Chapter 10

Cole

Barataria Preserve, Marrero, Louisiana

H er voice was soothing and melodic, the notes of it jarringly familiar to him after all the years she haunted his dreams. Sometime in the last few minutes, they had ended up wrapped around each other, his hand all but resting on her ass, her hands clutching his biceps tightly. He heard noise around them but didn’t know what was causing it, couldn’t be bothered to figure out what it was. Dangerous considering who he was, who he was starting to believe she was, and the enemies they would both have because of it. He didn’t care, though. The only sound he wanted to hear was her exquisite voice.

He cleared his throat. Again. “My name is Cole,” he said, his eyes darting across her face, taking in every elegant inch of her. “And I think I’ve been looking for you.”

Canting her head to the side, she lifted one brownish-red eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? And why would you be doing that, Cole? I haven’t found that many people looking for strangers at night are doing so out of the goodness of their hearts.”

The sound of his name on her tongue, even in disbelief, absolutely destroyed him. Surreal. That’s what this whole thing was. Surreal. He was standing at a construction site in the dead of night, the woman of his dreams pressed against him, and she had decided to debate his apparent prospective serial killer status. He chuckled, overwhelmed by the strength of his reaction to her. He wanted to crawl inside of her and never leave. He needed to hear her say his damn name in every tone at every volume. “Well, I don’t know about any malicious intent, but pretty little things who come out of the woods in see-through dresses generally can’t throw stones at the men who spend their nights at construction sites.” As if he made a habit of this. Fuck, he was an idiot.

She nuzzled her face against his chest. Goddamn, just that one small gesture had him grinding his hips against her. “Why were you looking for me, Cole?” she asked again.

Although he wasn’t particularly familiar with the workings of long-term, romantic relationships, he didn’t really think he could tell this ethereal sprite of a woman that not only had he dreamed about her for more than twenty years but that he also believed she may be the fated reincarnation of a goddess with whom he would rule the Underworld to stop an apocalypse. That felt like it may be a mood killer. Also, and he didn’t remember the ancient texts too clearly, but he was fairly certain that the witches play a role in the exact world-ending event he was trying to stop. So if the angel in front of him was both the reincarnate and a witch… He almost groaned at his inability to recall the actual witches’ prophecy. This was what he got for ignoring his uncle, the Moirai, his advisors, really anybody associated with the effort to put him on the throne, when they lectured him. Since he couldn’t remember his lectures and he knew that confessing that he was here to take her home with him was a bad damn idea, he skirted the question, giving her a half truth. “I had a feeling you might be here.”

He felt her gasp before she said softly, “I’ve seen you almost all my life.” Reaching up, she touched his face gently. “But never your face. I always wondered what you looked like.” Her fingers paused on his right cheek before combing back into his hair. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Her whispered words, the tender touch stroking along his face, the look of awe in her beautiful eyes, all of it triggered something primal, something deeply possessive, in him. Whether or not this was actually Evangeline Dyeus, whether or not she was Persephone reincarnated, she was his . That being said, he would bet his entire empire that she was his fated wife. Between the magic pulsing between them, their lifelong interactions with each other, this immediate recognition, there were too many signs that she was meant to be with him. He couldn’t let her go back to the forest for a multitude of reasons, and most of them had absolutely nothing to do with the hazy memory of the witches’ role in the apocalypse. He just… he needed her with him.

“Come with me,” he murmured, grazing her cheek with his fingertips before sliding his hand down to her own, tangling his fingers in between hers. Electricity surged between them, and her eyes dilated with lust. Jesus fucking Christ. He needed to get them back to his home before he did something stupid like stripping his dream woman down and fucking her in the middle of a construction site. “Please, Angel, come home with me.” He gripped her hand a little tighter, turning to escort her back to his car. For the second time that night, he froze at the sight that greeted him.

What had once been an empty construction site littered with the decrepit remains of trees and torn-up earth had been reclaimed by the forest. After time had frozen when he saw her but before he had turned to take her to his car, the upturned trees had somehow rerooted and stood themselves tall once more. Newly formed vines ran across the ground, and vibrant flowers positively exploded everywhere around them. It was as if none of the construction had ever happened. About thirty feet away, he could actually see one of the yellow diggers pinned into a tree as if the tree had grown into and around the vehicle. He suspected that, if he looked around for the rest of the equipment, he would find that they were subject to a similar reclamation. This would have taken so much magic and should have been loud as a tornado. But, despite being in the eye of what must have been an intense magical storm, neither of them had noticed a thing.