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“It’s a guise, believe me, it’s not real, just a potion I drank to give me immunity to your blood.”
“A potion?”
She waited for a response she somehow knew would never come. Reeling, with the magic of his touch, which still lingered forcing butterflies in her stomach, she watched as he opened the console between them and retrieved a silver flask. He opened it, tilted his head, and with one eye on the road, pressed it to his lips and quaffed it down. He capped the flask and returned it to the console, eyes back to the road as if it never happened.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Liquid courage.”
He turned onto the International Bridge, tires squealing as the Ferrari lunged like a bullet from a gun and though she loved convertibles, had dreamed of one her whole life, she was thankful the top was up, for she was suddenly chilled.
“Your temperature’s dropping,” he said. I can sense goose bumps erupting on your skin and it’s beautiful,” he whispered, relaxing with a slight lean toward the console as if the liquid courage had him back in control. She watched his hand resting atop the stick shift so broad and masculine with every nail clipped to perfection. He softly moved his index in a circular pattern over the chrome tip, lights from the console dancing on his olive skin and she thought she might scream. She looked up, the car cruising over the bridge and for reasons unknown found herself wandering in memory. “Why did you risk your life on this bridge? I almost hit you.”
“I was angry that the bastard wanted your body without the benefit of your heart. That’s not a good place to be because without heart, it’s all a waste of time.”
“That made you angry?” she asked searching his face.
“Yes, and something you should know about me is that I have a temper, vile at times though I try to control it, for once it takes possession of me, I don’t think clearly.” He gave her a look, his smoldering eyes all but forcing a gasp. “And just so that you’re aware, I can’t bear the thought of that bastard touching you, it makes my blood boil.”
With her mind spinning and his disclosure forcing palpitations, she searched for words. “Well, from what I have learned,” she whispered, “he just wants a child to make him invincible.”
“Your heart beats irregular.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I’m surprised you’re aware of his needs.”
“Well, he wants a child, does he not?”
“You’ve have been talking to Makayla. That could get her in trouble.”
With Makayla’s warning once more ringing in her mind, Donja leaned over and grasped his arm. “Please, don’t be angry with her. She truly loves Gage.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” he asked observing her hand on his arm.
“Yes, absolutely,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he whispered, “because Gage has petitioned the Council to make her his consort.”
“Consort, is that like a wife?”
“Consort for my kind, wife for yours.”
Donja exhaled. “That’s wonderful, I’m happy for her.”
“Are you?” he asked. “Your pulse didn’t change.”
“Well…yes,” she said, “why wouldn’t I…”
“Because he’s not human,” he interrupted with memories of Anstosa, who hated Iridescents floating in his mind. “Doesn’t that bother you deep inside?”
“No, not at all. Love knows no boundaries, no color, creed, or race.”
“No Iridescent?”
“No, not if there’s love, but…” her words faded.
“But what? he retorted bluntly.
