Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) (21 page)

Jacelynd turns on the bedside light, leaving one hand on me, and looks at me, stunned.

I sob, "'Then marry me. Damn them all. Damn the treaty and the gate and every bit of it.'"

Jacelynd cradles my face in his hands. "Then say the words." He laughs through tears. "You remember that night?"

I nod, sniffling against his shoulder where I've ducked my head. "Why didn't you tell me you were serious about giving up your immortality?"

He hugs me tighter, rubs my back. I already felt grief at the thought of losing him. This sudden remembrance does nothing but magnify that feeling a hundred times over. I hug him with everything I have left, every last bit of energy and strength. I can't say anything because I'm crying too hard. I grieve, not just for what lies ahead, but for the loss of who I once was, for my innocence. For all the sarcasm in the world, I'll never be that girl again. And I'm angry that as much as I now know about my past, I still don't remember everything—nothing before that night and nothing after.

Jacelynd holds me in his arms and gently rocks us, whispering tender and endearing things in my ear. And yet, all I feel is guilt for being who I am.

I am unworthy. Jacelynd is tender and noble. I'm rough, unrefined and jaded—nothing like the poised, elegant creature in my dream. From my memory.
I don't realize that I am thinking these thoughts in a way that he can hear them until Jace suddenly pulls back.

"Unworthy? Do you really believe that? You don't remember everything. What you saw was a tender moment, a moment where you weren't being as fiery as normal. It was sweet and endearing and I'll never forget it, but that side of you is just that—a side. One of many."

I laugh, sadly, because I still can't accept that he knows what he's saying. He knows my rank; he's seen what I can do, the violence in my recent past, but …

My thoughts are stilled instantly as I am hauled unapologetically to my feet and thrown against the wall in the corner. Before I can say anything, he covers my mouth aggressively with his and pins my wrists above my head in a grip that makes me question my own strength. I try his hold and he counters by pressing his body against mine, furthering my inability to move.

"Do you have any idea how many men I've killed, Jessica? How much blood I've shed? You think we're close to the same age, but you couldn't be more wrong. For eight hundred and eighty years, I've battled, bled and taken lives for our kind." He leans in again, his lips a mere whisper on my own. "And you think I can't handle one feisty Covenant Assassin?"

"I didn—"

"You didn't capture my heart because you were elegant or refined. Yes, you've been those things and then some, but you've lived through far longer than the thirty-some years that you can recall in your conscious mind. Plagues. Wars. Human hardship and human famine, all of which affected our people. When we first met, I was already a few hundred years old and you were about the same age as the donor whose memories you're carting around now." He laughs. "We've had this conversation before … just slightly altered. When you first found out my age, you were worried about your maturity in comparison to mine. You eventually realized that human or not, men never grow up."

"Wait a minute … you were how old when we met?"

"Three hundred and forty-seven years, to be precise."

People's conversations about their exes usually only encompass a decade or two, tops. Three hundred and some-odd years, on the other hand? Did he ever marry before me? He could have lost any number of human lovers over the years. The thought of it makes me feel sick with jealousy. Trinity had exes and it had never bothered me. This definitely isn't something I'm used to feeling.

A smile creeps across Jacelynd's face and he tilts his head. "You were concerned about that, too."

"You couldn't have heard that," I say.

"After centuries together, I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking. No, I've never been married before and I was too busy fighting alongside my father to even think about courting someone before you. Dating didn't exist back then. Yes, I could've had lovers, but I've never taken relationships lightly."

"Then why choose me? After so long … what about me was so different?"

"Everything. Utterly everything. And believe me when I tell you that Tristan doesn't have anything on me when it comes to knowing how to make every part of your
everything
feel exactly how I want it to feel." He tightens his hold on my wrists and lends his mouth to kiss my neck. He slides his leg suggestively between my thighs and I close my eyes.

I say between hitched breaths, "I woke up before we got to the whole wedding night part."

