A Demon's Promise, page 10
part #1 of Soul Savers Series
“Lexi,” Tristan murmured as he stirred on the couch. “Wake up, Lex.”
“Huh?” I sat up, a little disoriented. “Is the movie over?”
“I think it was over a while ago. We both fell asleep.”
The TV’s menu screen silently glowed bright blue.
“Oh.” I snuggled back against him. “Can we just stay here?”
“I think I better go,” he said quietly.
He stood and pulled me up, too. I held his hand as we walked to the door, and then he pulled me to him. Sparks flew through me again as he leaned over and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dug my fingers into his hair, and pulled tightly as I kissed him back. Passion rose as his mouth traveled along my neck and jawline, and his hands slid down my back, pressing me against him when his lips returned to mine. A tiny sound might have escaped from me. I don’t know. His touch and scent and taste all together at once overwhelmed me. Losing control again . . .
He abruptly pulled back. Those flames sparked in his eyes again, glowing brighter than before. I stepped back, surprised (frightened).
“Yes, I better go,” he muttered. He was out the door before I could react.
I stood there breathless, not able to say anything because I didn’t know what would come out. Yes, go. No, stay!
“I’ll see you in the morning. We have more studying to do,” he called over his shoulder. I shut the door and slid to the floor, my legs weak, my insides still throbbing, and my heart racing. I stayed there while I listened to the motorcycle’s engine fade into the night.
A knock at the door startled me back to alertness. I stood up and peeked through the window.
“Owen?” I said with shock, pulling the door open. “It’s two in the morning. What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Alexis.” He seemed to be giving me a once-over. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you’re home alone, and I saw the lights on . . . ”
What the . . . ?
“Uh, I’m fine.” I stared at him with bewilderment.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he mumbled as he turned to leave. “Sorry to bother you.”
He started down the walkway. Oh, no. Oh, no, she didn’t!
“Hey, Owen?” I called after him.
He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
“Did Sophia put you up to this?”
He started walking again and called back, “Just doing my job, Alexis.”
Son of a witch! She had Owen checking up on me. And he’d conveniently shown up right after Tristan left, as if he’d been watching. A babysitter? Seriously?
But then I wondered if it had been Owen whom I heard outside last night, checking on me. That would be a good thing. He gave good vibes and Mom trusted him, so I should, too. Right?
Tristan showed up at the door at ten the next morning with coffee, croissants (how did he know chocolate was my favorite?), and his backpack in hand, and we spent the morning studying at the kitchen table. By one o’clock, he’d had enough. Throwing his pencil on the table, he strode over to the backdoor and gazed out the window.
“It’s a beautiful day for a ride,” he hinted. When I didn’t answer, he came over to my chair, dropped on his knees, clasped his hands together, and stuck his bottom lip out in a delicious pout. He lowered his voice. “Please?”
Like I could resist that. Or the offer.
“Why not? My brain’s fried, too.”
He grinned. “You’ll want to put on jeans and real shoes. No flip-flops for this ride.”
We cruised the streets of Cape Heron before heading for I-75. The interstate, where everyone drove eighty miles an hour. I squeezed my eyes shut and held onto Tristan tightly, my muscles tense as the wind rushed against my face and the sounds of cars and trucks seemed way too close. Exhaust fumes and the smell of hot rubber filled my nose. My body was welded to Tristan’s back by the time we left the highway only a couple exits later. Maybe that had been his plan, but I didn’t care at the moment. I breathed a sigh of relief that we survived.
At the slower speed, the ride was spectacular. The sun shone brightly in the clear, October sky, and the smell of oily warmth rose off the pavement. After a while, we crossed the causeway to Gasparilla Island. I rested my chin on Tristan’s shoulder as we cruised along the tree-lined boulevard, catching an occasional glimpse of the Gulf of Mexico on one side and the bay on the other, between the large houses. We rode through the quaint little town of Boca Grande, which reminded me a lot of Cape Heron. He stopped the bike in a parking lot at the end of the island, and we gazed over the sugary sand and blue-green water as pelicans dive-bombed for their dinner. Two dolphins jumped and twisted in the air, playing with each other.
“Nice, huh?” Tristan asked.
“Perfect,” I breathed. I was still close against him, my arms wrapped around his waist. He held my hands in front of him.
“Let’s take a walk and stretch our legs, then I’ll take you to this great little seafood place I found.”
As we rode down my street later, sadness grew within me, knowing our perfect day was coming to a close. Night had fallen, and the street was quiet except for the Harley’s engine. As we pulled in front of the cottage and I saw Mom’s car in the driveway and a light on inside, I was sadder still that our perfect weekend was over. We both took a deep breath and sighed heavily after he cut the engine, knowing the next few minutes, at least, wouldn’t be pleasant. I leaned against the backrest, not wanting to climb off yet.
“Do you know why she doesn’t like me?” Tristan asked.
“No, not really.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m sure she’s worried about you because she loves you. And she has valid reasons for feeling the way she does, so you should probably listen to her.”
