Burning Emerald (5 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Burning Emerald
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Lowering her head, Mia fumbled with the pass in her hand. “I'm sorry. I just felt a little faint.”
Stepping in front of Mia, I held his unblinking gaze. “She's not feeling well, sir. I wanted to walk her to class in case she fainted again. She's a bit under the weather. I'm sure you understand.” I spoke the words in a low, even tone, allowing my influence to reach his hardened heart.
After several blinks, Mr. McNamara gave a lazy smile. “Of course, I understand. Mia, if you're not feeling well, you can go home. I don't want you hurting yourself.” His offer was as smooth and sweet as molasses.
The sudden change of attitude took Mia aback. She shot me a puzzled glance, then said, “No, I'll be fine. It'll pass.”
I was sure that baffled expression stayed long after she entered the classroom. And for as long as Mia remained in the dark about Lilith, that look would be permanent.
For the sake of all involved, only my mother and the other Cambions in my life could know what I was. That was our policy, our credo. The secret slowly ate at me, but it was something I would have to live with. For now.
5
T
he slow drag of the following week didn't affect the weather's natural timetable.
Autumn leaves set fire to the landscape, determined to die in a blazing glory of red and gold hues. People donned leather and fleece and sipped hot drinks to keep warm. Pumpkins, scarecrows, and ghosts sat on porches and lawns. Orange and black streamers garnished the cafeteria and classrooms. Cackles and squeals echoed the halls; plastic fangs and fake blood dripped from painted lips.
And where was I? Locked in the girls' bathroom, blowing up Caleb's phone for the fifth time today. Caleb and I were quickly turning into the couple we'd sworn to never become: strung out and wondering what the other was doing, and calling at random just to hear them breathe. How disgusting is that? But there I was, in the handicap stall, sending cutesy text messages with numeric hearts and smiley faces. Satisfied, if only for the moment, I tucked my phone in my bag and went to my last class.
School, work, Mia's ongoing drama, and the suspicion of supernatural doom had me running around like a headless chicken. Caleb was the only thing that kept me going, my life support.
During our wireless romance, he bitched about his Jeep, from repairs to the crooked insurance company, and wondered whether he should pimp his ride with new rims. The police reported the incident with Caleb's car as vandalism, though all the evidence pointed to a failed Mob-style hit. This didn't surprise me. Last summer had Williamsburg's finest running scared, and they stuck to the “Don't ask, don't tell” policy when it came to Caleb and my family.
However, what did surprise me was Caleb's flippant attitude. Whether it was denial or stubbornness, he was ignoring the signs that bad times were a-comin'. He had always been protective and fought hard to keep me out of danger, but there was a fine line between protection and omitting vital information. His secrecy had caused a rocky start to our relationship, but I'd believed our link would've put an end to that. When I went home to change for work, I realized we had more ground to cover in the trust department. This latest bombshell came in a FedEx box that waited at my front door.
Carrying the package to the stairs inside, I noticed it was addressed to Mom and me with a European zip code and stamp. I ripped at the cardboard and burrowed into the crumpled Styrofoam until my fingers retrieved from the bottom what appeared to be two old spell books. Bound in aged leather with a buckle fastening, each volume carried the thickness and weight of a dictionary.
My fingers played with the buckle when a cream-colored envelope caught my eye. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and the smile on my face started to hurt. I had become accustomed to her long-winded emails, so this one-page note left me intrigued.
Dearest Samara,
How are you, little one? I hope you are doing well and that you're excelling in your studies. Are you practicing the memory exercises I showed you? They're tedious, I know, but you must stay vigilant to accelerate the recognition process. The spirit will not draw from those it knows. This may not work with new people you meet now, but it will help you with the male friends you already knew from school, so please practice at least three times a day.
Forgive this brief letter, but I'm away on business and my time is limited. I regret to say that my schedule will not allow me to visit you as I wish. By now, you are probably wondering about the books I enclosed with this letter. They are a collection of letters and journal entries from my ancestors that your mother requested. I have also bookmarked several passages that might be of interest to you, mostly involving Cambion bonding.
