Heather’s throat constricted in fear.
Gabriel said, “You’ve been poisoning Heather?”
Raven sighed. “Yes. The girl just couldn’t get enough of my coffee. I had to cut her off from the good stuff a few days ago.”
“So I’m like a…like a drug addict now?” Heather squeaked the words out.
“Yep,” Raven said.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
Heather didn’t do drugs. Not ever.
Raven looked at Gabriel. “This way, if Scarlet doesn’t come through with the map, she’ll have to find the fountain to save Heather. At which point, you and I,” she ran a purple fingernail down the center of his bare chest, “will just follow her there. But until then, Heather over here is going to be pretty thirsty.”
Raven turned to Heather. “I’d offer to give you more, but I took my final dose last night. And since the only cure is the one Avalon fruit by the fountain, you might be screwed.”
Heather couldn’t think. Or breathe.
“What’s the matter? Not feeling well?” Raven eyed her carefully. “I’m sure the withdrawals will start kicking in soon. It shouldn’t be long before the hallucinations begin. And then comes the madness.”
“I’m going to go crazy?”
“Only if you don’t get more fountain water. First you’ll go crazy,” Raven shrugged, “and then you’ll die.”
Scarlet woke with stiff arms and legs and her head hurt. Semi-painful sleep wasn’t very satisfying. Still wrapped in the scent of Tristan, she rolled out of the big, white bed and padded across the floor. Opening the door, she stepped into the hallway and tripped over something that grunted on the floor.
Looking down, she saw Tristan sprawled on his back outside her door, an arm behind his head as if he was perfectly comfortable snoozing on the hard basement floor. He stared up at her with sleepy green eyes.
“What are you doing?” She put her hands on her hips.
He yawned. “Sleeping as close to your stubborn ass as possible so you don’t toss and turn on that noisy bed,” he looked at her pointedly, “in pain.”
Crap. The stupid bed had given her away.
He stood up and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt lifting just enough for her to see his tattoo and her insides got all soft and warm.
Moving her eyes back to his, she tried to glare at him through all the fluttering in her stomach. “You slept in the hallway all night?”
He dropped his arms and gave her a crooked smile. “You’ve been awake for thirty seconds and you’re already angry with me?”
“Yes, Tristan,” she said. “You can’t just sleep in the hallway because I’m tossing and turning.”
“I can.” He stretched out a kink in his neck. “And I will. Come on. Let’s go have breakfast.” He held out his hand.
Scarlet stared at it.
Like she was going to latch onto him with her touch of death.
“No?” He shrugged and let his hand drop as he headed up the stairs. “It was worth a try.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, following after him, completely confused by his chipper mood.
“By the way,” he looked over his shoulder and ran his eyes up and down her body. “I like you in my clothes.”
He smiled—truly smiled—dimples and everything. She eyed him suspiciously as he walked up the stairs and tried to tap into his feelings.
Happiness. Relief. Hope. Love.
Realization struck her. He was happy because he no longer hurt her.
Tristan stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down at her, still smiling. “You coming, or what?”
This wasn’t the dark, tormented Tristan from her previous lives looking at her with his little boy grin.
This was Hunter.
Which was wonderful and terrible at the same time.
Bossy, dark Tristan Scarlet could avoid.
But charming, sweet Tristan?
Scarlet was going to be putty in his hands.
No. I will not be putty. I will be hard as a rock. Like Play-Doh left in the backyard on a hot summer day.
Tristan stared down at her with his patient dimples.
I am dried Play-Doh.
Scarlet hardened her face and walked up the steps, trying to focus on something other than his sleepy warm body and mussed up hair.
She cleared her throat as she ascended. “I was thinking maybe Nate could track Heather and Gabriel’s cell phones. There’s always the possibility their phones are nearby wherever they are. Maybe he could get a GPS location from that.”
She reached the main floor and stood before Tristan, who wasn’t moving.
She waited.
He smiled.
With rolling eyes, she brushed past him, their chests rubbing together as she moved into the main hallway. Bliss skittered through her veins and her knees weakened for the briefest of moments. Tristan smiled.
Damn him.
Scarlet walked to the kitchen and watched him open the pantry and grab various things.
“An-y-way,” she said. “I thought the cell phones might be a good place to start.”
“Uh-huh.” He grabbed things from the fridge.
Scarlet sat down at the bar counter. “And then maybe we could go back to the graveyard and see if there are any Ashmen roaming about that we could follow back to Raven’s hiding place.”
Tristan retrieved a frying pan. “Uh-huh.”
“Or maybe go to the Millhouse and talk with Clare’s other employees.” She cocked her head to the side in annoyance. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes.” He started mixing things in a bowl.
“And if that doesn’t work, maybe we can—what are you doing?”
“Making pancakes.”
“Why?”
“Because you like pancakes.”
“Oh my—“ Scarlet rolled her eyes again. “We do not have time for pancakes, Tristan. Heather and Gabriel are probably lying in a ditch somewhere—
“They’re not lying in a ditch.”
“Or bleeding to death—“
“They’re not bleeding. Do you want chocolate chip or blueberry?”
Scarlet blinked. “Heather isn’t immortal. She’s probably scared out of her mind and screaming at the top of her lungs—“
“Blueberry it is.”
“Tristan! I’m being serious.”
He turned to look at her with a spatula in his hand. “I know you are. But you need to calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Putting the spatula down, Tristan stepped up to the counter and leaned over so their faces were just inches apart. “Gabriel and Heather are safe. Raven doesn’t want them dead, she wants them as leverage. We don’t know where they are and until we do, there is nothing we can do to bring them back any faster. So please calm down and eat some pancakes.”
Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want pancakes.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Yes you do. You want blueberry pancakes.”
“No. I want chocolate chip.”
They stared at each other, his emerald eyes bright and amused.
“Good morning, cursed ones.” Nate entered the kitchen.
Tristan went back to pancake-making.
“Morning,” Scarlet said. She glanced Nate up and down. “What are you wearing?”
He looked down at himself. “This is my bathrobe.”
Scarlet said, “It looks like a fur coat.”
Tristan pointed at Nate with the spatula. “Told you.”
Nate made a face. “For the last time, this is not a fur coat. It’s just a very thick and warm bathrobe.”
“With fur,” Tristan added.
“There is no fur—never mind. I need breakfast.” He padded to the pantry and grabbed a box of Lucky Charms. “So…how did everyone sleep? Far apart from one another and in no pain, hopefully?” He smiled at Scarlet as he made himself a bowl of cereal and grabbed a spoon.