Immortal Dreams (94 page)

"What the-"

She stops short as the clouds overhead swirl across New York.  The skies part and the rain drops instantly before I release the first warning crackle of thunder.

"I'm a daughter of Aphrodite, along with a few other powerful things mixed in.  I know this is crazy, but it's the truth.  I never wanted you entangled in all of this," I murmur with guilt pouring from my tone.

Her mouth flops open and shut, but all words evade her as she stares out at my gentle storm.

"You’re doing this?" she gasps finally.

"Yes.  I can do a lot of freaky things.  I'm so sorry, Clara," I whine.

Her lips clap together and then fall apart as her mouth searches for the words she can't find again.

"So, we've been friends for twenty years, and you never thought to mention this?" she finally squeaks out while keeping her eyes fixated on the large droplets of rain still falling.

I release the storm from my grasp, and Camara walks away to join Deacon in the padded room.  Though she can't see the green, my eyes turn back to blue as I sit down to explain everything as gently as I can.

"I just recently found out.  I never knew such a world existed."

Her eyes tear up as she chokes on emotion.

"Did he do this to you?"

"No.  I was born this way.  I just never knew it.  This is why Persia gave me up.  She didn't want me to deal with my future until I had to," I mutter softly, holding back my own emotion.

"Persia?" she inquires.

"My birthmother.  Recently, she came back to help me train this new... power."

She takes a deep breath and sinks into the folds of the warm couch.  I can almost hear her head thudding.

"I... I... I don't even know what to say to be honest," she stammers.  "And Devin?  Is he a-?"

I nod to the sentence she can't finish out loud.

"Yes.  He's an immortal too.  Deacon and Camara as well.  There are some people after me, and they're trying to use me against Devin.  You need to go home and stay far away from me until we find out who it is," I choke out.

Her eyes soften when she sees the struggle I'm enduring.

"You're scared.  I didn't even think of how you were feeling right now.  This is so... Where the hell is Devin?  How can he just leave you like this?" she barks.

"He went to run down some leads.  I was supposed to stay confined to the apartment.  I'm sorry I put you at risk," I cry.

She purses her lips, and then she warily stands to her feet.  Her shoulders drop as she walks over to me and throws her arms out to embrace me in a much needed hug.

"I don't understand all this crazy, but I'm here for you," she encourages.

"I love you, Clara Whitman," I chuckle through my tears.

She laughs a little.  "I love you, Aphrodisia Titan."

She leans back and tilts her head.  "What's your real last name?"

I smile lightly as I pull a picture from my purse.  It holds the faces of my birthmother and father.

“Krillan.  Persia sent me this the other day.  That's Kahl and that's her."

Her eyes widen.  "No wonder you're such a hottie.  Your mom is super hot, and your dad is some kind of delicious.  Where's he?"

I frown slightly.  "He died before I was born."

"Oh.  So immortals really aren't that immortal.  Adisia, I'm scared for you," she confesses.

"I'm scared for me too, but I've got Devin.  He's pretty amazing, and I feel safe with him," I say reassuringly.

She hugs me again, and I can feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.

"Well, I need to get
back home.  Is it safe for me to leave?" Clara asks after our three hour conversation about my new life.

"It should be," Camara says as her eyes light up to search the perimeter.

"I'll walk her out," Deacon says quietly.

He's been anything but humorous since his conversation with Devin.  I still haven't heard the details of what Devin said, but I know he had to be pissed, given the pouting output from Deacon.

"I'll talk to you soon.  Next time, we'll eat in," Clara sardonically adds.

"Okay." I giggle nervously.

They disappear onto the elevator, and I pull out my phone to call Devin.  It goes straight to voicemail.

Wow.  He's really pissed
.

"I wish I knew a way to show her my green eyes," I say while thinking aloud.

"Impossible.  Mortals can't see our immortal stirring," Camara says from her crouched position behind the bar.

"I saw Devin's, so there has to be a way," I argue lightly.

"There's a lot about your bond with Devin that we don't fully understand.  No one has ever had a trigger outside of their immediate family before you.  It changes the way you use your powers, and it strengthens them as well.  It's pretty incredible, really," she murmurs while rising.

