She nods, “Yeah, they were dressed all fancy, like old Victorian clothes. They did a circle of thirteen, and I couldn’t see in the circle, but when they were done, he and Constantine were back.”
“Earth witches, interesting.”
She shrugs, “I guess. So you think that’s a good idea? Bringing them all back?”
“Yeah. My dad killed them all. I owe them.”
She gives me a look, “You want me to come?”
I want to nod. I want to ask her to come, but I don’t. She is in love and married, and she deserves happiness. She is the last living thing I love that could die. I would keep her locked away in a tower if I could. “That’s okay. It won’t be fun. Cold trip across the puddle with the nixie.”
She wrinkles her nose at me, “Maybe shower first. You look nasty homeless.”
I laugh, “Okay.”
She looks around, “So Maria says there is a place under the stables where Constantine and Stella have been making vampires.”
I scowl, “Why would she tell you that?”
She smiles and nods at sleeping beauty. Gill is stunning, there is no doubt. “She has a huge crush on someone. Anyway, they’re making a LOT of vampires. It’s like an army. It’s me and Michelle aren’t allowed outside.”
I sigh, “I’m putting it on the back burner, but we have to deal with that when I get back from saving the fae.”
“Be safe and hurry.” She blows me a kiss and I nod. I turn and walk to my room. I look at myself in the mirror, and I don’t know that girl at all anymore. She is filthy and exhausted and thin, rail thin. She is tired and weak. She is not me. She is the one who has to save everything and everyone, and she is going to fail. I can see it in her grey eyes.
I pull my shirt off, shocked by the tattoo that has appeared on my right breast, over my heart.
I look down at it, it is a single heart with an arrow’s head inside of it. The lines of the heart are red and the arrowhead is green.
“The mark of the warrior.”
I look up, instantly covering my breasts.
Wyatt smirks, “Pretty sure you don’t need to cover them.”
I scowl, “I’m sorry she died, but it wasn’t my fault. I’m done taking the blame for him. I never made him and I never knew him, not that well. I will take the responsibility for the people I have killed. I know there are many, but I didn’t kill your mother or Sarah.”
He nods, “I know. I’m sorry for what I said.”
He pulls his shirt off too. I stare at the new tattoo on his chest, “What’s that?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know.”
It is a white feather over his heart.
I reach for it, running my fingers down it, “Who is marking us?”
He tilts my chin, “I think we are.” His eyes roam my filthy face, “Let’s take a shower. It’s your turn to get soapy.”
I smile, “Okay.” I can’t fight the empathetic look on my face, “I am sorry for your losses.”
He shakes his head, “They’ve been the same as your losses. That’s what we do, we lose. We lose people and love and faith.”
I pull him into the huge walk-in shower, “No, we don’t. We can’t lose people we can always remember. You can’t take a memory or a feeling away. We can’t lose faith, because that is what is keeping us alive. We can’t lose love, because once you have it, it’s there for life. It can change shape but it’s always there.”
I turn on the water and stand under it.
He passes me the soap, “You are a mess.”
I nod at him, “Let me see your back.”
He turns and I gag. His skin has healed but the scars spell something. I drop the soap.
He looks back, “What?”
I reach for it, tracing the letters, “R-A-Y-N-E.”
“What?”
“Your scars spell my name.”
He looks at me, “Seriously?”
I nod.
“Wow, he’s a sick bastard.” He smiles at me, “At least it doesn’t say anything else.”
I shake my head, “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
He turns, “It will fade. It’s just taking longer, because he put his blood on the whip before he hit me with it. Lucifer’s blood was toxic.”
“You remember?”
He nods, “I do. He tortured me in a cell and gave me to the priest. Said I had the devil in me and needed to be held on hollowed ground. The devil would die inside of my body, never able to leave the safety of my skin and touch the hollowed ground with his own feet. The priests took my through a tunnel; it was underground. I was bleeding everywhere. They tied me up and left me there to die.”
I wrap my soapy arms around him, “I am so sorry.”
