Fate Forgotten (41 page)

The scrap was thick and somewhat damp, and before he read the words—as an excuse not to read the words—he flipped it over. Packaging from some kind of frozen entrée. Not true paper at all.

But he had no further excuse not to read it and he ran his thumb over the scribbled sentence. It was in French, though he wasn’t sure why.
Pardonne-moi, je t’en supplie.

Did she really think he wouldn’t forgive her? That she would have to even ask? Or perhaps it was the fact that she had left him asleep. He wasn’t sure why she’d slipped out. There had been a saying—something about closing a barn door after the horses had escaped. It was a bit late for her to run off, with the damage already done. Potentially. He made his coffee and considered the logic. The logic he no doubt would have used to repeat the behavior, over and over and over again until neither one of them could walk.

On second thought, he understood exactly why she had slipped away.

He waited for the coffee to finish heating and sipped it while it was still hot. Too hot. It burned his mouth, but he felt the better for it. There was a lingering muzziness still, from what she had done, as if he weren’t entirely in control even now.

Perhaps he wasn’t. That would explain the lethargy. The knowledge that he wanted to go after her, but his inability to do so. Every time he tried to think of where she might have gone and how she had gotten there, he felt his mind slip away from the thoughts. He couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t quite get there.

He supposed he should resent her for that. For this. For whatever it was she had done. But he knew that if she had offered him the opportunity he would have taken it. She had not asked anything of him that he had not wanted to give her. In fact, she had simplified it. He couldn’t be angry, couldn’t have any regret. He couldn’t feel guilty for something he hadn’t been responsible for, hadn’t been able to stop if he had wanted to. Which he hadn’t. Not at all. From the moment he had understood what she was about, what she was doing, there had been no question in his mind of how it would end.

How it would begin?

Eve, love. I wish you hadn’t gone.

There was a wash of love, of tenderness. But no words. No words.

He waited for the thunder, for the lightning, for the storm. He waited all day for it to come. The rage, the upheaval. He waited for the gods to break down his door, for Michael to swoop down from wherever he hid himself. He waited for the DeLeons to come and demand reparations, or some other nonsense that would make him laugh at their expense. He waited for the promises they had made to be kept. Promises. Threats. It was all the same. And he spent the day sitting, staring out at the mountains, her mountains, with enough wine to drown himself.

But none of it came.

Until that moment it had never occurred to him that if this were to happen, it would be her responsibility. It had never occurred to him to wonder what would happen if it was she, not he, who caused the breach of trust, the bonds to break. And suddenly, he wasn’t sure that death wouldn’t come looking for her. For all his reassurance that Michael lacked the sword, did that mean he couldn’t punish her? Did it mean he wouldn’t hunt her down? He’d said he would come for what was his, that any child of Eve’s belonged to God…

The last of the weight, the drag of Eve’s power, left him with the thought, the fear, the terror that came with it. What exactly had he promised, thinking it was impossible, that Eve would never allow even the possibility of it all? He half-sat up with the realization, putting it all together at last. The baby. He moaned, falling back again and raking his fingers through his hair. Eve’s baby. He’d sworn away all claim. He’d sworn to give up her child, their child!

Where are you?

Away, Adam. For both our sakes.

Hidden? Safe?

What’s the matter?
She had caught the edge of his thoughts, of the fears he tried to force away.

He buried them deeply, though if she were insistent, he was sure it wouldn’t help.
Come back to me, Eve. Please. So that I know you’re well.

I think I’d better not. Not yet.

And he caught the reasoning from her mind. Not until she knew if she had conceived. Yes, that made sense. That she would wait for that before returning.
What will you do?

She sighed.
Wait and pray. Then pray again. If God lives, how long can he deny me?

If God lived, he had denied them both for an eternity already. Left them without guidance, without help. Left them to stumble through the world, through their lives without a whisper, until now.
I wish I knew.

I love you.

He wished she were there, that he could wrap her in his arms and breathe it in her ear. That he could show her exactly how much he felt for her, how much he lived for her. Before she realized what it all meant, what would come for them both—how he’d betrayed her. Because if the angel came, he’d sworn not to stand in the way.

He felt her laugh, soft and happy.
That’s why I had to go. This was risk enough already.

But why?
He still didn’t understand, didn’t know what had possessed her.
Why would you risk so much? Just for me? Just for this?

Because you’re right, Adam, so right. God is love.

Before he could form a reply she had gone, and there was nothing left to reply to. Of course she would hide herself from him now, while she waited, not realizing the agony it would cause him, thinking of all the threats she couldn’t know.

