Page 27 of Cursed Lifeline (Eternal Love)

Twenty Six

Felix

song: you’re the one i want | lo-fang

Later that night, my heart feels light for the first time in decades as I smile at Esme,lean against the doorframe to my roomette, and drink her in for the first time in a little over a century.

Her auburn hair is different from the golden locks of her last life. Pulled up high, they’re secured by a beaded headband with a feather on the left side. The bodice of her dress is burgundy. Black, sheer tulle covers the crimson silk, which is accentuated by black beading. The dress flares at the knee before cascading into a breathtaking puddle at her feet.

As she enters the room and meets my eye, the candlelight plays dangerous games, luring me into a spell I haven’t been cast under in close to ten decades.

Inviting her into my private quarters, it suddenly dawns on me that the last time we were alone like this, I controlled my appetite by indulging in her pleasure. Her memories are still too fresh, too new to hope that this night could end the same way. But, if she’s willing, and if my thirst for her toes the line between civil and carnal, I have no problem falling to my knees and worshiping her like I’ve dreamed of for the last hundred years.

Reading the intent of my predatory gaze, Esme’s cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink.Swallowing hard, she stutters, “Since you walked me to my room earlier, my memory has been returning to me.”

Pushing off the wall, I ask, “Tell me how much you remember.”

She bites her bottom lip and glances nervously from side to side as I make my way toward her, then says, “I remember enough to know that my feelings are valid.”

Even though she puts up a believable front, the scent of her blood hammering wildly through her heart gives her nerves away as I continue to take calculated, purposeful steps toward her.

I’ve dreamt of this moment for a hundred years, and I intend to savor every delicious, tantalizing second of it.

“Feelings?” I grin. “Pray elaborate, Esmerelda.”

“What happened to doll?” she sasses.

She watches my ravening approach and shamelessly undresses me with her eyes. When my toes meet hers, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her flush against my chest.

As I lean forward, her eyes close, anticipating the feel of my lips against hers. Goosebumps break out across her skin as my breath feathers against her neck.

“Feelings?” I murmur as the blood in her veins deliciously begins to pulse at a rapid, feverish pace. “Like your life at my mercy.”

“You’d never harm me,” she pants as my mouth lightly brushes against her collarbone.

Delicately, I trail a path of kisses to her ear. “Are you sure about that?”

She grips my arms as her knees begin to buckle. Taking her ear between my lips, I gently bite down. She lets out a light gasp as I roll her lobe around my tongue, soothing the bite, then purrs and arches into me as I suck a path down her throat. Placing a kiss on her clavicle, I pull back.

Looking up into my eyes, she asks, “Can I trust you, Felix?”

The flames of the candles on the dinner table in the middle of the room cast an enchanting glow across her face. We study each other closely in the flickering yellow light, and time passes slowly as I refuse to answer her because - I need her to make up her mind first. I need her to decide for herself if she can trust me , regardless of any knowledge I can give her of our past.

“I trust you,” she whispers after a moment. “Even though my memories warn that maybe I shouldn’t, I do. I know you’d never hurt me.”

To keep her on her toes, I ask, “What makes you so sure?”

Reaching out, she grabs my hand and raises it to her throat. Leading my fingertips around the back of her neck, she slowly places them against the mark we made together all those years ago and I suck in a sharp breath.

“I may not remember everything,” she whispers. “But I know this.”

I nod, accepting her words and her actions for what they are.

The truth.

Our love afforded us a loophole in her past life. Maybe it will bring us the luck we need to ensure our victory in this one.

I let her go before I do something rash and place a tender kiss on her cheek. She gives me a soft smile and glances at the white tablecloth beside us, delicately littered with red rose petals and lavender. The candles flicker, casting a sparkling glow over the place settings. Wine has been poured, and Esme gracefully picks up her glass, turns, and raises it towards me.

“We should celebrate,” she smiles.

I pick up the stemware next to my place setting, and raise it to meet hers.

“What are we celebrating?” I grin.

“The future,” she shrugs. “Our past.”

“Do you remember it?” I ask eagerly.

She shrugs. Her brow furrows.

“I feel it more than I remember it.” With a light chuckle, she asks, “Does that make sense?”

My heart falls knowing we have a long way to go—not just between us but also in her training. If she could remember her past, she would be easier to prepare because she’d be more apt to remember mistakes and learn techniques that weren’t around a hundred years ago.

“Maybe you can help fill in the blanks?” she suggests meekly, taking a sip of her wine.

“Do you believe in past lives, Esme?” I ask as I set down my glass. “Past loves, perhaps?”

“I believe some things in life are eternal, yes, like love. But multiple lives?” she laughs. “Before tonight, I wasn’t entirely sure. Though the more I’m around my cousins and you…”

She trails off. Brushing my fingers across her cheek, I tenderly wrap them around the back of her neck and pull her closer. Hopeful my next words help her remember, I optimistically remind her, “All you need to know, doll, is I’d always choose you.”

I brush my fingertips across her birthmark, and she shivers as our eyes slowly meet in the candlelight.

“Life would be more beautiful if there were such a thing as eternal love,” she smiles before setting down her glass. My fingers continue to memorize the mark they made on her skin all those years ago, and she releases a shuddered sigh.

Even though I want to, I’m wise enough not to push the conversation further. Her memories are slowly coming back to her. We’ll get back to us in time. But right now, I’m content to stare into her eyes and bask in the joy of holding her life in my arms again. So, instead of responding, I stand with her in blissful, content silence until she whispers, “Your touch is familiar.”

“Your memory serves you right.”

