

Before I could open my mouth, he slapped a photo onto the table. It was Kristof and me behind this very restaurant last month, tucked into a shadowy corner, kissing good-bye before he went back to work.

“Okay, we had a fling. A stupid move, but he’s single, I’m single, we’d been working together awhile. It was bound to happen and we got it out of our system—”

“It’s been going on for months. My son isn’t nearly as good at hiding things as he thinks. Not from me. But I’ve confronted him with it and he’s seen his mistake. That’s why I’m here. He wants me to tell you it’s over and he’d like you to leave Los Angeles—an inconvenience we’ll compensate you for.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes narrowed in a look I knew well. But there was a difference, too, in those frosty blue eyes. When I’d first met Kristof, as chilly as he’d been, I’d seen a spark of humanity there. Thomas Nast didn’t have that spark.

“Kristof didn’t send you to dump me,” I said.

“You have a very high opinion of yourself, Miss Levine.”

“No,” I said, lowering my voice and sitting. “I have a very high opinion of your son. If he wanted out, he’d tell me himself. You found out about our relationship. You intercepted my message so you can bring one of your own: Leave my son alone. I’m going to suggest that’s a conversation you have with him, not me.”

“I don’t think you want me to do that.” He took a seat across from me. “I’ve done some digging into your past, Miss Levine, and while I’m sure you consider yourself a unique and interesting person, you are, to me, just another in a very boring stereotype—one my son has, until now, managed to avoid. You’re a gold digger.”

I laughed. I could tell he didn’t like that, but I couldn’t help it. “You really don’t give your son enough credit, you know that? He’s avoided
gold diggers because he knows how to spot one, and he knows I’m as far from that as you can get. He offered me a job. When I did take it, I accepted a fair wage and nothing more. Whenever he’s used his influence to help me, he’s done it without my knowledge, because he knows I wouldn’t accept that. Financially, I pay my own way, which I’m sure you’d know if you’d done a little more digging, but you didn’t want to do that, because you might find out that I don’t fit the little box you’ve prepared for me.”

“And you can’t be bought off.”

“Nope. But feel free to try.”

He did, of course. He offered me money. He offered me power. He offered me things that, a year ago, I would have jumped at so fast I’d have given the old man a heart attack. But today I didn’t give them a second’s thought.

“Do you have any idea what staying with you would do to my son’s life?” he said finally.

“It’s what he wants.”

“What he wants.” Nast gave a slow shake of his head, as if amazed that I was naïve enough to think that mattered. “That may be, but there’s one thing he values more than you.”

I lifted my chin. “I know that. His sons are the most important thing in Kristof’s life, and I have no intention of threatening that.”