Trefoil (12 page)

“A wound gaped in his chest. I didn’t pause to consider my actions. I only felt what had to be done. I hoisted the man over one shoulder. His life blood dripped down my back. I felt its wet warmth soak through my shirt. I began moving off the path, one step at a time, glancing over my shoulder, but no one noticed me, or if they did, they were too shocked at their losses to care.

“I didn’t need to go far. I laid the dying soldier in a spot between two fir trees. He groaned as his body released its shit and urine. Blood bubbled between his lips. I leaned over him, smelling sour death, and took his face in my palms.

“‘Not this morning, my brave one, or any morning hereafter,’ I said. I grabbed his knife and opened his vein. The soldier convulsed slightly. I didn’t know if it was from the new pain or the old, but I slashed my wrist and filled his vein with my life blood. My long life’s blood.

“After mere seconds, his face seemed less grey in the hot, early morning light, and minutes later he was glowing with new life. I used my teeth to knot my handkerchief about my wrist and walked back through the trees onto the path, on to more battles.”

As John recited the story, Nathan saw it and remembered. They glared at one another. They had read each other’s souls. Nathan read Lillian on John LeClair’s soul, as fragile and clear as a soap bubble. And John LeClair saw the bright orb that was Lillian fixed deep within Nathan’s.

“Get back to the car,” John LeClair said through clenched teeth.

She remained fixed in place, halfway between the men.

“I said, get back to the car.”

“No.” It was spoken with quiet vehemence, and John LeClair turned to her incredulously. Nathan’s heart soared.

The breeze died down, and Will Cochran’s voice rang out. “Easy, John.” They all turned.

John’s head snapped up. “What the hell?” He took two menacing steps toward Will.

“John, no,” screamed Lillian, leaping forward to restrain John. Nathan’s eyes blazed at the sight of her fingers wrapped around John LeClair’s bicep. A sickening itch rose in his blood, unbearable and unrelieved.

Will held up both palms. “John, my name is Will Cochran. I’m a friend of Lillian’s, and yours too.” Will’s eyes cut to Nathan.

“How do you know my wife?” bellowed John.

That word was a brand to Nathan’s heart, searing him to the core. His gaze flashed to Lillian.
Please, Nathan, just play along.

John shoved her roughly behind him.

“We met that day at the museum. John, there are powers here that you know nothing of. There is a reason you are here. There is a reason for Lillian to be here.”

Will’s words filled Nathan with boundless joy, because the reason was him. Through the window between their souls, his emotion swelled, rolled, crested. Lillian began to gasp. Something was wrong. She couldn’t breathe.

Nathan realized what was happening at the same time John did, and John was closer. She crumpled into his arms.

“We have to get her to Dante,” Will said.

“Yes.”

But John LeClair was turning for the path.

“Hold it right there, LeClair.”

He swung back, turning his hate-filled black stare on Nathan. Lillian’s braid dangled over his arm, swishing. Nathan couldn’t look at her white face.

“John, listen,” Will pleaded. “Something is wrong with Lillian. You know that. She needs help, and we know where she can get it.”

Nathan recognized the fear that made John stop and listen. He listened for the same reason Nathan would have listened—he was in love with her.

“This way. My car is this way.” Will spun and loped toward the parking area.

John and Nathan glared at one another over the woman they both wanted, but only one of them had a right to. And the set of John LeClair’s jaw told Nathan he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

* * * * *

Nathan slid into the front seat of Will’s SUV, kicking a dry leaf free of his boot string, and scrubbing his grubby hands against his thighs. In the back seat, Lillian lay across John Leclair’s lap. A brief glance at John tenderly stroking her hair from her ghostly face had been enough to send Nathan into fits of rage. He gripped the handle on the ceiling to keep from launching over the seat.

He jammed a hand through his windblown hair and squinted at the landscape flashing past. His face felt stiff with the tears he’d shed, and hell, compared to John LeClair’s pulled together look, Nathan was a mess.

Will took the narrow back roads to the mansion at high speeds, and Nathan stole a look at Lillian. John LeClair glared from beneath lowered brows, as dark as exclamation points. As Nathan faced forward, Will shot him a pointed look, which he had no idea how to interpret. Unfortunately, Will knew more of the situation than he did. Will knew more about Lillian than he did.

