Kiss at Your Own Risk (31 page)

Napoleon howled, and Augustus growled. “She’s still dying.”

“Mari has a point,” Christian said. “All she ever wants is for me to tell her I love her.”

“And he never does. That’s why I was ready to go with Angelica’s plan, until, of course, I saw Trinity almost kill Blaine, and I finally understood the horror of Angelica’s vision.” Mari leaned over Trinity. “Tell her now, Blaine, or Angelica’s coming back.”

Blaine looked down at the woman in his arms, thought of how she’d diverted that ice pick, how she’d bailed on him to save his life. He set his hand on his pocket, and felt the schnoodie claw, the one she’d used to kill him, and he knew he could trust her. “Trinity.” He tried to lift her, and Christian helped him bring her against his chest. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “By all that’s good and pure in life, I love you.”

He could have been poetic. Millions of poems and songs of love had been tortured into him. He knew how to woo. Knew the tune to sing. But none of them felt right. Just the three words. “I love you,” he whispered.

Trinity stirred in his arms, and the glow suddenly faded.

Napoleon let out a whoop of delight, and Augustus immediately started cackling with glee.

Trinity opened her eyes and laid her hands on his cheeks. When he saw her love shining out of those green eyes of hers, he knew it was Trinity in that body. And not Trinity-the-Black-Widow. Her hair was soft and silky again (yeah, a little tangled, but sexy as hell), and her eyes were that same melt-me green that he’d been lost in that first time they’d met.

“We did it,” she whispered.

Blaine couldn’t think of anything to say. He just hugged her. And then his watery side took over, and she slipped out of his arms. “Shit.”

She sat up quickly as he slithered down to the floor. “Blaine!”

Jarvis came running into the room carrying a flaming barbecue grill. “I got this from the Basic Male Skills Center. Look out!”

Blaine shoved Trinity back from him as Jarvis upended the glowing coals onto him. His skin sizzled, and then his tattoo began to smoke, and then he set himself on fire. He took a breath of relief and sat up.

“And we have ignition.” Jarvis tossed the grill aside. “Welcome back, Trio.”

Trinity was staring at him with a look of horror. “I really did kill you.”

“No.” Blaine caught her wrist and yanked her toward him. “No more of this self-revulsion. We’ll carry a box of matches around with us. I’m good.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You don’t blame me?”

“Hell, no.” He cupped her face. “It just shows me how much you love me. Nothing less than you turning the curse on me would’ve convinced me that you love me. Each time I melt, it’s a reminder to me that I can trust you.”

An icicle suddenly flared in her hands, and he zapped it with a grin. “I love that kind of immediate feedback when I say things that make you get all warm and gooey for me.”

“But I’m cursed. I can’t even go out into public without worrying that I might kill a man and—”

“Not anymore.” He laughed softly and kissed the tears off her cheeks. “The curse won’t haunt you anymore. You love me, and you won’t love anyone else. Every male in this world is safe from you—” He raised his brows. “Unless you’re the type to love more than one guy at a time?”

She shook her head, fragile hope etched onto her face. “No, of course not—”

“Then it’s perfect.” He pulled her onto his lap. “I’m an emotionally damaged male who has trouble believing in women. Every time I melt, it’ll be like an anvil to the head reminding me there’s no way I can deny that you love me, and whenever you go all ice pick on me, it’s giving me that positive reinforcement that you still love me.”

Tears filled her eyes. “So, you’re saying that you want me this way?”

“Don’t you get it?” He kissed her softly. “This is the only way it would work. I’m way too messed up to be with just anyone. I need the black widow curse, baby, and I need you.”

“But what if I kill you when you’re asleep?”

He nodded toward the ice particles still shattered on the floor from when she’d jammed the icicle into the wall instead of his eye. “You could have killed me there. Did you?”

She looked back at them, and he saw the moment she acknowledged what she’d done. A slow smile began to spread across her face, and delight danced in her eyes. “I didn’t kill you. I stopped myself.”

He grinned at the wonder in her voice. “See? You’re not so bad, Trinity Harpswell, are you?”

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. “Thank you. For believing in me. For making me believe in myself. For loving me.”

