1983
Scarlet didn’t bother knocking. She knew she didn’t have to, but more than that, she wanted to walk into Tristan’s house like she belonged there. Because she did.
She let herself inside and shut the front door behind her. Tristan appeared in his bedroom doorway, looking as sexy as ever. Bare chest, jeans hung low on his waist, loose hair. Stretching around his hip and ribcage was the dark tattoo that reminded Scarlet of a love shared long ago. When it was easier. Safer.
And Tristan had the reminder permanently stitched into his body.
Scarlet’s heart kicked.
His green eyes met hers and, for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The silence was thick; filled with unsaid things that could heal and destroy at the same time. Heavy things.
Forbidden things.
Tristan’s voice was quiet. “What are you doing here?”
Scarlet had feared he’d run her out of the house the moment he saw her. For her safety, of course.
Everything was always for her safety.
He didn’t move to dismiss her, however, and Scarlet took heart in this. She took a few steps forward, her eyes never leaving his.
Hundreds of years she’d lived apart from him. Within reach, but so far away. Connected to his heart, but distant from his body, while death continued to steal her away, never letting her have him. And Tristan—good, self-controlled, Tristan—had never asked anything of her.
Scarlet continued moving forward until she was only inches away from his tall, strong body. Her eyes trailed down his face, past his jaw and his thick neck, and landed on his bare chest, just above his heart. She could see his tight skin ripple against each of his heartbeats.
She expected him to back away. To be the disciplined party in the room.
But he did not move.
She watched the patter of his heart for a few moments before she felt her own heart begin to pound in sync with his. She looked down at her chest, exposed above the strapless shirt she wore. She witnessed the tiny movement of her skin as her heart hammered away inside her, beating in time with Tristan’s.
They were nothing if not designed for one another.
She slowly let her eyes return to Tristan’s and found him staring at her heartbeat as well. Watching it. Feeling it.
Heavy and dark, his eyes lifted to hers, wanting her and warning her at the same time.
“Scar.” His voice was low. “What are you doing?”
She poured her eyes into everything she had ever loved, ever wanted. She wanted him to see her—really see her. She wanted him to look at her with recognition and love, not resistance and fear. She wanted him to remember her. And she wanted him to touch her.
“You are so careful,” Scarlet began, tilting her head. “You have always been so careful.” She spoke slowly and softly. Afraid of scaring him away. “But…what if I don’t want you to be careful?” She closed the distance between them, slowly pressing her palm against his beating chest.
She watched Tristan close his eyes as her touch released him from his chronic torment and sent pleasure through his body.
His brows drew together. “Scar,” he said again, opening his eyes. “You need to leave.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his heart, releasing it in the air.
Scarlet looked into his eyes and slowly shook her head. “No.”
Tristan let out an agitated breath and moved past her, putting distance between them. “Don’t be difficult.”
Turning around, she watched him walk to the far end of the room, darkness shadowing his features.
“Why do you keep pushing me away?” she asked.
His back was to her as he walked to the door. “I’m not having this conversation with you again.”
“Do you think pushing me away will make me stop caring about you?”
“You need to leave.” He opened the door and looked at her, waiting for her to exit.
Scarlet ignored the open door and spat out, “Maybe you’vestopped loving me, but my feelings for you haven’t changed.”
His eyes blazed into her and he slammed the door closed. “First of all,” he said angrily, “I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried. And I’ve tried.” He shook his head and laughed without humor, his hands balling into fists. “God, how I’ve tried. But I am completely lost to you. I am lost and empty and broken—“
“My heart is broken too—“
“My heart is not broken, Scar. My heart is dead!” His eyes were hopeless and wild. “It is a hollow black object that sits in my chest without purpose, haunting me with memories.”
Scarlet stood stunned for a moment. Completely speechless.
“It’s dead,” he repeated, over-enunciating the words.
Scarlet blinked. “I love you,” she said simply.
His jaw clenched and his eyes looked pained. “Loving me is reckless.”
She narrowed her eyes and argued, “It’s honest!”
“It’s dangerous, Scar!”
“So?” She threw her hands up, her chest tight with frustration. “Loving anyoneis dangerous! There’s always going to be something at stake.”
“Your life is not just ‘something’, Scarlet.” He said her full name and Scarlet’s heart broke. “It’s everything.”
“So what, then? You’re just going to keep pushing me away because you’re scared?”
“I push you away to keep you safe!”
“You push me away because it’s easier!”
“Easy? Easy? Are you insane?” His face hardened as he took a step forward and pointed at her. “Nothingabout this is easy! Do you think it’s easyto see you with Gabriel? Do you think it’s easyto watch you die over and over again?” His voice cracked and Scarlet’s heart started to hurt the way it always did when she was in the same room with Tristan yet felt oceans away from him.
“I don’t know whatto think, Tristan!” Scarlet’s stomach felt hollow. “You treat me like I’m a disease. You don’t talk to me. You don’t touch me—“