The vehicle screeched to a halt in the parking area before the brick mansion. The monstrous windows reflected the sun, which was beginning its easy ascent into the sky. Nathan glared up at it, wondering how many mornings he would live to see with empty arms.

John slipped from the backseat without jostling Lillian. “What is this place? A hospital?”

“No, the home of a friend. He’s immortal as well. He’s seen a lot. He may be able to help Lillian,” Will said briskly, leading the way.

The heel of Will’s hand hit the front door, shoving it inward, even as he was calling. Dante burst from the library and hurried to the strange party gathered in his grand foyer. In a blink, his shrewd eyes assessed the situation, and he barked orders.

“John, this way, upstairs and to the right. Place Lillian in the guest room where she can be made comfortable. Will, we are in need of a cool cloth.” Dante placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Go and find Maria, Nathan.” Dante said, “Please, Nate.”

John spun toward them suspiciously.

Nathan sped off, feet thumping the corridors, looking first in the kitchen, and finding Maria in her small sitting room. He heard the voices rising as the others mounted the stairs, particularly John LeClair’s. His tone, his guarded gaze, his very fingertips which held Lillian against his chest made Nathan want to wring his neck.

Once he gathered a flustered Maria and a first-aid box, he entered the guest room where Lillian lay. She was spread upon the pale blue coverlet like Ophelia floating on water, her hair pooling about her heart-shaped face. Her lashes were a dark spidery sweep against her cheeks, one hand chaffed between John LeClair’s as he whispered love words into her ear.

Nathan shuddered.

Maria squeezed through the knot of onlookers, accepted the cool compress from Will and placed it on Lillian’s brow. Nathan looked on helplessly.

Just shut your eyes, he thought. Try not to see that she’s here and she’s sick and you probably can’t have her. But he couldn’t make himself stop looking at her. She was the kind of dainty woman that no longer existed—shapely calves, slender shoulders and flawless skin. Her eyes were grey, he knew now. Grey like the gathering thunderclouds of a storm.

Lillian,
he thought despairingly. Her eyelids twitched.

Nathan drifted forward. His shins came up against the foot of the bed painfully.
Lillian.
Her lips formed his name in that silent moan he’d witnessed in a Vision.

“Ah, she’s coming around,” exclaimed John. He allowed her not an inch of breathing space, but trailed kisses across her forehead and down one cheek. “Lillian, my love, it’s all right. I’m here and—”

Will bodily removed Nathan from the room, and John yelled, “What the hell is this?”

As Will forced Nathan down the stairs before him, occasionally shoving him in the back to propel him faster, he hissed, “Nate, you’ve got to get a grip. If he suspects anything, he’ll take her and run.”

“I’d like to see him try,” he growled, stomping into the library. He strode to the fireplace and slammed his hands off the mantel. “What makes you think he doesn’t already suspect?”

“He doesn’t,” Will said with a slashing motion. “Nate, do you think for a minute Lillian will allow fighting? You need to play this hand right.”

“I need to be alone with her,” Nathan rasped.

When John and Dante entered, Will and Nathan were speaking in violent whispers. Nathan jammed a trembling hand through his hair. Dante gave him a steady look and crossed to the mini bar. He lifted a bottle questioningly.

Nathan whirled away, but Will accepted a glass and drank it in one breath. John’s eyes did not miss a beat, but before he opened his mouth to fire a question, Dante lifted his glass in toast.

“To new friends and Lillian’s health.”

John’s draw dropped.

“These are the reasons you are here, John.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Dante. I’ve gone by dozens of last names over the years, but Dante is my given name. These are my friends, Will Cochran and Nathan Halbrook.” John ignored them, so Dante continued. “We’re all immortals. This is my home which I share with my lovely wife, Maria, and two others. Will is one, and one man you haven’t met is Ricardo. Nathan has a residence nearby. I trust you met Nathan?”

“He Made me,” Nathan said through clenched jaw.

Dante didn’t respond to the statement, but Nathan saw him process it. “We know about Lillian’s fainting spells from Will. Fate brought those two together and directed you here so we can help her. I’d like to invite you both to stay while I observe her.”

