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Her head cocked. “Excuse me?”
“The best I can describe it is, mortality, a fragile life sentence that will meet its demise. Death is coming for me, Annalise, and without you, I can’t escape it.”
“Death comes for all of us. You made me believe you had some sort of disease.”
“My time’s limited. When I leave this world, I want to escape with my honor. Every passing day that outcome becomes less likely. I’m trying to be patient for your sake, but I grow weary of the task. Today, when I attacked my brother, only a shred of humanity remained, drawing me back before I ended him. Even now, I question if my mercy was overly generous.”
His reaction to the mishap with his brother seemed blown massively out of proportion. “He didn’t do anything.”
“He put his hands on you,” he snarled, and she stiffened.
There it was, that flash of silver in his eyes. It proved enough of a warning to remind her that his emotions still boiled from a volatile place. A dangerous place. She wished the bedroom door was open.
Back to business. “So, you’re saying no one else is here on borrowed time? Adam, we all die. We’re all only temporarily visiting this world. Be glad that you believe in God. I don’t have the comfort of—”
“You’re misunderstanding me. I’m not having a philosophical debate about life. I’m telling you that if you don’t help me, I will have no choice but to go to the Council and ... surrender my life. What you witnessed today was only a glimpse of what will become of me. There’s something inside of me, Annalise, and only you can tame it.”
She pressed a hand to her head, overwhelmed and... She thought of his siblings and parents. “How old is your oldest sister?”
“Larissa’s forty-nine.”
Her brow tightened. “That’s impossible, unless she has different birth parents.”
“It’s very possible.”
“Your mother—”
“My mother is in her seventies.”
Her expression dropped. “No.” His mother—Abilene—couldn’t be that old. But if Adam was thirty-seven, she’d have to be at least close to eighteen years older than him...
“You can ask her. I can show you her birth records. Whatever you need to trust that I only speak the truth, I’ll do it. She’ll be eighty in less than a decade.”
She shook her head. Impossible. The woman had the skin of a twenty year old. Her eyes were bright, her hands unmarked by time.
“You have a cynical mind and don’t trust easily. But, I swear, I speak the truth. My mother is actually quite young for our kind.”
“Your kind?”
She stared at the braided rug on the floor, her eyes unblinking as her mind replayed a slideshow of Adam’s family. Their youthful faces scraping with reality until the friction of truth and lies seemed impossible to bear.
“I want to tell you a story, but I want your word you will not leave this room until I’ve finished.”
She glanced at the door and then to him. “But if I want to leave after?”
“You’ll be free to go.”
She shouldn’t trust him. She didn’t want to trust him. It didn’t make sense for her to trust him. But she did trust him. Somehow, over the last forty-eight hours, he’d wormed his way under her skin and earned a tiny chip of her heart. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“Okay.”
He scooted closer so he sat across from her chair, but remained on the bed. “Our ancestors traveled here from Europe on a ship called The Charming Nancy. Puritans seeking a simpler lifestyle. They called themselves Amish.
“My great uncle and the bishop purchased this land. Several generations have lived here since. Living as we do, isolated as we are, we’re exempt from English law, politics, and wars. Our people are governed by the Ordnung, or Order. The Ordnung protects us. It provides the privacy we need to live comfortably by our values and be as God created us.”
“Amish?”
He looked down at his chest. Dried blood, a mix of his and his brother’s, stained his skin. “You saw my wounds. My blood has healing properties that yours doesn’t. Our cells regenerate at such a rapid speed, we have no need for modern medicine.”
“That’s impossible. If that were true, people would know.”
“Why? So they could probe and dissect us like lab rats? Our people go back a long time, Annalise. The human race has a history of exploiting certain subsets to advance their personal needs. The Nazis practiced cruel experiments on the Jews. Portugal invaded Africa to start a slave trade. What do you think would happen if the world knew our secrets?”
He was right. It took only seconds for her to question if his blood could have saved her mother. “People can donate blood every fifty-six days. Platelets every seven and plasma once a month. If your cells really regenerate that fast, you could—”
“You’re not listening.”
“It doesn’t hurt. I could show you. It’s just a needle—”
He bolted off the bed, suddenly leaning over her and glaring in her face with unnatural eyes. “This is why we hide.”
He shoved away from the chair, leaving her shaken and swallowing back the panic that choked her. He paced by the foot of the bed. Her eyes followed him, frequently slanting to the door.
When he spoke again, his voice had calmed. “There are reasons we cannot share our blood with just anyone. In the wrong hands, under the wrong circumstances, there could be severe outcomes. Outbreaks that would be uncontainable. It would be dangerous.” He paused and looked at her. “But when the circumstances are right, the outcome can be profound and divine.”
He always returned to the same cosmic mumbo jumbo and she just couldn’t accept that people in this world were predestined. If she gave the universe that much authority, she’d flounder more than she already was, trying to explain away her mother’s death.
People lived and then they died. Same with all species. There was no superior race and there was no such thing as superhuman healing blood cells.
Her attention drifted to the dresser and the small wooden box resting on top. She stood, keeping her eyes on him as she went to the box and removed the knife inside. “Come here.”
