Avow (19 page)

“And I am not supposed to know where Tristan is.” She smiled. “But sometimes we know things we shouldn’t.”

The driver looked unmoved.

“Jensen,” Scarlet complained. “Tristan is hurting. Do you wish for him to continue to live in agony?”

“My wishes are not important. Mr. Archer’s wishes, however—“

“I have his cure.” She was desperate now. ”I can take away his pain.”

Jensen said nothing, but Scarlet saw the indecision in his eyes and knew she had won.

With full lips and all the charm she possessed, she said, “Take me to
Hilldoor
, Jensen.”

He sighed. “Very well.”

She tipped down the edge of
his
hat in a friendly gesture of camaraderie before climbing into the carriage.

Then into the night they rode away. Farther from Gabriel and Nathaniel. Closer to Tristan.

***************

Scarlet watched a large mansion grow up from dark hills silhouetted by the full moon above. The house was vast and elaborate, but nearly hidden in the many vines and thick foliage around the property. It looked somewhat sad.

When Jensen pulled the carriage to a stop, Scarlet took a deep—well, as deep as she could manage with the blasted corset top she wore—breath and took Jensen’s hand as he helped her from the carriage.

At the front door, she did not knock. Knocking would have been polite and well-mannered, but so would have announcing her presence. Fiery Scarlet didn’t possess good manners.

Finding the front door already open, she stepped inside and found Tristan standing there, with his arms crossed, as if he’d been waiting for her.

The open front door made more sense now.

She braced for the yelling that was sure to pour from
his
throat, trying to memorize his features before things got ugly.

Although it was evening and rather cool outside, Tristan was shirtless.

Of course.

The tattoo of her drawing laid against his muscles and Scarlet’s heart squeezed. She had almost forgotten about the permanent design he’d put on his body and the sight of it did funny things to her stomach. Hopeful things. Warm things.

Sad things.

His dark hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and hung about his head in disarray. Dark stubble marked his face, his eyes had dark circles around them, and his jaw was set hard and firm.

He was not a happy sight, but he was the best thing Scarlet had seen in years.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

Scarlet shut the door behind her, leaning against it as she responded. “I came because you have been in great pain.”

“Yes. And because of my great pain you still live. It seems my isolation is good for your wellbeing.”

“The strength of my pulse has little to do with the health of my heart.”

He continued to stare at her with a scolding silence, so Scarlet casually glanced around the rather-empty house. “So…this is the dark dungeon where the very angry Tristan sleeps?”

“No. This is the dark dungeon where the very dangerous Tristan keeps himself away from a very careless young woman.”

Clearly, he was in no mood for small talk.

Scarlet raised her chin. “I am not so young anymore.”

“I can see that.” His eyes darkened as they drifted along her face and body and Scarlet reveled in the hot look. He snapped his eyes back to hers, anger and desire in their green depths.

“You need to leave, Scar.”

Yes. She should probably leave.

She didn’t.

“Tristan, this is ridiculous. You are in too much pain and I miss you deeply. Come home.”

“I am home.”

“No, you’re not. You’re hiding.”

“Not very well, it seems.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “How did you find me?”

“I do not recall, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Jensen.”

A ghost of a smile flashed across his face, and Scarlet would have given her very heart to see the real thing.

She took a step forward. “You should not have allowed yourself to suffer for so long.”

He took a step back. “My pain is not your concern.”

“Everything about you is my concern. You cannot just keep yourself in pain,” she said, filling up with all the fear and love she felt for him as she stepped forward again. “You are a foolish man.”

He stood still. “And you are a reckless woman.”

She smiled. “We are quite the messy pair.”

“That we are.” He searched her face then softened his voice. “You know you cannot stay here.”

“Then tell me to leave.” She stepped closer.

“Leave.”

“No.”

“Curse you woman,” he said. “You are a terrible pain.”

Another step closer and she was standing right in front of him, looking up into green heat.

“Yes, I am.” She kissed his chest, letting her lips brush against his skin a moment longer than necessary, and felt his body sigh with the pleasure her touch brought him. “And you love me for it.”

She traced her fingertips over his tattoo, following the dark lines around his skin.

“I do,” he said, gently catching her hand in his. “And that is why this will never happen again.”

Scarlet looked up at him. “Do not make such threats, Hunter.”

“It is not a threat.” He looked sad. “You need to leave.”

Scarlet straightened her shoulders. “Not until you’re better. Not until you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in my nearness.”

He released her hand. “Leave before I carry you out.”

Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “No.”

They were in a standoff for a moment, staring at each other, pulses high for more than one reason. But then Scarlet’s feet were no longer on the floor as Tristan easily threw her over his shoulder, marched to the front door, and flung it open.

“Open the carriage, Jensen!” His voice was so angry Scarlet could feel it vibrate against her body.

Trying to wriggle free,
she
slapped his bare back, her waist and legs completely imprisoned by his arm.

“You,” she saw Tristan’s free arm point at Jensen, “I will speak to later.”

Then Scarlet was being wrestled into the carriage by Tristan’s rock solid arms until she was seated inside, his big body shadowing the carriage door in dark madness.

“Do not come back here.” His green eyes cut pieces of her soul to shreds. “
Not ever
.”