“What can
you
do about the fainting?” John asked, beyond civilities. “Mortal medicine won’t touch her, and I’ve searched the public library, read mythology, legends and Native American stories, hoping something may be uncovered in such tales.”

“I have been Walking for centuries, John,” Dante said almost tiredly as he poured himself another shot. “I have seen a lot. I hope to help Lillian, but I need information. For instance, I need to know when and where she was Made.”

“1940 Oahu.”

“Who Made her?”

“I did.” He looked at the ceiling, his face twisted. “I need to go to her. I need to check on her.”

“There’s no need,” Dante said with a private smile. “She’s coming.”

They flooded into the wood paneled corridor as Lillian and Maria rounded the newel post. When she spotted the men, Lillian jerked to a stop.

“I see you’re feeling improved,” Dante said, catching her hands. He threw a sidelong glance at John, quelling his objection to touching his wife. “John, I would like to speak with Lillian alone. I can assure you of her safety.”

Lillian stared at her surroundings, her gaze bouncing off deep mahogany wainscoting, thick moldings and chandelier dripping with crystal tiers. Everywhere except Nathan.

“Alone. Just you,” John said, and Lillian followed Dante down the corridor, allowing one quick glance to see that Nathan wasn’t following.

Dante and Lillian’s footsteps sounded hollow and as cold as her blood. She quaked in fear. At each intersection of hallway, she glanced back, hoping to see Nathan. And behind her, she felt John’s fear and confusion. When she had roused from her faint, his eyes were burning.

“Why did you hide this from me?” he asked.

Dante stood aside and gestured for her to enter a pretty sitting room. It was small, with the feel of a Parisian parlor, high-ceilinged and ornate. The windows were as slender as elegant women, dressed in ice blue damask and skimming the Persian, pastel wool carpet. A simple antique sofa and small side chair were situated before a fireplace.

Lillian’s heels sank into the deep carpet, and she had to take care not to trip. She watched Dante closely as he peered through the window at the cold grey morning. After her faint, she felt fragile, like she was trapped inside a stranger’s mind, unable to control her thoughts or emotions. Disjointed images played in her mind. John’s look of absolute betrayal. Will’s long-legged gait as he entered the cemetery yard. And Nathan.

Her eyes rested on Dante, and found his dark and soulful eyes on her. “How are you feeling?” he asked in a quiet and richly accented, melodious voice. He possessed that raw decorum many foreigners possess. His movements were ingrained with it, from the sweep of his eyes to his elegant stance, leaning casually against the windowsill.

She cleared her throat to reply. She was so thirsty. After the men vacated the upstairs bedroom, Maria had given her two glasses of water, but she longed for more.

“A little disoriented,” she said. Dante moved forward, took her elbow and guided her to a chair. Relief trickled through her. She had been afraid he would make her lie on the sofa like a psychiatric patient.

“I’d like to ask a few questions. I hope you don’t object?” He smoothed his black wool trousers over his knees. She searched his face, faintly lined but sporting the inner glow of an immortal. It shone through his tawny olive complexion. But if Dante was beautiful, he was nothing compared to the man who opened a hidden door in the paneled wall.

Nathan moved into the space and the breath was sucked from Lillian’s lungs. His burning gaze latched onto her immediately. She was glued to her seat. Her heart beat as if she’d run a marathon. She and Nathan were not five steps from each other. Electricity thrummed between them.

“Ah,” said Dante softly, “it is as I thought.”

Nathan stepped further into the room, but did not sit. He leaned against the marble fireplace and watched her unswervingly. She couldn’t look into his eyes very long and keep a coherent thought, so she turned her gaze to her twisting hands.

“Lillian, you realize what is going on here?” Dante asked.

She shook her head.

“Nathan is immortal. You know that.” At her nod, he continued. “Are you and John immortals?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and clear. Why was she being questioned as if she was on a witness stand?

Suddenly she was hyperaware of sensation. Her skin rippled with a need to be touched. And Nathan’s did, too. His desire rippled from him in waves, so tangible it had its own scent—greenery and leather and cold snow. Though he had never laid a hand on her, those waves were invisible fingers, stroking over her heated flesh.

“How long have you and John been together?”

