Annie's Song (2 page)

“Marcus—”

“Hush.” He cupped her chin, leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve earned a bit of that peace yourself. So,” he settled against the back of the sofa, took her with him. “How is Zach?”

Shaking her head, she smiled up at him. “Are you asking because you know that’s what I want to hear, or because you really want to know?”

“Truth—a bit of both.” Marcus ran one hand down her hair, his fingers tangling in the waves that brushed her shoulders. “He turned your life upside down, Claire. I am simply trying to find my place in it. If I still have a place.”

She stood, putting distance between them. Pain twisted around his heart.

“Zach is my priority right now. He has to be—we have to get past this, find our equilibrium—”

“What happened, Claire?”

She hugged herself, meeting his eyes. “His power is starting to manifest, and he’s asking questions. Questions I don’t know how to answer.”

“You will find the words, sweet, when you need to.”

“How do you know?”

Marcus smiled. “You always do.” She closed her eyes. He had not seen her so vulnerable, not since he found her locked in a jail cell, wounded and alone. And alive, when she should have been walking Hell with Azazel. “Claire.” He waited until she looked at him. “What you are building with Zach—it takes time—”

“You think I don’t know that?” There was the spark, the temper he had been on the wrong end of more often than he liked. “We are less than six months in, and I already feel like I’m failing him—”

She cut herself off, turned to the window. Marcus stood, braced himself for rejection, and moved to her side. “I told you I wanted to be part of what you are creating with Zach. I still want that, Claire. I want you.”

“Zach is part of the deal.” Anger edged her voice. He expected it, but not the grief that cut over it, that darkened her eyes when she looked up at him. “And he has to be part of the decision. Right now, he would vote no.” With a sigh, she rubbed her face, stepped away from him. “I haven’t told him about you, but he deserves to know who his mother is in love with before he makes that decision.”

“You are not his mother, Claire.”

Cold fury slapped him.

“Another word in that direction, and you will never again step foot in this house, or our lives.” The amethyst heart at her throat threw off the power she claimed she no longer had, sparks of white and gold. “The moment I agreed to help him, gave him my grace to help him fall, he became my responsibility. And I love him, Marcus.” The fury died, her power smoothing out. “In my heart, he is my son. As much as I love you, that will never change.”

Marcus felt her slipping away. The panic all but choked him. “Claire—I need time.”

She sighed, as if she had been waiting for his confession. “And I need you. But Zach needs me, too. He is first on every list, Marcus. Once you understand that, you’ll be ready to—”

She let out a gasp when he yanked her forward. His lips cut it off, kissing her with all the need, and the desperation he felt. He could not lose her—not again.

Expecting a fight, he trapped her in his arms. Instead she pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up his chest. With a low moan he pulled her off her feet, desperate to feel every inch of her—

“Mom!”

Zach’s voice echoed through the house, followed by the slam of the back door.

Claire pushed away, hands going to the shirt he had already started to unbutton. Her gaze flew up to him, surprise flaring across her face. Along with the beginning of a smile. She rebuttoned her shirt, smoothed both hands over her skirt, met Zach at the doorway to the living room. “Hi, sweetheart. Marcus is here.”

“Yeah.” His gaze swung past her, irritation in the blue eyes. “I saw his car out back. When’s dinner?”

“Not much longer. There are some apples on the counter if you’re hungry. And Annie sent an email from England,” she said, speaking after him as he disappeared into the kitchen. “With an interesting invitation. I’ll tell you about it at dinner.” With a quiet sigh she turned to face Marcus. “I would invite you, but I doubt it would be a pleasant meal.”

“Understood.” He moved to the front door, wanting to pound something, just to relieve the ache. “I am not giving up, Claire.” He raised his voice, knowing the boy would be eavesdropping. “I love you, and in my world, that means forever.”

She paled. “Marcus—”

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

The change of subject startled her. Blinking, she shook her head. “Just the usual workday.”

“Good.” He opened the door. “I would like to take you out to dinner.”

“Out. Like a date.”

A smile tugged at her lips. Damn her charm, he wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t stand upright. “Exactly like a date. I will come for you at seven.”

