Immortal Mine (20 page)

I turn away, slamming the door
unsatisfyingly behind me, and hurry to the barn, hoping to catch
Sam before he starts his training.

“Can you
believe
the
nerve
of
that woman?” Niahm demands.

Niahm has recounted her conversation with
Jean to me. Part of me, the part that feels the natural enmity
toward this intrusive immortal, wants to agree with Niahm, to
insist she throw her out, send her far away where she can be no
threat to Niahm, or to Shane.

The bigger part of me, the overwhelming part
that will do anything for this fascinating girl standing before me,
knows that whatever else she is, Jean is Niahm’s only living blood
relative. I understand better than most how precious that gift
is.

“She’s only trying to protect you,” I
murmur, nearly choking on the words.

“What?” Niahm swings toward me, stopping
mid-stride in her pacing to stare at me incredulously.

I clear my throat.

“I mean, she’s your grandma, right?” Niahm’s
eyes narrow. “Look, Niahm,” I walk to her, sliding my hands down
her arms, avoiding the temptation to take her hands in mine. “I
don’t particularly like her, either, but I can understand the
desire to protect those you love.”

“She can’t love me,” Niahm argues. “She
doesn’t even know me.”

“No, she doesn’t know you,” I agree, “but
you are the flesh-and-blood of her own daughter. That brings a sort
of innate love with it. She sees me as a threat; she wants to make
sure you are kept safe.”

Niahm scoffs at that. “How could she see you
as a threat? She doesn’t know you, either.”

If only you knew
, I think. Instead I
say, “I did go at her the first time I met her.”

A small giggle escapes Niahm. I pull her
into my arms, and she relaxes against me, wrapping her arms around
my waist.

“Sam, do you think that’s why they travelled
so much? She was searching for her mom?” I can hear by her tone
that she already believes this to be the truth.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

“Because I would do that, if I thought my
mom were alive. I’d search every corner of the earth, trying to
find her.”

I don’t answer, just squeeze her tighter.
She’s silent for long minutes, and I wait.

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think…” she trails off, and I can
hear the reluctance in her voice.

“What?” I ask, giving her a little, teasing
squeeze. She shakes her head against me.

“Never mind,” she mumbles. I push her back,
see that her face is coloring, and she refuses to meet my eyes. I’m
mystified by her reaction.

“Niahm, you can ask me anything. I won’t
laugh or make fun of you. Promise.”

Still refusing to look at me, her next words
are the last thing I expect to hear.

“Think you might ever kiss me again?”

I can’t help it; I laugh. Her eyes fly to
mine then, anger sparking.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” she accuses,
trying to pull away.

“I’m not laughing,” I say, laughing more.
She glares at me, and I pull her close again. “Niahm, I’m not
laughing,” I say, running one thumb along her jaw. That stops her
fighting me, and she relaxes into me.

“I think I might kiss you now,” I say,
leaning to within a hairsbreadth of her mouth. “Or, maybe later,” I
tease, stepping away from her. Her mouth drops open in shock, and
she looks ready to punch me.

“Okay, I’ll do it now,” I say, laughing
again, kissing her before she can get a good swing going. She
doesn’t resist the kiss for even a moment, stunning me with her
trust and acceptance. I might feel bad about teasing her, except
that I’m as caught up in the experience of kissing her as she seems
to be.



“What do
you
want?” Jean watches me
warily, dropping casually into an offensive stance, body taut with
alarm. Looking at her, I suddenly realize that in her very short
life, she has had two definite things happen.

She’s had a run-in either with another
immortal, or with a Sentinel.

And she’s had training.

Most immortals live decades, if not hundreds
of years, to get to the level of suspicion that Jean has
acquired—not to mention having the tactical moves she seems to
have. I move to the recliner, sitting down as casually as possible,
lifting one leg to cross over the other, moving slowly, indicating
I mean her no harm. It’s a potentially foolish move on my part. I’m
vulnerable, unable to get up fast enough to defend myself if she
has had the training I suspect she has. I simply wait, watching her
as she stands between me and the front door—a smart place to be, I
can’t help but think admiringly.

Finally, she relaxes fractionally, not going
so far as to sit, but standing up straight, though she does not
lose the tenseness in her body.

“Fine. I get it,” she says. “Out with
it.”

I almost smile at her impatient words,
reminding me so much of her granddaughter.

“I can’t leave.” She opens her mouth to
protest, but I hold up a hand. “No. That’s not right. Let me
rephrase: I
won’t
leave.”

“Because you’re bound to her.” It’s more
statement than question.

“That would be reason enough,” I confirm.
“But it isn’t all.”

Confusion flits through her eyes, followed
by understanding, and then fury.

“Do you dare tell me you are
in love
with her? It’s forbidden!”

“Not forbidden,” I shake my head. “Just
frowned upon. We could go into the long list of reasons as to why
that is, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? The fact is I will
stay by Niahm’s side as long as she will have me. Not you, or an
army of Sentinels, will change my mind. There’s only one person who
can compel me to go—which you would understand had you ever
experienced bonding yourself.”

Jean gives a slight shudder at the thought,
her eyes like daggers as she glares at me.

