The Paladins (39 page)

Staring straight up at the ceiling, her eyes collect a watery sheen. I touch her chin with my thumb and forefinger, gently tilting her face toward mine. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.

I push her wild hair back from her face. “Raven.” Hope arrests my lungs until her name is little more than a whisper. “Raven, I love you.”

Raven

Months ago, Gideon said he loved me. Then he broke his word. In The Void, he said it again, and asked me to forgive him. I did almost instantly. It wasn’t hard. I believe he meant what he said. Since then, I’ve had time to think about my issues with trust, fear, and loss. In the end, I figure we’re both guilty. Gideon is as much to blame for being human as I am for not allowing him that privilege.

When did my fears become more valid than his?

Last year, fear of losing yet another person that I loved had me pushing him away. But he was hell-bent on us being together, so he made fast promises. I put all the pressure and responsibility on him to be perfect and perfectly keep his word. Never once did I consider the wounds he might still carry around on the inside from his past—painful baggage that he hadn’t had time to deal with or heal from. I didn’t think about what he might need from
me
. And in the end, what he needed was the space and freedom to fight his demons. Permission to try, succeed or fail.

Gideon’s blue and green eyes watch me with the focused intensity of an eagle. “I love you,” he says again. “Forgive me. You mean … you mean everything to me. Raven, will you let me love you … can I come back?”

His voice trembles, thick with emotion. His words are clumsy and very un-Gideon-esque. He’s vulnerable, and transparent, maybe even a little desperate as he searches my face for the answer he hopes to hear.

There’s nothing left to consider.

“Yes,” I say simply. “Yes, and yes, and yes.” Tears threaten as I’m pulled into the circle of his arms. Warm breath falls on my hair as his kisses cover my head. The familiar scent of licorice and spice lingers on his skin.

“Forgive me.” His arms tighten. “How could I have been such an idiot?”

“No.” I shake my head, and he loosens his hold a few inches to look at me. “It’s my fault, too. I wasn’t being fair to you.”

His eyes flash and darken. “Don’t be ridiculous, woman!”

“Me?
You
don’t be rid—”

Unable to wait, his mouth covers mine, crushing me with need, and want, and longing. My fingers tangle in his soft, golden curls. Pressure demands more and I open myself up to him.

He lies on the bed, pulling me down with him. Drawn under his spell, my body weakens, bones turn to syrup. He works his special kind of magic on me until I’m good and kiss-drunk. When I’m sure my lungs will explode from a lack of oxygen, he breaks away. Beginning at my jaw, he kisses a line along my throat to the hollow at the base, leaving a trail of heat across my skin. Embarrassed by my ragged breaths, I strive to slow them, and mentally order my frantic heartbeats to calm down.

He must sense something, because he lifts his head. The emotion in his eyes is exposed and raw—love, desire, admiration, devotion. He’s as fierce, and volatile, and unpredictable as the element that chose him.

Heat blooms under my cheeks beneath his all-consuming gaze, and I glance away.

“Don’t you dare hide from me, Raven Weathersby.” When I look up, there’s no impatience in his expression. His eyes are soft, sincere. He draws his thumb across the line of my eyebrow, down my temple. “Your passion was obvious the first time you walked into my office and told me off.” His sexy smile produces tingles in my stomach. “Every single thing about you intrigued, teased, fascinated, and finally consumed me. I know who you are. I hope, in time, you’ll trust me enough to be uninhibited, vulnerable.

“In fact,” he kisses me, “I can hardly wait.”

I smack his arm. “Dane’s right, you are scary.”

“Yes, but you like that about me, admit it.” We kiss again until I feel his smile break out on my lips. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

“Why, what do you mean?” I ask. And now I’m smiling, too.

He groans and rolls away from me onto his back. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” The provocative timbre in his voice has me agreeing. “Hey, how do you feel about French weddings?”

A jolt runs through my veins. I shift to face him at the same time he turns toward me. His hand strokes my arm sending tiny shivers over my skin. “Depends on whose wedding you’re talking about?”

“Ours.”

Whoa Nelly.
“I’m eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake!”

“Yes? That’s very good, Rae. What other tricks can you do?”

“Shut up.” I shove his chest, which does nothing to move him.

His grin threatens my cool. “Do you want to move to France with me, Raven?”

“Do you?”

“Quit hedging and answer.”

“Which question?” I’m teasing him back now.

“France, woman, France. You and me, baby.”

“Do we have to decide right now? And did you just call me
baby
?”

He laughs. “No we don’t, and yes I did. I plead temporary insanity, which is mostly your fault, by the way. Don’t deny it. ”

“Oh, I’m not arguing. You’ve always been crazy.”

“Seriously, we could go to France, but only if that’s what you want, too. As for marriage, I’ll wait for you forever. I’m never going to want anyone else. But since we have no parents to object, and neither of us is young for our age, I don’t know. Think about it?”

“Is that a proposal?”

“I guess it is.”

“Well, it sucked.”

His laugh is loud, and satisfying. I squeak as he grabs my arm and tucks me under his chest.

“Raven Weathersby, I love you to the point of absolute madness. You own me, girl. I want to be with you, love you, work beside you … I never want to spend another night apart. Would you do me the incredible honor of becoming my wife?”

“As in married … ”

He grins. “That’s usually how it’s done, so yes.”

When?
My heartbeats snap and flutter like a flag in the wind.

