Trefoil (18 page)

There seemed to be no rhyme to the formation of this new medallion. She had gained dots of his blood by touching his tattoo, dreaming and gasping. The dots bled a lot or a little.

He kissed a circle about the spot, smearing the blood away with his thumb and wiping it on his jeans. “I love you, Lillian. I can’t pretend that the urge to take you doesn’t supersede the fear of losing you, but I can’t do it tonight.”

“No,” she rasped, fingers pattering about the edges of his tattoo. “Nate. Let me satisfy you.”

His eyes darkened. Deep in her soul, she felt his tension. Against her thigh, his cock stirred. She reached for his fly, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“Not yet, baby. God, I want to, but I don’t think I can control myself tonight.” He captured her mouth, his tongue defying what his lips said. She rubbed her bare breasts against his tattoo, sending shocks of feeling through them. Her pussy tightened again, dripping, ready for more. Her veins craved his blood.

“Nate, I want that blood medallion.”

His breath rasped across her throat. Every muscle in his body was taut, singing like a bowstring. “I think of nothing else,” he said. “Until you are mine, it consumes me. Lillian, if we can form the medallion dot by dot rather than all at once, maybe—” He broke off, throat working. “Maybe you won’t be lost to me.”

She clutched his head to her throat, shivering at the feel of his hair against her flesh.
Then that’s what we’ll do,
she said into his soul. And when she did, they both stopped, realizing how that third dot of blood had strengthened their link. Their shaking eased, almost ceased.

They lay snuggled together, warmth pooling between them as they touched and kissed and stroked. When she returned to bed and to John’s arms, she left with Nathan’s taste on her lips and three dots of his blood over her heart.

The instant Dante’s Land Rover disappeared down the driveway with John LeClair inside, Nathan whirled on Lillian, who had just entered the dining room. “Let me see,” he said. Very gently, he removed her left bracelet.

The raised ridges of John’s medallion infused Nathan’s chest with caustic rage. Last night, she’d had another dream—the third this month—and he’d awakened to the feel of her nude body rubbing slowly over his. The blood had been manageable, and she had learned to silence her screams.

Nathan’s blood was slowly filling her veins, but it wasn’t eliminating John LeClair’s.

Lillian cupped his face and drew him to her, thumb working on the tight hinge of his jaw. Before he could stop himself, he pinned her against the wall and ground against her fire. He couldn’t rid himself of the slippery feel of her skin in that dream. He lifted her off her feet and swung from the room. At his back, Will chuckled.

Nathan ran the curving staircase with ease, striding straight for his bedroom. He shoved it open with a shoulder and fell to the rumpled bed with her. She shook with laughter.

What’s come over you?

You. Our mark.
He drew her sweater down to examine the newest spot on her breast. Eight dots in all formed a small dark red crescent. She’d been hiding it from John LeClair by artfully arranging her hair.
It makes me insanely happy. And that dream.
They shivered.

Suddenly, she went still. Her breathing hitched, stopped. Her eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, wide and unblinking. Panic rushed up Nathan’s throat. He gripped her shoulders.

What is it?

The ceiling. When did you do that?

He exhaled sharply, collapsing against her.
Thank God it’s just that. You scared the life out of me.

He rolled onto his back and linked their hands. Together they stared up at his newest masterpiece. “I haven’t worked with paint since I studied in Europe. The blues of the sky are inspired by you.” He leaned onto one elbow to catalog her reactions.

By me?

Yes, that day we went shopping.
The previous week, he had driven her to a mall to purchase some clothes suitable for a Vermont winter. She had been wearing a myriad of blue tones, and when she slipped on a porcelain blue winter coat, she’d conjured the image of a night sky in him.

When did you do this?
she asked without removing her eyes.

He smiled.
The past few nights. It’s a small gift for you.

Small? An entire night sky.

The North Star is you. You guided me across the country, state to state. And your haiku. See?

A night sky spread over the ceiling in shades of blue and violet, and at the upper right corner the North Star blinked from behind a cloud. In the bottom corner, embedded in a swirl of stars, Nathan had copied her haiku in subtle, scripting letters.

“It’s gorgeous,” she choked, lashes beating back her tears.

“Not as gorgeous as you, Lillian.” He lowered his mouth to hers, holding their kiss, letting the emotion build between them. Over the course of a month, his ancient hands had touched her in ways he’d never known possible.

