Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (38 page)

BOOK: Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1)
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Father's eyes flicked to the ground, then back at me. "I'm sorry this had to happen," he said. "I had the highest hopes for you two."
 

I nodded, lips pressed together. "So did I."
 

***

I still didn't know what to think as I said my good-byes to Father McArio. Nothing was clear. My world would never be the same. It hurt more than I could have ever imagined.
 

Father lingered by the door. "I'd really rather you stayed here."
 

"No." I needed to go. I didn't want to talk anymore.
 

I didn't know what I wanted.
 

Father nodded. "Take this," he said, handing me one of the lanterns he'd made.
 

"Thanks." It was a whimsical piece, welded from scrap parts into the shape of a star. Somehow it only made me feel more bleak and alone. I held it out in front of me as I trudged down the path toward the minefield. A flame burned from the center, and tiny holes all around gave off their own flickering light.
 

Of course I knew not to get too attached to the beauty of the flame. By morning, it would be as dead and lifeless as the dirt under my feet.
 

Imps screeched and chattered out in the desert. Maybe one would eat me and put me out of my misery. As I reached turnoff for the minefield, a shadowy figure stepped out from among the twisted debris. My heart skipped a beat when I realized who it was.
 

"Galen." I didn't know what else to say.
 

We each stood alone for a moment, cloaked by the night. I was so scared to lose what we had. I knew without words that he felt the same. There was nothing as terrible as being torn from the one who made you whole, the one who made you feel.
 

He'd been alone for so long.
 

So had I.
 

"Petra." He closed the distance between us. "I didn't want to surprise you."
 

I leaned against him, enjoying the simple act of letting him hold me. "What were you doing in the dark?"
 

"Looking for you." He kissed me on the head.
 

I drew back, my fingers tracing the outline of his face. "I'm sorry."
 

For running, for struggling, for not being able to accept what he had to do.
 

For not being able to live up to my part.
 

He caught my wrist and held it. "You don't need to be sorry." He scanned the darkness behind me as hellhound barks echoed up the path. "I have something I need to tell you. Kill your lamp."
 

I didn't understand, but I did it. And when I'd blown out the light, he led me farther into the darkness.
 

"Wait," I said, "the camp is over here."
 

Galen glanced back toward the minefield. "Not that way."
 

"Why?" I didn't know what he was getting at.
 

"Come with me," he said, a note of urgency in his voice.
 

What could he possibly have to tell me that wasn't already clear?
 

He was going to stop this insane act of the gods. He was going to bring hope back to countless mortals who didn't even know they were about to lose everything.
 

He was going to die.
 

I walked with him. He deserved that at least.
 

He'd known about the Mountain of Flames before I'd ever met him. He'd carried the burden alone. Now I would at least try to share it with him.
 

We traveled the path until we came an outcropping of rocks. It took me a moment to realize where we were.
 

Stones rose from the base of the desert, washed black by the night. Some were large, with nooks and crannies big enough to be considered small caves. Others squatted like giant, bald eggs.
 

"So this is the rocks," I said.
 

Galen surveyed the area. "You told me about this place."
 

My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't ready. "I know what you're going to say," I told him—and what he wanted. I would have wanted it, too, under different circumstances, but not here. Not now.
 

"Listen." My stomach churned as my words failed. "I know you think this will make a difference, but it won't." Deep down, I was sure he understood that, too.
 

And while I wished I could make love to him one last time, doing it, taking that, without being able to give him the one thing he needed would tear me apart.
 

He stood, strong and accepting in the light of the low luminous moon. A part of me broke when I saw he'd embraced his fate. He was willing to go it alone, willing to be abandoned again, to accept this final battle as he had all the countless ones before. "Then maybe this is good-bye. I've been called to the front," he said simply. "I leave tonight."
 

Chapter Twenty-Six

He touched his forehead to mine. I closed my eyes. Hadn't I known this moment would come eventually? I wasn't ready. I'd never be. We stood for a moment, as the cool breeze from the desert whistled between the rocks.
 

His fingers glided up my neck to cup my jaw. "I promised I wouldn't leave without saying good-bye."
 

"Wait." I drew back. It was too soon. The starkness of it blindsided me. "Good-bye? That's it?"
 

He was truly willing to leave without anything else?
 

"That's all it can be," he said, looking as torn and wretched as I felt. "I can accept that." He caressed my cheek. "I'll always be grateful that I met you."
 

He glanced back at the path that led toward camp. "I've already risked too much by coming to find you." The muscles in his jaw tightened, and I saw the pain in his eyes. "They've ordered me to leave immediately."
 

"No." Goose bumps skittered down my arms. "It's too soon." I knew I was going to lose him. I wasn't ready yet. I never would be.
 

He was going to leave and he was going to die.
 

And this was it.
 

I swallowed my fear and longing, afraid it would overwhelm me. "What about..." Now that he was here and we were alone, I found I had trouble saying it. "You know…"
 

It poor substitute for what I really felt. I'd gotten so good at blocking out emotion. Before I met Galen, I'd existed on humor and light companionship, enough to get by. I'd been starving, living on scraps.
 

There were no uncomfortable questions. No commitment. Rodger never pushed me. I'd never let anyone else close. Truth be told, no one had even tried. The world was content to pass me by.
 

But Galen had seen me. He'd roused me.
 

Galen had broken through. He'd drawn me out slowly, like a neglected animal he needed to tame. He played the waiting game, letting me come to him.
 

