Avow (8 page)

Gabriel let himself into Tristan’s home and sank into the nearest chair, rubbing the side of his face.

“Please, come in,” Tristan said dryly, looking up from the knife he was sharpening in the corner.

“It is official, brother. Raven’s curse is real.” Gabriel sighed, trying to not let thoughts of the long-dead girl get the best of him. Seventy-three years had gone by since he’d taken Raven’s life, but he still carried guilt.

Had she deserved to die? Yes. But at his hands?

No.

It did not matter that being earl had given him the right to execute a criminal. It was still murder.

The only thing that seemed to offset his remorseful heart was the curse Raven had bestowed upon him. A curse, it seemed, that was far more effective than he’d originally given the silver-eyed girl credit for.

Perhaps a loveless life was exactly what Gabriel deserved.

“I cannot fall in love,” Gabriel said
.
“I’ve tried courting dozens of women and none of them truly fall for me. Oh, they will marry me. They will take my money and my fine food and my horses, but they do not care for me. And what’s worse, I feel nothing for them.”

“You have no horses,” said Tristan.

“Exactly! All these bloody women keep taking my things. It’s exhausting.”

Tristan smirked. “Is that why you spend all your free time in taverns and gambling rings? To soothe your exhaustion?”

Gabriel leaned back in his seat. “No. I do those things to distract me from the emptiness.” And the guilt.

Nathaniel let himself into Tristan’s house as well. “Good day! What are you two talking about?”

Tristan answered, “Well, Gabriel was just complaining about love—again—and I was wondering why I even bother having a door.”

“Ah, yes. The never-ending search for true love. Ooh! Food.” Nathaniel snatched a chunk of bread off a plate on Tristan’s desk and began eating.

“You do not know what it’s like,” Gabriel said. “I have not felt anything for a woman in decades.
Decades
. Not since—“

Tristan looked up as Gabriel swallowed Scarlet’s name. Even though a century had passed, Scarlet was still an uncomfortable subject between them.

Gabriel pulled at his ear. “It’s just been a long time since a woman has loved me and I miss it.”

Hoping for Scarlet to come back to life was a cruel game, and Gabriel had quit playing long ago. Tristan, however, lived for the cruelty.

Scarlet might not be alive, but her presence was; her memory was. And that was enough to keep Tristan hoping. God help his poor soul.

“It is a rotten curse.” Nathaniel nodded. “And also quit
e
stubborn in its structure.”

Nathaniel had tried many counter hexes—all of which failed miserably and left sticky, smelly messes in their wake.

He wasn’t a very skilled wizard. Entertaining and knowledgeable, yes. But magical? Not so much.

Gabriel groaned. “Is this what my eternity will be? Empty of love and companionship, and filled with greedy damsels?”

“It could be worse,” Tristan said. “It could be filled with those who enter your house without knocking and eat your food.”

Nathaniel shoved a very deliberate piece of bread into his mouth and looked at Gabriel. “You have me as a companion. What more could you want from eternity?” He chewed with his mouth open.

“Something prettier,” Gabriel said, “and less disgusting.”

Nathaniel swallowed. “If it helps, I’ve never been in love either. I’m beginning to think true love might not exist.”

Tristan turned his eyes back to his dagger with an amused expression.

Gabriel sighed. “I am doomed.”

“No
,
” Nathaniel said. “You are cursed.”

“Are they not the same thing?”

“Not at all
.
Doomed means there is no hope. Cursed means you will have to struggle to find hope, then struggle to keep it, then struggle to undo said curse with the hope that you have kept.”

Gabriel blinked. “Being doomed sounds less taxing.”

“Indeed.” Nathaniel smiled.

“Relax, Gabriel,” Tristan said. “Do not be impatient for companionship.”

“This coming from the man who breaks hearts he’s never even met before. Women flock to you and beg for your attention, and you ignore them all.” Gabriel hung his head.

While Gabriel spent his days drinking and gambling, Tristan devoted most of his time to helping townsfolk. Providing food to the orphans, giving money to the churches, letting whoever and whatever find shelter in his large home for indefinite periods of time. It was truly impossible living alongside a brother with such a bleeding heart. And that bleeding heart was like a beacon for women everywhere, drawing them to his presence only to be sent away.

“It’s truly sickening, brother,” Gabriel said. “You, at the very least, should marry one of the poor girls.”

“Why, so I can lose my horses?” Tristan smiled.

“Yes!
Then you could
join me in my misery,” Gabriel said.

Tristan went back to his knife. “I have my own misery to bear.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

Poor soul, indeed.

CHAPTER 7

London 1684

Immortality, Tristan decided, was only magnificent for those who had a reason to breathe and, for him, that reason was lost somewhere in-between worlds. Until Scarlet returned, his every breath was just a laborious means to an end.

So he existed. But he did not live.

Waiting on love will do that to a man; keep his heart suspended in a state of thin hope—just bright enough to want to live and heavy enough to envy death.

Music played into the large, ornate room where he and Gabriel stood among dozens of other well-dressed Londoners.

Laughter, merriment, movement.

Life, breath, hope.

Mortality.

Tristan was envious of it all.

He stretched his neck, trying to ignore the mysterious pain in his limbs.

“Remind me again,” Gabriel leaned into Tristan to be heard above the music. “Why are we at the
Trevena
Ball?”

“Because we were invited,” Tristan said.

Gabriel took a deep swig from the goblet in his hand. “Yes, but why did we come?”

“Because we are young, wealthy gentlemen and that’s what young, wealthy gentlemen do.” A woman across the room batted her lashes at Tristan and he stifled a sigh, his lungs pulling uncomfortably tight.

