The Immortal Highlander

Page 100

And then she’d demanded to know why Morganna had refused the elixir of life, and something inside him had snapped.
Christ, it was always souls. Souls, souls, souls. And his great, big fucking lack thereof.
He could have offered her a pretty lie—he’d fabricated several smooth ones for just such an occasion—but anger, defiance, and an age-old hurt had filled him with a wildness, a need he’d been unable to deny.
To cram his reality down her throat. To say, This is what I am, for Christ’s sake, is it so bloody awful?
See me. See me!
And she’d seen him.
Ah, yes, he’d forced her to see him.
And she’d gazed at him with horror in those lovely green-gold eyes. Those eyes that only the night before had been dreamy with passion, soft and warm and inviting. Those eyes that had made him feel every inch a man, more alive and at peace and at home than he’d ever felt in his entire existence.
And that was when he’d finally understood.
He’d been a fool with Morganna. He’d made a huge mistake.
He had no intention of making the same one with Gabrielle.
Now that he was all-powerful again, he would erase Gabrielle’s memory of his admission. He would eliminate all those facts that she’d found so distasteful, wipe them cleanly from her mind.
Then he would slip her the elixir of life. And he would whisk her off and keep her blissfully occupied, keep her enchanted by whatever means necessary, for as many years as it took for her immortal soul to burn out.
And when her soul was finally gone, she would no longer even feel those parts of herself that made her try to cling to it. She wouldn’t even know to miss it.
And she would be his forever.
As long as she possibly could turned out to be exactly one month, seven days, and fourteen hours.
Gabby would have made it longer, but once again, she was undone by yet another diabolical iced cup of coffee to go.
To her credit, she did briefly contemplate that giving up her addiction might greatly simplify her life. Still, by the time she’d arrived at that conclusion, it was too late.
Friday night. Date night. She stayed at the office late, knowing couples would be walking the streets of her neighborhood this evening, holding hands, talking and laughing, enjoying the light kiss of fall in the early September air.
Classes had begun again, and though her load was heavy, she’d kept her job at Little & Staller, rearranging her hours around her class schedule, in a desperate bid to stay busy enough that she couldn’t think.
Upon leaving for the evening, she ducked into Starbucks and grabbed said dastardly iced coffee before going to retrieve her shiny BMW from the upscale paid lot she’d treated herself to with a bit more of her escape-the-fairy fund.
She slid behind the wheel, pretending the faintest scent of jasmine and sandalwood did not still linger in the plush leather interior.
Part of her had wanted to sell the car, to erase that reminder of Adam from her life, the same way she’d packed up the crystal and china he’d left on her dining room table, his T-shirt, and all the gifts he’d given her, and tucked them away in a trunk in the attic.
Unfortunately, she’d needed something to drive and the thought of selling the car and trying to buy a new one was more than she could dredge up the energy to even contemplate doing.
Just like returning the seventeen phone messages Gwen and Chloe had left in the past week would have taken too much energy.
It seemed the note she’d sent them a few days after she’d gotten home hadn’t been enough. Granted, it had been brief: Gwen, Chloe, things didn’t work out like I hoped. But I’m okay, just real busy at work. I’ll call you sometime. G.
She knew what they wanted. They wanted answers. Wanted to know what had happened with Darroc, with Adam. She didn’t have any answers to give them.
She hadn’t gotten the Happily-Ever-After they’d gotten, and she simply couldn’t face delving into her misery with such shiny, happy people. People who had all those things she’d hoped for: devoted husbands, beautiful babies, lives rich with love and laughter.
They would want answers about her. They would want to know how she was really feeling, and once they had her on the phone they wouldn’t permit any evasion. Their empathy and kindness would unravel her. She knew that the day she called them back would be the day she fell apart.
Hence, she wasn’t calling them back. Period. Not falling apart. Not on the meticulously controlled agenda right now.
And if they arrived unannounced at her house, as they’d threatened in their message last night, well . . . she’d deal with that then.