Trefoil (20 page)

Nathan emerged from the steamy depths of his shower, relaxed from standing beneath the scalding water for twenty minutes. The dark tuxedo hung from his closet door along with a crisply pressed shirt. Still nude, he rummaged through his tie collection. One afternoon while Lillian was caught up with John LeClair, Nathan had driven to his farmhouse to locate his tux, and unable to choose the perfect tie, brought the whole shoebox full of them. He’d hoped a trip home would ease his unsettled soul, but it only worsened things. Memories of Lillian in those surroundings haunted him at every turn. He realized it was empty without her.

As he picked through the silk bowties that he’d worn to countless events over the centuries, he wished he could peek into Lillian’s head and see the hue of her ball gown. At last, he plucked out one the color of sharkskin. If nothing else, it would match her eyes.

After donning this attire with much ceremony and care, he descended the sweeping staircase. She was still above, he knew, dressing. Her heat ebbed as he left the second floor, but soon he would have her in his arms.

The ballroom was still empty. After the parade of caterers, servers and the preparations of the immortals that lived here, the scene was set. The marble floors shone in the flickering light of candles and the dimly glowing crystal chandeliers. Tables swelled in semi-circular arcs about the main centerpiece, Nathan’s ice sculpture. The figures of children playing sparkled.

Against the window wall a band was set up, but no member sat tuning his instrument yet. The music stands were lined up like odd penguins with wings spread. Then Nathan turned and saw in profile the most stunning sight yet. Lillian stood in the doorway, speaking with a passing caterer. She was taller than usual in very high silver shoes. It made her form more dramatically slender. Steely grey gloves encased her arms to the elbow, and John LeClair’s bracelets were worn over these. Her hair was piled atop her head in loose curls, and diamond earrings dripped to her shoulders. The gown was a rich blackberry color, which Nathan hadn’t seen in the Vision, and had never seen her wear. Satin and floor-length with the barest hint of a train, it skimmed her curves like a lover. Ruffles of chiffon kissed her collar bones and trailed into a Vee back, barely concealing her vine tattoo.

Nathan’s heart clenched hard.

Lillian’s head pivoted to look straight at him. He saw with pleasure that her lips parted. He was striding for her before the sigh escaped. A shudder rolled through him and into her.

God, he wanted to take her in his arms and twirl her about the room. He wanted to seal her mouth with his and let his hands roam over her body. But he didn’t. He stopped before her, near enough that their heat mingled into one giant inferno, but not touching.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered.

Her gloved fingers lifted to brush his tie of the exact shade. “And you.”

He reached out and covered the eight dots of his blood she wore over her heart with his thumb. This would be a rough night. But it was time.

* * * * *

At the first notes of
La Vie en Rose,
Nathan met Lillian’s frightened gaze. She gave a violent little flick of her head, but he continued to come at her. He was fifteen steps away.

No, Nate.

His heart burst as the sound of his name poured into his soul. Eleven steps.

Yes, Lily. You and me. Lillian and Nate. We have a date with Louis. I’ve been dreaming of this.
Nine steps.

She stumbled backward. Set into the wall behind her were a series of niches, which were large enough to conceal a couple. She backed into one with her palms pressed against the wall. The corner of her lip tucked between her teeth.

Nathan sprung the final four steps and pinned her to the wall with a growl. “Why do you do that?”

Her eyes were huge. “What?”

“Take your lip between your teeth that way. It makes me wild.” Their mouths slammed together like lightning striking iron. The sound brought him to his senses and he returned to his original plan. He gripped her dainty fingers and led her to the dance floor. One hand planted itself in the hollow above her hipbone, and in the other, he held a ring. The golden circle of morning glories was suspended before her eyes.

“Nate—”

“No, Lillian. I want you to have this ring as a token of my devotion to you. Its morning glory pattern symbolizes resurrection. I’m resurrecting you as my immortal mate.” He slipped the heated gold onto her finger.

Beyond words, she let him sweep her about the dance floor. The swish of her gown was so subtle, but he heard it as clearly as he heard the band, the conversation, the clink of glass and cutlery.

