Elizabeth Finn: Immortal Protector

Her mother’s eyes closed with a flutter, and Ember sobbed. She knew what that flutter meant; her death was near. She sobbed like a child of ten once again. Her life may not have been the one ending, but it felt as though it was. To Ember, there was no getting past something this painful, and it was with more sadness and depression than she’d ever felt before that she set about making the arrangements for her mother’s burial.

Katherine was Ember’s best friend. Odd that she used to go out of her way to push her buttons and ruffle her feathers when she was younger, but with maturity came an intense understanding of everything it meant to be a parent, and Ember loved her mother more than she could nearly bear. They had time over the yearlong battle to make decisions together about Katherine’s burial, so there was little for Ember to actually do. It had been a long year, and Ember had been forced to grow up a great deal faster than she’d wanted. It was a year filled with trying to appreciate every last moment with her mother, relish every last memory of their life together, a year spent preparing for her end, and a year that left Ember spending an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how the hell she was ever going to recover from this.

In the end, they’d planned a graveside service. It was Katherine’s wishes, and her nearest and dearest would be in attendance. That did not include family, as there was none to attend aside from Ember, but Katherine had been a well-liked elementary school teacher, and nearest and dearest ended up congesting nearly the entire cemetery with past students and faculty wanting to pay their respects.

Ember sat stoically at the side of the casket. Her tears were all cried, and her pain was locked far away where it couldn’t touch her at the moment. Grief would take her once again when tomorrow came and she woke to a silent house. The long year had taught her that as well: pain and grief could ebb and flow, leaving her in peace one moment and overcome with sadness in another. But her grief was tucked away at this moment—just a small and temporary reprieve.

Ember had spent the past year bouncing back and forth from her school in Portland to Laconia, struggling to keep up with classes. She’d made her last trip back to Laconia three weeks prior when Katherine had taken a turn from bad to worse. Ember withdrew from her current semester at the University of Southern Maine in Portland, knowing the time was near. And now she would be forced to suffer the remainder of the term alone at home, packing up her mother’s life and selling the house Ember had been raised in. But at least for this moment, Ember had escaped her pain and anguish. She was numb.

One person after another filed past. Some took her hand and offered their condolences, and others, most in fact, shuffled by, glancing furtively in her direction but without a word. She understood; it wasn’t easy to regard someone who had just lost a parent, but it still hurt, and it left her feeling empty and alone.

When she felt a hand touch hers, she jumped. Not from the touch, but from the feel of this particular touch. Her body seemed to recognize this touch as though it was long forgotten yet known to her in some way. At the same time, Ember recognized it was different from every other hand that had touched hers this day.

Looking to the shimmering greenish eyes before her, she stood slowly and gasped. She couldn’t place him, but she was certain she’d met him before—some long time ago in her past, but she’d remember if she had. He leaned to her cheek, touched his soft, cool lips to her skin, and spoke. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Ember.”

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” Her head was cocked to the side as she regarded him. He was beautiful, but there were plenty of beautiful people in the world. He was just different; very different.

He held her gaze strongly with his own and responded. “Yes you do. Remember me, Ember.” It wasn’t a question, but a quiet command, and as it was spoken, the gates that held him back from her consciousness opened and flooded her senses. She blinked as if in slow motion as she continued to watch him, and every last memory of Truman reintegrated with her life. As Ember gasped again, he watched her. His gaze was impassive and serious. When she felt her legs collapsing beneath her, he caught her and lifted her easily in his arms. And then she fainted, and her sadness turned to black.

She woke some hours later, and her confusion showed clearly in her eyes. Truman had taken her to the hidden and secluded cabin he had owned outside of Laconia from the time he’d first met Ember. Truman had known after that first meeting he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her. He had to know she was okay, so he’d purchased the home he visited often just so he could watch her.

He watched her grow with nothing more than concern for her safety in his mind—much like his little sister of so many centuries past. He took care to make sure she was safe and looked after, but even he didn’t see her mother’s illness coming. He’d watched Ember’s tears for a while now—when she was here to visit and care for her mother, she always left the house to be away from her mother when she cried. At home in her apartment in Portland, she was far more unrestrained in her emotional pain and suffering, sobbing herself to sleep more nights than he could count. It was as though she had attached herself to him in some way in that dirty, smelly basement all those many years ago, and he couldn’t let her go until she was safe and secure.

As Truman watched from his place in the shadow against the wall, she turned to the massive picture window beside the bed and looked out on the forest beyond, lit only by the subtle dusk sun setting more by the moment. But as she rolled to it, he spoke, and her body stilled. “How are you feeling?” Her interest pulled from the window, Ember sat up and turned to his voice, and he stepped out of the shadow. He’d released and unfiltered her mind the moment he approached her at the cemetery, and here, in the quietness of his bedroom, she looked to him in wonder. Their story was complete in her mind, he’d made certain of it, and every last memory he held had been given back to her.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice implied anything but. He knew it as well, and as he approached and sat on the bed, he studied her. However cool, calm, assured, and strong he had always been during his fleeting visits, he had always been so very protective of her as well, a hold she had over him that he’d never quite understood.

Truman stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb as he kept his eyes trained on hers. A shudder ran through her body at his touch, and the subtle scent of her arousal filled his hypersensitive senses. Truman moved alongside her body and lay down next to her. He reached to the top button of her dress; he worked it out of its buttonhole as her heart raced and her arousal intensified. He moved slowly down the front of her dress, releasing one button after another as he listened to her heart thudding strongly away.

“What are you going to do to me?” Her voice was quiet and nervous, but her arousal was intense and strong.

“I’m going to make love to you.” He studied her every reaction to his words.

“What makes you think I want that?”

He offered a subtle smirk as he spoke. “Your pussy is wet, and I can smell your arousal seeping from your body. It’s really quite a delicious scent you have.” She blushed, and her eyes flitted from his, but he held his gaze trained on her. He was saying the words he knew would cause a flood of hormones through her system, and he enjoyed every influx of her scent.

His body was perpetually strong and sure, and he wanted her to feel his strength. Where Truman usually hid himself from humans and buried their memories when needed, he wanted her to know exactly how he worked. He wanted her to feel just how strong he was. He was a man, just like any other, and he wanted her. He craved her warmth, craved her touch, craved the tightness of her body and his place within it. She had wanted him once. She had been little more than a teenager then, and he’d rejected her drunken advance, but now… She was no teenager. She was a woman, beautiful and intelligent, calm and collected, heartbroken… He could take that away for a time. He intended to show her pleasure, and he would take it from her as well.