Awry

50

Tristan braced himself against the kitchen counter in the shack, trying not to fall over. He was in too much pain to get back to Scarlet. Even if he wanted to return to her, his body physically would not allow him fluid movement.

He hadn’t eaten in days and his muscles were just as weak as his resolve to live. He felt like his insides were being eaten alive, disintegrating one cell at a time. His joints were on fire, his bones were sore, and his head was bursting with pressure.

But the most concerning thing about his condition was his heart. It was pumping angrily, as if any moment it would explode in his chest.

Or maybe it already had.

His legs were useless bolts of fire as he stepped forward, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He put his hands out, feeling the wall beside him, as he clambered his way over to the couch. Once there, he collapsed on the soft cushions.

Torment continued to riddle him, causing him to convulse and suck in short breaths. His shaking body could not be held in one place and, eventually, dropped from the couch to the floor beside the lit fireplace.

The wood crackled and popped as flames devoured it, and gave heat to the side of his face.

Wracked with suffering, Tristan considered crawling into the fireplace and letting the fire engulf his body and singe away his suffering.

Surely, burning to death was less painful than this.

But he couldn’t even muster the strength to roll himself into the flames.

Sickness and madness invaded his mind until every sound, sight, taste and smell became nothing more than a memory.

Somehow, he knew he was dying. As impossible as it seemed, Tristan knew this is where he would die. On the dirty floor of an old shack, surrounded by the teasing flames of release and the haunting memories of a dark-haired girl with a sharp tongue.

He swam through the pain in his head until he found a picture of Scarlet laughing in his arms. He held on to the memory for dear life and waited for death to claim him.

Scarlet was barefoot, but she ran with determination. The February night barely chilled her skin as adrenaline spiked her veins. Trees, rocks, and shrubs all passed her by in the silent night. Where was she going?

Was Tristan lying in the middle of the forest?

Scarlet felt the pain—and the fever—leave her little by little as she neared Tristan’s location.

Keep going, keep going.

Finally, she came upon a small hut. Tucked away and nearly hidden, it was nestled deep in the trees with a single light on inside. Scarlet ran to it.

She didn’t knock, she didn’t scream, she didn’t call out for Tristan.

She didn’t have to.

She felt him inside the hut. Dying. Because of her.

Scarlet burst through the front door and scanned the small interior. Her eyes fell to Tristan’s body lying at the foot of the fireplace and she sucked in a breath.

Without thinking, Scarlet slammed the door shut behind her, hurried over to Tristan, and threw her hands on top of his shirtless chest.

Instantly, every ache and pain dissipated from Scarlet’s body. It felt incredible. Amazing.

Heavenly.

Her pain was completely gone and her body was rapidly filling with pleasure.

Scarlet looked down at Tristan’s chest, feeling more and more pleasure pulse up through her hands, into her arms, and down her body.

Was this what it felt like for Tristan to touch her? Pure bliss?

And yet he never touched her. Always choosing torment over pleasure.

Scarlet shook her head as she spread her fingers out, trying to touch as much of his bare skin as possible. Looking down, she noticed how small her hands were compared to his chest. One hand laid flat over his beating heart and barely covered the expanse of the muscle beneath.

He was big and strong and immortal. Nothing could hurt him.

Except her.

She pressed her palms down harder, waiting for his pain to subside and revive him.

But he didn’t respond.

Panting and frantic, Scarlet tried to find his heart inside her.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

It was there. Tristan was alive, but still in pain.

Scarlet looked at his face and everything inside her became desperate. His eyes were closed, his hair was a mess, and dark stubble shadowed his cheeks. His face looked hollow and his skin was pale.

Beneath her fingers, his bare chest felt warm as her eyes traced the tattoo that stained his hip and disappeared into his faded jeans. His heartbeat was erratic as it pulsed against her palm and echoed in her heart.

He was broken. He was beautiful.

She would bring him back to life, back to happiness, back to everything that was imperfect between the two of them. Even if it killed her.

Without any other options, Scarlet carefully laid her entire body on top of his, wrapping herself around him, touching as much of him as possible. The thin satin top she wore instantly heated against his body, sending warm tingles across her skin.

Against his chest, she was small. But she was also powerful.

Her touch was powerful.

Listening to the fire beside them crack and spark, Scarlet laid the side of her face against Tristan’s shoulder and tucked her hands around the sides of his ribcage.

She knew touching him was suicide, but she didn’t care.

Tristan was dying. To hell with the rules.

She took a few deep breaths, waiting for his pain to ease. But before she knew what was happening, her world started to spin and she felt herself being sucked into a memory. Violent and blinding, the memory pulled her away from reality and drew her into another time. And, somehow, it seemed like Tristan’s soul was being drawn into the memory with her….

