I pull away, knowing he’s expecting me to laugh, or at least say something lighthearted in reply, but I can’t. And even though I hate to disappoint him, I still shake my head and say, “Either way, you need to be careful.” I shift my body so my gaze can better meet his. “You shouldn’t spoil them so much, or make them so comfortable they’re reluctant to leave.” He squints at me, clearly not following my meaning, so I rush ahead to explain. “What I mean is, you need to remember that living with you is a temporary solution. Our main goal is to look after them until we can restore their magick and get them back to Summerland, which is where they belong.”
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Turning his face toward mine as he says, “About that.”
I hold my breath and look at him, my stomach dipping ever so slightly.
“I’ve been thinking—” He squints. “Who’s to say Summerland is where they belong?”
I balk, an argument pressing forth from my lips until he raises his finger and stops it right there.
“Ever, the question as to whether or not they return, well, don’t you think that’s something they should decide? I’m not sure we’re the ones who should be making those choices.”
“But we’re not choosing,” I say, voice shrill, unsteady. “That’s what they want! Or at least that’s what they said the night I found them. They were furious with me, blaming me for the loss of their magick, for stranding them here—or at least Rayne was; Romy—well, Romy was just Romy.” I shrug. “But still. Are you saying that’s changed?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, before leveling his gaze back on mine. “I’m not sure they even know what they want at this point,” he says. “They’re a little overwhelmed, excited by the possibilities of being here, and yet too terrified to even step outside. I just think we should give them some time and space and keep our minds open to the possibility of them staying a little bit longer than planned. Or at least until they’re fully adjusted, and better able to decide for themselves. Besides, I owe them, it’s the least I can do. Don’t forget they helped me find you.”
I swallow hard and avert my gaze, torn between wanting what’s best for the twins while worried about the impact it’ll have on Damen and me. I mean, they’ve been here less than a day and I’m already mourning my access to him, which is a totally selfish way to view two people in need. Still, I don’t think you have to be psychic to know that with the two of them around, requiring all kinds of assistance, times like this—when it’s just Damen and me—will be severely limited.
“Is that the first time you met? In Summerland?” I ask, seeming to remember Rayne saying something about Damen helping them, not the other way around.
Damen shakes his head, eyes on mine when he says, “No, that was just the first time I’d seen them in a long time. We actually go way back—all the way back to Salem.”
I look at him, jaw dropped, wondering if he was there during the trials, though he’s quick to dispel that.
“It was just before the trouble started, and I was only passing through. They’d gotten into some mischief and couldn’t find their way home—so I gave them a ride in my carriage and their aunt was never the wiser.” He laughs.
And I’m just about to make some crappy little comment, something about him spoiling and enabling them from the very start, when he says, “They’ve suffered an extraordinarily hard life—losing everything they’ve ever known and loved at a very young age—surely you can relate to that? I know I can.”
I sigh, feeling small and selfish and embarrassed that I even needed to be reminded of that. Determined to stick to the practical when I say, “But who’s going to raise them?” Hoping it will seem like my concerns are far less about me and more about them. I mean, with all of their unmitigated weirdness, not to mention their totally bizarre history, where would they go? Who could possibly look after them?
“We’re going to look after them.” Damen rolls onto his side and makes me face him again. “You and I. Together. We’re the only ones who can.”
I sigh, wanting to turn away, but drawn to the warmth of his all-encompassing gaze. “I’m just not sure we’re fit to be parents.” I shrug, hand moving over his shoulder, getting lost in his tangle of hair. “Or role models, or guardians, or whatever. We’re too young!” I add, thinking it’s a good and valid point, and expecting just about any reaction but the laughter I get.
“Too young?” He shakes his head. “Speak for yourself! I have been around for a while, you know. Plenty long enough to qualify as a suitable guardian for the twins. Besides.” He smiles. “How hard can it be?”
I close my eyes and shake my head, remembering my feeble attempts to guide Riley both in human and ghost form, and how I failed miserably. And to be honest, I’m just not sure I’m up for it again. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” I tell him. “You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to guide two headstrong, thirteen-year-old girls. It’s like herding cats—completely impossible.”
“Ever,” he says, voice low, coaxing, determined to ease my concerns and chase all the dark clouds away. “I know what’s really bothering you, believe me, I do. But it’s just five more years until they turn eighteen and head off on their own, and then we’ll have the freedom to do whatever we want. What’s five years when we have all of eternity?”
But I shake my head again, refusing to be swayed. “If they head off on their own,” I say. “If. Believe me, there are plenty of kids who stick around the house long after that.”
“Yes, but the difference is, you and I won’t let them.” He smiles, eyes practically begging me to lighten up and smile too. “We’ll teach them all the magick they’ll need to gain their inde pen dence and get by on their own. Then we’ll send ’em off and wish ’em well and go somewhere on our own.”
And the way he smiles, the way he gazes into my eyes and smooths my hair off my face makes it impossible to stay mad, impossible to waste any more time on a topic like this when my body’s so close to his.
“Five years is nothing, when you’ve already lived for six hundred,” he says, lips at my cheek, my neck, my ear.
I snuggle closer, knowing he’s right, despite the fact that my perspective’s a little different from his. Having never spent more than two decades in any one incarnation makes five years spent babysitting the twins seem like an eternity.
He pulls me to him, arms locked tightly around me, comforting me in a way I wish could last forever. “Are we good?” he whispers. “Are we finished with this?”
I nod, pressing my body hard against his, having no need for words. The only thing I want now, the only thing that’ll make me feel better is the reassuring feel of his lips.
I shift my body so it’s covering his, conforming to the bend of his chest, the valley of his torso, the bulk near his hips. Hearts beating in perfect cadence, vaguely aware of the slim veil of energy pulsating between us as I lower my mouth to his—pressing and pushing and kneading together—weeks of longing rising to the surface—until all I want to do is infuse my body with his.
He moans, a low primal sound coming from deep within, hands clutched at my waist, bringing me closer ’til there’s nothing between us but two sets of clothes that need to be shed.
I fumble at his fly as he pulls at my tee, breath meeting in short, ragged gasps as our fingers hurry as fast as they can, unable to complete their tasks quickly enough to satisfy our need.