He twirled her out, but brought her immediately back, loath to be separated. She bumped against this chest, and the lightning bolt tattoo bit into her. Instead of stepping back, she pressed closer. As the final chords trilled through the ballroom, Nathan leaned over her. He wanted her mouth.

Don’t you dare,
she said, so he bowed over her hand and gently removed the morning glory ring.

He returned it to his breast pocket, saying,
I’ll keep this for the moment you’re ready.

Nathan felt it at once when John LeClair burst through the far entrance. He strode for her. Nathan watched her head swing up. She started to smile, but it faltered once she glimpsed LeClair’s expression.

John LeClair’s fingers locked about her elbow and he pulled her into his arms. Her lips formed the words, “Of course.” They took their place amidst dozens of couples, and as they did, LeClair glared right at Nathan. Clash of swords. Head on collision. Nathan’s fists curled. Would it be here—immortal to immortal, hammering it out over the woman they both loved?

LeClair released Nathan’s gaze in exchange for Lillian’s. He gathered her in by the waist until their hips bumped. He smiled. Nathan’s blood was infused with the wild itch, like being on fire.

He leaned over the bar top and found a bottle of vodka. He didn’t bother with a glass, but tipped it neatly down his throat. He came up gasping and immediately sought the couple on the dance floor. They whirled expertly. Nathan wanted to Call to her and open their link, but was terrified of the emotions he’d read on her soul for John LeClair. He clutched the heavy glass bottle and drew it to his lips.

John LeClair’s head lifted, searching the bystanders for Nathan. Once he saw he was looking, he spun Lillian within feet of him. He flipped her into a low dip, easily suspending her with his fingertips on her spine. One long mahogany curl unfurled to brush the marble floor. John LeClair glared at Nathan, and then plunged his tongue into Lillian’s sweet mouth.

Nathan turned away in shuddering disgust.

Dante was at his elbow. “That little performance was solely for you, Nate. Someone came into the smoking room and told John you were dancing with his wife—”

“Don’t say that word to me!”

Will, on his opposite side, squeezed his shoulder hard. “Get hold of your anger, man, before she goes down in another faint. We know your high emotions send her into blackness.”

Nathan shook himself, twisting away from the dance floor. Lillian stood on the side, a fresh flute of champagne in her hand. John was introducing her to people.

Just then her voice filled him, absolute and complete. It was the hot, lazy feeling that followed orgasm. Nathan’s eyes slipped shut.
U—understood.

With a thump, he slammed the vodka bottle onto the bar top. His heart was soaring. John LeClair could try and control her body, but Nathan had her mind. Her soul.

He watched as John LeClair engaged her in conversation, touching her in the intimate ways that Nathan longed for himself—a fingertip against her collar bone, at the soft flesh of her elbow.

“Lillian,”
he said aloud and into her soul, giving her the undeniable command to hear him.

Her dark head lifted slowly upward, meeting his eyes. The room dimmed, leaving only the pair of them in a shimmering light. They shared a private smile, and then John LeClair clutched her elbow and dragged her away.

Through their link, Nathan heard his voice. “Lillian,” he said, grinding the words with his jaw, “can you hear him? Can you hear him inside your mind?”

Her eyes widened. She stared at him blankly for five heartbeats before her eyes slipped shut. Her breath stuttered out.

“Can you?” he demanded, shaking her.

Nathan lunged forward, shoving through the guests, knocking people aside like ninepins. Before he reached them, John LeClair yanked her into his arms and took off running. He pounded from the ballroom and down the corridor, Nathan on his heels. He twisted around corners, struggling to gain purchase in his slippery dress shoes.

He took the stairs two at a time behind them, feeling the bite of John LeClair’s fingers in her flesh to the marrow of his bones. If he left a single bruise, he’d slaughter him.

“Lillian,” Nathan cried.

Her head popped over his shoulder, and John LeClair slammed it back down.

“You bastard. Don’t you touch her like that again,” he roared, voice echoing off the high ceilings.

Back the halls they flew. They reached their bedroom door and hurled it open so it banged off the inner wall.

“LeClair. Let her go,” Nathan roared.