"I'm not so sure he thinks it's incredible right now," I grumble.

"Thirsty?" Camara asks while holding up a large bottle of vodka.

"Very," I sigh.

I walk over to the bar, and she pours both of us a straight glass.  I guzzle the burning, clear liquid and set my glass down with an expectant stare.

She chuckles a little as she pours another.  I guzzle it down, and finally summon up the courage to speak through the wadded knots in my stomach.

"What did Devin say?" I ask with a cringing face.

She sighs loudly while shaking her head and guzzling her new glass.  She pours us both a fresh batch before answering.

"Oh, it would be easier to tell you the things he didn't say.  I'm debating rejoining the wild before he gets back," she murmurs wearily.

"That bad?" I ask apologetically.

"Yes.  That bad indeed.  He's not too thrilled with Deacon either.  On the bright side, we now know a little more about the ones chasing us.  He couldn't deny that we needed that information.  Deacon was quick to report it.  It was enough to sidetrack Devin from his tirade."

"Devin already assumed they were after Theia though," I interject.

"Yes, but now we know for sure.  We also know they're definitely controlling the humans as I do the animals, and we know that a woman is behind it.  There're more sons than daughters.  We can start the process of elimination, and begin sifting through the mingling of powers."

"How can they're only be daughters or sons when we pair together?" I ask curiously.

"It's just mandated for certain embodiments.  Athena, Aries, Aphrodite, and a few select others.  If two mandated immortals interlope, no children can be born."

"Are you a mandated immortal?" I ask.

"No.  My kind is made up of both, but the way the guy said, 'the daughter of,' lets us know there was a mandated immortal behind this.  There's a tone we use when speaking about specific heirs.  You learn it after a while."

"Who do you think it is?" I ask.

"I don't know.  It's too soon to start spouting off theories, but we can rule out any mandated male bloodlines, as well as any non-mandated female immortals.  We know more today than we did yesterday,” she adds.

That reminds me of what Clara had said earlier in the restaurant.  This day had started out as a normal day with a normal relationship tiff between my mortal friend and her husband.  It quickly turned into a clash with unknown immortals, and the world I lived in collided with the world I've been sucked into.

"I need more," I say as I set my glass back down on the bar surface.

"More it is," Camara responds with a smirk.

I wake up and look
at the clock.  It's two o' clock in the morning, and I'm wide awake.

Crap
.  I can't sleep.

I'm so worried about what Devin's going to say when he gets home.  He'll be here at noon.  I'm just one twisted ball of nerves right now.

I sit up and gasp when I see the silhouette propped against the window.  I relax and tense up in a different way when I realize it's Devin.

"Hey.  You're home," I whisper.

"Yeah," he says coolly.

Whoa
.

He's not even going to turn around to see me.  He's never been so mad at me.

"I'm sorry.  I just wanted a normal day with a friend," I whimper.

He maintains his icy silence as he stares out the window with his hands tucked in his pockets.  His bags are propped against the dresser, and his pockets have been emptied onto the table beside the bed.

The once full scotch bottle sits empty on top of the dresser with a glass tracing the last bits of the strong liquor.  He's been here a while, and somehow he has avoided waking me.

"How long have you been back?" I ask curiously in an attempt to break through his glacial barrier.

"A while," he answers vaguely.

I sigh out in frustration.

"Please talk to me," I plead.

He continues his silent treatment, despite my begging.  I stand up, and his long, button-up shirt tickles against my bare thighs.  I've missed him so much that I've been sleeping in his shirts.

The top three buttons are undone, exposing just enough skin to try to seduce him with.

His breath hitches slightly as his peripheral catches a glimpse of my bedtime attire.  I smile lightly as I run my hand up his arm, but he stays frozen.

"Don't.  Not right now, Adisia," he scolds.

I almost cry.  It's the first time he's ever rejected my touch.  I don't stop though.  I'm nothing if not relentless to mend this.

"I said stop," he growls while forcing my hands away.