She felt more than saw Nathan’s flinch. Her heart turned over, and he took a small step toward her. Her eyes snapped to his. “Over sixty years.”

“How old are you, Lillian? When were you made?”

The depths of those green eyes pinned her in place. “I was Made in 1940, in Oahu.”

“She just discovered that. She didn’t know,” Nathan cut in. His voice sent a thrill through her. A smile appeared, causing the corner of his mouth to twitch upward.

She focused on Dante. “That’s true. John Made me.”

Dante shot a look at Nathan. “He also Made Nathan.”

“So I heard.”

Dante shifted as if his long legs required movement. “Lillian, do you know anything about the Calling?”

She shook her head. Nathan’s shoulders relaxed.

“It’s something which happens between immortals who are mates. They Call to one another, creating a connection to help them find one another. Once they do, they complete their bond by sharing blood and their bodies.”

Her face scorched. Nathan’s heart lurched toward her.

“You and John did not experience this Calling? The same as you and Nathan have?”

“No. I only remember being with him always.”

The men exchanged a look. Dante leaned his elbows on his knees. “Lillian, may I look into you a moment? Immortals can leave a mark on one another’s soul. I believe Will told you this.”

“Something like that.”

“Do you mind?” He was kneeling before her, and when she didn’t resist, he placed his hands on her shoulders and delved into her eyes. A long minute passed before he rested back. “You see, Nathan? It is as I believed. He is there as well, and it’s causing quite a physiological uproar.”

At once, Nathan was before her, kneeling, gripping her shoulders, plunging into her soul. It was the first time he’d touched her. Her breath came hard as he searched her, washing over her and ratcheting her desire up a notch. Her mind whirled. She was here, and he was close and she wanted him oh, so badly. Her chest seemed to gape open to expose her needy heart. Could he see the chasm in her soul only he could fill?

He turned his head to unlock their gazes. “Dante.”

“Of course.” Dante rose and slipped from the room, using the main door rather than the secret one Nathan used.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze, looking at a point on the fireplace, a hum running through him that she could feel but not outwardly detect. She stared at his fine blond hair, memorizing every strand. It fell in a long wave over his forehead, and she burned to see his eyes.

Nathan.

His head lifted, his trance broken. The opening between their souls blossomed, building a bridge in the gulf. Seeing him in person and feeling him inside her simultaneously was overwhelming. Tears pricked at her eyes.

“Oh, Lillian,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve waited my whole life for you, and now I can’t bear to see him in you. In your soul.”

“But you’re there, too,” she whispered, tears bulging against the roots of her lashes and breaking free to splash down her cheeks.

His chest heaved. “Yes, goddammit, and I will have you!” His mouth crushed hers, hard, possessive. His delicious musky flavor filled her mouth, coated her tongue, pooled in her head. He tasted of nothing she had ever experienced before. He was fine wine to an alcoholic, and the first sip hooked her. Her heart sang with utter joy at this meeting. She’d never known such bliss in her long life.

She was in his arms, pressing herself to him, trying to enter his body the way she had already entered his soul. She fisted his hair to hold him to her mouth. His tongue was gritty and harsh, devouring her. Heat ripped through her, nipples bunching, clit swelling, juices flowing.

The flip of their tongues increased to a desperate fervor. She gripped him to her, afraid he’d vanish, wisp through her fingers like smoke and never again would she feel this elation. When his big hand cradled her head, she let it rest on his palm. Slowly, he tipped her head all the way back. His gaze was a soft caress licking over her features, searing itself on her soul.

He dipped his mouth to hers once more, lapping at it tenderly. Her lower lip caught on his and she trailed it back and forth. Did he feel the fires raging between them?

“Lillian,” he whispered hoarsely, and then commanded her once more. His tongue delved deep, stroking the hot walls of her mouth and traced the line of her teeth. He angled his head and took absolute possession of her. She melted in his hold. His fingertips pressed into her spine and sent a shock straight to their souls.

“You see?” he was saying into her mouth, lifting her to the sofa and pressing her down. “You see? It’s us. He is nothing in the face of this.”

And she did see. She was blinded by blond hair and green eyes that jolted her like lightning, like the living tattoos of his chest.