He set Lillian on her feet. She whirled toward the door, ready to run into Nathan’s arms. A sob burst from John LeClair’s throat, and in slow motion, she pivoted back to him. Her hair was coming loose and trailed down the left side of her face.

John LeClair’s knees collapsed. She stepped forward and captured his head against her belly. His arms went about her waist, gripping for dear life.

“Lillian, don’t do this,” Nathan said, braced in the doorway. “Come with me.”

She turned to him, still clutching John LeClair. “Stay out of this, Nate,” she said. Her heel caught the edge of the door, and she kicked it shut in his face.

Shutting that door in Nathan’s face was the worst moment of Lillian’s life. It swung in a slow arc, letting her see his eyes widen in shock, then close in pain. She slammed the door on their connection, gone from her head. Probably gone from her life.

She released John, who was still on his knees, and he fell at her feet. Harsh sobs broke from his chest. “It’s my fault,” he burst out.

She sank before him in a pool of silk gown and he clutched at her like a drowning man, eyes black and bright and hurt. “You can hear him? You have the Calling?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since Oahu.”

His fingers convulsed on her upper arms, imprinting half moon bruises. “Oahu,” he whispered. “All this time, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault, John—” she began, but his words sliced over hers.

He jumped up and paced the room. “It is my fault. When I took you, I was wrong, Lillian.”

His words struck her like concrete blocks, plunging her to the bottom of a dark sea.

The palm-lined Oahu street was before her. Her heels clacked on the sidewalk ,the sun warm on her face. Work was a five-minute walk and a pretty one. The houses were quaint, the street filled with school children at this time of day. Her mind was on Robert.

The previous evening, he’d gotten off duty and surprised her at home. She stood at the kitchen sink, eating a guava, letting the juice drip into the sink when Robert had appeared, taking the kitchen in two strides, yanking her to him and claiming her mouth. When he drew away, he was licking his lips. “Lillian, you are delicious,” he had drawled. Then he caught her behind the knees and carried her to bed.

Robert had stripped her with exquisite slowness, rolling her stockings down her thighs and calves before slipping them off one by one. He unbuttoned her cotton dress to her waist and lavished her breasts until she was wild. They’d made love to the darkest hours, when he finally rested his shorn head upon her bare abdomen. “Maybe this is the night I give you a baby,” he whispered, and her eyes had filled with tears.

As she walked, her hand went automatically to her waist, hoping he was right.

Suddenly, from behind a vehicle stepped a man in uniform. He was tall and dark-haired and doffed his hat as he approached. “Ma’am.”

Her heart lurched. “Is it Robert?”

“Robert?” He looked sidelong at her through thick black lashes.

“Robert Albright. I’m his wife, Lillian. Are you looking for me?” Her voice broke on her fear.

“Yes, I was looking for you. . . Lillian.” He pronounced her name with care.

“Wh. . . what’s happened to him?”

The officer gripped her upper arms and stared into her eyes. She bit her lip, and then she felt the pain of it—a knife blade plunging beneath her breast bone. The life’s blood was draining from her and she dropped.

The officer dragged her into a side street behind garbage cans, her feet dangling, dying, nearly dead. Blood bubbled on her lips.

“Shh. Lillian. It’s going to be all right,” he soothed, slashing her throat and his wrist, pouring his hot blood into her veins even as he lifted the hem of her dress and slid between her legs.

Lust shot through her, and she gripped the unknown man to her. She was filling with new life and new love. He set her lips aflame, her thighs aflame. Her wrist aflame.

When they stopped jerking with release, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Lillian, I am John, and I am going to love you for the rest of our lives.”

The bedroom spun about Lillian. Gasps tore from her, sounding like tearing cloth. She lifted her wrists, screaming, “You. You did that. You murdered me. Took my mortal life. Stole me from Robert so you could possess me.”

John sank to the bed, his head in his hands. “Yes. It was the most horrible and wonderful act I’ve ever committed. It’s been a torment to me our entire lives together.” He raised burning eyes. “You must know how much I love you, Lily. You’ve been the reason for my existence. I Walked for centuries to find you. I was created to love you.”

She ripped the silver cuffs from her wrists and hurled them at him.

