But this woman had always been stubborn, in every lifetime. He growled deep in his throat while the tip of his tail flicked. When she’d been Gaia she took life as it came; she’d been straightforward and honest, accepting the life that he lived. It was only through the next lifetimes that she began to mistrust who he was.
Christan understood the essential difference; during that first life, humans believed in the unseen powers affecting the direction of their lives. But the human world changed with each century until gods and their magic were feared. Christan kept his secrets and he was not the only one; no warrior risked telling the lovers the truth. But perhaps none had experienced the disastrous results that he had.
An image came to mind of when she’d been Gemma. He saw the same winter light in her hair. Remembered the way her body had been silhouetted by the firelight. The thin cotton shift that flowed when she walked, barefoot, across the red-tiled floor.
Christan hadn’t told her he was leaving—hadn’t wanted the fight. He’d been gone so much as it was, fulfilling the terms of the Agreement used against him by a vengeful Calata. Instead he’d taken her by the hand, tugged her into a chapel scented with incense and candle wax, and married her before a warrior priest who knew how to keep secrets. He’d made love to her on a bed with white linens, and in that dark hour before dawn, he’d walked silently out the door. When she woke, he had been gone.
He’d believed marriage would be enough. He wanted to bind her to him, let her know she was his. He had miscalculated. Monumentally.
Christan shifted his weight, stretched his paws forward and felt the claws extend. When he drew them back they scored the surface of the rock, scattered the rusty pine needles that collected in the crevices. Even in predator form he realized how harsh he’d been in Gemma’s lifetime, leaving her that way. He’d been harsh again, when he entered Lexi’s mind two weeks ago and dug into her memories. Harsh when he dealt with the man who killed her cat—so harsh even Phillipe had commented, and the immortal could be more brutal than the Enforcers. Arsen said he wasn’t giving her a chance. That he looked for reasons to hate her.
Perhaps he did.
But there was still no fucking way he would ever need her. Not the way he’d needed her all those centuries ago and she’d walked away. He’d severed the connection, knew she had, too, after she’d pushed that one word back into his head. They’d both spent centuries fighting over something they never really possessed beyond that first life.
The evening grew quiet. Christan watched as she straightened and stretched out her back. He stood slowly and shifted his weight forward. With a sinuous, lethal movement he disappeared into the shadows of dusk.
Lexi jogged up the slight incline. The sun had dropped below the horizon and she paused, glanced around at the mix of shadows beside the path, then stared deep into the sparse undergrowth beneath the pines. On instinct, she crouched down and pressed her palms to the warm earth. Small animals were scurrying for cover. Somewhere in the distance a large predator was on the prowl, dangerous after sundown. Arsen had warned her, said she’d need an escort when she ran—in daylight as well as the evening. But tonight, everyone was busy and she’d been unaccountably restless; she took the risk to go on her own.
She was at the top of the ridge where the path branched off in two directions, one leading around the lake while the other turned back toward the lodge. Lexi was in the mood for the longer run, but abruptly, an animal leapt down from one of the large boulders lining the trail. The predator was half-hidden in the purple light, and with three slow steps he blocked the path.
The animal was magnificent, primal, a mountain lion so sleekly lethal Lexi took a step back. There was fierceness in the muscles beneath the tawny pelt and a feral heat in his eyes. The last time Lexi had encountered a cat she thought it was a warrior—and it had been a damn cat. This could be an actual predator, hunting in his territory. Arsen had told her about the pumas. They were small compared to the African great cats but they were the deadliest predators on the continent. Stealth was their greatest asset. An adult male could take down a jogger as easily as an elk, drag the body up into the trees, and “no one would know until the crows made too much noise.” It had been part of Arsen’s cautionary tale about why she shouldn’t jog alone.
Lexi took another step back. Hesitated. Something familiar and untamed was moving sharply against her skin.
She tipped her head to one side, considering it.
The predator watched her. She felt his energy swell and roll forcefully beneath the ground. Her heart jumped.
“I know it’s you,” she said, holding out her hand. “This is a peaceful place. Don’t ruin it for me.”
The energy increased. Lexi braced, but the aggression evaporated into what felt like a shudder of indecision. Her legs buckled. She sank to her knees, slid sideways and sat on the ground.
The cat watched, then slowly mirrored her position, shifting his paws and lowering the massive body until he was stretched out to his full length. The tail gave one irritated flick. Lexi noticed the tip wasn’t tawny like the coat but dipped in charcoal brown, almost black. A whisker twitched above the cat-gold eyes. When the scent of wild oranges filled the air, she recognized the mental intrusion.
Lexi reached for Arsen’s technique, found the door in her mind and slammed it shut. “Stop it.”
The tail flicked with aggression. Lexi tensed, pulled her knees against her chest and closed her eyes. The loneliness was crushing.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. “I don’t remember anything about you, and yet you know enough to judge me.” Silence. She looked at the cat over her bent knees. “Don’t you think that’s unfair?”
A few crickets began an early chirp. Lexi took that as permission to continue her argument.
“You probably remember my worst moments, know if I snore.” Still no reaction. “Probably saw me naked.”
The cat made a chuffing sound and Lexi flicked her hand out, brushing the implication aside.
“Not me naked. I mean those other women naked, in the past.”
The cat said nothing. He was waiting, eyes steady and that tail sweeping slowly through the grass. The movement was irritating.
“Naked is not the point,” Lexi said stiffly. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here because I want to tell you something. I know you haven’t been around much. Arsen said you’d recovered, and I’m glad. There’s just something I need to say.”
Lexi dug her heels deeper into the soft earth.
“That day when we were fighting, when I was angry and you were being an arrogant ass… I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I don’t even understand how I did it, but you didn’t deserve what happened.” She paused. “I wanted to tell you I was sorry.”
The tail stopped moving. Lexi thought it would be easier to apologize to an animal when he didn’t talk back or point out that her apology was a little too aggressive to be taken at face value. It wasn’t easy. It was… strange.
“I wish,” she whispered after a minute, “that I could remember you.” She placed her palm down on the still-warm ground, pressed hard. “I know you like to intimidate people, and you jump to conclusions. You go away a lot. I think I taught you how to cook.” Her eyes closed and she tipped her head back. “I wish I understood why we hate.”
She hadn’t expected an answer, not really. Wild creatures didn’t talk. But it didn’t stop the disappointment that made her shoulders droop.
“I feel stupid having a conversation with a gigantic cat.”
The cat growled.
“Okay, a giant mountain lion.” Lexi straightened. “So, if I did something awful in one of those past lives, I’m sorry for that, too.”