Chapter Five

I’d always loved the concept of soulmates.

The idea that there were people who were fated to be together, that there was a person who was just for you, the other part of your being, the thought made me feel warm and squishy inside.

When I’d started dating Roy after first moving to town, a witch had warned me that he already had a soulmate, someone else he was destined to be with, and I’d known what I had to do. Roy belonged with Fifi, and that was just the way it was. He’d been confused when we’d broken up—confused and upset, and so had I, because I’d liked him. A lot. But I’d known I was doing the right thing. Fate wasn’t something you could mess around with. It just was.

The whole situation had stunk, or that’s what I’d thought at the time. But then, seeing Roy and Fifi together, how happy they were, how they fit like two pieces from the same puzzle, I knew I’d done the right thing. Their happiness was everything I’d ever wanted for them.

And then, of course, there had been Marty. But I’d only ever felt like we were connected on a more surface level—as friends. Sure, there had been moments when I’d felt something much deeper for him, but those moments had been fleeting. And I’d realized he wasn’t the one for me either. And that one had stung a lot more than the breakup with Roy had.

Somehow, in all my day-dreams and fantasies, I’d never considered that I could have a soulmate, myself. I’d just known that Roy and Marty weren’t him. Even so, I’d never thought there might be someone out there waiting for… me.

But here I was, sitting at the heavy oak table in the farmhouse just up the road from my own, cutting into the most delicious beef wellington I’d ever tasted (not that I was a connoisseur of beef wellington).

And I just might have stopped in at home before arriving here in order to take a quick shower, put on one of my favorite dresses, before curling my hair, and doing my favorite makeup routine.

Andre certainly hadn’t seemed to mind it that I was ten minutes late when he’d greeted me at the door, not if the smile that stretched across his face was anything to go by. And I couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a very nice collared shirt, with the sleeves rolled back just enough to show a few of the dark numbers emblazoned on his skin. The numbers were tattoos of sorts—they revealed the tricks he’d mastered as a Magician. And they were, ahem, sexy. Very sexy. But back to his ensemble—he’d paired the dress shirt with dark slacks, and shiny leather shoes that clicked against the hardwood floors whenever he so much as moved.

He looked so handsome, and smart, and when he smiled at me, I felt like my heart was going to take off like a helicopter. Sometimes I had to wonder at myself—how was it that a forty-seven-year-old woman could feel as giddy and excited as a teenager with her first crush? I didn’t have an answer for myself, so I chose to focus on other things—namely the date my boyfriend had so meticulously planned.

Andre hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he had dinner well under control. I’d spent the evening feeling like I was at some fancy restaurant. There were candles all over the table that gave the dining room a nice, yellowish glow. And I couldn’t forget the fresh flowers (white Casablanca lilies—my favorite) in an etched glass vase that filled the air with a faint sweetness. And the food—well, that was in a word: wow.

Whenever Andre and I had dates, we normally either went out, or I cooked for him and Finn, or we did something simple, like the picnic he’d surprised me with most recently. I hadn’t had any idea the man could cook, never mind cook like some world-renowned chef. I was starting to get used to the fact that where Andre was concerned, so were surprises.

As far as the food went, there had been little brie bites to start, pillows of puff pastry with melty, delicious cheese inside. I had to stop myself from making a really embarrassing sound when I first bit into one, because it tasted like heaven. Then Andre served a soup and salad course—the soup a clam chowder paired with a wedge salad. Then the crowning glory—the Wellington, with mashed potatoes on the side, along with asparagus with a buttery sauce. I hadn’t wanted to stuff myself, but it was hard to resist.

When we’d finished the savory courses, I was almost afraid of what might be coming next, but Andre put my concern to bed when he pulled out a charcuterie of fruit and cheese, the perfect finish to a delicious, rich meal. I nibbled on a strawberry, letting the sweet and tart flavor spread across my tongue as Andre watched me with a smirk on his very handsome face.

“—and that was the last time I ever went for a stroll through the dreams of one of my school mates,” he finished his story with a wry smile, flourishing a thinly sliced bit of apple to make his point.

My ribs hurt from laughing, and I carefully dabbed at my eyes, trying not to smudge my mascara. “What did you do? Did you ever tell him?”

Andre shrugged helplessly, but his lips were still twitching, fighting a grin. “How could I? None of them had any idea magic existed, much less that I was a Magician. I had no idea how I’d even go about explaining how I knew what I did.”

I had to put my drink down, because I was laughing so hard I was afraid I’d spill it. At my reaction, Andre finally broke, his deep rumbling laughter joining mine.

The whole evening was lovely, and the hours passed like seconds. I’d told him a little bit about my life before Haven Hollow—when Finn and I had lived in Los Angeles. Not just the stuff about how a poltergeist had harassed us, but that and more. I even found myself talking about the time when I was a kid myself, and just learning potion making beside my mother and grandmother. Andre had hung on every word—enough that I’d felt a little self conscious.

