Page 125 of Cursed Lifeline

Alfred’s right.

She’s not ready.

Shaking her head, attempting to clear her hypnotic reverie, she begins to argue, “I am...,” when my hand quickly covers her mouth.

To my surprise, she doesn’t push away, and it only serves as another clue that Alfred’s correct. She’s not as ready as she thinks.

Taking a step back but keeping her silent with my palm tightly cupped across her face, I whisper, “Pray you love, remember.”

Recognition flashes in her eyes as she’s transported back to a memory she hasn’t placed in this lifetime. A more tender one than the nightmare that flooded her moments before. It’s one of many that quickly swims through her mind as my words take root and tiny loving glimpses of the lives we’ve shared before come to the surface. Studying her closely, I slowly lift my hand away when I can tell she won’t fight or, worse, submit to any other predators lurking in the darkness tonight. Brushing my thumb across the lips I’ve dreamt of kissing for over a hundred years, I force myself to exercise control and step away.

“She needs another year or two,” Alfred sighs as he steps closer.

“I’ll give you a month.”

“If the past is any indication…” Alfred warns, but I cut him off.

“The Immortalis Coven won’t wait any longer,” I insist, finally breaking my eyes from hers and looking his way.

He gives me a harsh nod before folding his arms over his chest in understanding but then foolishly argues, “The Magister’s Council says…”

“Have you forgotten Ember has vanished? No one has been able to trace her in several decades. There is no limit to what she may be planning. So excuse me if I don’t give a fuck about what the watcher’s council wants, Alfred.”

He studies me and stays silent for a moment as if he’s holding a secret I’ll never be privy to. But before I can start to unravel the conspicuous look in his eyes, he says, “Do you think this time we can conspire a plan that will work?”

I glance back at Esme and take in her startled expression. My presence here tonight is causing our past to overtake her at a rate I’m afraid she’s not ready to deal with. Pain crosses her features. I wish I could take it away, but it’s crucial she understands and remembers everything about our former lives quickly if we’re going to be successful in this life.

This time, no fucking mistakes.

“It has to,” I whisper. “Because I’ll follow her to hell if I lose her again.”

She blinks once, twice, three times, attempting to remove the block I’ve intentionally placed in her thoughts. I’ll let her have our memories, but I won’t let her remember crossing paths with me tonight.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Alfred sighs as I turn quickly, unable to look any longer at the agony engulfing her beautiful eyes. “Manipulate her mind so you can say what you want without the repercussions of her hearing.”

“Consider it adding to her training,” I angrily toss over my shoulder as I make my way toward the door. “It’s good for her. Better than anything you’ve possibly done to train her over the past several decades you’ve kept her hidden from me.”

Pushing out into the dark of night, I mutter, “Besides, the more she understands the past, and the less she knows about me in the present, the better our chances are at finally claiming a future.”

Forty Three

Felix

Song: River Flows In You | Yiruma

Runningmy fingers lightly over the keys, I dabble with a tune I haven’t played in years. My hands dance over the black and white ivory as music floats through the darkness on a foreboding wind that awakens my deepest fears.

My darkest regrets.

Intense. Profound. The hypnotic melody becomes an extension of the torment that’s been endlessly running through my mind for the past several weeks. The beating of my cursed heart thunders as a familiar scent fills the room. My fingers repeat the melody as her presence comes closer, and though I know I shouldn’t, I give myself over to desire. To longing. To a craving only she satisfies. If only to numb the anxiety, the panic, the distressing thought that I’ll fail her again in this life.

As my fingers play a cautionary tune, my jaw ticks, bitterness fuels a fire in my veins, and my blackened heart dwells on the truth no amount of hungry hope could ever erase.

Stay away.

We’d both maybe stand a chance if I could just stay away.

She sits beside me on the bench, but I don’t stop playing, needing the cathartic release of music before I undoubtedly take her in my arms and do things to her body I’ve been fantasizing about for over two centuries.

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