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Synopsis
As immortal Seasons, Jack and Fleur wielded powerful magic in their roles as a Winter and a Spring. Yet there wasn’t magic strong enough to keep them apart and they risked everything for their love, for the freedom to live their lives as they choose – together. That choice came at a cost and Jack had to sacrifice his Winter magic – and his immortality. Although he’d do anything for Fleur, he can’t deny the emptiness he’s felt since. And the world they thought they left behind is still dealing with the fallout of the battle. With Professor Lyon as the new Chronos, Seasons are free to do as they please. But not everyone is happy with the change in leadership. When an old enemy seeks revenge, immense magic runs wild and unchecked, creating chaos everywhere. Thrust into the middle of a new war, Jack and Fleur are again forced to choose between their freedom and saving the world from the storm.
Release date: June 8, 2021
Publisher: HarperTeen
Print pages: 480
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Seasons of Chaos
Elle Cosimano
FLEUR
A guitar riff screams against the walls of the villa, drowning out the morning chatter of the jays as I follow the sound through the veranda. By the time I reach the workout room, Jack’s favorite ’80s punk mix is reverberating in my bones. I push open the door, covering my ears against the hammering of drums.
“Jack!” I can’t even hear myself over the bass. Neither can he, apparently. “Jack, you really shouldn’t—”
His back rests on the weight bench, his legs spread, his bare feet pressed flat against the floor as he shakes chalk from his hands and adjusts his grip on the bar. It’s loaded down with far too many plates. I open my mouth to shout again. Oblivious, he sucks in a few short breaths, gritting his teeth as he pushes the bar from its cradle. Jack’s muscles tighten into distracting patterns, cords straining in the flushed column of his neck as he lowers the bar and presses it up again.
Eyes squeezed shut, he pushes out a few more reps. I hover close, my hands poised to catch the bar if it drops. His jaw strains, his breath heating my face as I help guide the bar the last few inches into the cradle.
His gray eyes flash open as the bar clatters into place with an echoing thud. A smile tugs on his lips. He lies there, covered in sweat, grinning at me upside down, lip-synching the words to whatever song is blaring through the speakers. I reach for his phone and shut the music off.
“I said, you shouldn’t be lifting this much weight without a spotter!” My voice is too loud, the music still 1A Strangely Aching Heart
FLEUR
A guitar riff screams against the walls of the villa, drowning out the morning chatter of the jays as I follow the sound through the veranda. By the time I reach the workout room, Jack’s favorite ’80s punk mix is reverberating in my bones. I push open the door, covering my ears against the hammering of drums.
“Jack!” I can’t even hear myself over the bass. Neither can he, apparently. “Jack, you really shouldn’t—”
His back rests on the weight bench, his legs spread, his bare feet pressed flat against the floor as he shakes chalk from his hands and adjusts his grip on the bar. It’s loaded down with far too many plates. I open my mouth to shout again. Oblivious, he sucks in a few short breaths, gritting his teeth as he pushes the bar from its cradle. Jack’s muscles tighten into distracting patterns, cords straining in the flushed column of his neck as he lowers the bar and presses it up again.
Eyes squeezed shut, he pushes out a few more reps. I hover close, my hands poised to catch the bar if it drops. His jaw strains, his breath heating my face as I help guide the bar the last few inches into the cradle.
His gray eyes flash open as the bar clatters into place with an echoing thud. A smile tugs on his lips. He lies there, covered in sweat, grinning at me upside down, lip-synching the words to whatever song is blaring through the speakers. I reach for his phone and shut the music off.
“I said, you shouldn’t be lifting this much weight without a spotter!” My voice is too loud, the music still ringing in my ears.
