“Well . . . no,” she admitted slowly as her memories became clearer. “I stuck the knife in his neck and pulled it out the front. I guess I half cut through his neck. Not that it seemed to affect him much,” she added dryly. “He didn’t even go down. Just stood there holding his neck. I suppose I should have finished the job, but I was dizzy and nauseous and I was afraid I was going to pass out, so I stumbled down the hall to Park—where’s Parker?” she interrupted herself to ask anxiously. Her gaze shot to Santo’s face. “Is he all right? I think I told him to call you, but—”
“Parker is fine. He’s at school,” Santo assured her before she could get too wound up.
“Oh, good,” she breathed. “So I guess he did call you guys?”
“Sì. He called, and Marguerite, Julius, and I headed straight over. I took control of your apartment manager to get the keys to get in, and then we brought both of you back here.”
“Oh.” Pet sighed the word.
“Did you recognize your attacker?” Santo asked after a moment.
Pet pictured the figure in her mind, but that was all she’d really seen—a figure silhouetted in her door, and then a dark shape she’d battled with.
“No,” she said finally. “It was a man . . . tall, slim, short hair, I think . . . That’s it.”
“That fits the description Parker gave of Purdy’s cousin,” Santo murmured thoughtfully.
“You think it was Dressler?”
He hesitated and then shook his head. “We did not see him leave the house, but the rogue next door is the only one we know of in the area. If he is Dressler, then . . .”
“Huh,” Pet muttered, and then scowled. “Well, what’s his beef with me then?”
“Who can say with rogues? They are usually at least half insane,” Santo said on a sigh.
“Yeah, well, this Dressler sounds like he was wholly insane as a mortal, so I doubt becoming immortal helped that much.”
“No.” Santo smiled.
They were both silent, and then she glanced around at the flowers. “Are these all for me?”
“Sì.” Santo glanced at the blooms.
Pet nodded but then frowned. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”
“No,” he said firmly. “You are definitely not dying, Pet.”
“Okay,” she said with a grin. “I mean, my head doesn’t hurt or anything, so I guess I didn’t hit it as hard as I thought. I just . . .” Pet glanced around the room again and shrugged. “I just didn’t know immortals went so crazy with flowers when a person got a little banged up. I mean . . . who are they all from?”
“Me,” he said quietly, bringing her gaze back around his way with surprise.
“All of them?”
“Sì.”
She stared at him wide-eyed for a minute and then shifted to her knees and crawled the few feet to the edge of the bed in front of him so that she could slide her arms around his neck. With her mouth just inches from his, she said, “Thank you. They are beautiful,” before pressing her lips to his.
Santo was still and unresponsive at first as she brushed her lips over his, but when she slid her tongue out to taste his lips, he groaned and opened his mouth. His hands moved around her body to grasp her behind and he lifted her slightly against him as he took over the kiss. He briefly allowed it to get more heated, but then just as quickly caught her elbows and urged her back as he broke the kiss.
“We have to talk.” His voice was a husky growl that had her eyes narrowing at once.
“Well, that’s never a good preface to any conversation,” she said dryly, and then pulled away to drop back to sit on the bed. “If you’re about to give me the whole, this has been fun but it’s done speech, write it in a letter and stick it.”
“What?” he asked with shock.
“I’m sorry, that was unfair,” Pet said on a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Look, it’s okay. I knew you weren’t going to be around long, so if you raided Purdy’s place while I was sleeping, are done, and ready to go, there’s no need for long, drawn-out, kiss-off speeches.”
“We have not raided Purdy’s place. I am not done, and if I went, I would want to take you with me,” he said firmly. “I will never give you a kiss-off speech, Pet. I want to spend my life with you.”
“Really?” Pet asked with surprise.
“Really.”
“But I’m mortal, and you’re—wait,” she said suddenly as her common sense kicked in. “We can’t—I mean, I like you and all. A lot. I might maybe even be a little bit in lo—” She couldn’t get the word out and grimaced. “But it’s a bit soon to be talking forever, don’t you think?”