He walks out of the room and heads to the bar.  I follow him, and I can see the guestroom wide open and empty.

"Camara and Deacon?" I ask softly.

"They've gone," he replies with his iciness.

"Oh.  You didn't reprimand them too much, I hope," I murmur guiltily.

"They left before I could.  As soon as I stepped off the elevator, they were loading it."

Drat.  They've abandoned me, leaving me to deal with Mr. Pissed Off all by myself.

"Oh," I grumble.  "Devin, I just wanted to see Clara."

That does the trick to break his short sentences.  He explodes.

"And you damn near got yourself and her killed.  I've been stalking every contact I have in order to find a way to end this and keep you safe, and then you go willingly into the world of danger.  You have no idea how pissed I am right now, and I don't think it's a good idea to continue this conversation at this moment," he fervently admonishes.

Whoa
.  Talk about beating someone with a damn stick. 
Shit
.  I knew he was going to be mad, but sheesh.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

He takes a deep breath, and the icy tone returns to his lips.

"Go back to bed," he breathes.

"Not unless you come with me," I lightly protest.

He doesn't say anything right away.  He pulls another bottle of liquor from the cabinet and pours a glass.  He stalks past me to flop on the couch without so much as acknowledging my words.

He flips on the news before finally ending the silent torture of my suspended request.

"I'll be sleeping in the guestroom tonight.  Go to bed," he mutters chillingly.

My heart almost sinks into my stomach.  I feel my chest becoming so heavy that it's hard to inhale.  He completely ignores my fractured composure as he flips through the various news channels.

"You don't want to be with me anymore?" I whimper.

"Go to bed, Adisia.  Not everything can go your way.  I don't walk to talk about this tonight.  I'm not leaving you, I'm just fucking pissed.  I don't want to say anything I'll regret," he grumbles.

I step in between him and the television to rebel against his commanding tone.  He glares into my eyes, and I can see the swirls of fury.

"I'm not walking away.  This has been torture for me.  If you want this to be over, then let it be.  I can go be with Persia," I say as I force back the tears.

He grimaces lightly, and then his stone face returns.

"Stop.  Just stop.  You fucked up.  Quit trying to make me fold by making me feel guilty.  I haven't done anything wrong, so it's not going to work.  I have a right to be mad right now.  Your safety is all that matters to me, and you blatantly disregarded all of my attempts to keep you alive.  I don't give a fuck how you feel right now, you're not going any-damn-where, and I'd like to see you try to
force
me to let you."

I know he's talking about my threat to Deacon.  I told him I could force him to let me go, and he only ceded to me in order to be able to keep an eye on me.  That chicken sold me out.

"So Deacon told you everything," I gripe.

"He didn't have to.  I knew he wouldn't have gone along with any such thing, but I was too mad to think about your stubborn persistence at first.  I figured it out on the way home," he growls.

He takes a deep breath as he tries to control his anger.

"Go to bed," he orders lightly.

"No," I protest again.

He stands up and walks over to me.  I'm forced to look up to stare into his eyes - his incredibly angry, pained, and terrified eyes.

He's been a mess.  I can tell by the way he's looking at me that he's been a complete wreck.  He's using his anger to mask his fear.

"Please, don't be mad at me," I murmur pitifully.

"Please, go to bed."

I swallow hard against the knot in my throat, and I start moving my hands up his arms once again.  His hands pull me into his body, and I can feel the week's worth of built up frustration antagonizing the pleading hormones inside.

His lips almost touch mine, but then he rips free from the contact and storms into the guestroom.  The door slams behind him, and the top of it unhinges from the doorframe.

So close.

I hear the news broadcasting from inside the room, and I sink to the couch in dismay.  How do I make this better?

I smirk deviously as I rush into the bedroom and pull out the red corset ensemble.  Aphrodite used sex as a weapon.  I hate to stoop to such a level, but desperate times call for seductive measures.

I slowly glide the fishnet stockings over my smooth legs, and then I quickly pull on the black stilettos that scream sex-appeal.  I tug on a black satin robe and rush into the bathroom to fix my hair, brush my teeth, and apply my makeup.