He shakes his head, “Baby, it’s not your fault.” He looks down on me, I can see the intensity in his eyes. I can taste his desire in the air.
Something happens, a switch is hit or turned. But something changes there in the water and the steam, and maybe it’s the realization that we have made it part of the way and are both still standing. I am grateful for him. Even with the aches and pains of my own body, I find strength enough to want him.
His face lowers to mine, hovering above me so close that I can see it, his want and desire and love. He moves the last inch, delicately brushing his wet lips against mine. The warmth of his tongue moving in my parted lips makes me moan into him. The speed of the kiss doesn’t pick up; it stays soft like he is paying homage to me. He drops to his knees, kissing my chest and pulling me into his lap. I wrap around him, as his hands roam my back, massaging with the hot water.
“I want you, Rayne.”
I kiss his neck and his cheek, bushing my face against the stubble on his. It scratches and tickles, making me smile. I love the things I can feel. I don’t have all the love, heartbreak, joy, and all the pain, because I share them five ways. But I have all of his face rubbing against mine. I have all of his hands brushing my body. I have all of the hot water mixing with our kiss.
And it is enough. I moan, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as my body arches into his massaging hands.
When I look at him again, I can feel the desire in my stare. I run my hands down his soaked, strong body. I touch each muscle and tattoo. I nod, slowly as my body grinds against his, “I want you too.”
The water blurred the lines of our bodies as we made love. I made love. For the first time in my human life, I felt my love grow inside of me with the waves of emotion and pleasure.
It becomes more than enough.
I can feel the separation of my love from theirs. I think, in some way, I can feel them love him too, through me.
As my hand slides down the shower stall, desperate to cling to the tiles, to cling to anything that isn’t moving in the dizzying spin I am in with him, I can feel his love for me.
When it’s over, I don’t want it to be, and yet, all I want is to have him hold me so tightly it will feel like we are one. We stand under the shower, I think both in shock. I know I am.
He looks down on me, “Are you okay?”
I nod, “Yeah.”
His cheeks are red and his eyes are clearer than normal, more alive. He looks the way he did standing on the path at school, waiting for me, like I was a forgone conclusion for his bed the moment we met.
I feel the blush and the smile creeping across my face. I was. Who am I kidding? The moment I saw him and used my best Willow feminist lines on him, I was his.
I knew it, I just didn’t want to admit it.
He cups my face and I feel like a piece of china. The way he touches me is unlike any touch I have ever had. It is soft and sweet, yet worshipping and intense. His fingers gripped deep into my thighs as his lips planted the softest kisses along my neck.
I can still feel the motion of our lovemaking and the heavy breath on my cheek.
He smiles again, “I know what you mean.”
I frown, “I never said anything.”
“You don’t have to, I know what you mean.” He kisses my lips again, “I didn’t know it could ever be like that.”
The smile on my face is goofy, and I am afraid I will never be rid of it. I smile harder, “We’re officially married.”
He returns my smile, “We always were to me, in my heart. Even when you weren’t sure if it was him or me, I was. Even if you never picked me, it would have always been you for me.”
I wince, “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
He shakes his head, “I suspect the story of when we were kids is true. I suspect this has taken a lot longer than either of us even knows.”
I look deep into the crystal-blue of his eyes, “I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me. For all of it. All the bad.”
He nods, “There is nothing to forgive.” He kisses the tip of my wet nose, “Thank you for forgiving me.”
I shake my head. We change and walk down the hall to the living room. He grips my hand, like he’s making a statement. The drafty hall is colder, I swear. But I think it is the warm glow that I am leaving behind in our room.
Everyone is in the living room, reading and talking quietly. Gill sees us first. He smiles wide. I think he knows. Mona looks at our hands and smiles too. I feel awkward. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it tight. I can see the set in Constantine’s jaw even though he doesn’t look up. He just knows what has happened. He has lost me, and I hate hurting him, but I have chosen my heart’s love and I think he knows that.