“Heather.” Gabriel looked at her. “You didn’t do this. An Ashman did this. A curse did this. None of this is your fault.”
Heather covered her mouth with her hands. “Do you think he found the map?”
Nate shook his head. “Nah, it’s up in my room. But he might come back for it.”
Gabriel winced again as he repositioned himself on the table. “So what do we do now?”
Nate twitched his lips as he looked around the bloody kitchen and the wrecked living room. “Find a mop?”
Gabriel stared at him. “What do we do about the Ashman? And the Bluestone weapons?”
“Oh.” Nate took a deep breath. “I have no idea.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Me neither.”
They needed a plan. And manpower.
They needed Tristan.
56
Tristan looked around the dark shack and bit back a curse.
Still seated on the couch, Scarlet looked around. “I don’t suppose you have a generator?” Shadows from the fireplace—the only remaining light in the room—danced on her cheeks.
Tristan exhaled. “Nope.”
His eyes caught on hers and neither of them spoke. Scarlet had remembered what happened between them in her last life. Which wasn’t bad.
But it also wasn’t safe.
If their connection was strong enough to suck him into a flashback with her, then….
Well, then they definitely shouldn’t be having any sleepovers.
He took a deep breath. “Since we won’t have a heater tonight, you can sleep out here by the fireplace and I’ll sleep in the bedroom.”
Yes. That was a good plan.
All he needed to do now was leave. Walk away.
Tristan glanced at the darkened doorway of the cold bedroom that promised him no sleep whatsoever.
Gathering the blanket around her, Scarlet moved from the couch and folded down to the floor in front of the fireplace.
Tristan watched her watching the fire for a long moment.
“It’s peaceful, you know. Watching a fire burn.” Her eyes followed the flames. “Hypnotic, even. The way the flames wrap around what they devour until there is no more to consume. A roaring fire, destined to become quiet embers.”
Looking up at him from her blanket cocoon, Scarlet’s eyes flickered in the firelight. “Wanna sit?”
No.
He needed to leave. He needed to make his feet move him away from Scarlet and into the back bedroom. He did not want to sit.
Tristan sat down beside her.
They watched the flames without speaking for several minutes.
“Do you think it will always be this way?” Scarlet’s eyes stared straight ahead.
Tristan wasn’t sure if she meant the curse or their relationship. But the two were so related it didn’t matter.
He inhaled deeply. “I think…the only thing in this world that is truly immortal is hope. So, no.” He watched a flame lick around a dying piece of wood. “It won’t always be this way.”
Scarlet’s lips parted with a sad smile. Her voice was soft. “Sometimes you say beautiful things.”
He mirrored her broken smile. “Only to you.”
Her blue eyes slid from the fire to Tristan, looking lost and brave at the same time.
God, he loved her.
Their gazes locked for a few moments, before Tristan turned his eyes back to the fire. Scarlet did the same.
She cleared her throat. “Nate thinks your touch erases my memories. He says immortal blood can do that.”
This was news to Tristan. “Is that why he thinks your amnesia is worse this time?”
Scarlet nodded.
Tristan wanted to kick himself. Not only did he kill Scarlet with his touch, but he erased her memories too? He belonged in Hell.
They sat in silence for a while and eventually Scarlet’s eyes grew heavy. She slowly laid down beside Tristan, still wrapped in her blanket as she closed her eyes.
Sleepily, she said, “I know you’re going to leave me.” The fire crackled. “But don’t go, yet.” Her voice trailed off. “Not…yet.”
Tristan looked at her restful face until her breathing became even and peaceful. He had no intention of leaving her.
Not now.
Not ever.
He looked back at the flames and watched the roaring fire burn itself down into embers.
57
The next morning, Scarlet trudged through the wet forest at Tristan’s side as they headed back to the Archer cabin. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving the air clean and crisp. Scarlet stomped as she walked because she was wearing a pair of Tristan’s shoes that were much too giant for her feet.
In her haste the other night, she hadn’t bothered to slip on a pair of sneakers before running to find Tristan, and since Tristan refused to carry her back to the cabin—you could die, blah, blah, blah—Scarlet had settled for a pair of his hiking boots.
She also had on his black leather jacket. Which smelled like him and made Scarlet wish she could attach it to her skin.
They were silent most of the walk, Tristan keeping a good distance between them. Careful, as always.
Well, not always….
Scarlet’s mind drifted back to the flashback of her and Tristan kissing and heat flooded her face.
What a memory. What a wonderful, hot, passionate—
Tristan cleared his throat.
Scarlet stopped reminiscing.
When they finally reached the cabin, Gabriel and Heather met them by the back porch. Heather ran up to Scarlet and hugged the life out of her.
“I’m so happy you’re okay.” Heather pulled back and pointed at Scarlet with a stern face. “Don’t you ever run away again! Do you know how scared I was?”
Scarlet was about to say something sarcastic, but she saw tears in Heather’s eyes and quickly changed her response. “I’m sorry I scared you. I won’t run away again.”
Heather hugged her again. “You better not,” she said into Scarlet’s hair, which was wild and wind-blown from her walk with Tristan.
Heather stepped back and looked Scarlet over.
Scarlet was still wearing her satin pajamas with Tristan’s black jacket hanging below her hips, in addition to his muddy boots. Her hair was tangled and dirty and she didn’t have a trace of makeup on.
Here we go.
Heather looked at Scarlet’s boots, her pajamas, her hair, her face, and said, “I’m happy you’re safe.”
Scarlet blinked.
Heather smiled.
“Oh good.” Nate exited the cabin and stepped off the back porch. “You guys are back and everyone’s alive. Yay. A little update.” Nate tapped a finger to his lips. “An Ashman broke into the cabin last night and stabbed Gabriel with a Bluestone knife that can, apparently, injure immortals, and then ran away, proving tarps are not effective windows and blonds will freak out if enough blood gushes across the floor.” Nate pursed his lips. “Oh, and side note: We need more bleach. At the rate people are bleeding out on the kitchen table, we may as well buy in bulk.”