The Only

Chapter Seven - Neima

Neima refused to acknowledge the goose flesh that appeared on her arms. She wouldn't give Erol the satisfaction of knowing his appearance had her rattled in front of his entire family. It was bad enough that her heart was beating so fast and hard, she was sure everyone could see it pulse under the silk of her dress.

He wasn't supposed to come. He had promised her at the last Gathering she wouldn't see him again...ever. It didn't matter. The last hundred or so years didn't do much to quench the fire that ignited in her belly every time she saw his face; a fire that burned hotter and with more intensity just by hearing his voice. It was agony. She was filled with a long-forgotten powerful ache, yearning. Time could not heal the wound of being in the presence of a man she could never have.

Her left shoulder began to tingle. The scar. As if on cue, the scar he gave her centuries ago prickled, demanding to be noticed. Suddenly she was flooded with the memory of Erol sinking his fangs into her, quickly accompanying it with a hard bite with the rest of his teeth. She shivered but covered it up with a smile that she extended to the room. There was no way she would betray her desire for him.

Karl stumbled down the stairs and smacked right into the stationary Erol. Clumsily, he held his hands up in apology and adjusted his glasses that promptly fell back down to the end of his nose.

Erol nodded forgiveness to the awkward human, but Karl didn't notice. His eyes were barely open, and he blinked frequently as if he just woke from sleep. He slouched into the wall and looked out of sorts. The direct result of the spit cloud. Poor boy.

Undoubtedly, he'd be in worse shape without Erol's care. It was clear the Nocturne was able to get Karl back on his feet, as wobbly as they were. Karl unconsciously leaned against Erol's back as if they were old friends.

What did they do upstairs? Did he tell the baby human anything? Not that it mattered. There was nothing to gain by Erol telling the doctor anything about their past acquaintance. Their torrid, multi-century love affair was history, only to emerge every now and then as the fodder for gossip. It didn't make seeing him any the less difficult.

But love for Neima was always difficult. Throughout her lifetimes, having a mate was always tied to commerce. Women weren't people; they were property, pawns for bargaining, nothing more. As such, in many forms she was traded and bartered for the sake of a man's success, often to ensure the continuance of his bloodline. A duty that Neima could not complete.

When it was found out she couldn't have children, it led to her demise. Sometimes she was tossed out and shunned. Most often, she was killed, or at least they thought they killed her.

Neima took in a long, controlled breath and let it out slowly through her nose, ignoring her stinging shoulder. She needed to get herself together. She wasn't a five-hundred-year-old child anymore. It didn't help that Erol continued to stare at her every chance he got.

His eyes had a vacancy about them, making him look fatigued. Nocturnes were never fatigued. He had changed through the years, and Nocturnes rarely changed. Something was amiss.

"Only," Uma said with a bow, "I would like to invite the rest of my family in to join the Gathering."

Neima nodded her head slightly, grateful for the distraction. "By all means, have them come in." She kept her gaze on the door, trying her best to avoid Erol's smoldering stare.

A long line of Nocturnes filed into the foyer. The last was a tall woman with flaming red hair.

The hairs on the back of Neima's neck instantly stood up. Why was she here? The one Nocturne she disliked more than any other in the entire world was now standing in her house. Couldn't she be cut a break? She fought the urge to stamp her foot and whine.