Books by Maggie Shayne (33 page)

He adored the woman! And it wasn’t a new feeling, something that had developed since he’d returned. Although there was that as well. But what he felt—the emotion that choked him until he could barely speak—was old. And deep and real and raw. It was eternal. The fact that he couldn’t remember it didn’t stop him from feeling its resurgence. And the fact that the physical desire he must have once burned with for Annie was now little more than a dim echo did nothing to ease the longing for her in his heart. He wanted what they’d once had, craved the memories of their life together. He’d been robbed of all of that.

God, they must have been so happy. How could any man be less with a woman like her loving him as much as she obviously had? It wasn’t fair, dammit! Why did he have to die young? Why the hell should she have to go through life alone, give birth alone, survive as a single mother to his child…

His child!
And he wanted it. He wanted to be there for it and hold it and nurture it. He longed in his heart to be free of the vows he’d sworn. And he couldn’t have fought the feeling, even if he’d wanted to.

He knew the rules. He was probably damned now. If he kept it up and he died this time around, even Sir George’s magic wouldn’t be able to bring him back. And he was beginning to wonder if that would be a bad thing. Because to go on living eternally, knowing he had a wife and a child out there struggling by on their own without him, would be pure hell. Damn fate and its tricks. Damn the world and everyone in it. Everyone but her. Everyone but his beautiful, sweet Annie. And their baby.

Ren sat on the roof pretending to inspect a nonexistent leak, and cursed the stars, the heavens, the gods. And still felt no relief.

“Bartholomew, it’s good to see you.” Annie stepped aside and let him enter. Bartholomew looked around, as if expecting someone else to appear, before taking a seat on the sofa.

“You don’t look well, Annie. You’re pale. What’s wrong?”

Annie tried to smile, but the dim remainder of her headache made it difficult. The knowledge that she’d found Richard again, only to have to face the possibility of losing him once more, made it all but impossible. “Nothing. I’m fine, really.”

He shook his head, his eyes inscrutable. It was the twist of one corner of his mouth that told her he knew she was lying.

“No, you’re not. Darling, I know something happened here. I came by early this morning, just to check in, and found the doors and windows all open. Fans mounted in several of them, running full blast. And the entire place just reeked of natural gas. Now, Annie, if you’re not going to tell me, then please, for God’s sake, tell someone.”

Her smile faltered. She blinked fast and remembered Ren’s warning not to talk to anyone about him. He’d said the Dark Knight might be in disguise, that there was no way to know who could be trusted.

But this was Bartholomew! She knew Bartholomew would never betray her. Still, she had promised.

“It was nothing. Just a gas leak. I had to leave the house until it aired out.”

“A gas leak?” Bartholomew looked skeptical.

“Yes.” She shifted in her seat and avoided his eyes. “Can I get you some coffee, or—”

“So it’s been fixed, then?”

“Well, of course, or we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Funny. I didn’t see any repair trucks. No one from the gas company. How did it get fixed, Annie?”

She jerked in surprise. “Well, I… that is…”

“Annie.” He shook his head, leaned close to her, touched her arm. She felt the warmth of the pendant he’d given her, and felt guilty for lying to him. “Tell the truth. You turned on the gas yourself, didn’t you?”

“What?”
She gaped at him for a moment. “No, of course not!”

He shook his head, bending closer to clasp her shoulders, his black, lifeless eyes nearly blazing. “I thought we were
friends,
Annie. I thought you
trusted
me.”

“I do. But honestly, Bartholomew, that’s such a ridiculous idea. I’d never—”

“Annie, you’re not well. I’m an expert; I know the signs. And if you tell me you haven’t been questioning your own sanity lately, then you’re lying. I know. Don’t you see that?” She lowered her head, but he caught her chin in one hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “You have, haven’t you? Or perhaps you haven’t, but you know deep down that perhaps you should be.”

She fought the irrational and unexpected surge of doubt that swept into her mind out of the blue. And there was a sense, a sense that the doubts weren’t coming from inside her but from… outside. From somewhere else.