Despite his temper, or his fear, or whatever was putting that black look in his eyes, she had come for a reason and she didn’t want her trip to be in vain. Reaching her hands out, she held his face, desperate to relieve him of all pain one last time.

He grasped her wrists to pull her hands off, but froze as her touch sank into him.

She watched his eyes fall closed in peace and his chest exhale in comfort. She wanted to touch him forever and always bring him this much relief.

“Do not make me leave you,” she whispered.

His eyelids lifted in a heavy, sated way as he looked at her. For a moment, his resolve was gone and his hands, wrapped tightly around her wrists, loosened their grip and slowly eased up her forearm
s
, his caress becoming more gentle the farther up her arm
s
he felt.

Soon it was only his fingers trailing up the inside of her arms…across her shoulders…along her collarbone…and then barely stroking the sides of her neck.

Scarlet wanted to cry for how wonderful it felt to be near him—to be something other than rejected by him.

But then her eyes burned and a soft blue glowed into the night.

Tristan
pulled
his hands and eyes away from her. Shutting Scarlet inside the carriage, he barked, “Take her home, Jensen,” before walking back into his house without a second glance.

Scarlet stared out the window, knowing Tristan was trying to keep her safe. Knowing he did the things he did out of fear and love.

But all the knowledge in the world couldn’t keep the pain from her soul.

CHAPTER 19

Charleston 1798

Tristan was a different man.

The day after Scarlet had hunted him down, he had moved to a different location and kept a safer distance from her, but she’d became ill anyway and slowly started to die. For eight months, her eyes flashed on and off. Then the nosebleeds started.

When he had felt her die inside of him, something snapped in his soul.

He had not been able to save her. He had searched for weapons and resolved himself to death, but it hadn’t mattered. She had still died.

After throwing knives into walls and slamming doors around his empty house, Tristan had finally surrendered to grief. And the guilt and sorrow he carried festered low in his chest, keeping him from any real sleep. It was a blackness that thickened with time, slowly inching its way around his soul, filling him with darkness.

Drowning in darkness seemed a merciful fate.

Tonight, he was walking in the seedier part of town where most men didn’t travel after dark. But most men were not immortal men and Tristan didn’t really give a damn anyway as he walked in the shadows of dangerous alleyways and buildings.

“Gabriel.” A suspicious-looking fellow with a few missing teeth gripped his shoulder. “How long has it been? Nine, ten years?”

Since there was no point in explaining to the stranger that he was, in fact, Gabriel’s twin brother—no one ever believed that anyway—Tristan said, “I’m not sure. A long time.”

The stranger nodded. “You still betting high stakes in the lower games?”

What the hell were lower games?

“You know me,” Tristan said dryly, wishing the man would release his shoulder.

“Then I have a tip for
ya
.” He leaned in, his breath horrid as he said, “There’s a new kind of fight under the Nine Club tonight. Password is “knuckles”. Tell ‘em Hank sent
ya
. I get a cut if you win.” He winked. “Nice seeing
ya
,
ol
’ pal.”

And with that, the stranger was gone.

Tristan knew he should ignore the man’s words and carry on with his mindless walking, but curiosity was a relentless bastard and Tristan’s feet took him to the Nine Club, where he told the man at the backdoor the password.

He was led downstairs into a well-lit cellar where people were crowded around a dirt ring. Peering above the heads of the townsfolk, his eyes fell on two large men beating each other bloody in the center of the crowd.

The spectators cheered and booed, held money up for a passing bookie, and drank themselves happy as they watched blood pour from the wounds of the fighters.

He had heard of prizefighting in England but, being that it was illegal, had never seen a fight before. And he found the sport…fascinating.

He watched with new eyes as the fighters hit, threw, and knocked one another around in the dirt circle. Blood, spit and sweat coated both bodies and the ground as the calls of the entertained crowd floated to the ceiling.

Fighting for sport. Slamming fists and body parts. Pounding out aggression with a willing opponent. The darkness in his chest expanded and Tristan raised the corner of his mouth. Being beaten bloody sounded heavenly.

CHAPTER 20

Charleston 1801

Gabriel sat in the dark, leaning back in a large chair with his feet propped up on the desk before him. He tapped his fingers and waited.

Tristan appeared in the hallway and headed for the front door.

“Where are you off to?” Gabriel stopped tapping his fingers.

Tristan eyed Gabriel. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He cocked his head to the side. “Very odd behavior for a…what is it you call yourself now? A gentleman?”

Gabriel smiled. “Interesting how you always change the subject when I ask about your nightly whereabouts.”

“Why do you care, brother? Have you no whores to play with tonight?”

“Is that where you spend your time? Brothels?” Gabriel dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward with a sharp smile. “No, of course not. Not Tristan. My righteous brother does not mar his time with the company of sinners.”

“Except for you.”

“Will you not tell me where it is you go dressed as,” Gabriel glanced Tristan over, taking in his loose, cut off pants and wider-than-fashionable shirt, “a pirate?”

“Trust me, brother.” Tristan glanced at him with mischief in his eyes. “A pirate would not bode well where I go.” Without another word, he exited the house, leaving Gabriel in the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel stood from the chair and grudgingly gathered his coat from the hallway.