I pull out my phone, forcing myself to take a deep breath first to keep from crushing it in my palm. I send a text to Sedona, Please call or text me to let me know you arrived safely.
There. Not too intrusive, but clear and firm. The real problem will be keeping my dad from going ballistic. Like when she disappeared, I’m in the position of deciding how much information to feed him and when. And of holding him back from interfering, when my own instincts scream to go barreling after her and make sure she’s safe.
But maybe there is a way to make sure. I pick up the crumpled note and shove it in my jeans pocket. “I’ll meet you guys at her new place,” I tell Jared and head outside for my motorcycle.
Amber hates being put on the spot as a psychic, but the more she practices using her gifts, the more she’ll come to accept this magical side of her. And who better to push her than her new mate?
I speed back to my apartment building and find Amber still asleep in bed. Which is where she should be, considering it’s a Saturday and I kept her up most of the night, screaming her releases until she went hoarse.
She rolls over, smiling and humming softly when I come into the room. Her naked body is twisted up in a lavender sheet and I can’t resist the urge to yank it off and simply stare at what now belongs to me.
Amber leans up on her elbows, studying me. Not in the suddenly sex-addled way I’m staring at her, but with concern. As if she can read the emotion I brought in with me.
“What is it?”
I crawl over her and run my tongue over her still-healing wound from where I marked her. Unlike Sedona, whose bite mark closed immediately, Amber is human so her flesh doesn’t regenerate as quickly as ours. My saliva helps speed the process, though.
She tilts her head to the side and makes that adorable humming noise again, but she keeps at me. “What happened?”
“Sedona’s gone. She left a note that she’s leaving town. I’m guessing she’s acting on her desire to see Europe.” I pull the crumpled note out of my pocket and hand it to her. Not for her to read the words, but to sense the energy. We found this method worked in San Carlos with Sedona’s clothing.
Amber takes it, but holds my gaze. “Maybe she needs some time to regroup. A change of scenery.”
“I know. But I hate the thought of her all alone-unprotected. They might go after her-” I shut up when I see Amber’s gaze lose focus.
She stares through me for a moment, then murmurs, “She’s not unprotected.”
I stiffen. “Who?” But I already know who and it makes me want to kill the motherfucker.
“Carlos is following-not to hurt her,” Amber adds quickly, her focus returning to my face. “He needs to protect her, but I don’t think he wants to compel her.”
My most protective urges relax but I grumble as I settle beside my incredible mate. “I still don’t like it.”
Amber blinks several times before she speaks in a faraway voice, “The pregnancy ensures her safety… but not his.”
~.~
Sedona
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. I set my sketchpad and pencil down on the bench I’m sitting on and fish the phone out of my purse. It’s from Garrett. By some miracle, he hasn’t sent some alpha bullshit message demanding I come home or hole up in my hotel room until he gets here. Instead, this text is a list of resources-the pack leaders in each country of Europe and where to find them or how to contact them. It’s sweet, but totally unnecessary. I don’t need help. Unless it’s in the form of a date with a vampire to get my memory of Carlos scrubbed.
But then I guess I’d be pretty confused about how I got pregnant. Le sigh.
I haven’t heard from my parents yet, which means Garrett must not have told them. My mom had planned on coming down to be with me in Tucson the minute I got home, but I talked her out of it, which I know hurt her feelings. I just don’t want to be babied by my parents right now.
I rub a line on my sketch of the ancient statue Winged Victory of Samothrace. I added Nike’s head and arms back in but created the drawing in simplicity-a children’s book version of the Greek goddess. I have to say, her wings are exquisite.
Part of me feels like coming to the Louvre to sketch the art is too cliché-the art student studying the masters. But I actually forgot about Mexico and the pregnancy for a moment here, which is a gift.
A girl-maybe nine or ten-stops and looks over my shoulder. “Wow, mom-look, a real live artist is here!” She’s American. Very cute.
“Shh, don’t bother her, honey.” Her mother has that indulgent tone that says she knows her daughter is no bother, but feels obligated to say something, anyway.
Humans have been looking over my shoulder all morning, murmuring their comments in various languages, but this one is the cutest. I tear the drawing out and hand it to her with a smile.
“Is this… free?” Judging by her look of incredulity, she thinks I’m on par with Michelangelo.
This is why I want to illustrate children’s books. Or make greeting cards. Some artists would call commercial art a sell-out but for me it’s not about making money. It’s just the kind of art I like to make. The audience I prefer to reach.
“Yep. And it’s just for you. What’s your name?” I pull the drawing back and lift my pencil.
“Angelina.”
I write To Angelina, from Sedona, The Louvre and the date.