The pendant throbbed on her skin. Absently she stroked it and battled her own uncertainty. “Actually, Bartholomew, I probably did question myself once or twice, but now—”

“But now you’re convinced there’s nothing wrong. Is that right?”

She felt her brows draw together. “How did you—”

“It’s typical, Annie. Darling Annie, I only want to help you; don’t you know that? When you convince yourself that the delusions are real, that you were perfectly sane all the time, then the illness is winning. It’s one of the worst possible symptoms. Don’t give in to it! For God’s sake, Annie, you have a baby to think about!”

“But I…” She shook her head, looking at the room around her for support. She closed her eyes then and heard Sara’s voice telling her to trust herself, believe what she knew to be true. Ren was real! She knew he was, and he was Richard, and…

The necklace heated, burning her fingertips, making her realize somehow just how crazy all of this would sound if she should try to tell someone about it.
You see, I wasn’t crazy. My husband just came back from the dead, is all. He needed to protect our child from unseen demons out to destroy it, and when it’s all over, he’ll go back to some other realm, and I’ll be alone again.

Bartholomew’s arms slid around her shoulders. He held her to his chest and patted her back as she tried to understand why she should suddenly doubt herself this way. “There, now. It’s not too late, I promise you, Annie. We can still pull you back. You can still be well enough to be a mother to your child. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes. But I—”

“Just come with me now. Come with me. We’ll go to a hospital, and I promise I’ll see to it that you get better. I’ll take care of you, Annie.” He was touching the necklace now, stroking it slowly as he spoke to her. “You can trust me. You know that, don’t you, Annie?”

Go with him? But that would mean being away from Richard…

“Come on, Annie. We’ll go right now. We’ll get you the help you—”

“No!” She jerked away from his embrace and stood bolt upright. The chain around her neck snapped, and the pink tourmaline clattered to the floor. Her self-doubt seemed to desert her along with the stone. She was herself again, and she was certain of her own mind. Bartholomew was wrong, and she refused to let him interfere in this. “No,” she repeated more calmly. “Bartholomew, I do cherish your friendship, and I can think of few people I trust more than I do you, but I sorely resent your coming here and implying that I’m having some kind of breakdown. I’m fine. Perfect. Better than I’ve ever been, and you’re overstepping the bounds of friendship as well as your profession by talking to me like this.”

She felt better. And maybe Bartholomew would say that was another symptom, but she knew it was because there was nothing wrong with her.

Bartholomew practically sagged in disappointment. “Denial,” he said sadly. “Well, all right, Annie. All right, it has to be your decision.” He crouched down, picked up the stone, straightened. “But know that I’ll be here for you. If you ever want to talk about this, tell me what’s been going on with you. I’ll be here. You call me, night or day, if you decide to accept the help you so obviously need. Understand?”

She nodded. “I’m sure you mean well, but I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, Bartholomew.”

“Here.” He held the stone out to her.

She lifted a hand to take it from him, but something stopped her. A voice flitting through her mind, one a lot like Sara’s, telling her no, don’t touch that stone. So she lowered her hand, frowning, not understanding. And she heard herself say, “I think you’d better keep it.”

Ren watched Annie closely enough to know she was safe, but he avoided being too close to her. He couldn’t listen to her telling him about what they’d had. Not now. It was tearing him up.

Always he’d felt this gnawing, aching emptiness inside him. But he’d never been able to understand what was supposed to live there.

That emptiness was gone now. She’d filled it in a way he’d never imagined possible. But along with her, there was pain. The pain of knowing what he felt for her now was only a shadow of what he must have had with her once. And the pain of knowing he had to leave her again. There was no way around it. Over and over he played the oath he’d sworn in his mind. And the final words rang in his ears.
Should I break my vow to you, should I fail to obey, my fate will be death
—
the second death, from which there is no resurrection.

God, how could life be so cruel?

Through the night he tried to find a solution, a way to end his time with her without breaking her heart. But he saw none. And he knew he was allowing that matter to distract him from the more important issue: protecting her from the villain until the child was born.

Annie was asleep now in her bed, the bed they’d once shared. But Ren was uneasy. More and more he felt the presence. Dark, menacing. A mental surveillance, a spiritual spy. One he could neither see nor fight, at the moment, but there all the same. Watching, waiting for an opportunity.