“Nah.” He hugged her back. How good did it feel to have the woman he loved wrapped around him? Unbelievable. “I didn’t do any of it. You did it all yourself simply by being you.”

She grinned and pulled back so she could look at him. “I love you, Blaine Underhill.”

“And I love you, exactly the way you are.” He was just starting to show her exactly what a good kisser he was when he heard Mari sigh.

“Now, that’s how it’s supposed to be done,” Mari said wistfully. “Take lessons, Christian. Blaine’s the new head of training the men after that speech.”

“Screw that,” Christian said. “We’re out of here, and this place is over.”

“No.” Mari’s voice was firm. “This place is just beginning, and this time, we’re doing it with love, for real. People will truly be happy.”

“Let ’em be, Mari.” Christian’s voice was quiet. “It’s time to move on.”

And Blaine knew it was. But this time, he wasn’t hauling ass to find freedom. For the first time in his life, he was going to run toward someone, and he couldn’t wait.

***

Blaine eased his bike to a stop outside the grand white house with the gleaming lawn.

Clay sculptures adorned the yard and there was a large buffet tucked up next to the rhododendrons. Dozens of people were milling around, admiring the art. Reina was standing next to a life-sized statue of Augustus, arguing with Nigel and Jarvis. She was being animated with her hands, Nigel was laughing, and Jarvis was swinging his sword with a little too much aggravation.

Christian was standing beside them, shoveling food into his mouth from a plate loaded from the buffet. The dude hadn’t stopped eating since he’d gotten out of the Den, and he was almost back to his fighting weight already, but there was an edginess about him that Blaine didn’t like. Something had happened when Christian had been inside the Den alone, and Christian wasn’t talking about what it was.

Blaine felt Trinity’s arms tense around his waist, and he set his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “No more fear of crowds anymore, my love.”

“I know. Old habit.” She kissed the back of his neck. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Blaine killed the engine, kicked the stand into place, then swung his leg over. “You see your dad?” He’d gotten to know the old man on their way back from the Den, and he liked the bugger. How could he not? The man had been willing to give his life for his daughter, and that went a long way in Blaine’s book.

Yeah, he was still a little leery about the fact that they’d sent Trinity to the witch, but—

“Blaine! Trinity!” Olivia came running up. She was wearing a beautiful white dress that made her look years younger than when he’d first met her. “I’m so glad you all could come to Dad’s first art showing.”

Blaine stiffened as she hugged him, and he saw Trinity’s mom frown.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’ll be right back,” Olivia said. “I have something for you.” She turned and hurried up the massive front steps into the house.

Trinity squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Blaine. We all understand.”

“I know.” He still felt like a jerk for being unable to accept her mom’s love. Still couldn’t quite accept that her mom was different than his. Still couldn’t quite trust. “At least you still try to kill me on a regular basis.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe you love me. I’m such a mess.”

He grinned, warmth resonating in his chest. “You’re perfect. I’m proud to be here with you, even if you disrupt the party by trying to kill me.”

“Well, for Dad’s sake, I hope I don’t.” Trinity tucked her arm through his and snuggled close. “I’m so glad that Dad can finally have a show. I never realized he was lying low because he was worried about getting too famous, in case we had to relocate again with a murderous daughter.” She leaned her head against Blaine’s shoulder. “I never thought I could be happy. It feels so incredibly wonderful to allow myself to feel the joy.”

Her eyes were dancing, and he grinned, loving the freedom in her voice. She’d started wearing sexy clothes, and that had done them in. Hadn’t left his place in over a week. They’d taken stock in waterproof mattresses to deal with melting icicles, and he’d installed a wood stove in the bedroom that they’d kept going 24/7. It was all good.

Trinity’s mom jogged back down the stairs. She was carrying a small wooden box and had a rolled up scroll in her hand. She handed Blaine the paper. “This is for you. I thought you’d like to see it.”

Blaine unfolded it and saw it was a scrawled note. Handwritten on yellowed paper. “What is it?”

“When I searching for Trinity during those long six months, I followed every story that referenced Angelica. I was going through my file last night and burning everything now that I don’t have to worry about her anymore, and I found this.”