He’d told me a bit about living in France, and how readily he’d taken to England as a child. We’d had fun comparing the things that were very different ‘across the pond’, and he’d told me about his work as a professional magician. The stage kind, not the magic kind.

Everything just felt so comfortable between us, like we’d known one another our entire lives. I felt like I could talk to this man every day, and never get bored. We’d always have something new to talk about, I was sure. There was a warm glow in my chest, like a hearth fire burning strong. And every once in a while, out of the corner of my eye, I’d catch just a tiny flicker of satiny red—the ribbon winding us together.

“It’s so strange,” I found myself saying in one of the few lulls in the conversation as I shook my head.

“What’s strange?”

“Just that—I have this intense feeling like…” I took a breath and tried to find the right words. “Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Is that silly?”

Andre’s face softened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he smiled. “No, it isn’t silly. I feel the exact same way—like I’ve finally come home.”

My heart swelled like a balloon, like I was feeling so much that I was worried my ribs wouldn’t be able to contain it all. It was so much more intense, knowing whatever it was that was between us, Andre felt the same way I did.

He reached across the table then and gently took one of my hands. When he wiped his thumb across my knuckles, a shiver crept over my skin, like his touch was electric. He swallowed, hard enough that I could hear it, and I saw his throat bob with the motion.

Andre’s voice was hoarse with emotion when he spoke. “I’ve never felt fear like I did when I felt you almost die, Poppy.” He swallowed hard again. “In that vampire attack.”

My breath caught in my throat, my pulse speeding. That awful event had occurred before we’d ever met, months before, actually. Roscoe, the vampire that had turned Betanya into a Blood Witch, had managed to escape his magical prison. He’d been driven mad by the interrupted turning, hunting Betanya endlessly. He’d terrified Finn, attacked anyone in his way, and he’d torn into me like an animal. I’d almost bled out on my own living room floor.

My memories of the hospital were vague. I’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, and even when I was awake, it had been like watching the world through gauze. Kind of white and floaty.

The smell of smoke and lavender suddenly curled in my nose, and another memory rose up, courtesy of the Memento Mori .

For a split second, I was back on that gurney, with the lights flashing by overhead as the hospital attendants raced me down a long and bright hallway. I’d been frozen, right down to my bones, but I hadn’t even had the strength to shiver. I’d been so out of it, but I could remember clinging to consciousness, because even though I hadn’t really understood what was going on, or where I was, I knew I couldn’t go. I knew Finn needed me.

And then, a different memory surfaced, like a corner of my mind had the cobwebs blown out of it. A voice in my mind, urging me to fight, to hold on. A familiar voice, even though at that time, I’d never heard his voice before. All I’d known was that it was one with a cut glass British accent.

“You were the one who told me not to give up,” I said, as I felt that intense love pulsing between us once more. “I was never quite sure if you were actually there, in the room with me?”

Andre swallowed again, the lines of his face tight. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work. “I wasn’t there, not physically, at least. It was something akin to when I dream walk. I could only reach you because you were–” His voice broke just a little, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “You were in and out of consciousness. I think that’s the only reason you could hear me at all.”

“Maybe.”

He nodded. “I’ll never forget that moment, as long as I live. The terror of it, how close you were to being snatched away. It was then that I realized that the other half of my soul was out there, and I’d nearly lost her without ever even having met her.”

Andre’s hand tightened on mine, hard enough that the grip almost hurt, but I would never ask him to let go. Not for the world. Instead, I got to my feet and came around the table to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

He shook his head, his arms wrapped tight around my waist and his head tipped into my shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. You take care of everyone, Poppy, you protect them. I adore that about you, but it’s time for someone to take care of you, to protect you. I just hope you’ll give me the chance.”

I was feeling too many things, and they all got clogged up in my throat. I couldn’t get any words out. Instead, I just clung to Andre. I held him tightly, and he held on just as tight. His hand smoothed up my spine, tracing the delicate dip and fall of bone, and his palm came to rest on the back of my neck, under the weight of my hair.

It felt so good, being here with him, wrapped in his arms. My heart felt at peace, but also like it was going to pound its way out of my ribcage. His breath was so warm, ghosting over the curve of my shoulder, sending little sparks of heat skittering across my skin. We finally pulled back from each other, but didn’t get far. Andre’s eyes had darkened, until just the thinnest ring of blue showed around his pupil as he looked at me. My breath caught in my throat. It felt like the moment was hanging by the thinnest of threads. Andre’s hand came up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing gently over the arch of my cheekbone.

“Poppy,” he breathed. And the thread snapped.

We just about fell into each other. One moment, I was looking into his eyes, the next his mouth was moving over mine, his lips like warm silk, and the rasp of his stubble was under my hands. I couldn’t get enough of his touch, his taste, him. It felt like the flood gates had opened, and the world had narrowed down to heat and touch and the hot glide of his tongue against mine.

