“I thought it might be my funeral trying to get off the damned Empire State Building that night,” he said with a laugh, trying to push away the seriousness of the moment.
I wiped the corners of my eyes with the pad of my thumb. “You never did tell me how you got home.”
“And I’ll never tell you.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s just say I owe a security guard named Butch a very big reward and leave it at that.”
I cozied into his side as he picked up the Xbox controller again. When I pointed to the newspaper under his feet, he paused the game a second time.
“Did you read it?” I asked.
“I glanced.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I issued his own question back to him.
He shook his head. The official engagement announcement for my wedding to Lucas had been a full-page story in the Times wedding section. They said it was going to be the social event of the decade, or something along those lines. Apparently Sarah Jessica Parker was on the guest list, along with Barbara Walters, Jay-Z and Beyoncé. News to me. My guest list was about ten people long.
Desmond ran his fingers through my hair and pulled my legs onto his lap. “Does it change how you feel about me?”
“No,” I replied, without hesitation.
“And we both know it’s good for the pack and will keep your uncle at a distance a little longer.”
“Yes.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded strained.
“Des…”
“Who are you with right now?” He dipped his head back so he could look me in the eyes. “Who do you come home to every night? It isn’t him. It’s never been him.”
I gave him a weak smile.
“I don’t care what the paper says.” He kicked it off the table for emphasis. “I know how you feel. All that matters is you’re alive. And I’ve got you a little longer.”
I draped my arm over his stomach and rested my head on his chest. “You’ve got me forever.”
I could feel his smile against the crown of my head. “Good.”
After a pause, I couldn’t resist my next question any longer. “What did Calliope tell you that night?”
His hand twitched, and the reaction surprised me enough I pulled back and looked at his face, bracing my hand on the arm of the loveseat. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say,” he admitted.
“She didn’t say you couldn’t.” Now curiosity was overwhelming my more rational characteristics. I had to know.
“She said I’d be the one standing with you in the end.”
My blood ran cold. What was it Calliope had said to me?
One day you will die standing by someone you love.
About the Author
Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.
Ever since she was a young girl she has loved the idea of the supernatural coexisting with the mundane. As an adult, however, the idea evolved from the notion of fairies in flower beds, to imagining that the rugged-looking guy at the garage might secretly be a werewolf. She has used her overactive imagination to create her own version of the world, where vampire, werewolves, fairies, gods and monsters all walk among us, and she’ll continue to travel as much as possible until she finds it for real.
Sierra can be reached all over the place, as she’s a little addicted to social networking. Find her on:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/sierradeanbooks