Blaine looked down at the paper, and Trinity peered over his shoulder. “It’s a flyer,” Trinity said. “A wanted poster.” She touched the yellowed edges. “It must be over a hundred years old.” She fell silent as they read it together.

Missing: A four-year-old boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, open wound on his right arm. His name is Alexander Blaine Underhill, III. Answers only to the name Blaine. Large reward for any information as to his whereabouts. Please contact Marissa Underhill or the Order of the Red Swords with information.

Blaine’s throat tightened as Trinity’s arm went around his waist. He swallowed, then crumbled it and tossed it aside. “Too little too late.”

“The Order of the Red Swords was a deadly underground organization designed to help persecuted Otherworld beings disappear, and some say they still exist,” Olivia said. “They were well known to be cutthroat, and extremely expensive. Your mother must have paid them an exorbitant amount of money to get them to help.”

“We didn’t have money.”

Trinity’s mom opened the box and began riffling through the papers. “The founder of the organization was the son of a woman who had nearly died trying to protect him from his dad, who she later killed to save the boy. The searchers had a special fondness for widows who had suffered to protect their children from their men.”

Blaine stiffened. “My mom wasn’t a widow, and she didn’t do anything to protect me against my dad—”

Olivia set another paper in his hand. “Here’s one from two years later.”

His fingers starting to shake, Blaine scanned the words.

Missing: A six-year-old boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, probably a large scar on his right arm. His name is Alexander Blaine Underhill, III. Answers only to the name Blaine. Large reward for any information as to his whereabouts. Please contact Marissa Underhill or the Order of the Red Swords with information.

“And another.” She set a crinkled one in his hand.

Missing: A seven-year-old boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, probably a large scar on his right arm. His name is Alexander Blaine Underhill, III. Answers only to the name Blaine. Large reward for any information as to his whereabouts. Please contact Marissa Underhill or the Order of the Red Swords with information.

“These are just a few of the hundreds I found.” She dumped a pile in his hands. “They came out every year, every day. The oldest one I found had you listed as sixty-five years old, and the date on it was the same year as I found an obituary for Marissa Underhill.” She set it in his hand. “Here.”

Numbly Blaine shoved it back at Olivia. “No—”

“I’ll read it.” Trinity took it from his hands. “Marissa Joan Underhill died October 7, 1909, in a cave in the Upper Falls, a tunnel rumored to be a portal to the lair of Death’s grandma.” Trinity took Blaine’s hand, and he gripped it, hanging on desperately as he listened to her quiet voice reading to him.

“Marissa Joan leaves behind a son, Wesley Maxwell, who disappeared at age twenty after following a lead as to the possible whereabouts of his missing brother, Alexander Blaine III. Mother and son dedicated their lives to finding Blaine after the suspicious death of father and husband Alexander Blaine Underhill, Jr. in 1851. Many believe young Marissa killed her husband as payback for harm done to young Blaine, but no charges were ever filed.” Trinity folded the letter. “Rumors of Wesley still being alive surface periodically, though none have been confirmed,” she finished.

Blaine felt his throat tighten as he stared blankly across the yard. It was difficult to breathe. His skin felt hot. His clothes felt itchy. And his scar burned like hell.

Trinity wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. He crushed her against him and buried his face in her hair, letting the scent of lavender fill him. His mother had searched for him. Wes had hunted for him. For their entire lives. Just as he’d dreamed. “She killed him,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know she killed my dad. He was a bastard.” Suddenly, memories flooded him, of the screaming fights between his parents in the weeks leading up to Angelica’s appearance. Of his mother keeping him so close every day, never letting him out of her sight. Of the tears in her eyes that night when she’d told him to always remember she loved him, no matter what his dad did.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t remembered at all. Not until now.

Trinity looked up at him. “You know how to trust now,” she said. “Let yourself love her. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

He shook his head and fisted her hair. His chest was so heavy, his throat tight, his muscles aching. “I can’t—”

Trinity’s mom set her hand on his shoulder. “My dear boy,” she said quietly. “You have a family now. It’s time to release old wounds and let us all in. We might not be able to prove our love by trying to kill you on a regular basis, but at some point, you’ve got to stop having that as a requirement to trusting.”