He shook his head and drank more wine to dull the ache of her absence. If he could spend the next weeks too drunk to know the difference between one night and the next, it would be for the best. There wasn’t much else he could do, until she let him. Until she knew.

What did it mean that he found himself praying that she had his child? Hoping that she was pregnant, if only so she could return to him, and they could carry on with nothing standing between them, just for a little while longer? Maybe it would be a little girl, he thought as the alcohol blurred the edges of the truth, pushing away the promises he didn’t want to keep. Maybe she would have her mother’s eyes, and her mother’s laugh, and her mother’s love.

What harm could a baby cause? A baby of Eve’s blood, Eve’s body, with Eve to mother her and love her and want her happiness? How could a baby of Eve’s ever hurt this world, when Eve loved it so much she had been prepared to sacrifice everything in her heart to keep it intact?

If God was love, and the baby a god, it could have no greater mother to teach it so.

He woke to pounding on his door, unsure of how long he had slept or how many days he had spent sitting there with his wine and the mountains for company. He rubbed his face, the stubble on his jaw convincing him it hadn’t been a multitude of nights, for all he had dreamed they had come and gone. It had been one, maybe two at the most. Perhaps he wouldn’t shave then, until he heard from Eve, to help keep track of the days he intended to lose.

Another bang reminded him of why he was awake, and he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had no business walking anywhere at this point, really. No business attempting anything aside from a coma, but the banging continued and he lurched somehow to the door, releasing the lock and letting it slide open.

The hulking figure on the other side was leaning heavily against the frame. He stumbled in through the door and Adam watched him make his way through the flat toward the kitchen. How long had Thor been drinking? It had to have been even longer than Adam to affect him so severely. Or perhaps it was just a misconception that he had of these gods, that they had greater constitutions than men.

“A bit late, aren’t you?” Adam called after him.

Thor helped himself to the contents of the liquor cabinet and came back out of the kitchen with two bottles in each hand, dropping to the couch and staring sullenly at the mountains. “It was what she wanted.”

“Yes.” He dropped into a seat next to the god and accepted one of the bottles from him, taking a long drink.

There was a grunt, and Thor seemed to notice his appearance. “You’re not celebrating.”

“No.” He shook his head, but the room spun, and he stopped. “She won’t even tell me where she is.”

“Would you like to know?”

What an awful question. Of course he wanted to know. And part of him was irritated that Thor could find her even when he couldn’t. He sighed, took another drink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. Don’t tell me. As long as she’s safe, that’s all that matters.”

Thor stared at him, his eyes narrowed. “It’s true then.”

“What’s true?”

The god shook his head. “I never thought it was possible. Though I suppose I should’ve known. If it were possible, it would be her, wouldn’t it?”

Now that he was sitting down again, that pleasant lassitude was spreading through him. He could barely keep his eyes open, never mind puzzle out Thor’s words. “You’re drunk, Thunderer.”

“Aye,” Thor said. “And you’re in love.”

“Aren’t you?”

Thor sighed, his head tilting back against the cushion of the sofa. He was so immense he took up half of it. Adam didn’t think he’d have fit in the chair comfortably. “Always, Adam. Forever and always.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come back. Not sure that she should, really.”

“She will.” The god downed a bottle of good triple malt whiskey in one long gulp. “Or at least, you’ll be together again. Here, or there, it doesn’t matter.”

That made him force his eyes open, and he sat up. “How do you know?”

Thor met his gaze then, his expression serious, and far more lucid than he had appeared just moments before. “Congratulations, Adam. You’re going to be a father.”

Chapter Forty: 1920 AD

Thor followed Dr. Meek up the wide steps to the hospital, halving his stride to keep from overtaking the smaller man. It had taken a significant amount of cajoling to talk Meek into allowing him to see Eve, and he still refused to discuss her treatments. Seeing her, Thor decided, would be the best first step until he had more information, and the more tight-lipped Dr. Meek became, the more Thor worried.

“Come this way,” Meek said, holding open the door. “She has a room to herself. Mr. Newcastle has spared no expense for his wife.”

“Of course not,” he murmured, half under his breath. “How could he do anything less?”

“Many do,” Meek replied. “Quiet divorces resulting in abandonment. Mr. Newcastle comes dutifully to see his wife, regardless of her condition.”

Thor kept his opinions of that behavior to himself, but his jaw tightened, and it was an effort to keep himself from growling. He followed Dr. Meek down the hall, past a bank of windows. Rain beat against the glass, and Thor grimaced. The newspaper had predicted sun.

He rolled his shoulders and inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself, but the sounds of women weeping and beating at the doors made his back stiffen. He didn’t allow himself to look into any of the rooms, afraid he would lose his temper. He had to see Eve. He had to focus on Eve, first.