The Immortal Chronicles | | b o o k 2

17. relative disturbances

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IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : cirian wiltshire

. . .

 There were many times Renée surprised Cirian—in the way that she surpassed any expectation placed on her. However, rarely did the surprise cause him such a fright as to steal his breath straight from his chest. It occurred promptly at the same time he entered the room after his visit with Nicholas, and one moment he considered himself alone—perhaps she'd gone to explore the gardens as she loved to do—but that wasn't the case.

He had slipped his coat of and tossed it haphazardly on the bed, his hands shaking from the cold chill that coursed through his veins. One thing about the guest rooms was that they contained massive windows overlooking the central courtyard of the palace, which meant the light was normally so strong that lamps weren't necessary.

He noticed too late that the room was darker than usual, and turned towards the curtains—thick red velvet curtains—just as someone pulled them aside. They yawned open with sunlight, momentarily blinding Cirian with the abruptness of it. His heart started—Who could have gotten in here? Then paranoia told him—

"Put those down, for goodness sakes!" It was Renée, and the act barely even registered in his conscious. Whatever hovered around him clattered to the ground, and a vase shattered next to him. He'd forgotten how such a fright could strike up his telekinetic habits.

She was wearing a dark gold dress—which blended perfectly into the overall scheme of the room. It was no wonder he didn't see her, but the relief of seeing her was so great, and all thanks to the major fact weighing on his mind.

"I could have fainted—don't scare me like that!" she cried, holding a hand to her heart. He almost laughed, if he wasn't still trumped by the idea of jumping at shadows. If Nicholas is right, then Vene Aminoff isn't after me. Then why am I so damn terrified?

"I didn't—Sorry, my love, I didn't mean to scare you. But don't jump out at me like that," he countered, clasping a hand to his throat as he tried to regain control of his rapidly beating heart.

"Me?" she gawked, and suddenly he was shocked by the sound of her bubbling laughter. "I was sitting right there reading when you barged in." She had her hands on her waist, and with the light now in the room, he looked to the chair where a book lay open on the end table.

"In the dark?" he countered, giving her a strange look as she stepped up to him. She had her critical eyes on him, and her hands soon upon his.

"You're cold as can be," she commented. "Sit here, tell me what happened with the Lord General. You look paler than life." She was still holding his hand, and Cirian was still in a fit of shock over their entire correspondence. There was something earnest about the way she looked up to him then, seated on the bench laid at the foot of the bed. It was padded with plush golden cushions and throw pillows that she scattered away. His foot crushed a piece of the vase as he moved to sit down.

On second thought—He paced away from her, pulling his hand up to his forehead. Where could he even begin? Rather than walking on a cloud at the thought of having some long lost sibling, he was trudging through the fog, unsure of where to step in fear of it being some trap. Even prior to this, he was walking along a path coated in traps—one trip and he'd lose Renée forever. He'd almost made that mistake too many times, and the last would have killed him...

"I can't talk about this with you," he decided at last, groaning under the weight on his shoulders.

She didn't respond at first, and merely watched him walk away from her and to the window. He hoped to find some sort of distraction there, something to look at other than her. "Of course you can," she offered, and had it not stunned him further, he wouldn't have looked back at her. She had those slim eyes on him, torturing him with their false comfort. There was no comfort to be found in the arms of a woman who didn't love him all the same.