“I feel that is a poor reason.” Gabriel took another drink.

A group of ladies by the back doors stared at them in between their whispers and giggles.

Tristan exhaled. “I think us standing side-by-side is drawing too much attention. People do not know what to do with twins. They see us as a circus show.”

“They do not,” said Gabriel. “Now, maybe if we both had tails, we’d be a sideshow. But we do not have tails. We have strong bodies and godlike faces. If we’re a show of any kind, we’re a show of beauty.”

Tristan shook his head. “Your confidence is disgusting.”

“A hundred and fifty years of female affirmation
has made me
this way
.” Gabriel’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments and Tristan felt heavy, knowing who Gabriel
was
and who he wanted to
be
were warring enemies.

His brother’s behavior had not changed much in the last century: drinking, gambling, breaking rules, breaking hearts. He embraced his immortality as an opportunity to exploit life as a whole and Tristan acted as his peacemaker and babysitter, trying to keep the wild Gabriel from causing more damage than could be undone in a lifetime.

Tristan had considered leaving London and moving someplace far from his brother, but his conscience never allowed him to leave. Gabriel was a reckless star, casting about wherever he may, exploding into whoever made him feel alive, and burning casualties in his wake.

Lord only knows what that star would burst into next if Tristan were not there to remind Gabriel of those annoying bits of humanity called morals.

Gabriel’s fruitless search for love had left him a bitter brute who swam in booze and slept beside whoever welcomed him, his mood always bleak.

Tristan was worried for his brother’s state of mind and wished, more so now than ever before, that he could change Gabriel’s circumstances.

Reaching for his wine goblet from the nearby table, Tristan winced. He’d been experiencing a pain that came and went, sometimes sharp and cutting, other times a dull ache, for some time now. It had come on suddenly nearly two years ago, and the pain he’d experienced that first day had felt like death itself was ripping him apart.

But it slowly subsided and he’d been living with an on-again-off-again ache ever since. Tonight, however, his muscles were throbbing and growing tighter by the minute. And he had no idea why.

“That young lady seems to admire you.” Tristan pointed to a girl in pink who was smiling at Gabriel, and tried to ignore the pressure building in his head.

He nodded. “She does.”

“You might ask her to dance.” Tristan took a sip. “Less people would probably stare in this direction if there were only one of us standing here.”

“I could ask her to dance.” Gabriel took a drink from his own cup. “I could also feed my heart to wild boars.”

He rolled his eyes. “You cannot completely give up on companionship, Gabriel. That’s absurd.”

A slicing pain cut through the center of Tristan’s chest and he clutched at his heart.

“What is wrong?” Gabriel asked.

“I don’t…know.” He couldn’t breathe. It was as if all the air in the room had been replaced with fire, filling his lungs with a merciless burn.

“Let’s get you outside.” Gabriel led Tristan out the back doors and into the night air.

Once outside, Tristan crumpled to the ground. Every piece of his body was wringing from the inside out, killing him for certain.

“Tristan.” Gabriel crouched down beside him, panic in his voice. “What is this?”

Heat, ice, fire, knives, everything born of hell was ripping through Tristan’s core. And the Devil himself was clawing away at his head.

Tristan gasped. “I can’t…breathe….”

Gabriel swallowed and pulled Tristan up from the ground. “We need to get you out of here and…”

Tristan didn’t hear the rest. The pain closed in on him and pulled out his insides. He was dying. There was no other explanation as the world around him went cold and black.

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

Two weeks later, Gabriel shook his head as he looked down at Tristan’s face contorted in pain. “He’s dying, isn’t he?”

“I highly doubt that, considering he is immortal,” said Nathaniel.

Tristan shoved his face into the bed and groaned against a pillow.

Nathaniel twitched his lips. “Where is the doctor you called on?”

“He should be here soon.” Gabriel shifted his weight as Tristan punched the bed with a howl.

The pain had not let up for several days, rendering Tristan mad with torment and Gabriel completely helpless to relieve him.

Nathaniel rubbed a hand across his face. “This is not normal. I knew that he had been experiencing pain off and on for quite some time, but how long has it been like this?”

“Three weeks,” Gabriel said.

“Three weeks and four days,” Tristan corrected through gritted teeth.

Nathaniel said, “Ah, yes. Since the night of the ball.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Finally,” Gabriel muttered as he hurried to the front of the house.

“Sorry I am late.” The doctor was a round, balding man with a bright red nose and spectacles that were too thick and large for his face. “There are too many patients in this area lately. I am all but dead myself from all this running around and add on top of that all the cats that roam these streets making me sneeze with their dirty hair, not to mention the stench—“

The doctor continued mumbling as Gabriel led him back to the room where Tristan lay in agony. “The last patient I called on was allergic to peaches. I had never heard of such a thing, though I do suppose that isn’t too great a problem around here. I’ve never really cared for peaches myself, though my mother was fond of peach pie. Oh, dear!” The doctor exclaimed. “What is the matter with this young fellow?”

Gabriel glared at the doctor, already annoyed with his presence. “We don’t
know
. That
i
s why we called you.” He explained to the physician how Tristan had been in agonizing pain.

“Oh my.” The doctor pushed his spectacles up further, pressing them into the skin between his eyes, and began examining Tristan. “The human body. So fragile. So many sick people everywhere. Just the other day, I treated a woman named Agnes who gave birth to the largest baby I’d ever seen and her pain, while quite intense, did not seem as debilitating as what this gentleman suffers from here.” The doctor raised Tristan’s arm in the air and dropped it. It crashed down to the bed, before forming a fist and punching the sheets again.