Jacelynd laughs against my skin. "'Tis a pity. It was quite memorable. But we have some time on our hands before day breaks." He moves my wrists into one of his hands and touches the bare skin of my collarbone with the other. "Shall I start at the beginning?"

The next day goes by without much ado.
Jacelynd assures us that we can do nothing yet, but sitting still drives me mad. There are no more surprise visits from Death Dealers, undead siblings or anyone else. We're all pretty quiet through the evening. And everyone, Jacelynd included, seems almost—I hate to say this—relieved that Lucan isn't with Trinity, as though Iris is somehow the lesser of two evils. My gut tells me to be worried. My common sense tells me to be worried, but then again, the only memory I have of Iris is of her trying to kill me. I suppose they all see her as who she once was.

Nicodemus and Quinn mindlessly watch television while Liv reads a book. Quinn found nothing of value on the iPod, aside from some pictures of Lucan and his friends, which, just so you know, makes me nearly suicidal with grief. He's such a sharp little guy. He dresses cool. He's got unquestioningly good taste in music and even his movie choices rock. He's like an awesome little male version of yours truly. Sigh.

Eventually the silence does everyone in and Jacelynd, Quinn, Blake and Nicodemus all make their way to their various rooms to turn in for the night, which leaves Liv and me by the roaring fire. I'm freezing again, so I'm not in much of a hurry to go anywhere, though I do wish Jacelynd hadn't turned in so soon. I want to be near him but I know I can't sleep right now and I don't want to keep him up.

An idea occurs to me as I am scrolling through little man's music when I hit Flogging Molly.

"Liv."

She looks up from her novel with bleary eyes. She must be at the good part—whatever that is. "Hmm?"

"Everyone's gone to bed."

She nods and I know the word "duh" crosses her mind, though I doubt she'd ever say it aloud.

I quietly get up from the couch, go to the antique writing desk that we probably bought brand new—ugh—and dig out a pad and a pen.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a hint of dread in her voice.

"You sound like I'm always up to no good."

"You
are
always up to no good."

"Well, if the shoe fits, I suppose." After leaving a brief note for Jacelynd, I grab Liv by the hand and drag her to her feet. "Let's go. Think there are coats in the closet?"

"Where are we going?" she whines.

"The pub," I say like she's just asked the stupidest question ever. "It's Ireland. There's always a pub."

"Ah, shit, Jess, really?"

I'm beside myself. "Did you just curse?"

"Yes, I did. Are you sure this is a good idea?" She walks over to one of the closets in the entry hall and pulls out two coats. She hands me the one that I'm fairly certain is Burberry.

I take the plain black one from her other hand. "Heathcliff will still be a pompous ass when we get back, so live a little, eh? We're coming right back, I promise."

She sighs and gestures for me to take the lead.

There
is a small village a short distance from the castle. Five hundred sheep, nine thousand rocks and no streetlights later, we're there.

"See. There's a pub." I smile as we park the car and get out. There's even one of those old wood signs hanging above it.

How charming.

That's all well and good, but what's really fascinating is the reaction we receive when we walk in.

"Stall your balls, lads! World's already ended!" the bartender yells and suddenly the whole place lights up with hoots and hollers. "We've weapons come to drink our beer!"

I look at Liv, who waltzes to the bar like a pro and orders two whiskeys. "Missed you too, Sean."

"What does 'weapons' mean?" I ask.

Liv grins. "Disagreeable women."

"You do know us!"

"Shite, Jessica. How long has it been?" Sean—I assume this is Sean—pours our drinks and sets them on the bar. "Drinks are on the house."

Liv answers for me, "Too long. Ten years."

"Ya haven't missed much here. Just the same ol' piss artists, pining away our living. Or, I should say pinting away our living!"

Liv laughs and I down the whiskey, not the least bit bothered by the burn.

"Pour me another one, Sean!" I like this guy.

"You might want to slow down on that," Liv says. "Little stronger than the wine."

Sean tilts his head suggestively. "Another for each of ya?"