Before she could refuse he stepped outside and closed the door between them.

It had been centuries, but he would romance her, and that stubborn boy. He was Jinn, after all.

Charm was his stock and trade.

FOUR

“
M
orning.” Eric kissed Annie’s cheek, sat at the small table in their hotel room and lifted the cover off his plate. “Room service?”

“Rain. Again.” She rustled the newspaper, smiling over at him. “I felt like taking the day off from slogging through puddles and staring at drenched ruins.”

Laughing, he picked up his fork, sampled the eggs. She watched his eyes glaze over. “You had them put cheese in. Will you marry me?”

“A man so easy to please? In a heartbeat.” She smiled as she rummaged for the front section. Her smile faded, anger grabbing her as she read the headline. “Oh, hell no.”

“Annie.” Eric dropped his fork, started to get up. “What—”

She turned the paper until he could read the headline. “More vandalism at the local standing stones. This time they damaged one of the stones. Damn it—I hate people who think they can violate places like that. Don’t they know—” She cut herself off as nausea burned her throat—quickly followed by the sudden, vile need to throw up.

Clapping one hand over her mouth, she dropped the paper and ran for the bathroom.

Eric followed her, crouched behind her, supporting her until she slumped against the toilet. “Here.” He handed her a glass of water, then leaned forward and flushed, taking the glass out of her shaking fingers. “Let’s get you off this cold floor.”

Picking her up, he carried her back out to their room, laid her on the rumpled bed. She felt clammy, shivering even though she wore a heavy robe. Eric grabbed the throw off the end of the bed and tucked it around her.

“Talk to me, blondie.” He brushed damp hair off her forehead, worry almost hiding the fear in his blue eyes. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

“Bad fish was the first time.” Her throat felt raw. “And I had more fish for breakfast. Stupid me.” She smiled—or tried to. By the look on his face, she failed. “I’m okay. I already feel better. Just—seeing the desecration of such a sacred place. I guess it got to me.”

“I’m going to the grocery down the street, get you some crackers, some ginger ale if they have it. Stay right here.”

He brushed his lips across her forehead, pulling on his jacket as he headed for the door. Unlike her, he always dressed before breakfast. Habit, he once told her. He’d been interrupted one time too many with an emergency in his vet clinic, and getting dressed took precious time.

Annie watched him leave, then let out a shaky breath. She hated throwing up. Twice in one week was like torture.

No more fish for her.

FIVE

C
laire changed her outfit for the third time, and hated it just as much as the first two.

It would have to do. She only had enough time to change her earrings and freshen the little makeup she did wear before Marcus arrived.

Lowering herself to the bed, she pressed one hand against her stomach, feeling ill.
Why am I terrified? It is Marcus—and I know him too well to fall for his brand of charm.

The thought didn’t comfort her.

“Mom?” Zach stood in her doorway, six feet of nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, sweetie. It’s just dinner.” She ran those words through her head, like a mantra. Just dinner—not a life-changing experience. Just dinner. Looking closer, she saw the concern he tried to hide. “Are you okay?”

One foot kicked at the floor, his sock sliding across the hardwood. Just as she decided he wouldn’t answer the words burst out of him. “I don’t like that man!” He looked up at her through the curtain of golden brown hair that brushed his shoulders. “I don’t trust him.”

“Oh, Zach.” Claire crossed the bedroom and pulled him into her arms, rubbing his back. “I know this is hard for you. But I do trust him, and he has proven himself trustworthy, despite his reputation.”

“Ha!” He jerked away, stabbing his finger in the air. “He has a reputation—and you’re going out with him?”

With a sigh, she moved to her dresser, picked up the clear quartz drops she chose to wear—to help keep her centered. She would need the boost. “There will be a time, Zach, when you bring home a girl I am not fond of; but I will trust your judgment, because I know you have a good head on your shoulders. All I ask is for the same consideration.” Turning around, she met his eyes, saw what she expected was behind all the bluster—he was scared. “Come here.”

Dragging his feet, he obeyed, but he didn’t object or pull away when she wrapped her arm around his waist. “What?”