“Lily, no,” he cried, reaching for her.

She spun to the closet and grabbed the first clothes she saw.

He stumbled after her. “Don’t do this. Please. Forgive me. I love you more than my life.”

“No,” she said coldly, shoving past him and into the corridor. She sprinted to Nathan’s room and burst through the door. At once, she knew he wasn’t there. He was not in this house.

Frantic, she wriggled out of her gown and yanked on jeans and boots. She realized she had no shirt, so she rifled through Nathan’s dresser and located a navy sweater. She jammed it over her head, not bothering to remove her trapped hair.

She hurtled down the stairs at a breakneck pace and skidded to a stop in the foyer. With shaking hands, she grabbed a set of keys with Will’s pocket knife dangling from the ring, and then exploded from the mansion into the Vermont snow.

The snow fell heavily, and she ran through it to the parked cars.

She tore open the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. She pressed the gas the instant the engine rolled over, spinning and fishtailing into Dante’s Land Rover. Not caring in the least, she stepped on it and took the icy lane at top speed. Once she reached the road, she was forced to slow, as snow lay thick on the unplowed road.

She trembled violently with cold and emotion and the separation from Nathan. Her mind raced with images. Nathan’s expression when she had slammed the door, the gleam of a knife in John’s fist, Robert’s skull against her belly and the guava sliding from her fingers into the porcelain sink. John’s beard rasping her cheeks as he took her, and Nathan’s head tilting toward hers as they danced.

She had no idea where she was going, only that Nathan was on his way to his farmhouse and she had to reach him or die. He couldn’t be far ahead. If she Called to him, maybe he’d stop for her. She could show him who she’d really chosen.

Nate.

No door opened to her. He had shut her out. She bit down hard on her lip, feeling it separate beneath her teeth and tasting her blood. Tears spurted from her eyes.

The drive was a very long one—long because the weather prohibited her from driving faster than a crawl and long because her mind was bleak. She had new memories of her early life with John—how he’d taken her immediately to Los Angeles, where he’d given her a new existence, new wardrobe, new name, new husband.

The thought of Robert and his baby was a burning ember in her gut. Maybe she hadn’t been carrying his baby that morning John took her life, but she’d wanted it.

When she reached the lane leading to Nathan’s farmhouse, sweat broke over her body. What if he rejected her?

The tire tracks leading to his house were covered with snow. She cringed to think of the way he must have driven to reach home that quickly. She drew up behind the pickup truck, thinking he would come to the gate for her. But there was no sign of him.

She approached the house, then changed paths and headed toward the workroom. She heard the hammer blows outside. Quietly, she opened the door, her heart in her throat. He didn’t turn, but his back stiffened as her heat washed over him. The hammer and chisel pummeled the rock, the faint sounds of his metal music from his iPod drifting to her.

She closed the gap quickly, stilling his hand. Dust made it gritty.
Stop,
she said into him, and found him open to her. She sank into his mind with a hot gasp. His head fell forward at the joining of their souls, eyes slipping closed.

Nate.

A gasp burst from him and he jerked her off her feet, his mouth swallowing hers.
Thank God. Thank God you’ve come.

It’s over. I’ve given him back the bracelets.

He stopped kissing her, their lips still against each other’s. And then he was lifting her and striding through the deep snow to the house, down the dim hall and onto the feather mattress.

He lowered her slowly, his eyes a caress. His heart throbbed next to hers, in the special spot within her. He kissed her as if she’d shatter, breathing her name into her mouth and her soul, breathing new life into her. She buried her fingers in his hair and clutched his head. There would be no drawing away tonight.

He trailed the back of his hand over her cheekbone and down her jaw, following it with little kisses. When he reached her collar bone, she was shivering. She worked the buttons on his shirt and slid it from his shoulders. He still wore his tuxedo, the jacket and tie long abandoned. Her fingers played down the outer edge of his tattoo, sending delicious waves of sensation between them.

