Witchful Thinking (10 page)

“I didn’t expect that!” I announced before returning to my story. “The woman Rand bonded with never died—she just time-traveled.”

It took her a second to compute the meaning of my sentence—I think she was still stuck on the ghost thing, and the haze of alcohol wasn’t helping. Once my words sank in, she stared at me in total shock.

“No freakin’ way, Jules,” she said, shaking her head at how crazy this whole situation was. “Rand bonded with you!”

“Bingo.”

“So what did Rand think about that? The look on his face must have been priceless.”

I sighed again and couldn’t escape the feeling of guilt that immediately descended upon me. “That’s the other part of the story … I haven’t told him yet.”

“What?” she squealed. “What do you mean, you haven’t told him yet? That should have been the first thing you said.” Then she stood up and faced the wall,
her arms extended before her until she looked like she was about to deliver Hamlet’s soliloquy. “Um, hi, I’m back from time-traveling the world, and by the way, you and me got it on like Donkey Kong and I was the chick you bonded with, capiche?”

She looked at me while I clapped. Well, it wasn’t “To Be or Not to Be” but it was a close second. “Got it on like Donkey Kong?”

“Well, you did, didn’t you?” she asked as she eyed me approvingly. If there was one subject besides gossip that Christa loved discussing, it was sex. And due to the fact that my sex life had been anything but interesting, she had to be eating this up.

I nodded as thoughts of sex with Rand infiltrated my head. “Yeah, we did, and it was amazing.”

“And it can be amazing again, Jules. You just have to tell him the truth.”

I nodded but it was unconvincing. “I’ve decided not to tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it’s better that he doesn’t know—I mean, it’s not like we’re bonded anymore … and, besides, I think the news could really hurt him.”

She shook her head. Suddenly noticing that my glass of wine was still full, she reached for it, the expression on her face saying she needed it. “Why would bonding with you upset him? It just means you’re meant to be together. That’s like a better love story than
The Princess Bride
.”
The Princess Bride
just happened to be Christa’s favorite movie of all time, so she was really saying something. “Jules, that is seriously romantic.”

Look out Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, because here come Rand and Jolie. Somehow I just wasn’t feeling it.

“Well, I guess Rand could take it well,” I began, but I couldn’t say I believed it. It was really more of a concession
to Christa. “Or he could just freak out when he realizes that he nearly died because of me.”

She was quiet for a second or two. “Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that angle.” Silence for a few more seconds. “But you didn’t know you were going to bond with him, right?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“But as soon as you saw his hot, naked bod, you must have been like
Bond, what bond? Oh, you mean bondage?
”

I laughed, suddenly feeling so grateful. Yes, Christa had her shortcomings, but she was the greatest friend in the world and I loved her. “Yeah, it went something like that.”

She nodded and swigged the last of her wine, er my wine, before facing me again blankly. Then a smile spread across her lips. “Well, when you tell him, just leave out the part about you guessing you two might bond. Just make it sound like it totally took you by surprise and you never expected it.”

“I don’t know, Chris, I think it’s better to just avoid the whole thing …”

“You’re just going to have to spit it out, Jules. The longer you hold it in, the more upset he’s liable to get because he’ll want to know why you didn’t tell him sooner.”

I woke up and I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I’d been having a nightmare. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, trying to adjust them to the light of the yellow moon that was beaming through my bedroom window, interrupting the monotonous dark of night. I loved the feel of the cold air as it tried to breach the warmth of my covers.

The mischievous breeze ruffled my curtains, allowing them to billow out in a sensuous dance. Finding the visual
reassuring, I started to close my eyes again. But something in my peripheral vision stopped me. There was a darkness at the far end of the room—a blackness that hinted of something more sinister than just night. I opened my eyes in alarm as I watched the darkness that was too dark twitch.

I bolted upright and didn’t have time to scream before I felt a cold swish disrupt the air. Then within a split second he was directly in front of me—a speed that characterized his race. Just as suddenly the fear pounding through me faltered and was replaced by a calming ocean of relief.

“It is true, then,” he said in a hoarse voice, his English accent thicker than I remembered it.

“Sinjin,” I answered, and before I could even fathom what was happening, the vampire’s mouth was on mine, his arms around my shoulders. His smell, which was somewhere between the clean scent of soap and the spice of an exotic aftershave, hit me like a truck. Memories of another kiss we shared while en route to Culloden Battlefield in Scotland hijacked my mind.

I cared for Sinjin—it was as obvious as the fact that I was finding it difficult to pull away from his embrace. But I had to pull away because even though there was a part of me that could recognize my attraction to Sinjin, kissing him didn’t feel right—not after what I’d been through with Rand.

I pulled away and smiled up at him somewhat nervously as a flood of emotions welled up within me, threatening to choke me. Sinjin was okay. The relief almost made me want to cry—I wanted to reach out and touch him, run my fingers down the velvet perfection of his skin, but I wouldn’t allow myself.

“You are alive,” he said while continuing to stare at me, his hands still on my shoulders. I gently escaped from his hold and pushed the duvet back as I stood up,
wrapping my arms around myself. I was dressed in a long-sleeved Victoria’s Secret nightshirt that ended at my knees. Even though my nightshirt wasn’t terribly revealing (okay, I was showing a little leg), Sinjin beheld me with his wolfish stare from head to toe, making me feel as if I was as naked as the day I was born.

Then he smiled and it was a smile I remembered too well—a smile that could only characterize Sinjin—something racy and bold, yet secretive. “I could not believe you were alive though I felt your very life blood pulsing within me.”

