11. Lewis

CHAPTER 11

LEWIS

E ach bite into the slice burns my mouth and it may as well be tasteless. My body is still in a frenzy from the close proximity to Samantha. Having her touch my chest could have seen me go a few rounds in an Olympic sport of self-control.

I'm pretty sure if she hadn't huffed her way past and left when she did, I would have burst into flames.

We sit under one of the only park lamps, at a picnic table. A guy in a hoodie lingers by the edge of the park. He walks aimlessly for a few minutes, and I return my focus to the food.

"Why the long face, brother?" Denver says, lifting a slice over his head to lower into his waiting mouth.

"I ran into Samantha again."

"Doesn't that happen on a daily basis?"

"She touched me. I almost lost it, Den." My words fade to a whisper, and he stops chewing.

"Shit." He drops the slice back into the box. "You okay?"

"It's not me you have to be worried about. This bond is driving me insane. Every time she comes too close, it feels like I'm teetering off a goddamn cliff."

"Been there, done that, brother; you can't let it overwhelm you, you won't be able to control yourself if you do."

"What happens if you—" Heat rises in my chest. Merely thinking the thought turns my body to fire.

"If you what?" He cocks his head to one side.

"Hypothetically, if we were mated and the bond was honored. What happens when you, you know, consummate it?"

Denver's face cracks with a grin, and he raises an eyebrow. "So, you have thought about it. Who would have known my brother, the practical one in the family, has thought about something he wants for a change."

"No, that's not what I mean. I haven?—"

"Oh, yes, you have, Lew—your face looks like a tomato right now." He tosses a piece of pineapple from his pizza. I dodge it, and he chuckles.

"I thought about it once, okay? What you and Zahli had was nothing short of incredible; a chance at having that isn't something you ignore. But it's not up to me, is it?"

He picks up his slice and takes a bite, chewing slowly like he is processing the words.

"Even if it was with a witch?" he finally says.

As if summoned, Samantha drives past, Serena in the passenger seat. Their dinner must be done. Only two heartbeats... Her family must have accommodations in town. I drop my gaze to the pizza. Any other witch, and I would immediately say no to this bond.

But Samantha... There is something about her I can't pin down, something drawing me to her. She's not the closed-off and self-absorbed type like the rest of the witches I have run into. Even when she is letting me know in no uncertain terms that I am her least favorite person, I respond to her. She pulls me in like the tide calls to the sand.

Timeless and endless. Like if we made the connection, it would be transcendent.

"Earth to Lewis." Denver is holding a hand in front of my face. His fingers snap as I jerk and return my eyes to meet his.

"Man, where did you go?" He chuckles. "I don't think you're going to have a choice with this bond, brother; you are well and truly ensnared. I hope Samantha survives long enough for you to get past the connection phase."

"Zahli did, and she was human."

Denver forces a smile. "Yes, she did."

Castleton may be a one-horse university town, but the pizza is the best I have tasted almost anywhere. I bite into a fresh slice.

My brother picks up the wandering guy's scent. He stills and tilts his head. The muscles in his neck all but pop.

I scan the park, finding the guy tracking across the grass toward the street. He walks down the street, turning into the first cul-de-sac. Samantha's cul-de-sac. I swallow my bite of pizza, dropping the slice back in the box.

"Give him a minute, Lewis."

That street is a dead end. If I don't hear a front door, voices, or a car, and he doesn't return, I'm going to investigate. The seconds drip by like molasses. Denver settles back to his dinner.

One minute.

"So, saying she does survive the joining, the consummation. You would be willing to be mated to her as she grows old and inevitably leaves you one day?" Denver asks.

"I don't think there is any way around that particular issue. At least, not one I'm willing to agree to." I lower my brows as Denver raises one of his.

"You wouldn't consider turning her?"

"No, she wouldn't understand what she is agreeing to; how could she?"

"Well, I guess you will have to live without her, then, in say sixty, seventy years."

Two minutes.

"I don't know, Den," I say, scanning the park and the street one more time. "How do you even approach something like that when emotions are involved and this unrelenting, very impractical bond?"

"You take one day at a time, Lewis. That's what you do."

Three minutes.

I shove a hand through my hair, my gut twisting like a burly sailor has gripped his calloused hands around it.

"He didn't come back," Denver says.

Leg jumping from my toes, I scrub my hands over my face and groan.

"Lewis, his scent hasn't faded; he's still close."

Four minutes.

I jump from the bench seat and run. A second later, I am standing in her front yard.

Everything is quiet.

Chill descends in the air, vividly reflected by moonlight on the sluggish, drifting fog. The low cloud is my only indicator it's cold—I don't feel it. I walk to her porch and hesitate mere feet from the front door. Frozen on her front porch, I study the entrance, the front door ajar.

They wouldn't leave it like that. Witches are careful. It is not in their nature to be careless. Someone else has left or forced the door open. I am not welcome, nor are they. For me, entering means turning to marble, followed by the shattering of my centuries-old body. The only thing left to do then is sweep away the millions of shards. I've never come close to that, in all my decades, but I have witnessed it, once.

