Cain shrugged. “It appears I’m always betraying someone.” He leaned against the railing of the porch and crossed his legs at the ankle as if he had not a care in the world.
Jonas found his son’s arrogance unfavorable. “Leave!”
“I cannot.”
“Why?” he snarled through clenched teeth.
“Because there are innocent mortals in that house, and I find myself rather fond of the little one. I won’t allow you to harm them.”
“I would never harm an innocent creature.”
“Really? Have you not seen the massacre in your wake? Poor little bunnies. I’m not leaving.”
The front door opened, and a small child with blue eyes and hair the color of sun-bleached wheat stared at him. She did not say a word as she slowly walked to Cain’s side and fit her small hand into his son’s much larger one.
“Cybil, this is my father, Jonas.”
The girl looked at him but did not speak.
Cain lifted her onto his hip. “Where’s Colby?”
The girl pointed at the house, and Cain whistled. A scraggly dog bounded from around the back, racing to Cain and wiggling expectantly at his side. “Good boy. Let’s go for a walk and see if we can find Dane.”
His son, the girl, and the dog took the path. As he unlatched the gate, he looked into Jonas’s eyes. “I won’t be far.”
Left alone with only his mate in the house, Jonas’s temper calmed as he watched them trot off toward the field.
The moment he set foot on the battered porch, the front door creaked. “I’m quite tired today, Jonas, so I’d rather not have to lug this big gun around. Have you found your manners?”
Had he lost them at one point? Possibly. His memory was no longer trustworthy.
He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. “Clara.”
She cocked the gun. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“I know that look in your eye. You’re being fresh. Knock it off.”
His mouth twitched with amusement. Contrary to her withered appearance, her spirit sparked like a hot fire.
He took another step only to stagger to a halt at the unwelcome fragrance of death mixing with her natural scent. He could smell it today, the stench of mortality eating at her bones and the rotting of her organs.
“You’re sick.” The playfulness he suffered moments ago vanished as his concern multiplied. “More than usual.” Closing the distance, he approached slowly, unsure how delicate her condition had become and not fully trusting himself. “What do you need?”
“Heat. This weather isn’t good for my brittle bones. Come inside.”
He followed her inside, where she set the gun in the living room corner. Waving a withered hand, she invited him to sit on the upholstered settee as if they had established this routine some time ago. She settled into the chair by the end table, where tissues and stacks of paperwork mounted.
“I spoke to the doctor today. I’m running out of time. My counts are low and my kidneys are struggling to keep up.”
He knew nothing of mortal medicine and very little about healing. “You could use my blood.”
“No.”
“It will heal you.”
“I’ve done the transfusion. They don’t last. It’s my time.”
She misunderstood his meaning. “Then it’s time you let me help you.”
“Then, perhaps, it’s time you fully explain how you can help me. No more beating around the bush, Jonas. My greatest worry is keeping my grandchildren together and safe. Explain to me how you can do that.”
His heart fluttered at the hint of trust in her voice. “Do you trust me?”
Her lips firmed. “The older we get, the fewer options we have. My trust for you has everything to do with my lack of options and nothing to do with affection. I’m ninety percent certain you’re cracked.”
He grinned. “If I were cracked, I’d heal. I’m very difficult to destroy.”
“Everything dies, Jonas.”
“It’s unlikely. My kind can be killed, but it’s not easy.”
“Your kind?”
He nodded. “There are many of us. You’ve met my son. You can see that we stop aging once we reach our prime. We thrive with longevity.”
She glanced out the window, and Jonas heard the distant voice of his son and the bark of the dog. Clara followed his gaze. She would have noticed the similarities in his and Cain’s appearance. She would have questioned how a father and son could appear so close in age.
“Have we had this conversation?” he asked.
She studied him through crinkled eyelids. “You’ve mentioned certain things before, but I still don’t believe you. Everything has a time, Jonas. Even you will eventually die.”
“Eventually. When I’m ready.”
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
Clara was a unique female. Many of her cells had regenerated due to western medicine. Her soul has deteriorated and only a small part of her might recognize him as her other half. He relied on those parts to trust him.
“I dreamed of you last night. You called to me, told me to come to you.”