1983

Scarlet didn’t bother knocking. She knew she didn’t have to, but more than that, she wanted to walk into Tristan’s house like she belonged there. Because she did.

She let herself inside and shut the front door behind her. Tristan appeared in his bedroom doorway, looking as sexy as ever. Bare chest, jeans hung low on his waist, loose hair. Stretching around his hip and ribcage was the dark tattoo that reminded Scarlet of a love shared long ago. When it was easier. Safer.

And Tristan had the reminder permanently stitched into his body.

Scarlet’s heart kicked.

His green eyes met hers and, for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The silence was thick; filled with unsaid things that could heal and destroy at the same time. Heavy things.

Forbidden things.

Tristan’s voice was quiet. “What are you doing here?”

Scarlet had feared he’d run her out of the house the moment he saw her. For her safety, of course.

Everything was always for her safety.

He didn’t move to dismiss her, however, and Scarlet took heart in this. She took a few steps forward, her eyes never leaving his.

Hundreds of years she’d lived apart from him. Within reach, but so far away. Connected to his heart, but distant from his body, while death continued to steal her away, never letting her have him. And Tristan—good, self-controlled, Tristan—had never asked anything of her.

Scarlet continued moving forward until she was only inches away from his tall, strong body. Her eyes trailed down his face, past his jaw and his thick neck, and landed on his bare chest, just above his heart. She could see his tight skin ripple against each of his heartbeats.

She expected him to back away. To be the disciplined party in the room.

But he did not move.

She watched the patter of his heart for a few moments before she felt her own heart begin to pound in sync with his. She looked down at her chest, exposed above the strapless shirt she wore. She witnessed the tiny movement of her skin as her heart hammered away inside her, beating in time with Tristan’s.

They were nothing if not designed for one another.

She slowly let her eyes return to Tristan’s and found him staring at her heartbeat as well. Watching it. Feeling it.

Heavy and dark, his eyes lifted to hers, wanting her and warning her at the same time.

“Scar.” His voice was low. “What are you doing?”

She poured her eyes into everything she had ever loved, ever wanted. She wanted him to see her—really see her. She wanted him to look at her with recognition and love, not resistance and fear. She wanted him to remember her. And she wanted him to touch her.

“You are so careful,” Scarlet began, tilting her head. “You have always been so careful.” She spoke slowly and softly. Afraid of scaring him away. “But…what if I don’t want you to be careful?” She closed the distance between them, slowly pressing her palm against his beating chest.

She watched Tristan close his eyes as her touch released him from his chronic torment and sent pleasure through his body.

His brows drew together. “Scar,” he said again, opening his eyes. “You need to leave.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his heart, releasing it in the air.

Scarlet looked into his eyes and slowly shook her head. “No.”

Tristan let out an agitated breath and moved past her, putting distance between them. “Don’t be difficult.”

Turning around, she watched him walk to the far end of the room, darkness shadowing his features.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” she asked.

His back was to her as he walked to the door. “I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“Do you think pushing me away will make me stop caring about you?”

“You need to leave.” He opened the door and looked at her, waiting for her to exit.

Scarlet ignored the open door and spat out, “Maybe you’vestopped loving me, but my feelings for you haven’t changed.”

His eyes blazed into her and he slammed the door closed. “First of all,” he said angrily, “I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried. And I’ve tried.” He shook his head and laughed without humor, his hands balling into fists. “God, how I’ve tried. But I am completely lost to you. I am lost and empty and broken—“

“My heart is broken too—“

“My heart is not broken, Scar. My heart is dead!” His eyes were hopeless and wild. “It is a hollow black object that sits in my chest without purpose, haunting me with memories.”

Scarlet stood stunned for a moment. Completely speechless.

“It’s dead,” he repeated, over-enunciating the words.

Scarlet blinked. “I love you,” she said simply.

His jaw clenched and his eyes looked pained. “Loving me is reckless.”

She narrowed her eyes and argued, “It’s honest!”

“It’s dangerous, Scar!”

“So?” She threw her hands up, her chest tight with frustration. “Loving anyoneis dangerous! There’s always going to be something at stake.”

“Your life is not just ‘something’, Scarlet.” He said her full name and Scarlet’s heart broke. “It’s everything.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to keep pushing me away because you’re scared?”

“I push you away to keep you safe!”

“You push me away because it’s easier!”

“Easy? Easy? Are you insane?” His face hardened as he took a step forward and pointed at her. “Nothingabout this is easy! Do you think it’s easyto see you with Gabriel? Do you think it’s easyto watch you die over and over again?” His voice cracked and Scarlet’s heart started to hurt the way it always did when she was in the same room with Tristan yet felt oceans away from him.

“I don’t know whatto think, Tristan!” Scarlet’s stomach felt hollow. “You treat me like I’m a disease. You don’t talk to me. You don’t touch me—“

“Because you could die!”

