Falling again and again. The magic in him. So powerful. Alaric’s edict that he join the priesthood, learn to train and channel the power. Christophe’s refusal. Again feeling like an outsider. As though he weren’t good enough.
She fell again, this time into a pool of golden warmth. Felt bathed in hope and reassurance; a sense of belonging. A feeling of home after so many long centuries without. She looked into the light, the source of this wonderful, soul-renewing hope.
And she saw her own face smiling back at her.
Chapter 33
Christophe held Fiona as tightly as he dared, rocking her back and forth as she cried in his arms.
“How did you stand it?” she finally said, her sobs slowing. “So alone for so long. How could you bear it?”
He considered the question and realized he didn’t know how to answer it. “I didn’t know any different.”
“What was that? What happened to me?” She wiped her wet face on her pillow and then sat up, taking deep breaths. “How did I see your memories?”
“What you saw was actually my soul.” He sat up, too, pulling her close to him. He needed to be touching her. “That was an ancient Atlantean . . . ritual? Experience? I don’t even know what to call it. A blessing, perhaps. It’s called the soul-meld and what you experienced—no, what we experienced—was a journey through each other’s soul.”
“But how is that even possible?” She trembled against him. “You saw my childhood, too? Lived through my pain? I don’t know what to say.”
“I did, mi amara, and your soul is beautiful beyond the fantasies of the gods. You are courage and goodness made into light and formed especially for me. You must know that you are mine.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, wishing he could hold her there forever, just like that, with no vampires or Fae or missions to ever come between them.
“What does that mean, that I am yours?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
He loosened his arms, but she didn’t pull away.
“Is that some kind of magic binding? Do you—what does it mean? Can it be broken?”
He fought against the terror biting into him with sharp metal teeth. He’d finally found her and she wanted to find a way to escape him. He wanted to shout and rage against the injustice, but that would frighten her, and he found that he cared more about her feelings than his own. He almost laughed.
Love, then, was a fool’s game.
“Yes, it can be broken. Or at least, it can be ignored,” he said. “The most precious tenet of Atlantean life is free will. The soul-meld, though it comes but rarely and offers a gift beyond price to a relationship, can be turned down. Refused.”
He inhaled a shuddering breath and said the hardest words he’d ever had to speak. “Tell me to go, and I will.”
She put her hand up to his cheek and stared up at him, her blue eyes drowning with some emotion he couldn’t translate. “Christophe.”
“Don’t,” he said, throwing himself away from her and out of the bed. “Don’t try to be kind. Don’t try to let me down easily. Just tell me to get out, and I’ll go.”
He stopped, realizing he still asked too much. “No. You don’t even need to say the words. I’ll leave now.”
He reached for the sheaths with his daggers and knocked over a vase of flowers. Instead of righting it, he hurled it against the wall and howled out the anguish that bubbled out of his chest until he thought it would consume him in its scarlet flame.
“Christophe. Christophe, listen to me.” Fiona knelt beside him, though he didn’t know how or when she’d gotten there. She shook his shoulders again. “Christophe! Don’t make me smack your bottom again.”
Tears ran down her face, silvery tracks not marring her incredible beauty but merely changing it, transforming it to something bittersweet. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”
He raised his head and stared at her. He thought she’d said . . .
“What?”
“You can’t go. Don’t leave me. We can figure this out. I love you, you crazy Atlantean madman,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m not sure why you’d want a cat burglar, but you’re mine, too, so let’s make this work, okay? No more talk of leaving me. Not ever.”
He couldn’t make a sound. He took her in his arms, swept her up off the floor and back into the bed, and made his clothes vanish with a thought. Before he could speak, or think, or even offer up a prayer of thankfulness to all the gods who might be listening, he was inside of her again.
“Mine,” he said. “I love you, too. This is where I belong. For always, my princess, my ninja, mi amara.”
She traced her fingertips down his spine and smiled. “What does that mean? Mi amara?”
“My beloved. It means my beloved, and you are.”
Then he made love to her, gently and sweetly, for a very long time.
His. She was his. He would never let her go.
Fiona woke up gradually, swimming through sleep to consciousness in stages. First she realized her body was slightly sore, and she smiled at the memory of the lovemaking that had caused it. Then she remembered the rest of it, and her heart rate felt like it doubled as her eyes popped open.
Christophe came walking out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel slung low on his hips, and strolled over to the window to look out. She took a few moments to enjoy the view before she let him know she was awake. His broad chest tapered down into sharply defined abdominal muscles, which veed down between his hips. He was a purely perfect specimen of masculine form, and he was hers.
“Good morning,” she said, and enjoyed seeing that she’d surprised him.
“I thought you’d sleep for quite a while.” He crossed to the bed and leaned down to kiss her.
She enjoyed the kiss, but decided to table any further discussion of soul-melding and forever until her emotions were on more solid ground, so she took refuge in practicality. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Change of plans. You’ve got a lot of friends who might be Fae, whether you realize it or not, and I think we can kill two barnacles with one shell.”
She started to laugh. “It’s kill two birds with one stone.”
He grimaced. “Why would I want to kill birds with stones? Anyway, the only ones slow enough for that trick would be the palace peacocks, and even I think they’re too pretty to kill.”
“I feel a little like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole again,” she moaned, still smiling at him so he knew she was teasing.
“Look, forget birds. We’re going Fae hunting. I think the Fae may be pulling a double-cross, here, urging both shifters and vamps to believe it’s the other who stole the sword and the Siren. Also, we can ask about Denal. Are you with me, partner?”
She jumped out of bed. “I know just the place to start. One of my contacts, the first to give me the tip about the man who wanted Vanquish, actually. He owns a pub, and he’s Maeve’s cousin.”
“Which means he’s Fairsby’s cousin, too,” Christophe said. “I knew that damned Unseelie Fae was involved in this somehow.”
She headed for the bathroom. “Give me twenty minutes to shower.”
His eyes flared hot, and he followed her and tossed his towel on the rack. “We’re not in that big of a hurry. I think you need me to wash your back.”
It took far longer than twenty minutes.
The Prancing Pony pub
It had taken a while to get Hopkins and Declan caught up, and even Sean had eaten breakfast with them. Hopkins had already called Fiona’s assistant, Madeleine, and given her the week off and done the same for the rest of the staff, so there would be no interruptions or distractions. By the time she and Christophe managed to escape, it was nearly lunchtime. Sean had dropped them off, darkly muttering something about errands, and promised to be back in two hours unless Fiona needed him sooner.