He'd challenged me, protected me. He'd stirred up the kind of hope and joy and soul-deep connection that I'd never let myself think was possible. It was too raw, too exposing.
 

It was too late.
 

I wanted this man in the most elemental way. I wanted to show him how much he meant to me. I wanted to have a moment with him, a true coming together, before I lost him completely.
 

He ran his fingers through my hair, and the raw desire in his eyes almost undid me.
 

"The prophecy claimed we would join together," I said, voice cracking.
 

"You're talking about sex," he said, his voice rough.
 

"Yes." The kind of raw wicked sex that had me screaming his name. In my mind, I could almost feel our naked bodies, sliding together, aching for each other.
 

"Maybe if we had more time," he said, regret coloring his words. He wasn't talking about sex anymore. We both knew it.
 

It seared me to the core to realize that I'd squandered my opportunity with this man, that I was about to let him go because I didn't know how to keep him. I was broken on a fundamental level. Damaged in a way that I couldn't repair. Now nothing I could do would ever fix it.
 

I stood there knowing that I'd regret this moment for the rest of my life.
 

"I can't lose you." I ran a hand to his chest, searching for something I couldn't even name. "Not yet." I wasn't ready. I'd never be.
 

"You can never lose me, Petra." He looked at me with such tenderness, it stole my breath away. "I love you." He cupped the back of my head and his mouth came down on me and I was lost. His kiss was raw, almost pleading. I answered, desperate for his touch, for him.
 

He loved me. Oh my god this man loved me.
 

I relished the way he held me, the way his thumbs stroked the edges of my cheeks.
 

No one had affected me the way Galen had. He was light. He was hope. I loved that I was the one who made him groan and press tighter. This demi-god, this immortal soldier wanted me. Loved me.
 

Kissing him was pure pleasure, and pain. I wanted to cling to it. To live in it. To treasure it and hold it for just an instant longer.
 

His hands traced my spine, sending ripples of torment down to my toes. He cupped my butt and my knees nearly buckled as he brought me flush with him. I could feel him, all of him, pressing into me. It was as if we couldn't be close enough.
 

I needed more. Now. I unbuttoned his flak jacket, finding body armor underneath. "Take it off."
 

He did. The Velcro ties hissed as he tore them open, then lifted the armor up and off. A black T-shirt clung to his arms and chest.
 

"The shirt, too, soldier."
 

"Petra—" He winced.
 

But I pressed on. "Give me this. At least give me this."
 

He did. As he lifted the shirt away, I could see his scars in the moonlight. They streaked his chest and shoulder with a brute kind of beauty. Galen was a man of action, a defender of his soldiers and of me.
 

I touched my fingers to his scars, lingering on the jagged slice above his heart where the dagger had torn through skin and muscle. I remembered how overwhelmed I'd been when I'd held his soul in my hands, when I'd seen his true strength and beauty for the first time.
 

I saved his life that day, only to lose him now.
 

"Petra," he murmured, drawing me up for an aching kiss. I clutched his shoulders, needing to hold on to something, to anchor myself in the middle of the storm that was Galen.
 

He moved to my collarbone, raking his teeth along my skin, worshipping every inch of me.
 

His bittersweet tenderness decimated me. It was too pure, too perfect.
 

In my life, I'd never experienced anyone like him. This man who believed in the impossible and was willing to die for it.
 

A man who knew I could save him, but didn't demand it. He didn't even ask.
 

He ran his hands up my sides, cupping my breasts, his thumbs against my nipples. My breasts felt heavy and I heard myself whimper. It was too much. I couldn't think when he kissed me like that. I just felt. I savored this moment and this man. I burned it into my memory.
 

I didn't want this to end. It was too soon to say good-bye. It was as if he teased me with everything I wanted and could never have.
 

"I need to go," he said, his voice low and rough.
 

He looked at me with such utter desolation that I wanted to hide away. My chest tightened. I wanted to run, to protect myself and him.
 

But I didn't this time. I allowed myself to see him, to feel him, even as it tore me apart.
 

"Why?" I asked. Why now? Why not five minutes more? One minute more.
 

He was hurting. He was in pain. This sacrifice wasn't any easier for him than it was for me. It was impossible and horrible and it was coming sooner than either of us ever imagined.
 

"They're looking for me."
 

The blunt truth of it slammed into me. This soldier, this commander had broken the rules for me. He'd lingered when
 

he should have left. He'd come to me. He'd found me.
 

He'd kept his promise.
 

That's why we'd hidden my light, why he'd led me in the opposite direction of camp.
 

I knew I needed to let him go, but I couldn't. Not yet.
 

Tears welled in my eyes as I braced my hands against his bare chest. "Stay for just a few more minutes." I knew I was asking too much. I didn't care. I wanted to burn him into my memory. Relish the feel of him one last time.
 

Give back to him the only way I knew how.
 

Galen always did the right thing. He served. He sacrificed. Now it was my turn to appreciate him. To caress him, to feel him, to be with him in the most potent way a woman could be with a man.
 

Before he could pull away and deny himself this pleasure, I kissed him. I devoured him.
 

I poured everything I had into that fiercely exquisite kiss, afraid to stop, because stopping meant he was leaving.
 

He flinched and then moaned as I ran a hand down to touch him.
 

Everything about him made me long to hold him, possess him, be with him for this brief moment. His readiness, his command of himself, the stark knowledge that he was like no one I'd ever known.
 

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