The brakes on the train were well and truly gone. I’d been holding back, taking things slow, trying to be careful. I’d been hurt by so many relationships in the past, and likewise, I’d caused hurt. I didn’t want to risk messing this one up, not with Andre. But slow and careful had just been thrown out the window, and I didn’t give a flying fig.

I was half in Andre’s lap, sprawled across his chair at the table. His hands were on my hips, and mine were in his hair, sliding down his chest, around the back of his neck. I was almost frantic, just wanting him closer until I couldn’t tell where I stopped and he started. Heat flared across my skin, like a flame catching on a spilled cocktail. A flash burn that raced across my body.

“Poppy.”

He pulled back just enough to whisper my name against my mouth, his hot breath against my lips. Then he was diving back in for another deep, drugging kiss. My toes curled in my shoes, and my fingers scrambled at the ornate buttons on his shirt. He was wearing way too many clothes, and I wanted to touch his skin more than I’d ever possibly wanted anything in my life.

Andre’s long fingers slid over my bare shoulder where the strap of my dress had fallen down, and my head fell back a little, because it felt so good that all I could do was pant at the ceiling while a whimper built in my throat. Liquid heat coiled in my belly, burning through my veins, until I felt like every breath that slipped out of my mouth should have curled like steam into the air.

We finally broke apart, breathing heavy. My pulse hammered in my throat, and I had to gasp around it for every bit of air.

“Poppy.” His voice was deeper than usual, and the gravel tone sent a shiver through me. “Do you–?”

“Yes,” I gasped against his mouth, not even caring what exactly he was asking me. “Yes. Yes, Andre. Yes, I want this.”

Andre closed his eyes, a muscle working in his jaw as he visibly reined himself in for a moment. Then he stood us both up so fast that the chair we’d been sitting on tipped over onto the floor, and we only barely noticed.

He led me towards the stairs, his hand in mine, and my whole world narrowed down to where his fingers wrapped around mine. My blood pulsed through my body in a wave of liquid heat, like I was full of warm champagne, all bubbles, and giddiness.

Somehow, we managed to get up the stairs, even though my knees felt like they could give out at any second. Andre’s grip on my hand kept me on my feet as he led me down the hall and into his bedroom. I was barely paying attention. There was a brief impression of dark wood, and heavy curtains, but then my shaking fingers were on the buttons of his shirt again, and his hand was in my hair, tilting my head to the side so he could kiss the skin over my leaping pulse. We could have been in a closet, or a cave, and I wouldn’t have noticed.

The hot press of Andre’s mouth moved over my throat, with just a hint of teeth dragging over my skin, and I was dizzy with need. I wanted skin under my hands. I wanted him to touch me. I felt like paper in a bonfire, the edges of my control curling and turning black in the searing flames.

And then my dress was puddled on the floor, and Andre was laying me back across his cool sheets, and the contrast with my feverish skin was shocking. I couldn’t get enough of him. The feeling of his hair between my fingers, the taste of his skin, salt and clean sweat. The movement of the muscles in his back under the sweep of my palms. It was intoxicating. My head was swimming with want.

Andre pulled back from the wicked hot curl of his tongue dragging across the delicate shell of my ear, and pressed his nose to the hair at my temple. He took a deep breath and groaned low in his chest.

“What is that? It smells bloody divine.”

It took me a moment to remember words that weren’t ‘yes’, and ‘please’, or ‘more’. I blinked and swallowed. My voice was a husky rasp when it slipped out of my throat. “It’s a potion. It helps with memory.”

“Good,” Andre whispered, pressing another kiss to my ear, and my head arched back with the sensation. “Because I want to remember every moment of you.”

A thin whimper, almost a whine, slipped out of my mouth, and if I hadn’t felt like I was about to go up in flames, I might have been embarrassed.

Andre’s hands, Magician’s hands, with long dexterous fingers, slid over my body, soothing, caressing, his thumb brushing over delicate skin and sending waves of sensation singing through me. I pressed kisses to his throat, his shoulder, his mouth, almost frantic with desire. When he kissed his way down my belly to where the ache was the sharpest, I lost my words entirely, and all I could do was arch my neck back and hold on.

I hooked my leg around his hip as we moved together. I clung to him, urging him on with the press of my lips, my nails, the arch of my hips. The world faded away when we came together, moving like two beings turned into one. His breath was my breath, his pleasure sparked across my nerves. I swallowed the sounds of pleasure that slipped from him, and he caught the moan that tore itself out of my mouth with his tongue.

Pleasure built like a thunderstorm inside me, building drop on drop until it was a wave that crashed everything else before it, and I was drowning, arching, crying out. And Andre was right there along with me, his hands clutching my shoulder, my hip, the back of my knee, like he couldn’t hold me tightly enough, couldn’t drag me close enough.

For one, shining moment, we were one being with two hearts pounding in the darkness.

And I knew I’d never be alone again.