Samantha could be in trouble, but I hesitate, weighing my choices. I imagine her lying on the floor, hurt or worse. The breeze shifts the door, opening it further. Moonlight bounces off the wooden floor, illuminating the foyer. In the half-light, I track dirty footsteps. They must be from the hoodie guy.

I barge through the door.

"Samantha?" I say quieter than I feel I should, not wanting to scare her. If he lays a finger on her, he is a dead man.

Relationships between vampires and witches are forbidden. I know the penalty for acting on this bond. It spells death for the vampire, magical binding for the witch. No prolonged life through witchcraft, as Anjelica has done. No healing spells or remedies. They are stripped of their essence and left to rot in the darkness of their own minds.

I pause, closing my eyes, trying to analyze his scent.

Not human.

Not witch.

Definitely not vampire.

For all I know, Samantha may be able to protect herself. But the thought of her having to try makes my insides curl. So, I will protect her. For all the bond is worth, at least I can give her that. Until the day she tells me to leave her be. To let her live her life, without me in it.

I am lucky I haven't experienced an emotional connection with her yet. Denver says that's when everything gets harder. A lot harder. A mating bond is one thing. But falling in love as well is something nobody comes back from if they lose their mate. Denver survived, only through the grace of God and a few not-so-legal practices.

I stride through the front room, following the steps of the intruder. They are easy to find. Dirt and debris trail through her home, up the stairs, and right to a bedroom. The door is closed.

Silence thunders down on me.

I grab the doorknob, ready to shove the door open. Every part of me is almost seized up. The shuddering in my body from entering without invitation takes hold, and I know what comes next.

Shattering.

Everywhere.

With the last of my mobility, I shoulder the door open. Samantha stands in the en suite of her room, readying for bed. Completely oblivious to who is in her room.

In the corner of her room, hoodie guy stands in the shadows, keenly aware of me. I catch his scent, strong in the small space. My breath stops in my throat.

Demon.

Without permission to be in her house, I edge closer to my messy end. Flipping between calling her name to save myself or disturbing the intruder, I make a split decision. I can't help her if I break into pieces.

"Samantha." My voice is changed, my face almost marble. She moves, swaying, as she picks up a toothbrush and paste. Her hips and waist twist with the beat. The slow tones of music pulse. She has earbuds in, concealed under her volume of curls.

"Samantha!" My entire body solidifies to marble, and small cracks ripple across my cheeks. She spins back on the spot, with wide eyes, studying my frozen body and my face.

Her hand claps over her mouth as she gasps, as she rushes from the bathroom, grabbing a robe. As she pulls it over her body, her eyes land on the guy on the other side of the room.

"Lewis?"

"I can't—" My jaw grinds.

"Come in!"

Slowly, I regain mobility. When my focus returns to the corner of her room and not her, she realizes something is wrong and tracks my gaze to the silhouette standing in the corner of her room.

"Lewis," she breathes.

Lewis. Not Mr. Sullivan.

"Stay there." The cracks in my face seal, like treacle being poured through a sieve. I itch to take him out in one impossibly fast maneuver he will never expect. He sways from foot to foot but doesn't move. Samantha closes the robe over her chest as if protecting herself with her thin shield. Her breathing quickens, and I take a tentative step toward the corner of the room. My body is all but free.

His gaze swings from the door to the window, as if deciding which way out is the best. Wringing his hands, he shifts on his feet. Most likely regretting this decision. He has two options: the window next to Sammie, or the door behind me. If I were him, I would throw myself out the window. But I doubt he realizes who he's in the room with, in this dim light.

Samantha shuffles toward me. I guess she figures I'm the lesser of two evils.

"What do you want?" she says, her voice strong, but her arms fold over her chest, hands gripping her goose fleshed skin.

"The Council wants to know what is happening with you two. Interspecies issues."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

"Pretend like you don't know. But him showing up here confirms our suspicions."

I step closer to the guy; his heart is thundering in his chest. His fists curl and he leaps toward Samantha. She drops her arms and raises both hands. Flames flicker in her palms and smolder out.

He makes his move. Demons may not be as quick as vampires and lack any magical powers, but they are trained mercenaries for the Council. And they train for one thing—assassination. This one looks particularly green. His unsure footing and awkwardness close the gap between him and Samantha. If she is going to defend herself, now is the time.

Now, Samantha.

"Samantha," I growl.

She looks at me, her expression turning from annoyance to fear. Prickles of heat course through my body. The demon is inches from her, and she turns back, raising her hands.

Nothing happens.

She yelps and staggers backward.

I fly at him, taking him by the neck with one hand, the other bending his arm behind him, and shove him through the open window. We hit the ground, me on top of him. He whimpers. I grab his head and rip it sideways. The Council should have sent a better man if they wanted to have the upper hand.

A dead demon is all they accomplished here tonight.

The Council, zero.

Lewis and Samantha, one.