He traced a path from her stark collar bone to her corrugated ribs to her waist that dipped alarmingly low in the shelter of her hipbones. Out of her head with need to complete their bond, she couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep.

“I want to sleep with you here, Nate, beneath our night sky,” she whispered, her throat clicking as she swallowed.

Could he do that? Sleep next to the woman who was his immortal mate, the woman he longed to fill with his hot cock, and fuck her until she forgot she’d ever known another man?

As he studied her profile, a feeling of tenderness swept him. To hold her in his arms with her warm body nestled against his would be the closest he’d ever come to feeling complete. Yes, he could do that. As soon as possible, he would speak with Dante about clearing more paths.

* * * *

Nathan watched Lillian as she leaned against the kitchen island, de-veining shrimp. He had the honor of dropping live lobsters into a boiling pot and watching them die, while Will cracked their cooling legs open and tore out the meat.

“Why do we have to prepare these hors d’oeuvres ourselves?” Will asked Maria, who was up to her elbows in pastry dough.

“We’re testing my recipes for the Fundraiser Ball,” she said, adding a pinch of baking powder. “It’s less than three weeks away.”

Lillian met Nathan’s eyes, the notes of
'La Vie en Rose'
wheeling through her mind. Her small, square teeth appeared and sank into her lower lip.

“We all have our roles to play this year. Will, how is that music selection coming?” Maria asked.

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Do you really? Have you taken into consideration that the band we’ve hired probably doesn’t know any songs by The Doors? We all know you were a youth in their heyday, but these are modern people,” Maria said.

Lillian giggled.

“Nate, the ice block arrived this morning for you to practice your sculpture on. It’s in the walk-in freezer.”

“I’ll get to work this evening,” he said, flinching as he removed a beet red lobster from the pot and placed it on some paper toweling to cool. This year’s fundraiser benefited a children’s hospital, and Maria had asked Nathan to create an ice sculpture of playing children for use as a centerpiece.

“I’d love to help,” Lillian said.

“Of course there will be work for you,” Maria said, rolling out her dough with a floured pin.

Lillian’s eyes swung to Nathan’s with that inaudible crash that brought the room to a standstill. A Vision was upon her. Nathan’s hand on her lower back, reeling her against him as the first strains of
'La Vie en Rose'
sounded. Her gloved hand in his, silken fingers stroking his palm in small circles. One long mahogany lock loosening from the crown of curls to lie against her cheek. Their bodies close, heat crashing over them. Nathan’s mouth lowering—

She shook her head to dispel it, but not before he saw her lower lip quiver at the thought of John LeClair in the library with Dante during that event.

You simply can’t ask me to dance at the ball, Nate.

He leaned against the counter and crossed his long, denim-clad legs.
Watch me.

Please.

Lillian, it’s set. Visions are insights to the future. We can’t change a Vision.
He stepped toward her.
Besides, I want you in my arms that night. I want to help you wiggle into your gown, slide the zipper up for you. I want to fasten a diamond choker about your throat. I want to help you slip into those long silvery gloves, caressing each finger as I do. I want to dance all night with you in my arms. And I want to take you to my bed after all the guests straggle off and make you mine for eternity.

She started to shiver at his words pouring into her soul. Nathan crossed to her. He caught the point of her chin between his finger and thumb and made her see him.

It’s us, Lillian. Nothing, and no one, will stand in our way of being together. It’s only a matter of time,
he said. He trailed a finger over her high cheekbone, then gave her a crooked smile and left the kitchen and the mess of mangled sea creatures behind, but not before he felt her resistance give way.

* * * *

The most difficult time for Nathan was not night, when John LeClair shared Lillian’s bed. It was the time when he arrived home from working the shipping industry with Dante. The time when Nathan had to let Lillian go to him.

He sighed and set about gathering tools for carving. Years ago when he’d struck up his friendship with Dante, he had spent many months living at the mansion. During that time, Dante had erected a small outbuilding for Nathan to use as his personal workshop. He went outside and rummaged through the tools here, taking up a couple workhorse chisels and a one-and-a-half pound hammer.

In the center of the kitchen floor, on a rolling cart, sat a block of ice. He drew a deep breath and looked at it. Really looked at it—the shape, the mass. He considered it from all angles, watching the shadows and trying to see the art within it.