“But not from this life? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

I grin before placing a kiss on her flushed cheeks. My hand falls from the back of her neck and gently presses against the small of her back. It may not be fitting; it might be pushing the limits, but I’ve craved the feel of her body pressed against mine for too long not to indulge.

She steps further into me, and it takes all my willpower not to taste her lips. Not to savor every inch of her body. Not to worship her until she comes apart in my arms like she did clutching white silk bed sheets a century ago as her pleasure rolled down the back of my tongue.

The memory of her intoxicating flavor causes me to release a primal groan. A moment later, a wanton purr slips past her lips as if she remembers the feeling of my mouth pressed hungrily between her thighs.

Boundaries that we’ve never crossed before beg to be explored.

Just tasting her in this life won’t be enough.

But before we indulge in a hunger that will never be sated, we need to focus.

For this to work, I need to slowly bring her memory back to life. I need to gently show her everything that’s changed and everything that will always remain the same. When it’s time, I need to remind her of the curse. I need to teach her what I’ve learned since she’s been gone and tell her my plans to break it.

Esme’s chest rises and falls quickly. Flustered, her eyelids flutter as I hold her close in my arms.

Kiss me , her thoughts plead.

Take me, make me yours.

Her breath hitches as my heated exhale feathers against her lips. I read her mind as her thoughts regain more memories of our past. It comes back to her in snapshots, little trails of breadcrumbs that slowly lead her to all that needs to be unraveled. The ball the first night we met. The card game. Our first dance. The garden bench under the magnolia tree. But her memory only conjures happy flashbacks. Not the horrors.

I remain hopeful one day they’ll lead her to the bigger picture and show her what’s at stake. Until then…

“Are you hungry?” I ask, pulling back and giving her space to digest everything we’ve just said. Everything we just felt. Everything she’s slowly remembering.

Picking up her hand, I lead her to her chair and brush my thumb over the inside of her wrist. Feeling her pulse beat wildly, I take a deep breath to keep my wits about me.

She’s so tempting. So trusting and innocent.

Maybe she’s not ready for the fight that’s to come.

“Not really,” she whispers. “Not anymore.”

I nod in understanding.

“Are you?” she asks timidly, lowering herself into the chair I pull out for her.

Leaning down once she has been seated, I growl, “Famished.” She grins as I back away and stride around the table to my seat. “My appetite craves a delicious treat it has been denied for over a century.”

As I sit down, she shocks me by asking, “You mean me?”

Her hand slowly rises to her neck, insinuating maybe I was the one to end her life previously.

Angered that she’d think such things, I debate telling her how wrong she is to assume I hunger for her blood, though I can’t fault her for sharp instincts, and so, in the interest of starting her training now, I say, “My thirst for you has only grown over the last hundred years.”

There’s more truth to my words than she knows. Yes, the monster inside has always screamed for me to take her life. But when she finally remembers our past, she will know there are so many more things I long to do with her.

My mouth salivates as vulgar, filthy desires fill my thoughts.

Like my tongue between her thighs as they wrap tightly around my neck, holding me hostage to the only heaven I’ll ever hunger for. Or the flavor of her essence as I devour the sweetest dessert I’ve ever licked and sucked.

Picking up my wine glass, I take a sip and almost spit it out when she says, “Something tells me sex is not what you’re talking about craving.”

Sitting my glass down, I choke on the fermented grape juice and harshly clear my throat. Gracefully, Esme touches the rose petals sitting in the center of the table and refuses to meet my eye.

“Making love to you is most definitely on my mind.” She blushes but doesn’t look up. “Unfortunately, doing so might come with consequences I’m afraid neither of us want to accept.”

“I know what you are, Felix.” I startle slightly as she glances my way confidently and says, “That part of my memory is intact.”

“Does it scare you?”

“ You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part with: except my life .” Speechless, I swallow hard and wait for Esme to continue. Eventually, she says, “Maybe I should ask you the same question. I’ll soon be trained to take out your kind.”

“Funny,” I grin. “I’m trained to do the same.”

“Aren’t we the pair,” she teases, and a dull ache pierces my chest.

“I won’t lay a finger on you, Esme,” I insist. “Not unless I know you want me to. You’ll always be safe with me.”

Her eyes soften. “Something tells me I remember that, too.”

We smile at each other, understanding one another without even saying another word. After a moment, she bites her bottom lip and nervously whispers, “But what if I want you to touch me?”

I’ve wanted nothing more for a damn century. In fact, there is nothing I wouldn’t give to be granted just one night to devote myself to her, body and soul. To honor her. Glorify her. Show her just how much I love her, and what I hope our love is capable of in this lifetime.

But I can’t.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Her hand, which was once playing with the petals on the table, grips the white linen, and I have to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and remind myself to stick to the plan of saving her life instead of the improper, shameful hungry need rushing through my veins to take what my soul craves. Visions of her gripping white silk beneath her bare body flood me as my mouth salivates, remembering her taste. Her breathing quickens. She’s remembering the same. Passionately, she whispers my name.

Counting to three, fighting with all my might to find my control, I finally open my eyes. The look in her desperate, needy stare almost makes me flip over the table between us and recklessly make love to her against the broken wood, the shattered place settings, the upturned wine, the scattered flowers until she’s screaming the name that indecently just fell from her lips.

Before I can, a banging on the door snaps us both out of our trance.

The knocking is relentless. Harsh. Demanding.

I hold her stare for a moment while the pounding continues. When the person behind the assault shouts my name, I finally rise. Irritated, I fling the door open and take in the wide eyes of Alfred.

White as a ghost, panting, heaving with panic, he says, “We have a problem.”