The Keeper's Flame (A Pandoran Novel, #2) (41 page)

When we were younger, being alone with him had never been a problem, because I hadn’t realized how I’d felt about him. But now I knew better. Now I knew I could never be satisfied just being his friend, but I didn’t know how to be anything more.

I’d never been down that road before. And I still wasn’t sure if I was supposed to go down that road, particularly in his bedroom.

We reached the door to his bedroom, and he pushed it open.

It was just as before, neat and uncluttered, comfortable and…so wonderfully him. He led me toward his bed, and the tiny candle beside it burst into flame. He let go of my hand, and then he opened the drawer to his nightstand.

He grabbed my hand gently in his, turned it over, and set a small, black box inside of it.

My heart pounded as I slipped the silver ribbon free and lifted the lid.

It was a stone, a beautiful, multi-faceted, deep red stone. It resembled a ruby, but only slightly. This shade of red was richer, somehow, and deep as though built upon layer after layer of crimson. And when the light touched its surface, it was as though the stone absorbed the radiance and illuminated from within.

I lifted it from the box by its long, delicate, silver chain. The stone slid down the chain—its center was hollow—until dangling at the bottom.

“It’s beautiful.” I gasped, touching the surface with my finger. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s from the Arborenne,” he replied. His arm brushed against mine. “I…already spoke to Stefan.”

I glanced at him, curious, but he continued gazing at the stone. “It’s a vitality stone,” he said, as if to answer my unasked question. “A stone of promise.”

But what did that have to do with him talking to…?

Oh.

Oh.

I suddenly understood what the stone represented, and my heart resumed pounding.

He looked back into my eyes, and my stomach filled with a thousand butterflies. “I meant what I said,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

I could feel the space between us like it was a living, viable force.

He took my hands in his and pulled me close, his eyes swallowing me whole.

“I love you, Daria,” he said. “I have loved you from the moment you walked into my life.
You
are my family, and I will fight for you every day of my life until I take my last breath.” He leaned close; his breath warmed my lips. “My heart has, and always will, belong to you. That is my promise, if you’ll accept it.”

He loved me. He loved me in the way that I loved him, so much, in fact, that he’d told my brother, and was standing here swearing that love to me until the end.

I felt like I could breathe again.

“You really aren’t leaving,” I whispered.

His eyes gleamed as he rested his forehead on mine. “Not unless you force me to.”

“That will never happen.” I grinned.

Alex arched a brow, amused. “It might.”

“What did Stefan say…when you told him?” I asked.

Alex’s lips pulled into a smile.

“What?” I asked, one hand on my hip.

His smile widened as he played with a piece of my hair. “He just wanted to make sure that I knew what I was getting myself into.” I was about to ask him to explain himself when he continued, “And I said I’ve always known. It’s as though you were made for me.”

His eyes were so warm and full of emotion, I lost my words.

“Here,” he whispered, taking the chain in my hands. “Let me help you put it on.”

The little stone dangled, catching the light and splattering it in a thousand directions. I grabbed my hair in a bunch and held it aside, while he reached around my neck and fastened the clasp. He trailed his finger along the chain, down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, until he touched the stone.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

The little stone pulsed with energy, as though it were absorbing Alex’s promise.

He pulled his hand away and my skin felt cold.

I dropped my hair and touched the little stone. His promise. “I don’t deserve you, Alexander Del Conte,” I said.

“It’s strange hearing you say my full name.” A grin twitched at his lips.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and ran my finger along his bottom lip. “A good strange, or a bad strange?”

“It depends,” he said, gently kissing my fingertips.

“On?” I asked, leaning closer.

There was too much space between us. There was always too much space between us.

His eyes were piercing as he gazed into mine. “What you do next.”

My doubt and anxiety vanished and I knew what to do. I knew what I wanted—what I’d always wanted. And I leaned forward and kissed him.

His smile melted away and he kissed me back, slowly and tenderly as though he cherished each and every one.