Liv shakes her head. "I probably won't finish this one. Many thanks, though."

Hands pat both of us on the back and greet us while we drink. Liv does her best to whisper their names to me, but we'll be good if I remember my own name by the end of this.

"Jaysus! Don't go in there for a wee bit, lads, I just reduced the jacks to rubble." A door slams shut to our right and out walks a tall brown-haired gent. He stops in his tracks when he sees us and I gather, like everyone else in here, that he recognizes us.

"Murphy!" Liv gets up and hugs him, but his eyes are glued on me.

"For feckin' sake, Murph. Stop smiling like a cat with a fish-flavored arsehole. It's just Jess," someone says behind me. I think Liv said his name was Sully?

"I'm lookin' for me dead da, 'cause I must be in the hereafter." Murphy takes a seat between Liv and me. "Where the feck have you been?"

"Well. Kind of a long sorty … storty …
story
." Man, Liv wasn't kidding. This stuff is strong.

Murphy laughs and rests his hand on my shoulder. "Well, wherever you've been hidin', welcome home! I finally got the plums to ask Catherine to marry me. Got three brats to show fer it." He pulls out a wallet and shows me pictures of his children. They really are quite cute. They'd be a lot cuter if I could see straight.

"I knew she'd say yes," Liv says.

"That ya did!" Murphy gets up and goes behind the bar and brings out a fiddle. "I think this calls for me talents. Seeing how the world's endin' and all."

Several patrons near us boo playfully and throw things at him—nothing heavy, mind you. He grins and starts to play, and though he can't sing worth
shite
he belts out the bits that he knows of an Irish ballad.

Before I know it, the whole damn place is hopping. Liv grabs me off the stool and drags me into a frenzied dance. Everyone is laughing and I can't remember ever having this much fun. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain are the reasons I was depressed. Those recesses are apparently closed for renovation because I haven't the first clue as to what they were. And neither Sully, Sean nor Murph can tell me.

I have no sense of time when I'm drunk. I didn't know this about myself, but I count the glasses that Sean has lined up on the bar and drinking that much doesn't happen in the span of half an hour.

"Sean. Is your last name, O'Malley?" I ask, clearly inebriated.

"Liv, she's drunk," Sean says.

"Yeah, I know. Jess, I think we need to go home." She stands and tries to help me off my stool. "Tries" is the operative word here because it doesn't totally work.

"Do ya need a lift?" Sully asks.

"Nope. We're grand!" I laugh, immensely proud of my Irish slang.

"It appears so," he says, "with drinkin' and having a laugh like. But really, Liv, do you need me to drive you lasses home?"

"Nah. I've been sober for hours," Liv says. "Sweet of you, though, thanks. Tell Mary I said hello."

He opens the door for us. "Oh, you know Mary. When she gets her panties out of a knot, I'll be sure to!"

Once we're outside, after I've waved to everyone at least twice, spilled any secret I'd ever been told and declared unwavering allegiance to Ireland, I decide that I have staggeringly little interest in riding in the car and that I'm quite capable of taking the ankle express home.

"Come on," Liv says. "There's no way we're walking home this time. It's three miles!"

"Sure we are. Watch," I say. "We'll do just fine." We're a good half-mile out before I find myself on my ass. For some reason I find this absolutely, Earth-shatteringly hilarious.

"This isn't funny! Come on. The boys are already going to be ill with me for letting you do this. Get up." She tugs on my arms, and ideally she should be able to lift me. She outweighs me by about twenty pounds.

"I rather like it here, in the
motherland,
" I giggle. "And I like this rock." I pick up a random rock. Nothing spectacular about it, I'm sure. To me, it might as well be a diamond. "Wow, can you believe they just leave these lying around?"

"Jessica," Liv moans, "you are
sooo
drunk."

"I prefer to think of myself as post-sober."

"Why don't I ever say no? It's not that hard. No. See? Liv, will you enable me to get utterly trashed? No. Why couldn't I have said that?" Liv is talking to herself, all the while trying in vain still to lift my sorry butt from the ground. "Shit. Quinn's gonna kill me for this."

"You cussed again!" I point at her and cackle.

"Get up!" she says articulately, sort of like those people who slow down English for foreigners, as if it's going to help them bridge the language barrier. This is more of a whiskey barrier.

"I don't want to," I say with equal enunciation.

She sighs, dropping her hands. After a couple minutes of standing there staring at me, she sits down. "Happy?"

"What's so wrong with here?" I ask, lying down. Still laughing, mind you.

"Aside from it being in the middle of the road? Why nothing at all," she says nicely.

I start laughing harder and Liv groans. She probably thinks I'm laughing at some random thing that is only funny to a drunk girl.

"Why are you laughing?" She finally gives in.

"You just sat in a pile of
shite
!" She couldn't have felt it—the grass is wet with dew and the sheep could probably stand a tad more fiber in his diet. I know this because I almost sat there myself. And don't ask about the smell. Everything out here smells like sheep shit.

"Ugh, seriously?" She bolts to her feet, running her hands over her ass. "Jess! Oh, gross. Come on, will you please get up. Don't make me stand here with this … stuff … all over my pants."

"Well, since you asked." I laboriously stand and make it a few feet before I can't tell where to put my foot.

Liv puts an arm under me. "One in front of the other."

"I knew that. I soo knew that."
I did. I swear.

"This was a lot more fun ten years ago," Liv says curtly.

"Are you saying my shit's not good enough now?"

"I've avoided sitting in shit in the past. Thank you kindly. What I meant was that we didn't have any worries."

That's absurd. I don't have any worries now.
"Bullocks," I snicker.

"No, you do this when things get too serious. I can set my watch to it."

I hiccup, which entertains me. "Then why did we drink before, if we had no worries. You just said that I do this when we have worries. Make up your brain. Mind, make up your mind."

"We didn't know how bad it could get. Compared to what we face now, we had nothing to stress about. That doesn't mean we were aware of it then. And we were stupid!" She pauses before saying, "Old habits die hard, I guess. We used to always wind up walking home."

Strangely, somewhere beyond the liquor-induced fog, something feels very wrong as she says this. And I wonder if I should be concerned, but then I remember that even were I to concern myself with this
something,
there isn't much I could do about it. Whether I could wipe my own ass right now or not is up for serious conjecture.

"Iris used to come with us occasionally. Sully almost asked her out, but she could be so unpleasant sometimes. She's not completely unfortunate. If she'd have just taken a little more time with her appearance … " Liv is rambling, more to herself than to me and my heart starts to race.

"Iris would know we'd walk home?" I mumble.

Liv stops walking long enough to look at me, nod, and then amble forward a few more steps and stop again. "Why? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden."

I've never been this drunk. Okay, let me amend that, I have no recollection of being this drunk before. So fighting to say a comprehensible sentence is a new thing for me. Fighting not to laugh at how dire I feel our situation is about to get is worse. "We should have taken Sully up on his offer."

"Why? Jessi, why?" She sounds scared and I want to tell her it will be all right. But it won't because, once again, I've gotten us in deep shit. Literally, in Liv's case.

I laugh, tears coming to my eyes. "Because Iris is planning on me being too trunk, no, drunt,
damn it
! Too drunk to fight her." My foot doesn't quite make it all the way over a root that has grown up through the ground and I fall out of Liv's grasp.

The sound of clapping reaches my ears and like most things in my world lately, I doubt this is a good thing.

"Excellent deduction. Especially considering how
trunk
you are," Iris sneers.

I turn to see an Iris-shaped shadow behind us in the road. "Hey Iris! How's it going? You know, from here, you take up the whole road. Does that mean your ass is as big as a truck?" Giggles overcome me. This isn't the best time to engage in this kind of reckless behavior, but my good judgment fled six shots of whiskey ago. Or was it seven?