Tegan's Magic (The Ultimate Power Series #3) (19 page)

I watch the steam that leaves my mouth, as my cold breath mixes with the warm air.

“How did you find me?” I ask quietly. I still haven't looked to confirm that it's him, but I know it is. I know how he feels and what I felt when he held me was definitely all Ethan.

“It took a while,” he finally answers. “I realised that I really know nothing about you. I couldn't think of one single place you liked to go. In the end I smelled you in the air and tracked you to the park.”

“I don't have any places that I like to go here.” I whisper. “Not anymore.”

“I suppose that makes two of us.”

Now I turn my head to look at him for the first time. His blond hair hangs over his face; it's grown longer than usual. “This city is too bleak. There aren't any good places, not really,” I say to him.

He nods and peers out the window at the falling rain. “Here only the strongest survive. Sometimes it feels like one day the city will simply tear itself apart, no longer able to contain all of the animosity,” says Ethan. It's strange that he's said it, because I've had similar thoughts myself.

“If that's how you feel then why do you stay here? You could go anywhere in the world.”

“Why do the impoverished remain in poor countries?” he counters. “Often you become tied to a place, with too many factors preventing you from leaving.”

“I don't think that's quite the same thing, Ethan.”

I expect him to argue with me, but instead he stays silent. He starts the engine and drives away from the park. His car is so comfortable and warm that I almost fall asleep. I think I stayed out in the rain for too long though, because I can't seem to get any heat into my bones.

Ethan pulls up to his house and gets out of the car. I feel too weak to move straight away, but then he opens the door on my side, takes me into his arms and lifts me out.

“I don't understand why you're doing this. You hate me,” I say, as he carries me inside.

“Love and hate are always so intricately intertwined,” he answers back, ascending the stairs.

“Ira told me that vampires can never love humans the way they need to be loved.”

“Ira is a very wise man.”

“If he's right then there's no hope for us.”

“There was never any hope for us,
fata frumoasa
.”

For just one second my heart stops beating. It feels like a lifetime since he last called me that. He carries me inside a sparsely furnished bedroom. All there is is a simple wardrobe and a bed with soft cream sheets. He holds me to him as he pulls back the duvet, and then lays me down. I expect him to try and climb in beside me, but he doesn't.

“There's an en-suite through that door and clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

“Why didn't you just bring me to Finn's?” I ask, confused.

“I don't like you sleeping there,” he pauses and runs a hand through his too long hair, looking conflicted. “Please, just stay here for one night?”

I let my head fall back into the perfectly soft pillow. “Okay then,” I whisper, confused by his unexpected kindness. Just as he turns to leave, I say his name, “Ethan.”

He looks back at me, a wistful expression on his face.

“If there's no hope for us as lovers, can we at least try to be friends?”

He sighs. “I already told you that won't work either.”

“How do you know if you don't try?”

He stands there, regarding me intensely for a few quiet moments. “Very well then, we shall try.”

“Thank you,” I reply, as he leaves the room and exhaustion plunges me into a dead slumber.

I wake up in the middle of the night shivering, regretting not having changed out of my rain soaked clothes before I went to sleep. I quickly get up and peel them off me, before stepping into the shower in the en-suite. The hot water seeps into my pours and heats me up. I can't tell whether this is the guest room or if it belongs to Ethan. It has no distinguishing features, no belongings except for a couple shirts hanging in the wardrobe.

I wrap up in a towel and lay my clothes out on the radiator to dry. I put one of the shirts on, and judging by how it almost reaches my knees I'd say it definitely belongs to Ethan. Crawling back into bed, I switch off the lamp. As I'm tucking the duvet tightly around me the bedroom door opens, allowing a sliver of light to stream through.

I peek my head out over the blanket to find Ethan standing there.

“I could hear you moving around,” he says, no question, just a bare statement.

“Yeah. I fell asleep in my wet clothes, so I took them off and had a shower. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't. Well, goodnight then,” he says, looking a little lost before moving to close the door back over.

This is so strange. Gone is the Ethan I'd gotten to know over the last few weeks, the one who would snip at me at every turn. It's like he's completely run out of steam, and I'm not quite sure if I like it. There's a perversity in me that kind of enjoys fighting with him.

“Can I ask you something?” I say quickly, before he has the chance to leave.

“Of course. Ask.”

“I thought I'd feel guilty after killing Eliza, but I don't feel anything. When I think about her I just feel nothing – empty. Is that the proper reaction?”

“Everybody reacts differently to their first kill. It all depends on the person. Perhaps you feel nothing because you're blocking the emotion. You grieve for the witch's mother. There is no room for guilt, not yet.”

“So the fact that I feel nothing is a survival instinct?”

“It's a definite possibility.”

“Oh.”

Ethan smiles. “Is there anything else you'd like to say?”

There isn't, but I don't want him to go yet. “Yeah, you need a haircut,” I tell him.

Grinning, he tilts his head and runs his hand through his too-long locks. “Are you criticising my appearance, girl who never wears anything but scruffy jeans and t-shirts with anti-vampire sentiments?”

I laugh. “Piss off, sometimes I dress up. And I only have one anti-vampire t-shirt.”

He stops smiling, and instead gives me a smouldering look. “You don't need to dress up. Your scent alone is enough adornment.”

“Well you are the target audience for that,” I throw back.

“True,” he lets out a breath. “Unfortunately, there's nothing that can be done about my hair. Human barbers don't open at night and there are no vampires on this side of the city to do it for me.”