If I could have frozen my life at one moment, I would have chosen this—the smell of winter and earth on his skin, the feel of his thick hair through my fingers, the warmth of his hands holding my face, the suppleness of his lips as they moved on mine. I could never have enough of this moment.

I could never have enough of him.

His lips pressed harder as he slipped his hands from my face, down my sides, holding my waist and pulling me closer. I pressed myself into him as I kissed him back boldly, his heart pounding against mine, and I felt the mattress shift heavily beneath us as Alex lowered me down to his bed.

There was no one to interrupt us now.

He slid me beneath him, and his kisses became softer and gentler, taking his time as our hands moved and touched and discovered. Somewhere in my mind I remembered fighting him. All the years we’d wrestled and tackled and rolled on the ground, so close to each other but never like this. Never had I relished the warmth of his hard body against mine, the feel of his hands as they swept over my body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved with both tenderness and strength. He pulled back just enough to gaze into my eyes, his elbows propping him up over me.

I tried pulling him back down to me, but he only smiled and held his ground. I grumbled my annoyance, and his eyes gleamed with something that made my heart flutter. He bent his head toward me, his lips barely brushing against mine. He knew he was driving me crazy, and he was enjoying every second of it.

“I want to hear you say it.” His voice was deep and husky.

“Say what?” I gasped.

I felt him smile on my lips.

“That you love me, too,” he whispered.

My heart drowned out my brain. “You already know how I feel,” I said, trying to kiss him, but he tilted his head back just enough so that I couldn’t reach his mouth.

And there was a smirk on his lips. He bent his head toward me again, this time whispering on my ear. “Say it.”

Butterflies swarmed my stomach as I was struck with a memory. A long time ago when he had wanted me to admit my defeat. I smiled to myself. How different things had become.

“Fine,” I squeezed his waist, pulling him against me, drowning in his eyes. “I love you.”

He smiled that smile I adored as he placed a hand on my cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. “I just needed to hear it from your lips.” He held my gaze, trailing his thumb over my lips. “To love someone so much and for so long, to know that they so completely have your heart in their hands and not have any idea what they intend to do with it… You are the only human being in this world that could destroy me.”

“Alex…” I grinned, leaning up to kiss him, but he held me down with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Tell me.” He kissed my temple. “How does it feel,” he kissed my chin, “having that kind of power,” he kissed the soft indent beside my nose, “over me?” He said those last words on my lips, holding them there but not kissing me.

So I kissed him.

His elbows gave way and he sank on top of me, his legs tangled with mine. I loved the way we fit together—perfectly, as though we had been made for each other.

“You are—” his lips trailed my jaw “—so beautiful.” He kissed down my throat, his lips teasing my collarbone. His hands slipped beneath the back of my shirt, holding my waist, and I pressed my hips into his. His desire was smothering. I felt him shudder against me as he rocked his hips back against mine. A soft moan escaped my lips at the feel of him, and my need for him burned—burned down my abdomen, the warmth like an electric shock spreading through my legs—my entire body.

I needed more than this. I needed
him
.

“Alexander Del Conte.”

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

Alex rolled off of me, shirt raised halfway up his torso, palms on his forehead with elbows in the air, and I hoped against all hopes that Sonya couldn’t tell my shirt was completely twisted and lopsided.

Sonya closed the door behind her, hands on her hips. I couldn’t tell, though, if she was angry, embarrassed, or pleased, because it almost seemed like she felt all three at the same time.

But angry won by a long shot.

She arched a brow, staring only at her son. “Fix your shirt.” She looked at me, lips pursed. “Both of you.”

Shoot.

I glanced away feeling like my entire body was on fire. Alex’s breathing was slow and steady beside me as he stared at the ceiling.

“Mom, I—”

“Didn’t think we’d come so soon?” she finished for him. “That’s beside the point, Alexander. When you asked me if you could bring her here early, you promised you would keep an eye on her. How can you possibly do that when you’re up here trying to take her clothes off?”

