Coveted

  Chapter 20

  I spent much of that night staring at the stone. A few times, I reached out to touch it but stopped myself. Everything I remembered was misery. I was sick of misery. I just wanted to be happy with Bran. Was that too much to ask? Why couldn't we have a pleasant relationship without all this cryptic nonsense? I wanted to indulge with him without worry. I didn't want to know why I should remember.

  On Thursday morning, after my mother had left for a day shift, Bran showed up at the front door, drenched from the rain that had arrived in the night.

  "I'm supposed to be enduring punishment," I pointed out. I was thankful for the distraction but annoyed that during my punishment, I still seemed unable to follow the rules anymore.

  He pouted. "But why do I have to suffer? I didn't get suspended."

  I crossed my arms and did not move from the doorway. He could live with a little more rain. "That's right. So why aren't you at school?"

  "Sick," he said before coughing unconvincingly into the side of his fist.

  "Fine," I muttered, standing aside to let him in. I walked over to the couch and flopped onto it. I hadn't bothered to get dressed so I was still wearing an old ripped t-shirt and plaid pajama shorts. Bran eyed my legs as I pulled my knees up to my chest. "None of that," I scolded. "Everyone else may think I'm somehow a victim in all this but I know differently."

  He shrugged as he sat down. His indulgent smell washed over me. "You are being too hard on yourself."

  I snorted. "I'm being exactly hard enough. In fact, I think I could use a bit more self-abuse."

  "Samantha was suspended too, just so you know," he said. "The story has made it around the whole school, though the details have gotten a little mangled, everyone knows she started it."

  "It doesn't matter who started it." I started picking at a loose thread on one of the cushions.

  "Do you honestly believe you have no right to defend yourself?" He asked, bending down to force himself into my line of vision.

  "Defend myself, yes. Pummel a twit girl in the face for a petty slap, no."

  He rolled his eyes as he sat back. "You never have valued yourself enough."

  "Sorry, not all of us can be immortal warriors."

  He stared at my toes for several seconds and started to tap them like they were piano keys. It tickled too much so I pulled my feet closer and out from under his touch. He was still staring at my toes. "What if you could be immortal?" he asked.

  I blinked. "What?"

  "Remember what Morrigan promised me," he said. "When I found you and you accepted me, you could join me in immortality. At some point, she will call me back to Scotland for good and you will come with me."

  I blinked again. It had been right there in the story and yet the thought had never occurred to me. Him returning to Scotland without me was not possible but could I join him in service of a war goddess? "She wouldn't... I couldn't..."

  He chuckled. "As evidence by your current inner torment, you're not exactly the immortal warrior type," he said. "But she will give you immortality for me, if you accept it." He looked me in the eyes. "Will you become immortal for me?"

  I just stared. My thought processes had ceased altogether. Rather than trying to comprehend what he had offered, my brain had just given up.

  He shifted in his seat and set both his hands on his knees. He was staring at some indistinct spot between them. "This was my choice, not yours. I'll understand but forever is a long time to be alone." He gave a derisive tsk. "Even just a thousand years was a long time."

  "I..." felt like I should say something. It was cruel not to say something but I didn't want to live forever. I wanted Bran, more than anything I wanted Bran, but living forever?

  My gaze dropped to where the raven would be under his shirt. It was the mark of servitude. I didn't want that mark. Unconsciously, I glanced at where his dove would have been. How could he be indebted to two goddesses? How could he not know it?

  He sighed. "I was worried I only had one option."

  "What option?" My breath caught.

  He looked at me. "There is only one way an immortal can die. Morrigan's Blade. The dagger of Morrigan herself can kill any, even immortals."

  My breath eased out of me. "So we could live as long as we want and then die when we're ready,?" Suicide wasn't all that attractive but it could be a reasonable compromise under the circumstances.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching his head back as he did. "Morrigan's Blade can only kill immortals because it destroys the soul. It annihilates your existence. No rebirth. No afterlife. Just done."

  I chewed my tongue. That didn't exactly seem like the right option either, not when I had just learned that reincarnation and the soul were real. A death guaranteed to be the ultimate end was so much scarier than one leading to the unknown. It was just so... permanent. How could he ask any of it from me? I closed my eyes. How could I ask any of what he had done from him? "Bran, I wish..."

  "But you can't," he said flatly.

  My eyes flew open. For first time, I saw the wet trails down his face. I couldn't bear what I had just done to him, but even witnessing his pain, all I could offer was wholly inadequate. "I don't know. Give me time. This is a huge decision."

  He leaned over to rest his head on my knees. "Don't wait too long," he said. "Now that I finally have you back, my ability to wait seems to have evaporated."

  Maybe I had hurt him too much, for he left soon after that and when he said good-bye, the kiss he offered was brief. I could understand where he was coming from. After everything he had endured, he deserved someone who would enthusiastically and unreservedly give him the answer he wanted. I wanted him. There was no doubt of that but I was not so sure I wanted immortality. I wanted a normal life with him, not this.