Nervous, he went upstairs and slipped into Annie’s bedroom, feeling instinctively he shouldn’t be far from her side tonight. And the second his gaze fell on her, lying in the rumpled bed, her hair spread over the pillows, a sheet clutched in her hand, he felt the tug of a distant memory.

He’d entered this room on their wedding night, to find her waiting there. The white negligee she’d worn was like gossamer, and her cheeks were stained pink. Those huge green eyes stared into his, waiting. He’d taken her hand in his, drawn her to her feet, and the sight of her had taken his breath away. He remembered the way her hands had trembled as they’d gone to the straps of the gown, and the contrast of her shiny red nails with her peach-toned skin. He recalled the way she’d lowered her eyes as she pushed the straps down and let the satiny fabric fall into a pristine pool at her feet. It hadn’t been their first time—but their first time as man and wife. And he’d found it endearing that she’d be nervous. And he remembered, very distinctly, that he’d battled tears at the time. Awed by the fact that this wonderful woman had chosen him. Determined to give her the love she deserved for the rest of her life.

He felt that emotion welling in his heart again, right now, as he looked down at her sleeping there. And it remained, even after the brief memory had faded away.

Then he tilted his head. Her belly had moved. There, it moved again! Poked from inside by a tiny fist or maybe a little foot.

His baby, she’d told him. His child. Ren’s own flesh and blood, and hers, growing there inside her.

Quietly he moved forward and eased himself onto the edge of the bed. She didn’t wake. He moved his palms over her taut, expanded middle, only stopping when he felt the baby move directly beneath them. A minuscule fist— he was certain that’s what it was—seemed to reach toward him, stretching her skin oddly, pressing right against his hand. Ren felt a hot tear slide over his cheek, and he lowered his head, pressing his lips to that tiny, thrusting hand. “My baby,” he whispered.

Would he ever know the child? Ever hold it in his arms? Or would he be summoned back to the other realm the instant it drew breath? He turned his head and rested his cheek against her warm skin, only the thin nightgown and Annie’s flesh separating him from his child. Knowing this might be as close as he’d ever get.

She waited until he fell asleep there. Then she stroked his hair and silently cried herself back to sleep.

Hours later, in the darkest time before dawn, she woke. Ren had retreated to his chair beside the bed, where he sat sleeping. But something was wrong. She felt it, right in the center of her being. There was no sound, nothing she could identify. Just a cold sensation. A chilling… presence?

She slipped out of bed, rubbing her arms, then froze where she stood. The curtains billowed before an open window. Goose bumps raced up her nape.

“Ren?”

He came awake at once and sat up straight.

“Ren, did you open the window?”

She knew by his expression that he hadn’t, even before he told her so. She moved toward the window, and in the pale moonlight, she saw him. A dark form standing on the lawn below. Unidentifiable but menacing. He stared up at her, his face swathed in shadow.

Annie screamed.

Ren had her in his arms before the sound died, cradling her to his chest, stroking her hair. He looked out the window, too. “Where, Annie? Where did you see him?”

She turned, shocked that the form no longer stood there. “Right below us.” She pointed to the spot.

Ren urged her toward the bed. “Wait here.”

“No! Don’t leave me!”

“I have to get to him, Annie. It’s the only way I can stop him. Wait here. Lock the door.” He pressed her onto the bed, whirled to close and lock the window, then snatched a sword from where it was leaning against the wall, covered by that long coat he always wore.

A sword. Good God.

Annie choked back her sobs, but she managed to get to the bedroom door and lock it. Then she crawled onto the foot of the bed, scurried up to the head, and huddled there. She couldn’t stop shaking, even when she tugged the blankets up and clasped them just beneath her chin. Minutes ticked by, like slow-moving clouds on a still day.

God, where was Ren? What was taking so long?

She stiffened at a sound, a slight rattle, that came from the bathroom. Her gaze flew to the closed door and riveted itself there. Part of her wanted to scream, to run out of the bedroom. Another part feared running right into the arms of some unspeakable evil. She was imagining things. She was…