“No one will ever replace you. Not in my heart, not in my life. Do you understand?” He stared at her, tears she rarely saw filling his eyes. “You are my son, Zachariah Wiche. I didn’t know how lonely my life was until you became part of it.” She kissed his cheek, slid her free hand into his hair when he laid his head on her shoulder. “Now, I want you to take total advantage of having the house to yourself. I bought some snacks, and a couple of Lily’s roast beef sandwiches are in the fridge.”

“Mom—two sandwiches? You don’t want me to save you any?” The hopeful tone—that he hoped she would say no—made her laugh.

“It’s all for you. Along with a movie or three of your choice from on demand. Remember—I pay the bill, so don’t go crazy.”

“Thank you!” He nearly smothered her with his enthusiastic hug. “I’m going to go check the new releases!” Claire chuckled as he dashed out of her room—and halted mid step when he barreled back in, hugging her. “I love you, Mom.”

She was thankful he disappeared again, so he couldn’t see the tears spilling down her cheeks.

It was the first time he said he loved her.

*

M
arcus laid his hand over hers, long fingers brushing the edge of her scarred tattoo. Claire swallowed, meeting his gaze across the table. The sounds of the busy restaurant faded.

He looked incredible tonight, black curls framing his face, spilling over the shoulders of his midnight blue suit. The scar on his left cheek—a memento from his nearly fatal trial with the council of Jinn—had faded, and just made him more handsome. In a dangerous, breath-robbing way. The silver hamsa earring winked at her through his hair. God above, she would have a hard time resisting him.

“You are quiet tonight.” He turned her hand over, his finger tracing the lines on her palm. She swallowed again, fighting the urge to jump him. “Can you tell me why?”

Surprisingly, her voice sounded normal. “Confusion, concern.” A smile threatened. “Cowardice.”

“And alliteration. You may be many things, Claire, but a coward is not one of them.”

Easing her hand free, she laid them both in her lap, out of reach. Marcus frowned. “I am, because I am going to use my son as an excuse when I say no to whatever you have planned after dinner.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she knew he was annoyed. “What if I told you I had nothing planned?”

“Then I won’t need to make excuses. Marcus,” Claire took in a breath, forced herself to keep eye contact. “Zach is scared, and I will not do anything to perpetuate that fear. So this goes slow—probably too slow for you—or it ends.”

“Claire—”

“I told you he would come first.” She spoke over him, fighting the need to soothe, to touch, to take him right there in the restaurant—
Stop. Distance—I need distance.
“And until he feels comfortable, confident in his place in my life, I won’t jeopardize the shaky balance we have right now.” She blurted out the one thing she didn’t plan on telling him tonight. “We’re leaving for England in a couple of days, to join Annie and Eric.” Marcus stood, startling her. He dropped money on the table and pulled her to her feet. “What—”

“Not a word.”

They left the restaurant, passing their waiter—who carried their dinner plates on a tray. He opened his mouth, stopped when Marcus stuffed some bills into his shirt pocket. By the time they hit the sidewalk Claire was all but running to keep up with him.

“Marcus—”

“No.” He jaywalked across Beach, lifted her to the boardwalk and dragged her after him. Once they hit the sand he picked her up and carried her, dropping her on the deserted beach. “Now we have words.”

“You arrogant—” Claire kicked off her shoes, so angry she wanted to punch something. Preferably his face. He had embarrassed her, dragging her around like a boy with a prize, shushing her like she was five. “How dare you treat me like that. And if you try an ounce of your damn hocus pocus on me, Jinn, so help me I’ll jam your own fist down your—”

He kissed her silent.

The tenderness, the power of it, had her gripping his arms, her legs refusing to hold her. His arms slid around her, hauled her up against his chest. Heat surrounded them, wind and sand brushing her bare skin. That heat spread through her, and she stilled as she realized what Marcus was doing.

Pulling away, she met his eyes. Gold swallowed the jade green, proof that he was using his power to soothe her. “Stop—Marcus, please—don’t waste your healing—”

“Claire. You have been, and always will be deserving of my care. And as much as I hate to make the comparison, I am like Annie. I know all your secrets, and I love you anyway.”