Anew

19

Tristan should have known.

He should have assumed something was off when his screaming soul had suddenly gone quiet. When the war raging inside him had fallen still.

He should have known Scarlet was nearby.

He’d run home to grab a few papers before heading back to the library to continue his research on weapons and, when he’d opened the door to leave, there stood Scarlet.

Like she’d been delivered to his doorstep.

Standing still. Staring at him.

Tristan thought he would die. He actually thought the part of his soul that endlessly clawed at his insides would die of happiness at her nearness.

It took every ounce of will power he had not to touch her and assure himself she was real.

But there she stood. Looking at him in wonder.

More beautiful than ever.

In an instant he took in her kind eyes and fragile cheek bones...her full lips and soft jaw…everything about her was familiar—precious….Tristan stared for a moment longer before reality snapped in his mind—and...completely off-limits.

She wasn’t supposed to meet him. To see him.

This was exactly why Gabriel shouldn’t have met her. He’d led her straight to Tristan’s door.

Scarlet seeing Tristan could mess everything up. It would mess everything up.

Why had Gabriel let her come here? Why hadn’t he kept her away?

Where was Gabriel?

Tristan tried to think of what to say, and momentarily entertained the idea of trying to pass himself off as Gabriel, when Scarlet spoke.

“I know you.” Her mouth parted, her eyes widened, and her head tilted to the side as she took a step closer to him.

Her eyes ran up and down his face, lingering in certain places, as her eyebrows drew together. “I…know…you,” she said again, taking another step closer.

Wind blew across the porch, lifting a strand of her dark hair and blowing it across her perfect face. The scent of her strawberry shampoo met his nose and he involuntarily inhaled.

A rush of memories—shoved to the depths of his soul in punishment—broke free and flooded his mind.

Memories of love…memories of life…memories of torment…memories of death….

Scarlet took another step toward him and he swallowed his emotion. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness. He couldn’t afford to give himself away.

He forced a look of indifference upon his face and took a slow breath.

She spoke again, her face only inches from his, and he thought his heart would bruise the inside of his chest if it beat any harder.

But his heart wasn’t thrumming out of control in a paranormal way; it was hammering in a way that was undeniably natural, beating out the tune of his tragedy.

“Who are you?” she asked. It wasn’t an accusation, it wasn’t a demand.

It was curiosity.

As if she were in a trance. Fascinated by what stood before her.

He knew the feeling.

Her blue eyes flashed, changing from their normal blue to an electric blue—lighting up her face—and Tristan’s heart stopped.

It was happening. Her eye color was shifting from healthy blue to deadly blue.

The supernatural color of her eyes lasted only a second before returning to a normal hue, but Tristan was in full panic mode.

She’d seen him and now her heart was pulling for him, thrumming fiercely and tearing itself in half. Bringing her closer to death.

He needed to run away—somewhere far from the beautiful girl before him.

He needed to keep her safe from her own heart.

But instead, he stood there, drinking her in like he was a thirsty man and she was water in the desert.

Because his soul…his foolish and hopeful soul…wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

He needed to get himself under control—immediately.