Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

17

Dinner endedwith Harry excusing himself to go back to bed. Gideon snagged a second bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen, and Maggie followed him into the study. She had slept all day, so she wasn’t interested in going back to sleep just yet. That, and she wanted to know what the plan was.

She flopped into one of the expensive leather chairs and slung her legs over the arm. Chuckling, Gideon walked over to her and refilled her wineglass. “Make yourself at home.”

“Kinda already did, thanks.”

The necromancer sat on the sofa, and then took a cue from her and stretched out sideways. He groaned, and she heard his back pop.

“You’re immortal and have back problems?” She huffed. “That sucks.”

“This body is a prop. Something I make so I can do business without people screaming and running away.” He sighed. “Sometimes when I’m in this form for too long, it gets a little sore. It takes effort to maintain it.”

“Double suck.”

With a shrug, he sipped his wine. “The cost of power. There’s always at least one.”

They fell into silence for a moment as she thought it over. “Would you do it again?”

“Become a lich? Absolutely.”

“No, I mean whatever it is you did to me. Knowing what you know now, would you do it again?”

He frowned. With a long, heavy breath, he nodded once. His jaw ticked. “Hope is a thing I despise more than anything else in this world. Namely because I can’t rid myself of it. No matter how impossible I know it is, I still cling to the foolish idea that you might forgive me for all that I’ve done, and somewhere—somehow—against all odds, find it in yourself to…” Shaking his head, he trailed off.

“Love you back.”

Jaw ticking again, he took a bigger swallow of the red wine. He didn’t need to confirm it for her. She knew.

“I don’t hate you, Gideon.”

“Yet.” When he laughed, it was sarcastic, cruel, and pointed squarely at himself. “Give it time.”

“Y’know, we could skip all the stupidity if you just told me what the fuck you did, and why.”

“I am responsible for all the torture and suffering you have endured for centuries, Marguerite. All of it. Every death, every tear and ounce of blood you’ve shed. That should be enough for you to draw the conclusions you need, like you have in the past.”

“Sometimes it sounds like you don’t want me to forgive you.” She climbed from her chair and walked to the sofa, sitting down on the edge of it beside him.

“Of course I want you to forgive me. I just simply don’t see how it’s possible. But it doesn’t matter. My goal in this is not for you to love me, Marguerite. My goal is for you to survive.” He leaned his head back on the arm of the chair and shut his eyes. “I want you to live on. I want you to be happy. I want you to mend these cracks in your mind. Once you’re whole again, you could go on for centuries more if you wished it. It’s your psyche that is falling apart, not your body. That is what I wish for. Not for you to spend it at my side.”

“But do you want me to?”

“I love you, Marguerite. Of course. But I’m not a complete fool. Countless times—countless cycles as we go around and around—I tried to make you love me. Soon enough you’ll remember the times I kept you as my prisoner. Tried every trick I could think of to convince you to love me. It never worked. You would find a way to end your life or beg me to do it for you.” He grimaced as the memories clearly washed over him. “And each time, I brought you closer and closer to your own end. I will not do it again. I will not be the one to push you over the cliff into oblivion. My selfishness has done enough damage.”

Downing the remainder of her wine in one go, she coughed. It was good wine. But wine wasn’t meant for that. She set the empty glass down on the coffee table. Gideon was watching her, perplexed as to what she was doing. Honestly, she wasn’t so sure herself. But she was done being afraid and being shy. If this was her last life—which, okay, was more than most people got—she was going to do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Shifting, she straddled his thighs and sat down on his lap. The look on his face was priceless—a mix of eagerness, need, and surprise. But for the moment, she was content to just perch on him, settling her weight, and watch him in return. To take him all in.

Dr. Gideon Raithe.

“Wh—”

She didn’t let him get the question out. Placing a finger on his lips, she silenced him. Smiling faintly, she ran her fingers through his hair, letting her nails scrape against his scalp. That seemed to leave him content to stay silent, and she watched his silver eyes drift shut.

“So much melodrama. I swear, I don’t know how you don’t implode from it.” Trailing a hand over his chest, she started to undo his vest again. She liked undressing him, she decided. It was like unwrapping a present. He wore enough layers to make it interesting. “I don’t know what to tell you except that I’m trying. And that I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Splitting open his vest, she slid her hands back up to loosen his tie. She slipped it from around his neck and put it around her own, grinning cheekily down at him. “Is this one real or fake?”