Was someone else trying find to the fountain of youth? And how would anyone know about them being immortal in the first place? Or Scarlet, for that matter? She was, essentially, brand new and knew nothing about the fountain’s whereabouts.
Why were they after her memories?
Panic rose in Gabriel’s chest. “Nate, pack your things, we’re going to Georgia.”
“Aw, maaan. Why does the drama always happen when I’m in my cave?”
Gabriel looked at him. “Screw the cave, Nate. Someone is after Scarlet! There’s no time for games.”
“There’s always time for games!” Nate said with passion, pointing a finger into the air.
Gabriel looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
Nate sighed. “Fine. I’ll get my coat. But I’m bringing my gaming system with me.”
“Whatever.” Gabriel waved him off and pulled out his phone. He needed to call Tristan.
55
The following morning, Tristan spent two hours shooting arrows at his target and tried to clear his head.
After his rendezvous with Scarlet in the kitchen last night, Gabriel had called and filled Tristan in on the Head Ghost thing.
Not good.
Someone was after Scarlet’s memories, which meant Tristan couldn’t proceed with his suicide plan. At least not until they figured out what the intruder was looking for in Scarlet’s head and figured out how to keep her safe.
But everyday that passed without the curse being undone was a day closer to Scarlet’s death.
Tristan swore.
She was already getting worse.
Last night in the kitchen her eyes had practically glowed in the dark as she looked up at him with her plush lips and longing soul.
He couldn’t let that happen again.
Whoosh.
Bull’s-eye.
Gabriel needed to come home.
Soon.
Tristan didn’t think he could keep himself away from Scarlet much longer. Last night had been a mistake.
He shouldn’t have made pancakes.
He should have just let her plunder the kitchen and find her own snack.
He’d been careless and, because of it, her blue eyes had burned for him.
And she’d had a flashback.
Fortunately, it was a rather insignificant memory, but still.
Her memories could ruin his plan. He couldn’t take anymore chances.
Whoosh.
Bull’s-eye.
Starting today, he was going to practice better self-control.
56
Scarlet watched TV for a few hours in the morning, trying to distract herself from thoughts of Tristan.
Last night in the kitchen, she’d felt something with him.
Something ancient, strong and ,,, beautiful.
Tristan didn’t hate her.
And she didn’t hate him. At all.
But she probably shouldn’t ever have a late night snack with him again.
The back door opened and Scarlet kept her eyes on the TV as Tristan passed by the living room.
Yesterday, she wanted to avoid him because he was a jerk.
Today, she wanted to avoid him so she didn’t do something stupid.
Like lick his ear.
He went into the office and shut the door behind him.
Scarlet sat for another two hours in front of the TV watching infomercials and Scooby-Doo, but not once did her head stop spinning with all things Tristan.
She was a rotten, rotten girlfriend.
While cartoons played in the background, Scarlet looked around the Archer’s living room. A large fireplace took up most of the back wall and there was a bench seat made of stone running along its length. Above the fireplace hung a hand-carved clock, beating steadily into the warm room. The sofas were tan and sat atop a giant rug, and a hand-carved coffee table stood in the center of the room.
All in all, it was cozy.
If Scarlet hadn’t felt so much like a prisoner in the woods, she probably would have loved the cabin. Her eyes fell to the end table beside her and spotted a pen.
She grabbed the pen and absently started drawing her practiced symbol on her ankle. She traced the design around the corner of her foot, leaned back and looked at it. It looked good at an angle.
Out of boredom, she decided to sketch the design on her hip as well. She lifted her shirt a few inches and drew out the circular strokes along her waist. After a few minutes, she lengthened the design and let it crawl up her ribcage before scooting down the waistband of her pants and letting the artwork trail down her lower belly.
A picture flashed in her mind and she decided to add something new to the bottom of the symbol. Biting her lip, she scribbled the new strokes low on her hip and—
“What are you doing?”
Scarlet immediately pulled her shirt down and her pants up, covering her exposed skin. She looked at Tristan with a blush.
“Are you drawing on yourself?” He sounded mad. More mad than he had a right to be.
Scarlet wrinkled her brow, confused. “Yeah, why? Have you…?” Scarlet looked at him hopefully. “Have you seen this symbol before?” She pointed to her ankle. Maybe Tristan would have the answers she was looking for.
Tristan, standing across from the couch, crossed his arms in front of his chest. He ignored her question. “You’re not in kindergarten, Scarlet. If you want to draw, draw on a piece of paper. Go wash it off.”
Scarlet raised her brow, her blush completely disappearing at his tone. “No,” she said, and lifted her shirt again. She started giving more detail to the design on her hip.
“Yes.” Tristan said with a warning look.
She tried to reach into him, to feel what he was feeling…all she got was anger and fear.
He was mad.
And now, so was she.
“No way,” Scarlet snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Tristan. If I want to draw on my body with pen or cover myself in tar, you can’t stop me.” She kept scribbling. “Why do you care, anyway? Geez.”
Tristan let out a frustrated sigh. “Wash it off.”
“No.”
“Wash. It. Off,” Tristan bit out.
“You’re. In. Sane,” she countered, waiting a moment before looking at him.
Tristan looked at the ceiling. “Please?” His eyes pleaded with her.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes and paused. “Is there something about this design,” she pointed to her side, “that you’re not telling me?”
Tristan tucked his lips in and shrugged. “Gabriel’s going to be home any second.”
“So?”
“Whatever.” He threw his hands up with a groan before leaving the living room.
Scarlet continued drawing on her hip and lower belly, determined to complete the symbol in defiance.
Tristan was so weird.
And bossy.
And…mean.
So much for Pancake Tristan.
Regular Jerk Tristan was back.
57
Gabriel tapped his fingers impatiently on his armrest. The flight back to Georgia was taking too long. He needed to get back to Scarlet immediately. She was in serious danger.
“So, Scarlet doesn’t remember anything at all this time?” Nate scratched the back of his head.
“Not really.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the deal then? Are you and Scarlet dating now?” Sitting beside Gabriel, Nate clutched his backpack like it was filled with lost treasure rather than video game equipment.
Gabriel sighed and leaned back, forcing his fingers to stop moving. “Yeah.”
“Then why did you leave her at home with Tristan? Why didn’t you just send him out to get me?”