“Did you ask him?” One question, uttered in moonlight, ripping her open and letting her bleed out across the ground.
She could not answer, knew his verdict had been rendered and the question merely the formality. Shapes materialized around him, keeping a wary distance. Violence shimmered in the night air, vicious intent hardened the dark. He was waiting, for what she wasn’t sure, but he frightened her more than he ever had. It was as if he was disappearing into a cold black place from which he would never return.
Nico laughed and his hand moved, the gesture landing her hard on the ground. Her pale hair tangled across her eyes. She thought it was a nightmare, hoped. But the road was dry beneath her palms, the pain in her knees too intense not to be real, and the man who had once been her friend jerked her upright again. His mouth was crushing hers, teeth biting deep into her flesh. She arched back in pain. In answer, his grip in her hair grew so tight she couldn’t twist away.
A scream split the night air, and it was as if the earth had opened and demons emerged. Where Christan once stood monstrous creatures appeared, coming together with such force the branches of nearby trees broke like kindling. The noise was thunder, blood like rain on the ground, the wet ripping of flesh so terrifying she turned to run.
She did not get far.
They were on her in an instant. Desperate, she fell in the dirt. A knife was in her hand, picked up from a pool of blood. She struck out blindly. But it did not end, could not end no matter how she screamed. When a dark form loomed above her, when she felt the blade and the boots she believed she’d fallen into hell. She curled into a tight ball and begged, for forgiveness for her shouted, angry words. Begged, for another chance to repair her sins. Begged, to have that moment back when she had condemned the man she once loved. Loved him still. She begged for one more breath. And then she stopped.
CHAPTER 28
Casa Della Farfalla, Italy
Christan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other anchoring Lexi against his side. He felt the tremors flow through her, delicate movements in her hand where she curled it against her heart. His jaw clenched on a wave of self-revulsion. He’d been reckless, following Arsen’s instruction and never stopping to think she would know exactly where she was.
Ahead he saw the tall stone pillars that marked the gravel drive to the Casa della Farfalla. The ancient iron gate stood open, and as he drove through, the gate closed behind them. The caretakers would expect their arrival. Over the centuries, Arsen had arranged for a series of loyal humans to assume public ownership of the villa and extensive grounds. The tactic would obscure Christan’s continuing interests. While it was likely that Kace would track them here, the villa was far more secure than it had been in the past. It was the safest option available.
Christan parked the large vehicle and lifted Lexi in his arms. She struggled; Christan brushed his fingers across her forehead and calmed her.
The caretaker met him at the arched, double wooden doors, holding one open. Christan nodded in greeting and carried her inside with the swift sure steps of a man who had lived in that space for a very long time.
Even in the dark he knew his way around. There was the large kitchen, leading to the vaulted main salon. Delicate painted frescoes of pastoral scenes covered the walls. At one end of the main salon, a massive staircase led to the second floor, framed with black iron railing. He took the stairs two at a time, not breathing hard as he shouldered his way into the bedroom. Paused, considering what she would think. This had been their room four hundred years ago. The memories were thick and buried in every corner. But he had no choice. He would do what he needed to do.
Moving into the bathroom, he stripped the dirty clothes from her body. She had roused enough to stand on her own, but he held one hand on her shoulder as he turned the taps in the modernized shower. She felt too fragile, and he stripped off his own bloody clothes, then lifted her and stepped beneath the spray. At the first sign of her resistance, he just held her, stroking along her arm. Her breathing calmed. The water was warm as it soothed across her skin, and for a long time he simply held her upright until she shuddered once.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said as she opened her eyes.
Lexi didn’t seem to know what to say, so Christan reached for the lemon scented soap. Gently, so as not to alarm her, he smoothed his hands over her collarbones, then down her back. He needed to do this. Each reincarnation was seared into his soul. No matter what color her hair, what body type she possessed, he could touch her like this and know her.
He would never tell her, but he felt so proud of her courage. His warrior girl. She hadn’t flinched in the face of violence, hadn’t run this time. She’d grown into a new skin and it thrilled him, sizzled across his nerve endings. Made him a little irrational. He felt it, in the way his fingers tightened before he let her go.
Need pressed against him, but Christan forced it back. With quick movements, he washed the blood from his skin, his hands easy and comfortable with his own needs. She’d watched him fight and refused to leave until he was safe. Then he’d asked her to drive where the imprints from Gemma would be the most intense. He knew the memories had returned, just by looking at the new amber line that burned beneath her skin. She would hate him for it, and perhaps he deserved it more now than ever.
He reached for the shampoo and worked the lather into her hair, pressing against her scalp. Bits of dirt washed away with the lather, and he ran his fingers through the pale strands, spreading them across her wet shoulders, smoothing down the center of her back. He loved her hair. Loved it best when she bent over him, the silken veil cocooning them while he moved deep within her. Abruptly, he turned off the water, lifted her, wrapped a large towel and carried her back into the bedroom, ignoring his own nudity. Kindling had been laid in the fireplace. Flames burst into life. He settled himself in a chair, close enough to feel the warmth, and held her.
She was so warm, snuggled deep into the curve of a masculine shoulder. Hard arms surrounded her. His fingers were stroking her leg as if soothing a restless child.
Lexi knew that touch. She recognized the strength in those corded arms, breathed in the intimate fragrance of male flesh tinged slightly with lemon soap. Her eyes opened. Slowly she pushed out of his arms, realizing she was wrapped in a towel and he was wrapped in her.
It would be better if she could move away, but then he would be exposed. And he knew it. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips, and Lexi looked around. The room was familiar, too. The walls were a soft earthy rose, but once they’d been white. The floor was cool tile beneath her feet. A carved Italian four poster bed rested against the far wall and was deep in shadow, still draped in white linen. Tall windows overlooked what she knew would be a garden where she’d once played as a child, loved as a young woman. Where she’d cried and begged and lost everything. Emotions rose and nearly overwhelmed her. Lexi lunged to her feet, but before she could run, he was behind her. His big hands circled her arms, holding her steady.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her hair. “I shouldn’t have brought you here without warning.”
It took her a moment before she could speak.
“I remember, Christan,” she said as she turned to look at him. “I remember Gemma.”