His shirt discarded, she worked the fly of his pants and he maneuvered so she could push them down his hips. She reached between his legs and gripped his cock in both hands, shuddering at the amazing feel of the thick length. For months she’d craved this. He sucked in a sharp breath as one hand stroked the base, the other pressing down on the engorged head, thumb flicking the sensitive underside. A drop of pre-come appeared and she smoothed it over the tip and then brought the small bit of cream to her tongue. She licked it off while holding his eyes.

He dropped his head to her breasts with a ragged sigh and reached for the hem of her top, which happened to be his sweater. Arching a brow, he removed it with extreme slowness, kissing a path up to her ribs and over the eight dots of his blood medallion. Her back bowed to his touch, and he stripped her in haste.

At the first encounter of their bodies, flesh to flesh for the first time, white heat exploded in their minds.

“
Nate,”
she whispered aloud and into his soul.
“My love for you is without end.”

He fed her a searing kiss, tongues swirling, tooth to lip, flavor and taste and need. He caught one hip and pulled her onto her side, bringing him face to face with her immortal tattoo. It curved in and out, undulating in the dim light. It wasn’t twilight in the reality of this lovemaking, but moonlight. It bathed them in purple and blue shadows. The night sky was theirs, and they would commit the ultimate act of love beneath it.

He read these thoughts in Lillian’s mind, his own thick with images, real, imaged and envisioned. He saw again his first Vision, of meeting her in the cemetery yard, a white lily tucked behind one ear.

They both went still. “In real life, you didn’t have a white lily. Why?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“A lily lay on the path that morning, and I almost picked it up, but in the end, I didn’t. Your pull on me was too great.”

In an instant, they realized the Visions weren’t set in stone. They could be changed. It didn’t matter whether the image of her bleeding out was dream or Vision. Either way, it might not be real. Hope blossomed between them.

His lips dropped to her tattoo. Her gasp sliced through them, driving them into a sea of blackness. It swirled about them gentle and slow, lapping like warm waves. The blood medallion on the swell of her breast bloomed red with a miniature lightning bolt.

“Nate,” she said with urgency, threading her fingers into his hair.

He surged up to claim her mouth. Her breasts ached for his touch, her pussy weeping with need. The deeper throb of her veins begged for his blood. He fed her bittersweet, salty kisses, filled with emotion. He cupped her face, rough palms to smooth cheeks, and leaned away to gaze into her eyes. Her legs parted for him, bringing him to the quick of her. He poised at her heat, the head of his cock pressing against her slippery folds.

“I love you,” he said.

And with one thrust, he joined them. They tumbled headlong into the warm waters again. Before he could move an inch, her legs encircled his waist, and she located the small pocket knife clipped to Will’s keychain. The tender flesh of his throat ignited a passion in her. She wanted his blood coursing through her veins.

She slashed his neck and her wrist, watching his hooded eyes fly open in shock. The blood began to pour from his throat, and she held her bare wrist to it, catching his precious blood. As soon as the drops filled her, the itch grew. Turned to fire. Burned through the network of her veins. Her head jerked back, teeth gritted against the pain. Her wrist was on fire.

Nathan screamed her name again and again, attempting to pull away from her body, but her legs ensnared him with a force neither expected. A sharp stabbing annihilated her wrist like a hundred knitting needles jabbing the flesh—unraveling the medallion of John’s blood.

Their cries mingled. She was bleeding out.

“Lillian, no!”

The blackness rose up in her mind, so heavy she could barely draw breath. Stars burst behind her vision. She didn’t want to leave him alone, to walk the earth without her. Her hand flailed and he gripped it, slick with blood. Hot, thick tears coursed down her cheeks and he swiped them away desperately.

“No, no, no. No, Lillian. Stay with me.”

In the pit of her soul, a pinprick of light formed, rushing at her. The pain lessened. The blood slowed. She wiped the tears of blood from her eyes and opened them into Nathan’s astonished gaze.

He began to move within her, chaffing against her silken grip, his cock nudging the tip of her womb. He found her mouth and thrust his tongue inside, sweeping the hot interior of her mouth, moving in rhythm with his kiss. Her tits rubbed against the blue lines of his tattoo, sending shocks through them that heightened their pleasure. It drove them on to the pinnacle of need, rocking against each other. He slipped his hands beneath her to cradle her ass, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts.