The Alignment (26 page)

“At the estate with the rest of them.” I guess I should have explained this to her.

“Estate?” Her eyes get big.

I exhale. “Yes. We have a family estate. My grandmother, my parents, my uncle, and Christian, they all live there now. And before I left, Kate and I lived there too, along with many more of them…” I can’t remember if I told her about that. She looks at me expectantly, so I skip the complicated part. “Each family has a wing of the house, and Christian has one of the stand-alone houses so he can be free to sneak women in and out without the staff knowing.”

She coughs. “Staff?”

“Yes. Staff.”

“You should have told me you’re rich.”

“I’m not.”

“Your family is.”

“Yes. And they don’t deserve a penny of it.”

She groans. “I’m going to feel so out of place. God, you should have told me.” She bows her head, burying her face in her hands.

“I didn’t tell you because it makes no difference.”

Sun blasts through the window. We must be turning. The rolling gray storm clouds below us have been replaced by a sea of blue sky. I reach past her and shut the shade. She grabs my arm on its way back to my seat and holds onto it. I concede and let her keep it. She remains thoughtful and quiet for the remainder of the flight. I put all my effort into not strangling the guy in front of me.

When the tires hit the runway, I want to punch through the window and kiss the ground. The people in the rows in front of us take their sweet time getting off. I never knew human beings could move so slowly. It’s almost like they’re doing it on purpose, just to piss me off. It might be a little conspicuous to snap every one of their necks, but we’d sure get the hell out of here faster.

I stand in the aisle. An overhead bin opens next to my head. Something brushes down my back and I spin to face it. This guy may not know not to touch me, but he’s going to pay for it anyway. All I need is his eye contact. Look at me, fucker. You know you want to.

“Sit down,” Liv whispers, tugging my arm.

For some reason, I allow her to pull me back into my seat.

“Just relax until we can get off. Okay?” She holds my eye, demanding a response.

“Okay.” I focus on a piece of lint on the fabric of the seat in front of me. She takes my hand and weaves her fingers between mine, but this time, it’s more like a shackle than an embrace.

Once off the plane, we head straight to baggage claim and plant ourselves where the bags fall onto the conveyor belt. When the second duffle bag slides out, the zipper is halfway open. Liv’s breath sucks in as she notices it, and I casually grab the bag and zip it up.

“God,” she says, looking up at me.

“Nothing to worry about.”

I put my overnight bag over my shoulder and take both duffle bags. She picks up her bag, and I lead her out the doors to a man holding a sign marked BEVAN. He takes Liv’s bag and leads us past the taxis and shuttles to our waiting black Camaro ZL1 with tinted windows. It’s perfect. We load the bags into the trunk, he hands me the key, and I tip him a fifty. He opens the passenger door for Liv and she gets in.

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” she says as I slide into the driver’s seat.

“Is that right?” I ask, a little distracted.

“You
are
rich.”

“I don’t do this often. I just know when it’s time to splurge.” The engine growls to life, and I press the pedal to hear the throaty exhaust. The odometer has only sixty-three miles on it. It’s not even broken in. I glance over at her to see if she’s enjoying this as much as I am.

“I take it you like it?”

“Six point two liter V8. What’s not to like?” I check my mirror, slip it into gear, and peel away from the curb.

“Did you buy this?” she asks when we’re cruising on the highway and I can finally hear her over the engine and my lead foot.

“Nope. Just a loaner. Don’t tempt me to buy it.”

“You should buy it.” She’s taunting me. Always taunting me.

We stop for dinner then drive out of the city. By the time we decide to get a motel, I’m about to fall asleep at the wheel. I leave her in the car to get a room with two beds, and when my head hits the pillow I am already asleep.

Chapter 32

Liv

H
e’s up before
me. It’s strange to see him watching TV. He flips through the channels without pausing like someone who has never seen a TV before and doesn’t know you’re supposed to find something you like and watch it. I toss the covers down and stretch.

“Well, good morning, princess,” he says.

“Gosh, what is up with the channel flipping?”

He continues as if I hadn’t mentioned it.

I sit up and pull my pants on. “Why don’t you have a TV at home?”

He switches the power off and tosses the remote into the armchair. “I used to have one. Couldn’t justify wasting an eternity watching useless TV so I got rid of it.”

And he supplies me with an open door for something I’ve been meaning to talk to him about. I go to the sink to brush my teeth, hoping to make my question more casual. “So, how is your immortality going to fit in to…us? If there is an us after this week. You’re this age forever, but I’m not.”

“I’m going to talk to them about that.” He answers me into the mirror.

“Your family?”

“Yes. I’m going to ask them if they’ll grant immortality to you, too.”

I take the toothbrush out of my mouth and turn to face him. He leans back on the bed on his elbows as if we’re talking about the weather. I return to the mirror and finish brushing my teeth. There’s no reason for me to get mad. He doesn’t understand he needs to consult people about these types of things before moving ahead with them. The bristles cut into my gums. I spit and rinse and wipe my mouth. He’s squinting at the powered-off TV like it just insulted his mother. He’s oblivious of me, and temporarily safe from the caustic words bubbling up inside me. I don’t want to fight with him. I get in the shower before I do.

When I come out dabbing my hair, he’s doing push-ups on the floor. I get dressed behind him and blow-dry my hair. The noise covers the silence, allowing me more time to think. By the time I turn off the hair dryer he’s lying on his back on the floor.

I stand over him, looking down. “What if I don’t want to be immortal?”

He raises up on his elbows. “You don’t? Why not?”

“I’m not necessarily saying I don’t. But what if I didn’t? Don’t I have a say?”

“Of course you have a say. I just thought…I’m asking them anyway. Asking may be the wrong word, but I need to know if it’s possible.”

His expression has changed in some way that I’m unable to read, so I go back over what I said, wondering if he heard something I didn’t intend. I feel I need to clarify. “I just thought I should’ve been consulted. Before you asked them.”

His face seems to lift, and he stands. “You’re right. Then I’m asking you now. Would you like to be immortal?”

“It’s kind of a big commitment.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, sitting on the bed next to me. “That’s kind of the point.”

My stomach twirls, and I press both palms into the mattress for stability. I see him on the ground in that puddle of blood. His matted hair. His torn shirt. I see him coming around the house that day wearing that first smile. Him joining his palms to mine on that bluff under the night sky. In his bed. His breath on my neck. His arms. His lips.

He speaks again, drawing out each word. “Would you like to be immortal, with me, forever?”

He’s stolen my breath. He’s muted my common sense. And that evening he kissed me, he revived my heart. It became his.

My answer rises from that place he now owns. “Yes. Forever.”

“Don’t,” he warns, holding my hands down. “I can’t say no to you.” His restraint, now so close to slipping, has become obvious in his rapid breath, his tense arms, his grip on my hands, which seems more prepared to pull me toward him than keep me away.

I reach within myself to find the control I promised him I had. I walk around to the other side of my bed and pick up my bag. Once it’s on the bed I’m not sure what to do with it.

He clears his throat. “Breakfast.”

He hangs the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, and we walk out into the blinding sunlight together. A dark purple curtain of storm clouds on the horizon makes the brightness more powerful than it should be. It must be the storm our plane flew into near Minneapolis, headed here, pushing in this warm, sticky air.

“You wore your bracelet,” Trey notices across the table as I’m cutting into my omelet.

“Of course.”

He smiles at me. It shines in his eyes. I hope with all my heart that today goes well for him, that he gets everything he wants and more.

Back at the motel, we change and gear up. As I’m loading and holstering my guns, I can’t imagine having a need to use them today. He is indeed on his best behavior, and with his radiant mood I can only envision him meeting his family joyfully, passing around hugs and high-fives.

The humidity has already defeated my hair, so I put it up in a tight ponytail. He hands me my dagger which I fasten to my ankle, and I check myself in the mirror one last time.

“Let’s go, before I take you to bed instead,” he says.

I turn and look at him. Shockingly handsome and covered in guns, he is standing in a scene straight out of an action movie. I can only imagine what I look like to him.

“You didn’t tell me why we have to wear these clothes.”

“In case we need to hide out in the woods for a few days.”

I stare at him until he grins. I hope he’s kidding, but something tells me he’s not. We didn’t pack any food so he better not expect me to eat any bugs. He opens the door wide and glances outside.

“Don’t worry. Anyone who sees us will just think we’re cops.” He must see my expression.

“Cops?” I laugh. “Cops are not this heavily armed.”

“Okay then, CIA.”

“More like the SWAT team.”

We throw all our luggage in the trunk of the car and get inside.

“I guess this is the reason for the tinted windows,” I say under my breath.

“That, and to keep people from noticing me. I don’t want to be spotted before we get there. It’s better without them warned.”

The Camaro roars its way onto the highway, and I settle into my seat, pulling a magazine out of my bag. A sane person would be a nervous wreck. I’m clothed in weapons, speeding down the highway, about to meet the family of a man I’ve only known for three weeks and I just agreed to spend eternity with. Oh yeah, and he’s a witch. And everyone in his family is too. And he’s going to ask them to make me immortal.

Trey’s hand slips around my thigh. I glance out the window and can’t ignore what I see in the side mirror. Those dark, billowing storm clouds seem to be following us, gaining on us, even though we’re doubling the speed limit. I’ve never had a problem with storms. For some reason, I have a hard time looking away.

“This is it,” he says as we enter a quaint small town and he slows down below the speed limit which keeps dropping with each quarter mile. Everything is as perfect as a stage set. Grand homes with wraparound porches stand along the main road. Little shops come next, in the hub of the town where we’re stopped by a red light. Trey watches the light, stolid and uninterested in the scenery.

He makes a few turns then we’re rolling down a narrow paved road through thick forest. Now in shadow, we follow the gentle curves in the road until we stop in front of two towering stone pillars supporting a massive wrought iron gate. The black bars continue on either side of the pillars, forming an impenetrable fence at least fifteen feet tall and topped with forbidding spikes. It continues as far as I can see in both directions before disappearing into the forest.

I stare at the polished brass nameplate on the gate. MOORE.

Gunshots shatter the stillness as Trey unloads his P220 into the lock mechanism of the gate. Bracing his feet against the ground, he pushes, and the gate groans under its own weight as it swings open.

“Don’t you have a code?” I ask when he slides back behind the wheel. I point to the number pad.

He reloads. “I doubt my code still works. And I’d like to leave an easy way to get out. They won’t be able to fix this anytime soon.”

We drive through, the road spilling us into sunlight and the lush green grounds of the estate. Perfectly manicured lawns and massive oak trees usher us along the paved driveway. Rounding a bend, the house comes into view and I stifle a gasp. It’s a palace. How could he move to rural Montana and give all this up? The Trey next to me now shares no similarities with the Trey I left the motel with this morning. The focused glare alone belongs to a different person. The tense jaw and the hooded eyes complete the transformation.

A small black cloud passes above, obscuring the brilliance of the sun. It couldn’t have been timed more precisely to match Trey’s dark mood.

The driveway ends in a circular loop in front of the sprawling white stone mansion anchored by corner turrets gouging the sky. Just as one would expect, a man in a suit comes out to greet us. Trey turns off the engine, takes a long, deep look into my eyes, and nods once. “Ready?”

I nod. He opens his door and I follow.

“Master Trey, welcome home.” The man doesn’t seem to notice all the weapons we’re wearing.

“Thank you. I’d like to leave the car here.”

“Not a problem, sir. Can I help with any luggage?”

“No thank you.”

“Shall I make up a room for the lady?”

“No, John, we aren’t here to stay. Just for a quick visit. Where’s my father?”

“In the house, sir. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“No need. I’ll find him.”

John opens the door for us just as the wind picks up, plucking at my back before I make it across the threshold. We step into an entry foyer out of a fairytale, and the door thuds closed behind us. A staircase opening toward us spans most of the width of the vast room. At the top, a landing splits it into two branches, turning toward either side of the second floor. The domed ceiling is ornately painted like that of a Renaissance church.

Trey leads me into a side room—a parlor—where there’s simply too much to take in. I know my mind shouldn’t be wandering like this. My focus is critical.

We go into the next room—a library—with rows of bookshelves and floor-to-ceiling windows looking over a wide lawn. Two people appear to be practicing archery on the grass.

Trey sucks a breath through his teeth. His body turns rigid.

“Trey.” A woman rises from her seat, marking her page and putting down her book. I feel my eyes follow her up to her full height—the female equivalent of Trey’s. Straight long dark brown hair, the color and texture of Trey’s. She could easily pass for his sister.

And she is about eight months pregnant.

“It’d have been better if you had called first,” she says in a slow southern drawl.

“The best thing,” Trey says, “is if
you
had called. A long time ago. But I see you’ve been busy.”

She gives him a long look. “And what have
you
been up to?” Her eyes slide to me. It’s a knowing, patronizing look. She thinks she’s in charge here.

My palms tingle with heat, itching for the cool metal of a weapon. I’m surprised it’s the dagger I crave. The sound of her voice curling around his name repeats in my mind.

“I’m not the one under interrogation here,” Trey snarls. “Where’s my son?”

Her eyes move from me to the lawn, giving it away. Trey walks past her to the window, and I remain in position, covering his back and the doorway. I look again at the people on the lawn and recognize Christian, repositioning a young man’s arms while he holds the bow and arrow. The young man shoots. He doesn’t look like he needs any instruction.

“Please, Trey, he doesn’t need to know.” Her voice wraps around his name in that disturbing way.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“There was
nothing to tell
?” His face is grim as he steps in front of her, the top button of his rage coming undone.

A woman enters the room with a pale blue box. Trey and Kate remain locked in a stare so heated either one of them could snap at any second. The woman unloads stacks of cards and envelopes from the box onto the coffee table near Kate without making eye contact with either one of them, but I can tell by the stiffness of her body that she can’t get out of the room fast enough. Her eyes flick to Trey just as she leaves the room. She’s afraid of him.

Three men come through the doorway and Trey turns toward them.

“Son, welcome home. We need to relieve you of your weapons.”

“My ass.” Trey’s voice is borderline sadistic, directed at the man who addressed him as his son.

A second man steps forward and laughs at the ceiling before facing Trey. There is no levity in the sound. “
A nia, le do thoil,
let’s be peaceful.” The bitter edge of the words betrays his deceit.

I don’t allow the switch in languages to rattle me. They can’t know they’re talking over my head. Its mocking tone makes me wonder if he’s using the language or the words themselves to unsettle Trey.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Trey says.

A line of men files through the door behind them, pistols drawn, aimed at us. Trey takes one step, blocking half of me with his shoulder. I use his motion and cover to release the safety on my left weapon. Somehow, I know to draw a line down the room in front of us. Everyone to my right is mine.

Trey’s father glances behind him at the men and they all lower their guns. He returns his attention to Trey. It’s his turn to speak but he’s taking his time. If he hadn’t addressed his son directly, nothing else about him would reveal his relationship to Trey. They could be strangers. “
A mac
, you understand our position and we understand yours. But we’re open to a conversation. No one has to get hurt.”

Trey still studies the other man, the one who laughed. “Some of you need to be hurt. I neglected a few of you last time.”

It’s his father who answers. “So this is how you want it. Just know—any decision we make will be based on your decision right now.”

One of the men in the firing squad behind them raises his weapon. Trey takes no apparent notice. “I’m not responsible for what you do.”