This is a very serious matter that you and Caleb need to discuss before you consummate your relationship. I have already discussed this with your mother, and though your bonding is inevitable, she agrees that this is not a matter to take lightly. So please read the marked passages so you don't enter a situation blindly, because this decision will affect the rest of your life and it cannot be undone.
I wish I could share these things in person, but these books will have to suffice until we meet again. Until then, give Caleb my love.
Take care and celebrate life.
Angie
After reading the letter three times, the data still wouldn't process—perhaps there was a clog in my mental frequency. The confusion had nothing to do with the Polish dialect, but the ready-made assumption behind the request. Had Angie just given me the green light to bump uglies with my boyfriend? And what business was it of hers if I did or not? And what the hell was Cambion bonding?
Sitting on the bottom step, I plopped the first book on my lap and unfastened the buckle. As promised, pink and yellow tabs marked several entries. Since this book had no index or table of contents, I skimmed through the marked pages.
And that's when I lost my mind.
 
“Caleb!” I yelled, loud enough to hear from the Buncha Books parking lot. Heads turned as I charged the metal detectors of the music department, intent on murder. I peered over the CD shelves, DVD kiosks, and trendy kids littering the aisles. Children hid behind their parents, women clutched their purses, and shoppers gave way for the fiery wrath of hell that was Samara Marshall.
Caleb stood behind the counter and, as usual, chatted up a group of girls, including Courtney B., much to my disgust. Batting lashes and lip biting, the groupies clung to every word out of his lying, conniving mouth.
Shoving his entourage to the side, I slammed my hands on the counter and met him nose to nose. “We need to talk. Break room. Now!” I stomped away without another word, while the shocked audience watched my swift retreat.
Thank goodness no one was in the break room, and the manager's office was locked. No one should witness the lashing that was headed Caleb's way—the less collateral damage the better. The room always reeked of burnt popcorn and fried rice, and the combination made my stomach turn. I paced the floor, breathing hellfire, my fingers itching to lock around his neck. I didn't have long to wait, and I spun around when the door opened.
Caleb pressed his back and left foot against the wall with hands shoved in his tan khakis. Wearing his trademark grin of conceit, he stood as if waiting for the photo shoot to begin. “What's wrong with you?” he asked.
“What's wrong with me? With
me?
You're the one keeping secrets again. I thought I could trust you.”
“You can, so tell me what's wrong.” Wincing, he asked, “You're not PMS-ing, are you? Because I can't go through that again.”
“Trust me, if I was, you'd be dead right now,” I snipped, though I inwardly smiled at his apprehension.
One small penalty to our link was that Caleb suffered the hormonal roller coaster that came with my monthly visitor. Oh yeah, payback was a bitch. Too bad he didn't endure the cramping part, though time would tell on that score, if what I had discovered proved true.
I handed him Angie's letter and a scanned excerpt of her journal. “You care to explain this?”
He glanced at the page, then handed the letter back. “Sam, you know I can't understand Polish. Read it to me.”
I'd forgotten that with Lilith came the ability to understand Nadine's native tongue.
“I'll give you the punch line: You were planning to sleep with me without telling me about this bonding thing. If two Cambions mate, they are intertwined for life, and one cannot survive without the other.” His puzzled look annoyed me, so I decided to dumb it down. “Our emotional connection will take a physical extreme. If I get cut, you bleed; if I itch, you scratch.”
Once awareness hit, he sighed in relief, as if this wasn't the end-all, be-all of bad news. “I figured you knew. I mean, Nadine knew.”
I balled up the printout and threw it at him. “I'm not Nadine!”
He watched the crumpled paper bounce off his chest and tumble to his feet. “But you have her memories, her knowledge.”
“Not all of it. And this surely wasn't part of it.” I paced the break room, looking for something else to throw at him. “No wonder Mom's all freaked out about us being alone together. I thought she was just being paranoid as usual.”
“Wait, so you're mad because of the bonding or mad because I didn't tell you?”