“I’ll die anyway!” Her heart was pounding madly. “We have no cure, no fountain. I’m as good as dead no matter what. But you still barely look at me—“

“Is that what you want?” His voice was loud and angry, but he looked wounded. “You want me to lookat you?” His eyes were wild as he walked forward and brought his face close to hers, his cheeks flushed with desperation. “Well, here you go, Scar. Me lookingat you.” He scanned her face in frustration. “How’s this? Better? Easier?” he sneered. His hot breath warmed her jaw and neck as he stared at her in anguish.

Pain. Heartbreak. Sorrow. The small space between their hearts was quickly filling up with everything they couldn’t change.

“No. It’s not easier!” Scarlet tilted her chin up. Her heart hurt. Her chest hurt. Her eyes stung with tears. “It hurts like hell. But it’s better than feeling like you don’t want me.”

“I dowant you!” he growled, grief and sadness clouding his eyes. “I want you more than my next breath.”

“Then stop pushing me away!”

He looked defeated and broken as he yelled. “I can’t have you, Scar!”

“Too bad!” Scarlet yelled back, a tear escaping her eye as she looked up at him, their faces less than an inch apart. “I’m already yours! I was yours in the forest and I’m yours right here—”

And then his mouth was on hers like wildfire, spreading with reckless abandon against her lips.

Hot and heavy, he kissed her with five-hundred years of need and Scarlet kissed him back with a want more powerful than she knew she possessed. Their lips grazed against one another, sending a blazing sensation down Scarlet’s body. Like butter melting down every inch of her skin, coating her with warmth and filling her with fire.

Scarlet parted her lips, desperate for more. More heat. More love. More Tristan.

Tristan kissed her without reservation. Passionately. Hungrily. Their tongues gliding in and around the delicate flesh of each other’s mouths.

Scarlet pressed as much of her body as possible against his bare chest and hips, bringing her hands up to his large shoulders where they molded against the muscles that flexed beneath her fingertips.

Tristan wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling her against him as his fingers skidded down her back to her hip.

Scarlet buried her hands into his shaggy hair, arching her back to taste more of him, feel more of him as his other hand moved around her body until he was gripping her hips and pulling them closer to his own. Walking her backwards, he pressed her up against the nearest wall and slid his hands beneath her shirt.

His palms molded against her bare hips as his thumbs ran down the sensitive skin of her lower stomach until they were tucked into the waistline of her pants.

Scarlet exhaled in bliss as he kissed his way along her jaw until his warm breath caressed her ear.

Scarlet shivered.

Tristan groaned.

He ran his mouth down her jawbone and to her throat, gently sucking at the delicate skin that lay between her pulse and his lips. Scarlet turned her face to the ceiling, loving the feel of Tristan’s lips on her skin.

His hands held steady to her hips, locking her into place against his body and Scarlet never wanted to be free. She wanted to be forever imprisoned in the space between Tristan’s hands and his heart, where heat and passion collided and her skin hummed in pleasure.

His mouth roamed back to hers and Scarlet eagerly kissed him back, feeling his hand slide up from her hip to her ribcage, a trail of heat tracing after it. With a soft moan, she sank her mouth into his, moving her hips against his body.

Scarlet dropped her hands from his hair and let them fall down his chest, down his torso, wishing she could climb inside him as his hands ran up her sides, pulling her shirt up with them.

Kissing and sucking and breathing against his mouth, she slipped her hand inside the waistband of his jeans and ran her fingers along the tattoo she knew so well. Dipping lower…and lower.

Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear their ragged breathing. Her stomach was exposed, her hot skin rubbing against his tattoo as his hands and his mouth claimed her.

She wanted to be closer to him. So much closer.

And then her eyes caught fire, pain ripping through the core of her body and sucking the air from her lungs as agony wracked her insides. An involuntary whimper escaped her mouth and, like a toy being snatched from her hand, Tristan abruptly pulled away from her—taking his lips, his heat, and his heart with him.

Everything inside Scarlet cried out at the disconnection. It was agonizing, not being connected to Tristan, even though her pain his immediately stopped once he pulled away.

A moment passed as Scarlet waited for her heart to calm down.

When her eyes had finally cooled, Scarlet opened them to see a terrified Tristan standing on the other side of the room. He was breathing heavy and his hair was a mess.

But his eyes….

His eyes were horrified.

“Tristan, I—”

“I hurt you.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking like he wanted to die. “I hurt you,” he repeated.

“No,” Scarlet lied, shaking her head vehemently.

But lying was futile.

Because of their connection, Scarlet knew Tristan had felt her pain. She couldn’t deceive him. She couldn’t convince him to bring his lips back to hers.

It was over.

Their kiss, their touch. It was over.

Tristan would never kiss her again.