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Eric stroked Sorrel’s hair, thinking about who she really was. He was certain her father was no mortal. Yet did that make Sorrel the heir of both the Tellus and Aelius families? As far as he knew, the families had never married outside of their respective families until the Aelius queen bound herself to a mortal. Regardless of who Sorrel was, Eric agreed with her father—she was a queen among women. He would bow down and worship her for the rest of his life. He feared it would be a very short life. Would his family or the curse get to him first?
It was one of the reasons he couldn’t sleep—he didn’t want his father attempting to break into his dreams. While Eric had to willingly let him in, his father had his ways of bending Eric’s will. And Eric feared giving his family any hint of where they were or that Sorrel was a daughter of the sun. Though they may already be suspicious after her light show. His family’s hate for the Tellus family had nothing on their abhorrence for the Aelius family—the most powerful of the three. It made it even more vital that they find her book before his family found them. Sorrel needed it so she could learn how to use her Aelius gifts, not only to help people but also to protect herself against his family. Light always conquered the dark. Though Eric hoped she would never have to use her gifts in those ways.
He was almost certain that once they found her book, the curse would make sure his entire line died. It was only using him now as a pawn. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned took on new meaning to him. The Aelius queen was one pissed-off lady. The woman obviously didn’t care that she would be hurting her future descendant. She was going to get her revenge. It made him wonder why she hadn’t killed the other two families all off by now. Why the centuries-long game? David’s odd comment to Sorrel about vines needing to be pruned, even painfully so, had stuck with him. Is that what this had been? Would Eric and his family be the last shoots on the vine to be cut off before the best fruit could grow back?
Sorrel stirred in his arms. He ran his hand down her satin-covered back, trying to soothe her. She needed to rest. She had driven for hours today, and there were many hours left to go before they reached their destination, though not enough for Eric. He didn’t think he could get enough of Sorrel to ever satisfy him. With her he finally had what he had longed for his entire life—a place where he belonged. Although their time together would be brief, he would die in peace knowing what he had experienced with Sorrel was something men only dreamed of.
Eric kissed Sorrel’s head. “Thank you, my love,” he whispered.Chapter Thirty-OneI stared at the TV above the checkout counter in the truck stop just outside of Tulare, hoping what was being reported was all just a coincidence. The trip had been so uneventful up to this point; in fact, it had been kind of dreamy. Days on end with only Eric reading aloud from one of his favorite books, David Copperfield, that we had picked up in Louisiana. Nights in his arms, talking until I was so tired it was only gibberish. And kisses that set my soul on fire. Our time together had been so all-encompassing that I had been lulled into a false sense of security. Or more like I’d had glimmers of hope that California wouldn’t be our final destination. That Eric and I would travel the world searching for my book that hopefully we would never find. And with any luck, his family would never find us either. But those glimmers were dimmed as I watched them flash pictures on the screen of Dr. Ezra Cohen, the retired coroner from Tulare who was found dead in his home three days ago. Preliminary cause of death was cerebral edema. Water poisoning.
I dropped the bottles of water I was planning on purchasing along with paying for the gas I’d just pumped. I picked them up and stumbled toward the cashier, hardly able to catch my breath or hand the inquisitive-looking man with a crooked nose and smile to match the credit card with my new name on it.
The man took my card and looked between me and it several times. “You know, you remind me of a lady who used to live here a long time ago. Real pretty, just like you.”
I swallowed and tugged on the brim of my baseball hat. Obviously, it wasn’t a great disguise. “Eu não falo inglês,” I stuttered, using my best Portuguese accent. Eric and I had been working on it while we drove. Speaking of Eric, I knew he was probably yelling at me in his head to get the hell out of there. He was watching from the shadows, and I was sure he had seen the news report and now this cashier who was too observant. What were the chances of him remembering my mother?