Sinjin had drunk my blood months before when I was attacked by a werewolf and had nearly become hairy, myself. He sucked the poison from the wound and, while saving me from becoming lupine, he’d also given me about ten orgasms … Anyway, owing to the fact that he’d swallowed my blood, he could track me.

I shrugged, not knowing what to say. I didn’t know if I should wrap my arms around him and tell him how worried I’d been and how incredibly happy I was to know he was okay. In the end, because our relationship was purely platonic, I opted for a more casual response.

“Yep, I’m alive,” I confirmed, not knowing what else to add. Truth be told, I was still reeling from the fact that Sinjin was in my room and we’d just shared a very … good kiss.

“I watched your life end,” he said in a hollow voice that sounded pained.

“It did end.” At Sinjin’s curious expression, I continued, “The prophetess brought me back to life.”

In an instant his attention was riveted. “The prophetess, you say?”

I nodded, wondering why the prophetess held such interest for him—she always had. In fact, prior to the battle with Bella, Sinjin had been teaching me how to take on Ryder. In return, he only asked that I attempt to
locate the prophetess telepathically. Of course, I hadn’t been successful at the time because she’d been stuck in 1878.

“What happened to you, Sinjin?”

“I am more interested in what happened to you, poppet. I have relived your death too many times—until I thought perhaps I would go mad.”

I shook my head, dismissing Sinjin’s flair for the dramatic. What I wanted to know was why the hell he’d just vanished like that. I could remember it like it was yesterday—Sinjin standing with his back to the battlefield—the tightness of his lips and the glossiness of his eyes.

“And thanks, by the way, for not doing a damn thing when I died.”

“What would you have suggested I do?” he demanded with narrowed eyes, his muscular arms wrapped across his chest.

I shrugged. “I don’t know—you seemed to have some tricks up your sleeve when that wolf attacked me.”

He nodded and glanced down for a second or two before his ice-blue gaze met mine again. His eyes weren’t quite so narrowed and his jaw had relaxed. “You were much closer to the gates of heaven, love, than you were when the wolf attacked.”

“You could have done something,” I insisted even though I didn’t entirely believe my own words.

He swallowed and his eyes suddenly steeled again. “All that was left to me was turning you into one of my own kind, and that is a choice I could never make.” He turned away from me and faced the window, allowing me to appreciate the expanse of his shoulders and back. His shoulders were broad and then tapered into an athletic waist and a tight rear that topped an incredibly long pair of legs. Sinjin was very tall—probably six-five or thereabouts. And as I’d come to expect, he was
clothed entirely in black—a black sweater with a black undershirt and black slacks.

He turned toward me again and I couldn’t help but swallow, gulping down the thoughts of how incredibly beautiful he was.

“I would never condemn you to live this way,” he whispered.

Surprise echoed through me. If anything, I would have thought Sinjin would have no problem turning me or anyone else into one of his kind. He seemed to parade his vampire status around as if it was the be-all, end-all in the Underworld community—like driving the newest, coolest car in town.

“Where have you been, Sinjin?” I asked, no longer feeling comfortable with the direction this conversation was headed.

“Have you been worried about me, pet?” His tone reminded me of the old Sinjin, the joking and never serious, but seriously sexy, Sinjin.

“Yeah, I have,” I said without a trace of humor. “I’ve been wondering what the hell happened to you. Where have you been?” I repeated.

He nodded but didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I have been everywhere and I have been nowhere, love.”

“Don’t screw around with me,” I snapped. “Where, specifically?”

“I have been traveling, poppet. You could say I have been doing some soul searching.”

“And is Varick going to be upset with you?” I asked, remembering how irritated Varick had seemed the other evening. I didn’t know if there was something overly protective about me but for some reason I did tend to be a mother hen where Sinjin was concerned.

“I care not, love.” He approached the window, his long and slender physique highlighted by the moon. “I
understand congratulations are in order?” he asked, blinding me with his incredibly charming smile.

“Congratulations?” I repeated. At my bewildered expression, he merely bowed slightly, so formally that I felt like I was back in 1878.

“You are Queen, as I understand?” he asked, standing up straight again.

“Well, I haven’t exactly …,” I started, about to argue the point that I hadn’t abandoned myself to my apparent calling.

“I am your loyal and faithful subject, my Queen, to do with as you please.”

And the way he said it dripped with sensuality.

“Thanks,” I said, but wasn’t sure I meant it.

Mercedes Berg. The prophetess …

It’s almost as if I can see her power emanating from the very letters of her name
.

I can’t help but think back to the day of the battle, when Gwynn ran her blade into my gut and then I blinked and found myself in the middle of a snowbank and was like
WTF just happened?
It was so cold, I nearly froze to death and would have if it hadn’t been for Mercedes. She was the one who dragged me in from the snow. Of course, she knew I was coming all along since she was the one responsible for bringing me there in the first place, but I guess I still owed her gratitude for preventing me from becoming a Jolie Popsicle
.

At the time, I sure as hell didn’t regard the scullery maid with the beautiful green eyes as anything extraordinary. Of course, I had to wonder when she lifted me over her shoulder and carried me into the house like she was some sort of woman wrestler souped up on steroids. And if that wasn’t enough, she was also able to restore my frostbitten toes to their former glory just by wrapping her hands around them. So the clues had been there; I just hadn’t possessed my full faculties to really add everything up. (I mean, I had been on the brink of a very cold death. Who can really blame me for not paying much attention to anything else?) And even if I
had added everything up, I would never in a million years have reached the conclusion that I’d just met the prophetess
.

A few months ago I wasn’t even convinced the prophetess was real. She was more like an urban legend that everyone halfheartedly believed in, some more than others. Any disbelief stemmed from the fact that pretty much no one could boast that they’d ever set eyes on the prophetess, until now
.