That sounded like a warning. Of what, I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to know. Not now.
I leaned my forehead against his back and whispered, “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t be honest?” His voice was low and heavy.
I sighed. Why should we start now? But that’s not what I’d meant.
“I don’t know what will happen as soon as we walk in there. I’ve never seen her like this. But I had an amazing weekend with you, and that’s how I want to leave it. Let her be the one to ruin it. Not you. Please?”
He didn’t respond right away.
“Understood,” he finally said. I reached my arms around him, and he took my hands in each of his and gave them a squeeze. “Just one thing, though. Remember it’s your life, Alexis. Do what you need to do for you. Not for me, not for her. Okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I answered simply. I’d already decided that Friday when I’d agreed to go to the beach with him, but guilt still filled my heart. So did anxiety. If she reacted as badly as she had before, I could be living on my own in a day or two. But I didn’t regret my decision. Not yet anyway.
“You had an amazing weekend with me, huh?” Tristan asked, his voice light and lovely again as we walked up the driveway hand-in-hand.
“Very amazing.” I smiled at him. “No matter what happens, it was worth it.”
“I agree.” He squeezed my hand, smiling back. “And thank you for telling me how you feel.”
I started to lead us to the side of the house, to my private entry, when the front door flew open. Mom stood in the doorframe, crossing her arms and glaring at us.
“Alexis,” she said curtly. “Tristan.”
“Hi, Sophia, how was your . . . uh . . . convention?” I asked, trying in vain to sound relaxed and nonchalant as we changed direction and walked up to the front porch.
She glared at Tristan, and I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, answering her silent question.
“Not what I hoped it would be,” she answered coldly, still staring at Tristan. Her eyes softened just a bit, though, as if his keeping her secrets meant something to her.
We all stood there awkwardly in deafening silence.
“I think I better go . . .” Tristan broke it first. It was almost a question, though.
“That’s a good idea.” Mom leaned inside the door, picked something up, and held his backpack out to him.
He took the bag and squeezed my hand. “See you in class tomorrow.”
Mom closed the door and followed me to the kitchen table, where my books were still spread out, waiting for my return.
“Alexis, I need to talk to you.”
“I really need to study. Midterms tomorrow.”
“Please. Just listen for a minute.”
I turned, leaned against the table, and looked at her expectantly, waiting for the lecture or tirade or whatever was coming. But she surprised me.
“Listen . . . there are apparently things I need to work out with myself. There’s obviously nothing I can do about this.” She threw her hands in my direction, but I knew she meant “this” to mean Tristan and me together, as a couple. “Did you spend a lot of time with him this weekend?”
I hesitated before answering, but I couldn’t lie. “Yes.”
“And you obviously still like him?”
“Yes.”
“Anything more?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I sighed. “I think so.”
She pursed her lips together and stared at me for a long moment. “Just don’t rush into anything too serious, okay?”
I didn’t answer, and she blew out a heavy breath.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. You do what you feel is right, and I’ll just have to accept it. I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of when.”
She lost me. “Is this specifically about Tristan or about me getting serious with anyone in general?”
She pondered this question. “Both. But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to do what you want, and so is he. I know everything will go the way it’s supposed to. It will be good.”
She said those last two sentences as if trying them on, feeling for their meaning, deciding if she truly believed them. Her face showed she didn’t, but wanted to, kind of doubtful and hopeful at the same time. I debated whether to force an explanation and decided to let it go, for now, anyway.
“Thanks, Mom.” I threw myself at her in a grateful hug—grateful for her blessing and for her return. She didn’t let go, and I knew she missed me, too. “There’s just one other thing.”
She stepped back and studied my face, her own expression leery.
“I feel really good with Tristan so—” I hesitated, bracing myself. “There might come a time when he needs to know about things . . . things I don’t know yet.”
“Alexis—”
“If he understands, maybe he won’t be mean or run.” My voice cracked on the last word.
Mom put her hands on my shoulders. “You do really like him, don’t you?”
I nodded. She sighed.
“Let’s just see how it goes, okay? Maybe we can talk about this again later . . . or maybe it won’t be necessary.” With a kiss to my forehead and a turn on her heel, she clearly stated the discussion was over. I didn’t know if I’d won just a little or not.
She went to bed, and I sat at the table to review my notes one more time. Just as I finished, there was a tap on the kitchen door. I nearly fell out of my seat at the seemingly loud sound in the dead silence. I sat there, frozen, trying to figure out what to do. My heart had jumped at the sound, and now it raced. Should I run? I glanced over at the knife block on the counter. Fight?
Another tap on the door’s window.
Would Phil really knock first?
“Alexis, it’s me.” Low, sexy voice muffled through the glass pane.
I laughed internally at myself and hurried over to open the door.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry.” He grinned, like he really wasn’t. “I had to make sure she hadn’t killed you or planned to take you away or anything.”
I smiled giddily. “No, actually, I think it’s all good.”
