Page 5 of Toward Immortal Ruin

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Without looking back, she strode to the front of the alley, still feeling slightly off balance with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

When she finally made it to the street, she was surprised there wasn’t a group of media or onlookers gathered nearby. The only sign that there had been any issue at all were the men standing near a box truck.

Distractedly, she glanced down the street, wondering if she’d imagined the entire episode. One glance at her arm assured her there had been no mistake. The red material was torn along her forearm, the unmistakable sheen of blood dappling the frayed edges.

The flower shop’s electric lights welcomed her home. Relief flooded her. Hastily, she fumbled for the outer door key and shuffled inside, swiftly securing the lock behind her to seal herself into safety.

For a moment, she simply rested in the hallway, taking comfort in the small space. A headache pulsed between her temples, a subtle reminder she didn’t dare to dwell on. Car honks and street noise, though muffled, continued to stream in, a symphony that always soothed her.

She made her way upstairs, the sound of her cat’s meows accompanying her steps and banishing some of the terror she’d held since the attack.

With a very practiced move, she shoved her foot into the space at the bottom of the apartment’s door as it opened, shooing Marianne out of the way as she sidled inside. A chorus of welcoming yowls assaulted her ears, but Eden couldn’t stall to give her cat the obligatory scratch.

She put the battered laptop bag on a chair, gingerly pried open her peacoat’s buttons, and then shrugged off the soiled coat.

Eden grabbed the small first aid kit that lived in a nook above the ancient refrigerator in her shabby kitchen and flipped on the lights in the telephone-booth-sized bathroom. It was the only space in her five-hundred-square-foot apartment that had been recently updated, and the bright lights helped her focus on the task at hand.

Carefully, she edged the sleeve up to expose her injured forearm and sighed in relief.

Only three puncture wounds marred her ivory skin. Two smaller indents bracketed the larger one, and she guessed the middle one had come from the wolf’s fang. Grimacing, Eden uncapped the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and refocused. It sizzled and foamed as she poured it over the wounds. When she visited her doctor tomorrow morning, she’d ask for a rabies vaccine, just to be on the safe side. Not much sense in rushing; her days were already numbered.

Eden patted a clean face towel over the welling blood, applied a spot of Neosporin, then pressed a boxy square of gauze and self-adhering flexible bandage on the arm.

The pain had already started to recede. She toed off her muddy boots and left them abandoned by the door, then stripped off her soiled pantsuit in the bedroom. Craving privacy, she untied herwhimsical white curtains, letting them drape softly against the windowpane with its spider-web crack.

She was too beaten up by the day she’d just had to contemplate a shower. Figuring out how to protect her new bandage from the water, then dry her hair and go through all the other feminine rituals that formed her evening routine sounded exhausting. She’d undoubtedly rue that decision in the morning.

Eden had wanted to recreate the atmosphere of a relaxing retreat in her apartment. She decorated the space with flowers and hanging plants, the soft lighting doing a lot of favors to the woefully dated kitchen and the bedroom that couldn’t fit much more than her bed and a small IKEA nightstand. Hundreds of books were stuffed into her two small bookshelves, the authors ranging from Bram Stoker to Mary Shelley and Anne Rice. Her favorites, folklore and scholarly literature about the Gothic revolution, were on the middle shelves. Every book in her personal library was cherished and well-loved, and some were decades or centuries old.

The largest wall in her apartment, right behind the couch held up at one end with textbooks, was filled with picture frames of adventures she’d had and of people she loved. Few of those people had remained in her life after she’d been diagnosed. It still hurt, but Eden had decided long ago to not focus on things she couldn’t control. No glance was spared on the small army of pill bottles sitting in a closed wicker box on the marble coffee table.

She grabbed her favorite twenty-four-ounce mug from the kitchen and turned the kettle on. It was going to be a two-packets-of-hot-chocolate kind of night, moderation be damned. As she was about to settle into her wing-back chair with her drink, she changed her mind and went back to her cupboards. A giant pink marshmallow joined the chocolatey froth, for good measure. If that wouldn’t keep the tears at bay, nothing would.

Carpe diemhad become Eden’s life motto as soon as she had received her diagnosis. She would seize every day and make memories in an effort to fill the time she had left with meaning. Today had tested that resolve, although she wasn’t going to forget what happened any time soon.

She was safe now. Eden could leave the cruelty of her situation behind. There was peace in her sanctuary. A cup of perfectly made hot chocolate, a warm blanket, and a good book could keep the world at bay. Closing the apartment door meant closing out the thoughts that poisoned her future.

She enjoyed every sip of the hot chocolatey goodness, savoring it as something special and crucially important to her mental health. Letting the stress and tension fall off her shoulders, she recentered herself in the small nuances of a restorative night.

The gigantic, cinnamon colored fluff ball that claimed sovereignty of Eden’s small apartment leapt onto her blanketed lap. It was odd behavior for Marianne, and Eden frowned at her. Her Feline Majesty blinked innocently back.

The moment was quickly disrupted by the sound of sirens. Though they sounded as though they were coming from downstairs, no flashing lights illuminated the street below. Eden took another look, shimmying closer to the window seat. After waiting for what seemed an eternity, the police car finally came into view, three blocks over.

She watched as it swiftly made its way down the rapidly clearing street, then pulled a left turn a block away and disappeared from view.

Everything about tonight had felt odd. When Eden snuggled into her chair and downed the rest of her hot chocolate, she felt no regret over falling asleep to the subtle purr of her cat.

Chapter Three

It washer.His mate.

Nero had waited centuries to meet the woman he’d seen in visions of his future, had planned out every meticulous detail of what he’d say and what he’d do. He had imagined their meeting thousands upon thousands of times and had yearned for it with every cell of his being.

He hadn’t been flustered and caught off guard in any of those fantasies. Or unprepared, splattered with blood, and wielding a battle axe. He could only blame his lack of imagination for not expecting a rabid wolf to attack his mate and take out a chunk of his leg, and then him being the one in need of rescue. She’d saved him—hismortalmate—with a briefcase and a heavy helping of sheer grit.

The moment he’d recognized who she was, he’d lost every ounce of his composure. His brain had short-circuited, and the all-powerful Raeth sovereign had forgotten how to breathe.

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