“She’s my granddaughter,” she says, words
laden with meaning.

“I’m aware.”

“She has my eyes.”

I swallow, having known this topic would
come up, still unsure of how to deal with it.

“Again, I’m aware.”

Jean drops slightly again, into her attack
position and I wonder if she’s even aware she’s done it.

“If you even consider—”

I’m out of the chair before I can stop
myself, which does nothing to ease her tension.

“I would never—” Seeing her fists clench as
she crouches even lower stops my motion. I quickly drop back into
the chair, forcing my voice to calm. “I would never hurt Niahm, not
even for my own selfish purposes.”

She watches me cautiously, weighing my
words. She relaxes fractionally, standing erect once more, but not
relaxing her fists.

“Why? If you know there’s a chance…”

“Because there’s always the chance for
error,” I answer, an image of Niahm hurt and bleeding, her mortal
life draining from her, shoving its way into my head. I push it
away, sick at the thought, frantic at nothing more than
imagination. As if she can see what I’m seeing, Jean blanches.

“You’re telling the truth,” she states.

“Yes.”

“You can’t ever tell her,” she says, her
tone brooking no argument.

“I can’t promise that,” I answer.

“You have to! You
cannot
tell her,
cannot bring her into this nightmare.”

“Lying to her is already almost impossible.”
Another side-effect of bonding. I can lie by omission. I can even
lie to protect her, even from emotional hurt, but if she suspected,
if she asked outright, I could not lie.

“She’s already suffered so much.” Her words
are whispered, anguished.

“I know,” I say, allowing the accusation in
my voice. “I know better than anyone.”

“I went to the site of the crash,” Jean
says, moving to sit in the window seat. It’s as close to letting
down her guard as she can get without sitting down next to me like
old pals, I muse wryly. “I found them. I watched as they took Beth
away, followed, and stayed with her in the morgue for three days.”
I grimace; that’s a full day longer than necessary. If the change
is going to occur, the longest known time is forty-eight hours. “I
refused to let them touch her. I kept hoping…” As if just
remembering who she’s speaking to, Jean glances at me, clears her
throat.

“Well, obviously she didn’t change,” she
says, trying for emotionless but not quit getting there. “She’s
dead. That means there’s a very good chance that Niahm is not
immortal, either.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought this through
a million times since I first saw her eyes? And a million more
since the accident?” I shake my head. “It’s the worst kind of
torture, being bound to her, and loving her on top of that, knowing
that there’s a chance, that I may never know if…” I look at Jean,
allowing her to see my vulnerability for just one second, to assure
her that I will not act, will not attempt to take Niahm’s life just
to see if she’s immortal or not. If she’s not…the image comes
again, Niahm bleeding and lifeless, and I know that I would not
survive that.

Jean gives one sharp nod, indicating her
acceptance of my words. “But you’ll tell her?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I
just can’t make the promise.”

“If you tell her, I’ll set the Sentinel’s on
you myself,” she promises.

“No, you won’t,” I say, “Not as long as
Niahm stands in the line of fire.”

“No,” she agrees, “Not as long as she’s in
the way.” Her unspoken words are loud and clear: once Niahm is no
longer here, I’ll have her tracking me, ready to inform the
Sentinels the moment she finds me. I know I’ll be able to avoid
her; I have centuries of hiding skills. But I also think that once
I no longer have Niahm, I won’t care if they find me.

“I don’t trust you,” she says.

“Nor I you,” I answer. “But because you are
Niahm’s grandmother, I give you my word that neither Shane nor I
will harm you. In fact, as long as Niahm wishes it, we’ll protect
you.”

“As long as she wishes it. As long as she’s
around,” she clarifies.

“Yes.”

“I can’t make the same promise in return,”
she says, and I smile grimly.

“Well, I suppose that speaks to which of us
loves her more, doesn’t it?” I say, standing and turning my back on
her as I leave the room, enter the kitchen and exit by the back
door. I expect the point of a knife or a bullet to enter my exposed
back, but all I get is the heat from her angry glare.

Today, Sam mounts the Irish. Which would be
excitement enough for me, but even better he has asked me to help.
I’ve never broken a horse myself. I know the procedure, but haven’t
even seen it firsthand. So to say I’m excited is about as much of
an understatement as saying Bob has a slight liking for chasing the
chickens.

Autumn is heavy in the air now, the days
cool, leaves changing from green to brilliant yellows, reds and
purples, in preparation for their falling from the trees for the
sole purpose of causing me more work in raking them up. Other than
that un-fun activity, I really do love the fall. The colors, the
smells, not to mention the best apples of the season, are all
benefits of the season.

Sam backs out of the stall, handing me the
longe line that he’s already secured to the Irish. I glance at him,
questioning. “Lead him to the paddock, would ya?” he asks, as if
I’ve ever done such a thing with a wild horse.

Not wanting to let him down, I take the
rope, pushing the nerves back to keep the stallion from sensing
them.

“Alright, Hercules, let’s get you out to
begin the newest torture,” I tell him, directing him toward the
gate. He doesn’t like having me at the controls, used to Sam as he
is, but I don’t give him a break, even as he tosses his head
wildly. He decides I’m not messing around and follows me.