“You are one of the only beings stronger than me,” I said.
“But the devil is another, and he is after you.” Andre said the words fiercely, even as his fingers absently stroked the skin of my hands. I wondered if he realized he did that whenever he got me into a compromising position. Like he couldn’t help but caress me.
I exhaled, staring into his eyes. “I’m not going to be able to outrun or outmaneuver the devil, Andre,” I said, resigned. My eyes moved away from him to take in Bishopcourt’s training room. Ever since Samhain, Andre had been training me in grappling, knife throwing, and sword fighting (yeah, supernaturals are majorly old school)—preparing me to hold my own when I saw the devil again. The problem was, not in a million years would I be able to go toe-to-toe with him. He’d proven that on Samhain.
Once I died, I was doomed.
Andre let go of my wrists and caught my jaw. He turned me to face him. “If you think that I’m going to just let you give up, then you don’t know me very well, soulmate.” His eyes flashed. He’d been like this since Samhain—ferocious, determined. It was kind of hot, but mostly scary. Andre was intense enough as is. I guess the prospect of having his soulmate face an eternity as Satan’s unwilling mistress really pushed his limits.
I swallowed and nodded at his words.
His eyes dipped to my lips, and his nostrils flared. A wild, spicy scent rolled off him, and my skin started to glow. His forehead creased, and I felt his whole body shudder. This was happening more and more often. We were soulmates; this was destined to happen. Fighting it was impossible. But boy did Andre try.
He made a pained sound at the back of his throat, and then he lost his internal battle. His lips met mine, and I tasted heaven on them.
His tongue parted my lips and I wrapped a leg around his and ran my fingers through his hair, reveling in him. The kiss was savage—two tortured souls desperate to become one. I’d never get over this. He was mine and I was his. Soulmates.
I clutched him closer to me. More, I needed more. My skin flared, and I broke off the kiss. Or maybe it was Andre.
We both panted. Andre’s eyes shone so brightly that I cupped his face and smiled at him. His expression was one of anguished beauty.
“Don’t have dark thoughts, Andre.” I didn’t always know where he went when he wore that expression, but it usually had something to do with me.
He looked away as he stood up. Taking me hand, Andre pulled me up alongside him and wrapped his arms around me. His lips skimmed my forehead. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Gabrielle. I’ll die first.”
I watched Leanne shove clothes into a duffle bag the following day. My lips drew down into a frown.
“Don’t be sad, Gabrielle,” Leanne said, not looking at me. “You have an exciting week ahead of you.”
“You know, you’re super creepy when you do that,” I said. My powers weren’t the only ones growing. Leanne’s had been intensifying as well, and she was quickly becoming the queen of cryptic messages.
Leanne laughed and finally glanced over at me. “Look who’s talking, my little vampy consort.”
“Point made.” I turned back to my desk and picked up a letter I received in the mail. Judging by the familiar cream stationary and the lack of a return address, I knew exactly who the sender was. Cecilia, my childhood nanny and one of three fates.
If Leanne was the queen of cryptic messages, then Cecilia was the inventor of them.
Happy birthday, tesoro, she wrote along the edge of the envelope. I blinked back my surprise; I kept forgetting that today was my real birthday. Thanks to my forged birth certificates, March instinctually felt like my birthday month, not December.
I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the card. On a cream colored sheet of paper she’d written five lines in that loopy scrawl of hers. Five lines, and nothing else.
Daughter of wheat and grain,
Betrothed to soil and stain,
Your lifeblood drips,
The scales tip,
But will it be in vain?
Goosebumps broke out along my skin. A dark riddle, that was my birthday gift, and it probably held all the vital clues to how I’d survive the future. I pocketed the poem; I’d best keep it on me. Chances were, I’d need it.
The door to my room burst open, distracting me from Cecilia’s strange letter.
“Someone’s going to get laid tonight! Someone’s going to get laid tonight!” Oliver chanted as he flittered into my room. A gift box was tucked under his arm.
He looked at me and waggled his eyebrows.
My cheeks flushed. “Stop giving me that look.”
“No way, Sabertooth. Leanne have you foreseen it? Fifty pounds says she’s a nasty freak in the bedroom.”
“Oli-ver.” The flush was creeping up my neck.
From across the room, Leanne paused in her packing. Unlike Oliver and me, she was going home for the holidays. “Oliver, I don’t spy on my friends future sex lives—something you should be thankful for.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said, touching his hair. “I am a sex god. Better than porn.”
Ewwww.
Leanne pinched her eyes shut. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, even if I did see … you know …”
“Andre pillaging that virgin treasure? Stealing the booty? Deflowering our little cherub?” Oliver said, walking over to me.
I raised my eyebrows. “Thanks, Oliver. Descriptive, as always.”
“I’d still never tell you,” Leanne finished.
Oliver pouted. “You’re no fun.” He turned to me, and his pout morphed into a sinful little smile.
“Guess what I have?” He held up the gift in his hands before I could answer. “Your birthday present!” he squealed. Oliver shook the box, and I could hear the swish of material rubbing together. Not that it took heightened hearing to guess what Oliver had given me.
“A present? For moi?” I said, surprisingly touched at the thought.