Page 72 of Licence To Howl
The last thing Devereau was going to do was say no. He nodded once more before allowing her to lead him away from the busier streets and down a small alleyway. The only sign there was a bar there at all was a small mark etched into the stone on the outside wall. Scarlett pushed open the door and he followed her in, glad that she’d been right. It was smoky and dark and seemed to sell only a very limited selection of drinks. The place was perfect.
They sat together in the corner by the door, neither saying very much. The bartender, a grizzled looking vampire who had more scars than teeth, had taken one look at their faces and given them an entire bottle along with two empty glasses. Then he’d retreated to his spot behind the narrow bar and paid them no more attention.
Devereau downed three glasses of whiskey in short succession. He was tired enough that the alcohol went straight to his head, loosening his tongue and releasing a great deal of his pent-up tension.
‘I can’t get those two choir boys out of my head,’ he said as much to himself as to Scarlett.
‘Yeah.’ She took a sip of her own drink. ‘I’m much the same. I’ve been over and over it though. I don’t know what we could have done differently.’ She put her hand on his and squeezed. ‘It’s not your fault, Devereau. None of it is.’
He gave her a baleful look. Several seconds passed as they gazed at each other, the silence of their shared experiences over the last few days hanging heavily between them.
Eventually, Devereau sucked in a deep breath. ‘I miss you, Scarlett.’
She stiffened and pulled her hand away. ‘Don’t go there, Devereau.’
‘Why not? We’re good together. Wefittogether. No, I don’t know your deepest ambitions or desires. I’m willing to take the time to find out though. Together we could be anything.Doanything.’
‘Apart from stop a terrorist group in their tracks, you mean.’
Damn it. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘That was facetious and uncalled for.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You’re asking for more than I’m able to give, Devereau. We had fun while it lasted. Can’t you leave it at that?’
‘No,’ he said honestly. ‘I can’t.’ He met her eyes. ‘But what I can do and will do is wait until you’re ready. For whatever reasons, you’re terrified of commitment. I don’t know what happened to you to make you feel that way but you can trust me to the grave. If it takes the rest of my life to get you to see that, then that’s what I will do. I was yours the day you sat down beside me in Heart. I’m not going anywhere, Scarlett. Not now. Not ever.’
‘You know you sound like a crazed stalker, right?’ she said. Her tone was light but her eyes were guarded. She wasn’t with him yet. Not by a long shot.
‘I meant what I said that first night in Rome. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. I won’t make a move on you unless you do first.’
‘Then what the hell do you call this?’ she asked, gesturing towards him with a touch of flame.
‘My feeble attempt to get you to see that I’m in love with you, I guess.’
Scarlett stared at him. ‘I’m not the type of woman that men fall in love with,’ she said finally. There was a tiny tremble in her voice. ‘I’m the type they lust after. The type they think they’ve fallen for until they realise who I really am behind the gloss.’ She curled her fingers into tight fists. ‘I’m the type who won’t let a man take my independence or my freedom.’
‘I’m not asking for either of those things. I wouldn’t want them.’
‘You don’t want me either, Devereau. You might think you do because right now I’m the shiny thing that you think is playing hard to get. I’m not a conquest though. I like you. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear on more than one occasion that I fancy the pants off of you. But that’s not love. I don’t love you. And you definitely don’t love me.’
All he could tell her was the stark, absolute truth. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I do.’
‘Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.’
This wasn’t going particularly well. He grimaced and felt his stomach tighten unpleasantly. ‘I’m going to go to the restroom and re-group,’ he told her. ‘Don’t go anywhere, Scarlett. Please.’
In response, she picked up her glass and took another delicate sip although she didn’t look him in the eye. And when he returned to their table several minutes later with the newly sanitised Ring of All Seasons in his hand, she’d already gone.
Devereau headed straight for the door, sticking his head out to the narrow street to search for her.
‘Scarlett!’
His voice echoed back at him. Damn it. There was no sign of her in either direction and he knew that if she didn’t want him to find her, he wouldn’t be able to. He supposed that was one thing – the only thing – she had in common with those fucking terrorists. Devereau paused and turned his head, glancing round at the bar.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
The bartender looked up. Then he grunted and pointed up at the clock on the wall. Devereau stared at it. It was after two in the morning. There had been no distant explosions of any kind. ‘Can you turn on the TV?’ he asked.
The bartender sighed but did as he requested, lifting up a dusty remote and pressing a button. The television set, hanging precariously off the far wall, flickered into life.