“Both!” I snapped. “Is there anything else,
anything else
, that I should know about what we are? Any key factors hidden in the fine print? Stuff keeps popping up out of nowhere and I don't know how many more surprises I can take. I'm so ready to walk out of that door and not look back.”
Pushing off the wall, he stalked closer with a smooth, predatory quality. He kept his distance, ambling around the long folding table in the center of the room. I followed his lead in this odd waltz, drifting in a circle with only the table dividing us.
The dance ended when he pulled out a dollar and slinked to the snack machine for his sugar fix. He took his time choosing the one he wanted, which only pissed me off more.
Finally, he said, “We're not a normal couple, Sam. You know we can't just quit each other and walk away. Our kind mates for life, and no man, no religion, and no court can go against that.”
Scooping up the chocolate bar and his change, he continued, “You ever see an old couple who's been married for eighty years, then they die within months of each other? They were bonded, a process that takes normal people decades to achieve where it would only take us one night.”
I crossed my arms. “Can you break that down for me?”
He pulled out a chair and sat, not even thinking about sharing his treat. Cake Boy would give me the moon if I asked, but it would require the Jaws of Life to pry sweets away from his greedy clutches.
“Take my father, for example. When his spirit began to recognize my mom's presence, a link developed, like the one we share. Dad could sense her mood, her pain, even knew when she was near, like you can with me.
“Since Mom was normal, the link was one-sided and they could never form a solid bond like we can. That partial link was enough to destroy him when she died; he went insane from withdrawal. So, can you imagine if two Cambions got together? I can't even wrap my mind around it.” He pinched his eyes shut, cutting off the negativity before it could sink in. Telling by his burdened expression, these thoughts occurred regularly.
Riveted, I crossed the room to stand between his parted legs. My fingers danced around his jaw and I enjoyed the color contrast, his creamy beige skin against my golden brown. Despite the temptation to strangle him right now, I couldn't let a moment go by without touching him, to remind him that his pleasure, as well as his discomfort, was mine also.
I tipped his chin to look at me. “You do realize this is a serious problem in our relationship? I can barely go a day without seeing you, but we're talking long-term commitment here. What if you become a jerk in ten years?”
He scowled. “You're one to talk.”
“And if I get really nasty and super fat?”
“Hey, more cushion for the pushin'.” He took a huge bite of his candy.
I rolled my eyes. “Or what if I get hit by a car—”
“Then I would die with you, simple as that.”
I gasped at the thought. “At the same time?”
“I don't think so. Maybe a couple of weeks, less than a month for sure. It's unavoidable, Sam. Our link is just a precursor to a lifelong bond that the beings inside us will demand. And they will demand. It's what most Cambions dream about: being with someone without fear of killing them, having a permanent outlet for all that tension building inside.” The worry lines melted away as he reveled in the concept.
Mindlessly, I played with his hair. Cool strands glided through my fingers as smooth as water. “You dream about me?”
“Only when I sleep.” He shrugged, then tossed the candy wrapper over his shoulder, missing the waste basket by three feet. “And as far as the sex issue, well, I'm not gonna lie and say I don't want you. Badly. I'm not too quick to sign my life away either, but if it had to be to someone, it would be you. Just know that I'm ready when you are, and not a moment sooner.”
I closed my eyes and pushed the air from my lungs. I could sense his disappointment, that balloon deflating and losing shape, but it was too soon in our relationship to go that extra step. This bonding thing was no joke, a decision we shouldn't make in the heat of passion. It didn't help matters that Caleb kept gawking at me like I was hot dinner.
I dragged a thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you really okay with us waiting?”
“The question is whether you can wait.”
I drew back my hand. “Why?”
“You have a succubi spirit in your body. Its appetite is legendary, in more ways than one. Some of the folklore may be exaggerated, but not about that. You saw what happened to me when I denied Capone simple nourishment. It's only a matter of time until it will desire
other
things, and having a similar being around you will only make the need stronger. So yeah, there's cause for concern.”

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