“Okay, good.” It came out as sort of a whoosh of relief.
“Is that it?” I asked when he just stood there.
“Well . . . I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye, and I couldn’t sleep without this.” He bent over and brushed his lips across mine. Then he smiled and winked. I stared at him, dazed. “Okay, better. I can sleep now. Good night.”
“’Night,” I murmured. He disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 9
Tristan sat on his motorcycle waiting for me when I came out of the cottage Monday morning. “I thought we could save gas and ride together today.”
I accepted the ride. And I accepted his hand when he took mine as we walked across campus and his offer to take me out to lunch. And I definitely accepted him as more than a study buddy or whatever it was that we had been. I discovered the feeling of being so completely aware of someone that you can’t help but touch their hand or arm or, in Tristan’s case, just lean over and plant a quick, good-luck kiss right on my lips outside my calculus classroom. Every touch was electrical, and I didn’t exactly get used to it, but I at least learned to expect it.
We did our own thing Tuesday until he showed up at my door right as the sun hung low. After sitting on the beach for the sunset again, we made dinner for Mom. She watched us carefully at first, but by the time Tristan left later that night, she’d given us all kinds of space.
We had planned a motorcycle ride on Wednesday, but I woke up late to a gray, wet day. So I worked on my book, and Tristan did whatever Tristan does, but he arrived again right before the gloom reached total darkness. The rainy evening was the perfect kind to spend snuggling with your sweetie at home, and for the first time ever, I had a sweetie to snuggle with. So, although we were on fall break, we lay on the loveseat in my room together and read some articles for our women’s studies class. We had a paper due Monday when classes resumed.
“Did you read this one yet?” Tristan asked as he carried his laptop into the kitchen so we could grab a snack.
I glanced at the screen. “The one about arranged marriages? Creepy, huh?”
“I find it . . . interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” Mom asked as she came in and went to the fridge.
“Arranged marriages,” I replied.
She stopped in mid-motion and gave Tristan a look, then muttered, “Yeah, interesting.”
He didn’t acknowledge her comment, which I couldn’t decide was dripping with sarcasm or something else. He eyed me instead as I poured oil and popcorn in a pot. “So what are your thoughts on the topic?”
“Hmm . . . I don’t know. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be told whom I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I think that should be left to fate. And love.”
“Yeah, that thing called love,” Tristan mused as he moved out of Mom’s way. He leaned against the counter next to me while she grabbed makings for tea. “But maybe the marriage is their fate. It was meant to be, but it was planned by people, too.”
I thought about that idea and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way. I still don’t know that I’d like it, though. It seems strange to grow up knowing you have no options.”
“What if it’s a family obligation, like your family was depending on it?” Mom piped in.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess it would be hard to turn your back on that.”
“That’s usually the reason for those arrangements,” she said. “Often the family’s survival is at risk, and the arrangement holds the key to their continued existence . . . or, at least, their way of life.”
I nodded. “The article debates that point. I just don’t understand how they work, though. I mean, they’re matched together when they’re very young, especially the girls. What if he’s a horrible person or she’s a bitch? What if the man doesn’t want to be with her anymore, when she’s grown up and he sees what she’s really like? Or he turns out to be a wife beater?”
“What if they’re not? What if they’re perfect for each other . . . meant to be together?” Tristan challenged.
“That would be pure luck,” I scoffed.
“Or fate,” he added, “you know, destiny.”
I chuckled with skepticism. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. But do you believe in destiny?”
“Actually, I do.” He pierced me with an intense gaze when I looked up at him. “So, what if they were given the chance to get to know each other, fell passionately in love, and then found out the whole thing had been arranged?”
I pulled my eyes from his and focused on the popping corn while considering this. “Well, I guess that would be their destiny. If they love each other all on their own, then I guess it wouldn’t make a difference if it was arranged or not, right? But they’d both have to be in the dark, I think. After all, if one knew about the arrangement and didn’t tell the other . . . that’s not a relationship built on trust.”
“Hmm,” Tristan murmured. “Good point.”
“On the other hand,” I continued, “whether people are involved in the arrangement or not, if they’re really meant for each other, if they’re true soul mates, then it was planned all along . . . by God or the Universe or whatever.”
Mom’s head tilted as I said this, although she seemed to be intently focused on making her tea.
“So . . . if you believe in true love and you were truly soul mates, then it wouldn’t matter,” Tristan summarized and added with doubt in his tone, “but you have to believe in the idea of soul mates first.”
“And you don’t?” I peered at him.
“I don’t know. I didn’t used to,” he said quietly, his gaze focused on the floor. He glanced sideways at me. “What about you?”
He had essentially voiced exactly what I was thinking. I wanted to believe but never could. Until . . . I felt another click of my heart settling.
“I don’t know, either,” I answered instead. “I’d like to believe in it. The thought of two souls being made for each other and then actually finding each other in this big world . . . it’s a nice idea.” Contrary to my feelings, I added, “Just seems a little unrealistic, though.”