He selected a playlist on his iPod and poked the earbuds into his ears. The music filled his head, pounding into him as the chisel and hammer would pound the ice. The hammer felt foreign in his hand, and he longed for his tools at home, for his workroom and a hunk of granite to accept the frustrations he could pour into it.

Yet the first strike of the ice filled his heart with joy. There were no sparks, but the ice gave a satisfying crack beneath his light tap. He immersed himself in the music and the tiny nicks he took against the grain, completely oblivious to the external world. He didn’t hear the kitchen door swing inward or the soft steps halting in the entrance. A wall of heat scorched his back. He spun for her, and then pulled up short at the sight of John LeClair at her side.

The chisel flew from his slack fingers, skidding across the hardwood floor. Nathan cut his music. With a sweeping motion, Lillian retrieved the chisel and held it out for him, handle first.

He stared at it, knowing that to put his hand on it was to create that inaudible
crack,
and before John LeClair’s astute gaze.

N—need,
she said.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting those glorious grey eyes. He could paint each fleck, he’d studied them so well.

When he accepted the chisel, they were locked in a bubble of electrical energy.

John LeClair shoved her behind him. “Keep away from her.”

“You’ve said that before,” Nathan said, placing the chisel in a perfectly parallel position to the hammer on the countertop.

“I mean it, Halbrook.”

“John, don’t,” Lillian said, stepping to his side. “Nate was only working. We’re the ones who’ve disturbed him. Let’s go.”

John stepped toward Nathan, chest puffed out and tensed for a fight. “I won’t tolerate how you look at her. Keep your distance, or I’ll personally show you how.”

Lillian reached to restrain John. He shook her off violently, sending her tumbling back. Nathan exploded forward with a cry, grasped her by the waist and spun her from harm’s way as if they were dancing an eighteenth century minuet. “Don’t treat her like that,” he roared.

“Keep your fucking hands off my wife!”

“John, no. No, no, no.” She crumpled into Nathan’s arms.

“Goddamn you, you bastard,” John LeClair seethed, tearing her from Nathan’s hold.

People rushed into the room. Dante, shirtless and barefoot, demanded Lillian’s limp body be handed to him. Will positioned himself between the two adversaries with arms stretched between them. They glared at each other, fists clenched.

Dante disappeared with Lillian in his arms. Nathan bolted after her, kneading his head as he Called to her. Though her soul was open to him, her mind was dark. Not a thought played there.

Will was hissing in his ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Your fighting caused her fainting. The longer you carry on, the longer she’ll be out.”

Nathan placed a palm on Will’s chest and shoved him into the wall. “He hurt Lillian,” he ground through his teeth.

Feet pounded the marble floor. Nathan spun, catching John LeClair’s form as he barreled into his gut. He glanced off the wall, righted himself, cocked his fist and rocked John LeClair’s head with a fist to the jaw.

Hands were hauling them apart—Ricardo and Will each restraining a man. Nathan wrenched from Will’s grasp, whirled and took another corridor at a dead run.

Still huffing with anger, he cracked the door in the paneling and gazed upon the woman lying on the ice blue sofa. Her dark hair dripped off the side and nearly brushed the floor. Nathan’s heart squeezed at the sight. He passed a hand over his face to swipe away the disturbing image.

He captured the length and brought it to rest across her breast, but the eerie sight was lodged in his mind. Into her dark soul, he said,
O—obstacles.

Her eyes fluttered open.
Nate.

He sank to the edge of the sofa, smoothing her hair.
I’m sorry, Lillian.

Not your fault. I forgot you were working when I brought him to the kitchen.

He pressed his lips to her temple, tasting the salty film of sweat.
He’s coming, but I’ll be behind that door if you need me.
He sank into the recesses of the paneling, but he felt her shivers and had to grip the wall to keep from going to her.

Her mind was weak and woozy, playing and replaying the scene of Nathan and John LeClair’s fight. Playing the sight of Nathan’s hands as he carved.

John leaned over her, tears dropping onto her hair. “Lily, my precious, are you all right?”

Nate, get out of my head.

Nathan pushed in his earbuds and cranked on his music, driving out the sounds of their whispers. He remained hidden until he grew stiff, than at last returned to the kitchen, and to the melting lump of ice.