“There are vampire barbers? You've got to be kidding me.”

“We all have our professions,” he answers with a shrug.

“I guess. I can cut your hair for you, if you'd like.”

He eyes me speculatively. “You cut hair?”

“Yep, I've got a knack for it. I used to cut my dad's hair for him when I was in my teens.” Remembering how I did that gives me a pang of nostalgia.

“I don't possess a scissors,” says Ethan.

“I'm sure Delilah has one,” I laugh, finding it funny how hesitant he's being. “There's no need to look so wary. Cutting hair is a real talent of mine. I promise I won't give you a hack job. Besides, it will cement our new found friendship.”

“Very well then,” he replies, with just a sliver of apprehension now.

I hop out of bed, still in his shirt, but since it's so large I don't feel self-conscious. Several minutes later I'm standing over Ethan as he sits on a chair pushed up to the sink in the main bathroom so that I can wash his hair before I cut it.

I put my fingers under the running water to make sure it's warm enough.

“You only need to give me a trim,” he tells me.

“God you are such a Vain Wayne, aren't you? If I was your age I wouldn't give a shit what my hair looked like anymore.”

“Ah, but you don't have my hair,” he retorts with a teasing grin. “And you don't need to be my age, you clearly already don't give a shit.” He makes a show of eyeing my short, choppy hair.

“You cheeky bastard! I'll have you know that the not-giving-a-shit look is very in right now.”

“Well, you do seem to pull it off,” he accedes, placing his hand affectionately on my hip for a moment.

I glance down and he moves it away. Friendship is
definitely
going to be a difficult task for us. I tell him to lean his head back into the sink, as I fill a jug with warm water. I pour it over his hair, before glancing down to see him with his eyes wide open, watching me. His hair feels like the purest silk beneath my fingers.

“Do you do that with all of your hairdressers?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Stare them out of it like a creep.”

“No. But I've never had a hairdresser quite like you.”

“I am very talented,” I agree with a smirk.

“And pretty.”

For some reason, his flirtation irks me. On the one hand I want us to get along and be friends, but on the other I feel like he doesn't deserve to just decide when and how he can treat me nicely. “And a whore only out for what she can gain,” I add cuttingly. I promised myself I'd never let him take back those words, and I won't.

“I was angry when I said that to you. Sometimes you don't even realise how much you're infuriating me, and that just makes it even more infuriating.”

“I might be infuriating, but you're confusing. You call me a whore, you call me a beautiful girl in such a pretty language. I don't know what to think sometimes.”

All the while I'm saying this to him, I'm lathering some shampoo into his hair. We are so completely dysfunctionally functional.

He raises his hand to my arm. “I might not be human, but I am fallible. I should never have said that to you. I'm truly sorry for it. But let's not talk of it. I don't want to fight with you tonight.”

I don't want to fight with him either, so I let the matter drop and continue washing his hair. Sometimes you've just got to pick your battles. Ethan and I are making headway in our quest to get along. Bringing up old arguments isn't going to help.

I pour more water over his head to rinse out the shampoo. He's still watching me, but I don't comment on it. I take a clean towel off the rack and use it to dry his hair a little. He's smiling as I do so.

“What? What are you smiling about?”

“You've got a caring side. Who would have thought it,” he grins at me.

“I'm not the cold-hearted bitch you've come to believe I am. I can be very caring when I want to be,” I say defensively.

I take a comb and begin brushing out the tangles in his golden locks.

“You'll make a good mother someday,” he says, completely out of nowhere. Well, it wasn't out of nowhere, the caring comment was leading into it. Still, it takes me very much off guard. It's not so much the statement, but the way he says. The way he looks at me when he says it, like he's imagining me pregnant or something.

“Not sure I can see myself ever having kids,” I reply, letting his long fringe drift through my fingers.

“Wait a few years and you might change your mind.”

Suddenly, I think of something I've never even thought of before, as I ask him, “Have you ever had kids?”

His dark eyes move to mine. “I have had four.”

“Really!?” I burst out in shock. Ethan's old, but I just never pictured him with children. “Where are they now?”

“Three were dhamphirs. They all died as infants. The other was a vampire, but he was killed by slayers before he made his fiftieth birthday.”

“And the mothers?” I ask.

“Long gone. This all happened in my first hundred years. After that I grew weary of trying to create offspring. I have always preferred human women and the chances of the children I could have with them surviving were so little.”

His words make me sad. To lose a child is devastating, but to lose one when it's only a baby is something no one should ever have to suffer. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, standing in front of him, my hands still sifting through his hair.

“Do you know, during the years that you were gone I used to wonder if we could create a dhamphir that would survive. Since you are power blooded, your genes would be stronger than most human females.”

“You've thought about having a child with me?” I ask with a small gasp.

I don't know why he's opening up to me right now, but I wish he wouldn't. It makes me want to curl myself around him and kiss away the painful memories.

“I've thought about a lot of things pertaining to you, Tegan.” His hands moves up over my hip and around to rest low on my stomach. “I think you would look beautiful, swollen with my child inside of you.”

I stop fingering his hair, frozen in place. “You're not allowed to say things like that to me,” I tell him softly.

“Why not? It's the truth.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “I still think about that night we spent together. Do you know how difficult it was not to drag you to my bed when you had that lust potion in you? I spent the night imagining all the ways I wanted to violate you, but also hating the fact that I had to keep you at a distance.”

Goose-pimples break out all over my skin.