Wind howled past the windows of Stonehill Hold, but the chill didn’t reach inside. Wrapped around a sleeping Daphne on the carpet in front of the hearth, Ari stared into the dying fire and watched wood crumble to ashes.
A pillow was tucked under his head, and a blanket covered their legs, but the warmth Ari felt came directly from Daphne, snuggled against him, her head resting on his bicep as she faced the fire, her hand clutching his at her waist. He knew he should wake her, carry her to the bed where she’d be more comfortable, but he didn’t want to move. Moving meant he had to think, and thinking was something he was trying to avoid. Because thinking meant facing reality. And reality was hard and cruel and deadly.
The charred log slipped and fell into the smoldering coals, sending burning ash into the air. Ari watched a flake float and cool, turning from red to gray and finally white powder as it hit the stones of the hearth.
“Duty crumbles to ashes in the fires of love.”
Daphne’s voice echoed in his head. She was wrong. It wasn’t love that destroyed duty, it was lust. Lust was the true deceiver, messing with the mind, fooling the heart. Lust for a female who’d never truly wanted him had destroyed everything Ari had held dear. And now, if he wasn’t careful, lust had the power to destroy another life. Not his this time, but Daphne’s.
He looked down at her sleeping against his arm, watched her eyelids flicker, and wondered what she was dreaming about. Wondered if she was dreaming of him. Her skin was like alabaster, her hair a warm mahogany that curled around his fingers like silk. His gaze slid over her cheek, down the long, lean line of her neck, to her succulent breasts he’d licked and laved and worshipped. And though all he wanted to do was worship her all again, a place deep inside his chest—a place she’d set free—knew he couldn’t.
Bit by bit, Ari’s good mood slipped away. Gently, so as not to wake her, he untangled his hand from Daphne’s and carefully slid his arm out from under her head. A soft, sweet grunt slipped from her lips as she adjusted on the carpet and rolled to her other side. When her breathing lengthened and slowed, he pulled the blanket up to her shoulders then rose to his feet.
He tugged on his pants and headed for his office. After flicking on the lamp, he lowered into the chair and stared at the map on the wall across the room.
The sum of fifty years’ worth of work. An obsession he’d prefer to forget but couldn’t. He looked from flag to flag, marking the Sirens movements, and knew that even though he didn’t want to, he’d go on tracking them. It was the only way he could stay semi-sane. He’d told Daphne about Penelopei, but he hadn’t told her about the aftermath of Penelopei’s death and what losing his soul mate continued to do to him even fifty years later. And as much as he liked Daphne’s companionship, as much as he enjoyed being with her, he didn’t want her to ever see him in the throes of one of his episodes. He’d barely survived seeing the horror in his son’s eyes when Cerek had witnessed it.
There was only one way to keep that from happening. Rising, he walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. The wind had died down. By morning the storm would be gone. There’d be fresh snow, but he knew how to traverse the snowy landscape. And no matter how much he wanted to stay hidden in this hold, this time he couldn’t.
Because by this time tomorrow, Daphne needed to be nothing but a memory. Not just for her sake, but for his as well.
*
Daphne awoke with a start. Blinking several times, she looked up only to realize she’d been shaken out of sleep by a firm hand.
“Sorry to wake you.” Ari set something next to her on the floor and pushed to his feet. “The storm’s broken. I took these from Silas’s room. You should be able to make them work.”
Groggy, Daphne watched him disappear into his closet. He was dressed, wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots, and he’d showered, the tips of his hair still damp where they brushed his nape. But he should still be lying next to her, not up and moving around.
She glanced at the items he’d left beside her and realized they were clothes. Clean clothes. Confused as to what he was doing and why, more importantly, he seemed to be avoiding eye contact, she pushed up on her arm and scanned the dimly lit room.
The fire beside her was nothing but smoldering embers. A backpack sat near the door, one that looked as if it had already been packed.