Gideon answers as though I spoke aloud. “Now.” He smiles. “Okay, someday, whenever you’re ready. Here, or in France, or in the damn Congo, I don’t care.” His chest stills, and it dawns on me this incredible guy is holding his breath waiting for my answer.

“I will,” I say, a little breathless. “Absolutely, someday, yes I will.”

He bends his head, capturing my lips with kisses soft and tender. Every caress holds the promise of future passion and glory, triumph and heartbreak. What’s life without risk? A year ago, I answered before I understood the question. But I’m ready now, sure of us. Hard times only highlight the good stuff. Real life is both, and I get to experience it all with Gideon by my side.

Cole

My new watch reads 8:45 as I pass through the door of my first tutoring session. Once I test out, I’ll enter Uni next fall and do all the things normal, non-magical twenty-year-olds do.

Normal.

Whatever that is.

I choose a seat near the back of the library, because hey, some things never change. Scanning the room, it looks like we’ll have nearly a dozen in the class, eight boys, and three girls. Most are younger than me, as expected.

Our tutor Mr. Brun sits at the front of the room behind a scholarly-looking walnut desk. Round, with a goatee and shock of fluffy red hair on top, he might be in his mid-forties. He pushes silver-rimmed glasses up his nose as he flips through some paperwork, ignoring us for another few minutes before class starts.

I don’t care.

I don’t care that my flat has nothing in it but a refrigerator and a bed. I have time to fill in the blanks. I don’t care that I parked my motorbike illegally downstairs when I couldn’t find parking and will likely get a ticket. I don’t care that there are no girls in this classroom old enough to keep me out of jail or prettier than a doorknob to hit on. I have years to look for the right one. For the first time in my life, I have friends that are more like family. I’m happy to be in school, fully cognitive of the privilege it is to sit here as a free man with choices. I’m flying high.

The door opens and a last student walks through with a minute to spare. Long chestnut waves obscure her face as she focuses on the paper in her hand. Her body is long and lean in cut-off jean shorts, a black and white stripped tee, and black ankle boots. With an impatient toss of her head, her hair swings back exposing big, doe-brown eyes and a pouty, pink mouth.

This day just keeps getting better.

A quick peek at the room and she heads for the chair next to mine. “Hey,” she says, dropping her leather bag onto the desk. “Anybody sitting here, yet?” Thick lashes shield her eyes, but her cheeks tint a healthy color. I’m guessing she’s eighteen.

“Hello.” I smile. “I’m Cole, and no the seat isn’t taken.”

“Great, thanks.” She turns her little wooden chair backward and sits. Her fingers, covered in multiple bands of silver, tap out a beat on the top rung. I try and fail not to look at her shapely legs. My pulse gears up. “I thought I’d be late when I couldn’t find anywhere to park my motorcycle.”

No!

Mr. Brun stands, still studying the papers in his hand.

My new classmate leans over and whispers, “I don’t know my way around yet, and I hate being late. Oh, I’m Camille, by the way.” Her scent is fresh and floral, but not overpowering. Daisies maybe?

“Nice to meet you, Camille. Have you been here long?”

Her eyes roll. “Just two weeks. I’m from the states, Ohio. I don’t speak the language and don’t understand the way the city’s laid out. I keep getting lost; it’s so frustrating.”

My expression hardens in mock seriousness. “That’s terrible. Locating the best
Le petit déjeuner
is extremely important. No Cheerios here, you know? I can show you sometime.” I shrug. “If you’d like … ?”

Surprise widens her eyes, so I know she wasn’t fishing for a date. She recovers quickly, playing with the ring on her pinkie. The fact she doesn’t answer right away only peaks my interest. She’s friendly, not reckless.

“Excuse me?”

I’m so caught up in our easy conversation, that it takes me a minute to realize Mr. Brun is addressing me. Or us.

“Pardon?” I straighten and face front.

Our tutor’s nostrils flare in exaggerated irritation. “I simply asked whether Mr. Wynter and Miss Johnson were ready to join the rest of the class?”

I glance at Camille. She stares at her hands, cheeks flaming, which for some reason gives me tremendous satisfaction. “Apologies, Mr. Brun.” I wave a hand. “Do carry on.”

The class snickers, but Brun sloughs it off and passes out our syllabus for the term.

Camille tears a page from her binder and scratches a few words. When she passes it to me, I regress to year nine as I unfold the note and view her message.

Are you going to be trouble for me, Wynter?

My lips curve. I slip the pen from my notebook and answer.

I hope so, but only specializing in the fun, B-grade stuff.

I pause and then add …

Actually, I’m a very trustworthy guy, Camille.

After reading, she carefully folds her paper and tucks it inside a pocket in her binder. I’d think she was blowing me off if not for her occasional, quiet smile. For the remainder of class, she doesn’t look at me, and I battle to keep from staring at her.

An hour passes too quickly, and Brun ends the class. Face flushed again, Camille is up and out of her seat in a flash. Arms clutching her bag like a life preserver, she exits the room and is gone.

I stand and heft my pack over my shoulder. As I stroll into the hallway chatting with a few remaining students, it strikes me the act is as average and mundane as any other human being experiences on the planet. The air passing through my lungs feels like true freedom.

A pretty girl with wavy chestnut hair glances my way before pushing through the double glass doors at the front of the building. There’s mystery behind that quiet smile.

Until tomorrow, Camille.

I’m definitely up for the challenge of knowing her better …