Page 190 of Immortal Bastard

“Perfect.” A male voice purred from the receiver. Christian’s claws lengthened. “I’ll see you then, Ms. Starling.”

“Sounds good.” She sighed and hung up the phone. “That was my big client. He said he could meet us at four. I feel bad. He wanted a lot of work and would have paid me a lot of money to do it.”

Christian remained silent. He didn’t like her speaking to other males, but this was why they were here, so she could conclude any open matters and they could begin living their life.

She stood and her appearance stole his breath. The cinched waist of her dress defined every feminine curve and her shoulders were exposed. Her rounded breasts rested pertly above a red patent leather belt that matched her sharp, pointed heels.

She looked so…English. His gaze dropped to the device in her hand. “You found a telephone.”

She glanced at the cell. “It’s an old one. I needed to call the phone company to get all my contacts back since someone stole my last one.” She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “How did you sleep? Was the bed okay?”

He frowned, recalling how he’d struggled to relax with the constant city in motion below. He’d slept later than usual. This place was muddling his senses. “My sleep was adequate.”

“Good.” She appeared energized as she moved about the home. “I was thinking, could we possibly rent a moving truck to take some of my stuff home? I know it’s mostly worthless, but there are a few things I’d like to keep. The rest can go to Good Will or into storage. I haven’t figured out what to do with my studio equipment, but it doesn’t make much sense to keep it. I mean, who ever heard of a tattoo artist with no tattoos?”

Whenever she brought up her tattoos, sorrow flared from her. He wished there was a way for her to keep her markings, but he had no control over such things. “Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you.” She tossed something called Everything But The Bagel Seasoning into a box. “Right now, I need to eat. Do you want to grab some fast food for breakfast and then we can hit the truck rental place?”

He hadn’t expected her to be in such a hurry to get back, but he was also eager to return home. The world off the farm reeked of deceit and immoral temptation. He wanted his mate safe and protected, two things he could provide much easier on the farm. “Whatever you need.”

While her spirits were high at the moment, he suspected the day would be a difficult one. Sooner or later, she’d recognize the finality of her choice. Seeing her life, her belongings, and the modern amenities she owned filled him with a strange sense of regret and worry. What if she missed those things and he was not an equal replacement for so many luxuries?

She stilled from packing spices into the box. “Why do you look like that?”

“Pardon?” He glanced back at her, wondering if he missed something.

“You just got the saddest look on your face.”

He blanked his expression, evicting all worries from his mind. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Of?”

“Nothing.” He turned back to the bedroom. “I’ll dress and we can see to your needs.”

“Christian, wait." She followed him Into the sitting area. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated then admitted, “Are you positive you can give all of this up?”

Her eyes moved from side to side, taking in her apartment. She scoffed. “This? You do realize I live in squalor, right? Like, here’s poor.” She flattened her hand so her palm faced the floor and held it in front of her face. “Then here’s dirt poor.” She lowered her flat palm to her midsection. “And I live about five stories below that.”

“Your technology—”

“There are libraries and other ways around that. I mean, I’m not going back to be your hostage. I’m going to be your wife. We can figure that stuff out. I just want to be with you.”

Her lack of opposition was a strange and welcome change. He nodded and his worries abated. “You’ll be my wife.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “And you’ll be my husband. Wow. That sounds so weird.” She laughed to herself and pecked a kiss on his jaw.

To his ears, it sounded perfect.

* * *

Christian watched Delilah dress a salad with a packet of sludge that poured from a small pouch. She tore open a clear wrapper with her teeth and revealed an oddly formed fork in the shape of a spoon.

“Are you going to eat?” She tilted her chin toward the hot parcel he held.

He unwrapped the waxy paper and found a greasy sandwich. It looked like a patty of sausage but smelled like a pancake. Sauces and orange cheese seeped from the sides. He sniffed the strange bread that did not smell like anything they baked on the farm. Hesitantly, he took a bite.

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