He slowly rounded the bed, but when he came within two feet, she held up a hand, stopping him.
“That’s close enough.” Grateful he listened, she curled her fingers around the handle of the knife, not like a weapon, but rather a scalpel. “Give me your arm.”
He extended his hand and waited for her to take it. The scratches from earlier were gone. He needed to wash away the blood, but a little water and soap and he’d be good as new.
“Can I try something?”
He nodded.
She took his hand and stepped closer. Her stomach churned with uncertainty and her hand trembled. She moved closer and hesitated, a thought occurring to her.
“If I cut you, will it hurt?”
“We feel pain, just like every living creature, but any tissue damage will correct itself as soon as the nerve receptors relay a message to the brain. And then it’s gone.”
And she was the one with a medical background? Her novice medical knowledge suddenly seemed outdated—if what he said was true. “Oh.”
It sort of made cutting him easier. Enough of the guessing games. She drew in a steadying breath and tightened her grip on his hand, turning it palm up.
“Stay still.”
The blade swiped the soft flesh of his forearm, just beneath the elbow. A sharp breath sucked between his teeth, but he hardly flinched.
“Sorry.”
Blood welled at the opening and she regretted not cleaning the area first or using a more sanitary blade. Who knew what sort of bacteria hid on a whittling knife?
The faster the blood rose to the surface the more she admitted this stupid experiment was a mistake. How could she believe such nonsense? What was wrong with her?
She released his hand, searching for something to clean the cut. “I’ll be right back.”
She reached for the knob and he pushed the door closed. “We’re not finished talking. You promised to stay in this room.”
“You’re bleeding. I’m going to get a rag from the kitchen to clean you up.” She pulled at the knob, but he wouldn’t budge. “Adam, let me open the—”
When she looked up at him, he showed her his arm. A smear of wet blood over slightly puckered skin.
The knife clattered to the floor and she staggered back. “That’s impossible.”
Tiny cells knit together before her eyes as the wound sealed and his damaged skin smoothed, restored to its flawless state.
“Do you believe me now, ainsicht?”
She grabbed his other arm, searched the skin. She turned his arm, examining every side, thinking she must have cut somewhere else, but there were no marks, not even a scar from some other time.
Her brow creased as her gaze slowly rose to his face. “What are you?”
This was why they didn’t age, why their skin didn’t wrinkle. How long did they stay like this, youthful and beautiful?
“People don’t just...” She swallowed. It broke the laws of science. “How long will you stay...”
He glanced at the floor. “Forever.”
She blinked, balking at such a claim. “That’s...” It wasn’t possible. Nothing lasted forever. Even the dinosaurs and polar ice caps had a shelf life. Fuck, even bees were dying!
“We can die. There are ways...” His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes pleading. “I’m facing such a fate now.”
His voice remained low and gentle, but his words penetrated like a scream, puncturing every theory she knew and replacing it with phenomena beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding.
“And if I help you?”
“I’ll go on living forever—we both will.”
Her brows drew together. “Am I...”
“Your life is in no immediate danger, but mortality will eventually catch up with you if you choose not to ... help me.”
“But if I do help you?”
“You’ll be immortal. You would stay here, because it’s safe here, and we would make a life together.”
A life on an Amish farm with people she didn’t know, forever linked to a man she didn’t know. But the thought of belonging triggered a sharp longing in her, no matter how misguided. She stuffed it away and turned her focus back to him.
“How many are there?”
“There are approximately two hundred of us here.”
“And other places?”
“I do not know. We only associate with our order. Even with the Elders’ meticulous record keeping, outsiders would be impossible to track. Our kind has always existed in secret and mastered the art of cloaking our existence, even to our own.”
“Why?”
“Because the world is a dangerous place.”
She rubbed a hand over her forehead and staggered to the bed. “I need to sit down.”
This time he took the chair and she appreciated him offering her some space. “We share more similarities than differences.”
“But we are different, Adam.”
“If you stayed, I would make you like me.”
Her head snapped up. “You can do that?”
“Only when the circumstances are right. Ours are, but we only have a limited time to decide.”
“Or you die.” She recalled what he’d said about surrendering his life to the Council. “Would you die, or would you commit suicide? I’m not following.”
“I would request execution.”
“Why?”
“Because, without you, my humanity will disappear and I’d become something else, something dangerous. I don’t want that to happen.”
“So you’d choose death?”
“Yes.”
And she thought samurais were dedicated. “What do you call yourselves? And don’t say Amish.”
“We are immortal.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Language.”
She scowled. “Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. This was a perfectly appropriate time to fucking curse. “What else is different?”
His hands folded between his knees. If not for his intimidating beauty, he’d look like any other ordinary man.
“You know about Grace.”
Her heart stilled in her chest, all her fleeting secrets that openly dashed through her head suddenly open to the world, open to him. “Can you—”
“No. Grace’s gifts are special. Just like you, we all have unique strengths and weaknesses.”
“What’s your weakness?” He already outmatched her in so many ways, knowing his Achilles heel might come in handy.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She cocked her head. “Nothing about this is obvious, Adam.”
He sat back in the chair, the side of his mouth pulling with the hint of a smile, but his eyes remained sad. “My weakness is you.”