  I stretched out on the couch and stared at the blank television screen. On or off, it held no answers for me. Riley whined at my foot before giving my toes a quick lick.

  "Fine, I'll feed you," I muttered. Getting up took much more strength than it should have. Being home from school with nothing to do felt like my life was draining out of me.

  I shuffled to the kitchen to get Riley his food. The stack of university replies remained unopened on the table. Most of them had been acceptance letters given the large envelopes. I couldn't find the energy in my gut to care. The gnawing was mutinous at the fact Bran had left, and likely because I had not agreed to live with him forever. Even if I had wanted to open them, I doubted their offers would remain good once they saw my final transcripts. Universities tended to frown on assaults even if my school had chosen to be alright with them.

  I scooped the kibble into Riley's bowl. It made a deafening clattering as it hit the metal.

  I was empty. Without Bran there was nothing. Would I always feel that way? The gnawing shrieked.

  With a sigh I flounced into one of the kitchen chairs and closed my eyes. The biggest lesson the second half of this school year had taught me was that I had no idea who I truly was. Remembering the past had gotten me no closer to that knowledge.

  I needed a break from the sucking ache. I slouched back to my room and stretched into bed for the only escape I knew.

  A vibrating under my hand woke me. Immediately, my eyes began to close again. The vibrating happened again. I pulled my phone out from under my pillow and squinted at it.

  Two texts from Michael: Missing you; Holding up?

  I considered turning my phone off and going back to sleep. I stared at the two messages. We hadn't talked in so long, not really. He had been occupied with Maria. I had been occupied with Bran and all the insanity that had meant. I had kept it all from him because I was scared but I needed to talk to someone other than Bran or Alistair. He was my best option, but I needed to ease into it. My desperation to talk did not negate Michael's stubborn skepticism.

  No. I typed. Can you come over? I hated texting large conversations. It was so insufferably slow.

  Michael: You're grounded.
Also on my way to see Maria (still sick).

  That was Michael, always the king of irritating timing. My annoyance evaporated my tact. Fine. Bran is a thousand-year-old immortal warrior and I am the reincarnation of his lost love. He wants me to become immortal for him. And our sub is his nemesis.

  His first reply was predictable. Maria was just telling me she's a succubus sent to enslave the sexiest man alive.

  I'm completely serious. I typed back.

  His next reply took longer. Maybe he still thought I was kidding. Maybe he thought I had lost my mind.

  Michael: Did you sleep with him?

  I wanted to throttle him. What did that have to do with anything? He was my best friend and I was confiding in him and now he wanted to know about my nonexistent sex life. No. Why?

  Michael: He's just trying to be romantic to get into your pants.

  Me: He's telling the truth.

  Michael: I'm coming over.

  Two minutes later, Michael was at the door, in direct violation of the conditions of my punishment. I let him in. He didn't even say hello before launching into a lecture.

  "Lu." Oh boy, was he upset. "Please, please, tell me you are not stupid enough to fall for crap like that?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off. He just stood on the mat staring down at me. "I thought better of Bran than that," he added.

  I looked him right in the eyes. I wanted no doubt about how serious I was. "He stabbed himself. In the chest. Right in front of me."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Ever heard of a trick knife?"

  "It was as real as the blood." I pressed my hands against his cheeks. "Michael, this time, it isn't some trick. Bran really is immortal and he really is a thousand years old."

  His brow hadn't lowered. "And you really are his long lost love, I suppose? Lu, are you listening to what you are saying?"

  "I can prove it."

  I walked down the hall to my room. Grabbing a shirt off the floor, I wrapped it around my palm before reaching under my pillow for the stone. It seemed silly to be worried about something that looked so innocuous but I still could not shake the memory of the ruins or of a young Bran being beaten to near death. I couldn't face those things again. If Michael could see what I had seen, he would understand. I carried it out to him.

  He looked down at it and pursed his lips. "You still have that stupid thing?" he asked.

  "It isn't some prank, Michael. No prank could do what this does. Now, take it."

  He snorted. "You've got to be kidding me. What's so special about a stupid rock?" Despite his protest, he reached out and picked it up.

  I recognized the far off look from when Bran had touched it. I hoped whatever he was seeing would prove to him it was no joke and that I was not making it up. Several moments later, the stone fell from his hands. The faraway gaze remained. His jaw went slack and he backed away.

  "No. No. Not..." He whispered, before blinking away the vision and looking at me.

  I was just about to indulge in my chance to be smug but the horror on his face stopped me.

  "Michael? Are you alright?"

  He looked down at the stone resting by his foot then back at me and back at the stone. He shook his head. "It can't..." He looked at me once more. "Lu..." He stretched a hand out to my face before pulling it back. "I have to go."

  He pushed passed me to get through the door, slamming it behind himself. I looked down at the stone resting on the mat. That hadn't exactly gone as planned. What on earth had he seen?