He frowned. How could that be? First Adam, then Cain, sooner or later Larissa would realize, and now Jonas? It was unheard of. You gained all of this from him simply passing by?
Don’t underestimate my abilities, Eleazar. I can hold onto a male’s thoughts beyond some silly door.
We have to stop approving these marital unions. When an immortal is meant to mate, God will decide. That’s two annulments I’ll have to oversee.
Too late, he realized his slip. Adriel’s shock registered with a sharp ping of interest, and he closed off his thoughts.
Dear God, Eleazar, is it true? How long have you known and does anyone else know?
He grit his teeth. No one. And I wish to keep it that way.
You’ve always kept my secrets, so I will keep yours. But promise me, when it comes time to tell Silus, you’ll make sure I’m around. He’ll be mad as a hatter and as helpless as a kitten.
A growl ripped from his throat. He will never touch Larissa again.
She laughed. Well, listen to you… I never imagined a female not even half a century old would be the one to bring you to your knees.
I have to go.
Oh, I’m sure, she teased. Just one last word of warning, my friend, her tone sobered, Silus Hostetler may be a male who comes from a long line of elders, but he’s not as honorable as he pretends. Females talk, and when they do, I listen. Larissa is a sweet girl. Why you jackasses approved a union between her and Silus, I’ll never understand. He’s spoiled by nepotism, and he can be especially cruel when given the upper hand.
What are you saying?
I’m saying I know what it’s like to be married to a bastard. My husband killed parts of me that will never heal. Don’t be surprised if there are consequences to your choices. A few short years with a monster can pass like an eternity.
Regret stabbed him, and he questioned if she’d ever forgive him for such an oversight. You’ve been in her mind?
Enough to know that she deserves someone who is kind to her. Do not let your emotions or your ego get the better of you. And be patient with her. I have a feeling she’s a fighter.
That much, he was sure of.
Chapter 10
Jonas wondered why he was there again.
The ground of the mortal graveyard turned out with soft soil where a coffin covered in yellow roses lowered into the earth.
He had this dream a dozen times in the past few weeks. Always with the woman he recognized as his called mate, always with the crying children he didn’t know, always the middle-aged man holding the Bible. It was as if the dark dream haunted him. Or perhaps his mate was, and she managed to project these images into his subconscious.
Clara looked right at him this time. Her snowy hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, a few wisps escaping in the breeze and caressing her plain face. Dressed in all black except for a bulky, gray sweater that covered her, she looked chilled to the bone by something other than the cold.
He battled the urge to comfort her. A deep instinct driving him closer so that he might relieve her of such agony.
The children, a boy of about fifteen or sixteen years and a girl several years younger, stood to Clara’s right with their heads bowed. The boy’s arm clung to the girl’s shoulders as they both stared at the grave. There were no tears, only expressions of disbelief as if the passing of this loved one was simply inconceivable.
Clara’s weathered hands clenched at her afghan sweater as the blustery wind whistled over the vacant cemetery. She appeared smaller and thinner than how he remembered her being from his last dream.
He studied her as he always did, but he never spoke directly to her. Speaking to Clara would make his presence and their situation too real. He would not allow it.
Yet, when Clara looked directly at him, he feared his loyalties to Abilene would disappear.
Clara had a plainness that spoke to him. Bare of makeup, her skin wore age gracefully. Although creases encased her sharp eyes, time had not diminished her attractiveness. She was small and frail, but there was strength in those wise eyes.
Judging a mortal’s age wasn’t easy. He could tell her life had been long by the thinness of her hair, the transparency of her skin, and the delicate structure of her bones. In immortal terms, Clara was still a baby. But as a mortal, she was vintage.
Why now? Where was she sixty years ago, before he’d given his heart to Abilene?
The man with the Bible continued to speak softly over the grave. The children continued to stare motionlessly at the casket. And Clara continued to stare at him.