He tore his mouth from hers and stared at her, eyes traveling over her hair, face, throat, breasts, then riveted on her mouth. He lunged at it, taking her lower lip between his teeth, his tongue smoothing the inside. She moaned, and he was flipping her again so she straddled him, his hips rising to meet hers as they ground against each other intimately.

Hot cream soaked her panties as the bulge of his long, thick cock rubbed her pussy. She wanted much more than his beautiful body. She wanted his blood running through her veins, to link their souls for eternity.

His hands clamped about her waist and he stretched her beneath him again, his rough hands softening, playing over her immortal tattoo until she writhed. His kiss slowed, deepened. He cupped one cheek and pressed his forehead into hers, his sweet breath crossing her face.

They lay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long minute before he pulled them into a sitting position. He eyed her with such intensity, she blushed. The smile that graced his face was soft and full and gentle.

“That wasn’t exactly the union of my imagination, but it was extraordinary.” His index finger traced her jaw to her lower lip. Her mouth parted with a sigh, causing a rumble to explode from his chest. He dove for her mouth again, tongue sweeping the hot interior. Her tongue circled his in a frenzied dance.

“Lillian, Lillian, I’m not letting you go. I was beside myself, thinking you didn’t want me.”

She caught his face between her palms. “Nathan, look at you.” She searched his features, then leaned in to rasp her cheek against his beard-roughened jaw. “How could I not want you? How?”

His eyes slid shut. His weight pressed her into the sofa cushions, but she longed to straddle him again, to ease the throb in her pussy.

The mantel clock chimed, causing him to jerk. “No,” he whispered, hot with pain.

“What is it?”

He shook himself as if he’d awakened from a long sleep and scrubbed one hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t want to come down from this cloud you’ve put me on, but I must. You’re meant to go to Maria now.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to try and play nice. Keep up appearances.” His voice twisted the words and he grimaced. “It kills me, having you here and knowing you’ll be with him, too. But I’ll try not to make it harder on you. I can’t bear to see you unconscious.” A sharp sigh expelled from him. “I’ll play the game. Right now I’m to pretend this never passed and send you to Maria for tea.”

He stamped her mouth with his, hard. “Dante’s coming.”

She rose with him, hot and cold at once. Her fingers clung to his.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said at her ear, and then he was gone, disappearing through the narrow hidden door in the paneling.

Dante smiled at her in a way that spoke volumes. “Come, my dear. I’ll show you to your room before you meet Maria for tea. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up.”

She must look a sight if well-mannered Dante commented on it. “John?” she asked in a tremulous voice. Her body beckoned Nathan back to her. She started to tremble.

“Outside, exploring the grounds with Will, oblivious.”

“Thank you, Dante. I don’t know how you can be so kind.”

She followed him back upstairs and into the guest room she had recently vacated. He opened the door for her with a smile. “Don’t you? Maria will be up shortly.”

* * * * *

The woman Lillian saw in the mirror could not be her. This woman was mussed from Nathan’s ravaging kisses, but something was different besides the too-bright eyes and the redness of her cheeks where his beard burned her.

This woman looked alive in a way she’d never seen.

She splashed her face with cold water—cutting the redness quite a bit—and located a hairbrush in her luggage, which had been brought to the room and sat alongside John’s, she noticed with a pang.

Her mind spun.

She focused on the sound of the hairbrush being drawn through her hair, and then coiled it at the nape of her neck in the way she’d worn it for decades. It wasn’t high fashion, yet it suited her, and she desperately wanted to show Nathan who she was.

A knock at the door startled her, and Lillian tossed the brush to the bed. She opened it with a hammering heart.

Maria smiled as if she understood Lillian’s throbbing mixture of fear and desire. “Hello, my dear friend. You’re looking well. Are you in need of refreshment?”

“Yes, please.”

Maria led her downstairs and into the sitting room she and Nathan had just vacated. Weak kneed, she stared at the sofa, feeling his kiss, smelling his scent. The sound of her name in her soul made her shaking increase.

Maria sank to the lone chair and took up the teapot from a tray situated on a low ottoman.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Lillian said, taking a sip of tea, fresh and hot, but not scalding. Her eyes shifted toward the hidden door, and Maria followed her gaze with a grin.

“Nathan is in the library with Dante. I believe he told you he’ll see you at dinner?”