Amalia Dillin - Forged by Fate

“Did you not tell him yourself of the danger?”

She shook her head, staring at the page again. “There are many things in this world I have no trouble taking on faith, Garrit. But this—” she reread the passage again and, putting aside the peculiarities of her last life, tried to consider things reasonably, logically. “It says he received word. Who could he have received word from? I couldn’t have missed an angel knocking on our door. And I can’t imagine Michael deigning to do so, or bothering to speak with a mere mortal, regardless.”

She didn’t quite repress the shiver that ran down her spine at the idea. She would not have been unaware if the angels had come a third time. Michael had made it very clear that if she ever saw him again, it would mean her death. Ghosts would have been preferable.

“I think he would’ve mentioned an angel coming down from on high.” Garrit smiled wryly. “Maybe it was just something he guessed at. Deduced from something you said.”

She regarded him for a long moment. It was clear he didn’t find the how important, only the application of the knowledge. “Perhaps.”

It wasn’t important right now. What Ryam knew or didn’t know five hundred years ago, what Luc, Garrit’s great-grandfather, had thought when she had arrived on his doorstep out of her mind, none of it mattered. She forced herself not to think of the distraction. And absolutely she couldn’t afford to lose herself in that past life and those memories. Adam himself was the problem now and she couldn’t afford to court insanity.

“As it happened, you seemed perfectly capable of dispatching him on your own,” Garrit was saying. “I wonder why we swore a vow at all, if it is so easy as that.”

“He left because I was engaged to you. But he’ll be back, Garrit. If not in this life, then the next. He will keep coming for me, any time he thinks he has half a chance.” Until Michael grew tired of it, and killed them both outright, along with who knew how many countless others. Would she be reborn if he killed her with the sword? Her stomach twisted. If Adam knew, he had never told her. “He is nothing if not persistent. Pig-headedly so.”

Garrit leaned forward, taking the book from her and setting it aside, covering her hands in both of his. “You will be safe with me, Abby. I promise you. I will keep you safe.”

“Because of your vow.” She heard the sorrow in her own voice, and looked away.

He brought her face back to his. “Because you will be my wife, and I love you. The vow has very little to do with that.”

Some of the tightness in her chest lifted, and she breathed more easily. As long as he loved her, she was safe. She had to believe it. “Then you’ve forgiven me?”

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “If you’ll forgive me for being such a damned fool about it.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She leaned forward and let him pull her into his lap, her forehead resting against his. No, the past didn’t matter. Not as long as she had Garrit now. Not as long as they were getting married. Adam wouldn’t touch her if she was happily married. He would have no chance of drawing her away. It would be useless, once the vows were exchanged in sacrament, with love. And if Adam was gone, the angel would not come.

For the moment, they were safe. And safer still once she was married.

The men returned, dragging something awkwardly between them. Adam stood and she sighed with relief to be free of the press of his body against hers. But her relief fled, replaced with a cold knot in her stomach, as they came closer. They carried a man, dripping from the rain, grizzled and empty. Adam pressed his fingers to the neck below the jaw, frowning at the closed eyes of the body.

She took the opportunity, with Adam distracted, to move farther back against the wall into a corner. The rock was cold and damp, but it was welcome against the flush of her skin. He had not let her move more than a finger’s width from him, holding her fast against his side when she tried to shift away.

“Take it away.” Adam turned from the wrinkled, gray man and dropped back to the floor beside her. “There’s little enough space for shelter without keeping the dead. Let the angels have what’s left, if they want it.”

The two men who had carried the body between them glanced at one another, but they stepped back into the rain, returning a moment later without their burden. Water dripped down their bodies from their hair. One of the men glanced at her as he passed, his eyes dark like the earth, and soft. Softer still when she met them, holding his gaze. His lips thinned, lines wrinkling his forehead. Would his hands be as warm as Adam’s, if he touched her? Somehow, she did not think they would be as hard, pushing and twisting and drawing her too near.

He settled back into the dirt and shadow on the other side of the cave where she could no longer see his face, and she did not think she would learn the answer soon.

Adam covered her knee with his hand, still staring out the mouth of the cave into the rain. “You’ll see, Eve.” Though he said her name, she wasn’t sure he expected her to listen. “We’ll be gods among them.”

“Gods?” She shifted her position and brought her knees back to her chest again. His hand dropped away, but she rubbed at the place it had been. The warmth of his palm had seeped into her skin. It made her feel too hot. Too hot and too close to him.

His lips curved. “I forget that you weren’t welcomed to this life the way we were. Elohim was already gone when your eyes opened. Only a husk remaining. Just as well.” The last was mumbled and the smile left his face. He studied her again with his hard eyes. “You are the last woman made, Eve. The last and the most important. Elohim made you. He made all of us, all of this. Trees and grasses, flowers and moss, birds and fish and dogs and all the other animals to please me and give me joy. But you above all were made to be my companion. My equal. Made for me more than any of the others.”

She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold of the stone on her skin, or the chill in the air from the rain and the wind, or the thunder that rolled through the stone into her bones. “Will you not make others?”

“No.” His eyes flashed and he scowled at the rain. “I don’t have the power to wake life from the dust.” His voice was tight and clipped, each word ground from between his teeth. His jaw tensed and something twitched beneath the surface. Then it stopped and he seemed to exhale all the rest of the strain in a long breath. “But it’s only a matter of time. When I find what I’m looking for, it will be within my power to do anything.”

He touched her cheek then, and she heard what he didn’t say. With the fruit, not even the angels will stop me. I will know their secrets, too. Elohim meant it to be this way. This was his gift to me. Every plant, every animal. Including the tree. Or else why would He have made it at all?

She turned her face away, leaning her head back against the cool stone and closing her eyes again. The storm had been going on for so long. The rain thundered in her ears, and her head ached. The darkness helped. But then he took her hand in his and she could see herself through his eyes, the curves of her breasts, the rich brown of her hair when the lightning flashed. It was starting to get darker now. Less light was coming through the storm into the cave.

She tried to pull away, but his grip hardened, twisting her fingers until they popped, and she cried out, looking up at his face. It was expressionless, and he tightened his hand further for just a moment, staring into her eyes. There was nothing soft about his gaze.