Santo hesitated, and then crawled onto the bed next to her, sat with his back against the headboard, and opened his arms.
Pet barely hesitated before climbing into his lap and cuddling up against his chest.
His arms closed around her, and then Santo kissed the top of her head and merely held her for a minute before saying, “Parker’s call scared the hell out of me. He was terrified, of course, and he said there was someone banging around in the kitchen, but he also said there was a lot of blood and that you were covered with it.” His voice was a husky growl as he told her that, but got even huskier as he added, “When we got there, there was sooo much blood. You were covered with it and there was arterial spray across your kitchen cupboards. I thought you were dying.”
“Oh,” Pet breathed, and then said, “I’m sorry,” although she wasn’t sure why.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured her. “In fact, it is I who owe you an apology.”
She felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead and tilted her head back to look at him. “Why?”
“Because, in my desperation to save you, I did something . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he frowned and pushed her face back down under his chin. He held her like that for a minute, and then said, “For immortals, there is a thing called life mates.”
Pet waited, but when he stopped there, she said, “I’ve heard you use the term before. I think you said my mom was Meng Tian’s life mate or something. I’m not sure.”
“I might have, I do not recall either, but in any case, she must have been.”
“Why?” she asked, leaning back to look up at him again. “What is a life mate? I assumed at the time that it was just another word for wife, but I’m guessing I was wrong?”
Rather than answer, Santo pressed her face back to his chest and rubbed her back briefly. “You see, it is difficult for immortals to be around others.”
“Okay,” she said quietly, wondering if the fact that this conversation wasn’t making sense to her was because of her head wound or because he was doing a piss-poor job of making sense. He seemed to be bouncing all over the place.
“We tend to avoid immortals who are older because they can read us if we do not constantly shield our thoughts.”
“Are there any immortals older than you?” she asked dryly.
“Sì,” Santo said with exasperation.
“How many?” she asked at once.
“Enough,” he said and she could hear the scowl in his voice.
“So you can read each other too, not just mortals?” she asked with interest.
“Sì. Although, an immortal can learn to shield their thoughts. But that gets a bit wearying after a while, and of course, we can read the thoughts of immortals younger than us, which might sound okay, but really . . .”
“Isn’t?” she suggested when he paused again.
“Exactly,” he agreed.
Pet pulled back again and asked, “Why?”
Santo grimaced. “Because you hear it all. Not just what they want you to hear, or what they think is polite. But everything. And it is sometimes hard to hear what other people think of you. Their worries for you. Their irritation with you. That they think you should stop shaving your head and looking like a wannabe biker. Or that the rings you wear make you look like a pansy.”
“Who thought that?” she barked, outraged on his behalf.
Santo waved her question away and pushed her back to his chest. “The point is it can be difficult having access to everyone’s thoughts all the time. Again, you have to shield yourself from their minds to avoid hearing them.”
“Why aren’t they shielding their thoughts?” she asked at once. “Younger immortals, I mean.”
“They do. But there are times when the shield drops and thoughts slip out.”
“Oh,” she said, and then added slowly, “So, immortals avoid other immortals to get some peace of mind.”
“Sì. But we also avoid mortals because we can hear their thoughts most of the time too.”
“So, Marguerite isn’t actually reading my mind on purpose?” she asked uncertainly.
“It is hard to say . . . the older you get, the less effort it takes to read minds. I find I have to actually shield myself or I hear it. The easiest way to explain it is like with a radio. When you first learn to read minds, it takes a while to tune in to the right station. But after a while, you automatically tune to the right spot. For me, I am always tuned in unless I deliberately tune out. For Marguerite, she might still have to tune in, or she might not realize she is always tuned in.”
“So you avoid mortals to avoid having to tune out,” she reasoned quietly.
“Sì . . . and because they have a short life span,” he added.
Pet rolled her eyes. “Well, there isn’t much we can do about that.”
“No,” he agreed.
Leaning back, she suggested, “So, basically you’re saying that immortals are a bunch of lonely losers?”
“Well, I would not put it that way,” he protested, looking disgruntled.