Mortified, I looked away; Alex shut his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Sonya was quiet.

“It’s not all his fault,” I said.

She fixed her dark eyes on me and smirked. “Oh, trust me, I know that.”

I suddenly wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“Everyone is downstairs,” she continued, looking back at Alex. “Your father
was
on his way up to get you—you’re lucky I know you both better than that.” She arched a brow and I thought I saw her smile before she turned and left.

The door closed and Alex let out a slow, deep breath and turned to me, leaning on his elbow. There was a light in his eyes, a smile on his flushed face, and his dark hair was messed all around his forehead in such a way that, for a moment, I saw the boy. The one I’d known all my life. The one I’d loved all my life.

He bent his head and kissed me softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

I wrapped my leg around his waist, and pulled him close. “Really?” I whispered.

His desire flared and my heart sputtered as he pushed the hair back from my face. “You’re right,” he said. “Nineteen years. We have a lot of making up to do.” He smiled and started kissing me again.

“Tons,” I said as I kissed him back.

“It’ll take years,” he said in between kisses.

“A lifetime,” I whispered.

I felt him smile beneath my lips.

His mouth moved on mine. “We have to go downstairs.”

“Then you should probably stop kissing me.”

“You’re right.” His lips crushed against mine.

At last, with a frustrated groan, he leaned back and slid off the bed. He shook his dark hair and pulled down his shirt, hiding my new favorite line that curved around his waist and ducked below his belt.

“I think I like you better with your shirt off,” I said.

He arched a brow and his eyes lit with amusement. “Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t agree with you.”

I snorted a laugh and threw a pillow at his face. He caught it, smiling. “Turn around so I can fix your shirt.”

I reached around to find my shirt ties loose—very loose. I grinned as I scooted near him and turned around, and he very slowly and carefully laced me back together. When he was done, he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. His eyes were rich and overflowing with so many emotions, all of which stemmed from love.

He threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me off of his bed, resting his forehead against mine with a sigh. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

I smiled and kissed him lightly. “Come on, before she sends your dad.”

He grinned and kissed me before opening the door, and the two of us crept down the stairs.

There was quite a group gathered in the front room.

Sonya stood at the base of the stairs. I couldn’t decide if she’d been guarding it or about to walk back up. Either way, she glanced between us and stepped aside, arching a brow at her son.

“There you are!” Cicero’s voice boomed.

He appeared before us, and I tried to gather myself.

“I think I got everyone.” Cicero glanced back at the people in the room. “Sir Armand wanted to be here, but he’s tied up in meetings with Brax and the border patrol.”

“Any news?” Alex asked.

Cicero shook his head. “That’s what worries me.” He looked between us. “Mind if we start?”

Alex nodded for his dad to continue. Cicero had started to turn when he paused and glanced back at us, curious. “Are you two feeling all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” Alex said at the same time I said, “Great.”

Cicero eyed us a moment longer, brow raised, before walking back in to the crowd. I saw Brant standing off to one side, talking with Sturgis and Phin and a few others I didn’t recognized, but dressed the same, in black leathers, like assassins. More Aegises.

Alex grabbed my hand and pulled me farther into the room, and Cicero spoke. “Sir Armand has affirmed that members of the shadowguard are pressing toward Valdon.”

The room erupted in noise and chatter.

“Does Lord Commodus really have the shield?” someone asked.

“What about the dark rider?” someone else asked, and I exchanged a glance with Alex.

“The dark rider is dead,” Cicero said, and the room erupted in chatter again.

I leaned close to Alex. “Does he know?” I whispered.

Alex nodded once.

“What is King Darius doing about it?” asked yet another.

“The
king
is overwrought with sorrow and is incapable of making a decision, at present.” Stefan stood—
where had he come from?
—and the room fell silent. His face was drawn and his eyes sagged, but even though he looked weary, I couldn’t help but notice he looked very much like a prince. Like our father.