“I don’t need a spotter.” He arcs his back a few inches off the bench, lifting his shirt to mop sweat from his face. His sly grin widens, teasing a blush out of me when he catches me staring at the taut lines of muscle underneath. We’ve been living together, sleeping together in the same bed, for more than a year, but the sight of him still knocks me breathless sometimes. He reaches up and tugs the end of my pink ponytail until my face hovers upside down above his. Perspiration shimmers in his dark hair and shines on his upper lip, leaving a deliciously salty taste on mine as he steals a sweaty kiss from me. Under the bright overhead lights, his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Whatever irritation I felt moments ago melts away as he swings out from under the bar and tugs me gently onto his lap. The calluses on his palms catch on the loose fabric of my skirt as he slides his hands up my hips, leaving snowy white trails of chalk on the dark cotton before settling on the small of my back.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, the words tinged with worry. “Your physical therapist—”
“My physical therapist gave me the green light,” he reminds me. It’s been nearly eighteen months since Gaia brought him back from the brink of his last death with three arrow-shaped scars in his back and a hole in his heart where his magic used to be. A hole he insisted would fill with time. But some days, I’m not so sure.
My brows knit and he draws me closer.
“The doctor said you could ease your way back into a light training routine.” I wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Three hours a day in here isn’t ‘light training,’ Jack. And benching two twenty—”
“Isn’t going to kill me.” He turns my hand over and presses a kiss against my palm. Goose bumps ripple over me as his lips travel to the crook of my arm. “My body’s in excellent shape,” he whispers, his dark dusting of morning stubble igniting a trail of shivers over my collarbone. “But if you want to test my endurance, I’m completely on board with that.”
Laughing, I push him back by the chest with questionable effort. “I’ve got Spanish lessons in less than an hour.” And if he keeps kissing me like this, I swear to Gaia, I’ll never make it to class.
FLEUR
A guitar riff screams against the walls of the villa, drowning out the morning chatter of the jays as I follow the sound through the veranda. By the time I reach the workout room, Jack’s favorite ’80s punk mix is reverberating in my bones. I push open the door, covering my ears against the hammering of drums.
“Jack!” I can’t even hear myself over the bass. Neither can he, apparently. “Jack, you really shouldn’t—”
His back rests on the weight bench, his legs spread, his bare feet pressed flat against the floor as he shakes chalk from his hands and adjusts his grip on the bar. It’s loaded down with far too many plates. I open my mouth to shout again. Oblivious, he sucks in a few short breaths, gritting his teeth as he pushes the bar from its cradle. Jack’s muscles tighten into distracting patterns, cords straining in the flushed column of his neck as he lowers the bar and presses it up again.
Eyes squeezed shut, he pushes out a few more reps. I hover close, my hands poised to catch the bar if it drops. His jaw strains, his breath heating my face as I help guide the bar the last few inches into the cradle.
His gray eyes flash open as the bar clatters into place with an echoing thud. A smile tugs on his lips. He lies there, covered in sweat, grinning at me upside down, lip-synching the words to whatever song is blaring through the speakers. I reach for his phone and shut the music off.
“I said, you shouldn’t be lifting this much weight without a spotter!” My voice is too loud, the music still ringing in my ears.
“I don’t need a spotter.” He arcs his back a few inches off the bench, lifting his shirt to mop sweat from his face. His sly grin widens, teasing a blush out of me when he catches me staring at the taut lines of muscle underneath. We’ve been living together, sleeping together in the same bed, for more than a year, but the sight of him still knocks me breathless sometimes. He reaches up and tugs the end of my pink ponytail until my face hovers upside down above his. Perspiration shimmers in his dark hair and shines on his upper lip, leaving a deliciously salty taste on mine as he steals a sweaty kiss from me. Under the bright overhead lights, his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Whatever irritation I felt moments ago melts away as he swings out from under the bar and tugs me gently onto his lap. The calluses on his palms catch on the loose fabric of my skirt as he slides his hands up my hips, leaving snowy white trails of chalk on the dark cotton before settling on the small of my back.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, the words tinged with worry. “Your physical therapist—”
“My physical therapist gave me the green light,” he reminds me. It’s been nearly eighteen months since Gaia brought him back from the brink of his last death with three arrow-shaped scars in his back and a hole in his heart where his magic used to be. A hole he insisted would fill with time. But some days, I’m not so sure.
My brows knit and he draws me closer.
“The doctor said you could ease your way back into a light training routine.” I wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Three hours a day in here isn’t ‘light training,’ Jack. And benching two twenty—”
“Isn’t going to kill me.” He turns my hand over and presses a kiss against my palm. Goose bumps ripple over me as his lips travel to the crook of my arm. “My body’s in excellent shape,” he whispers, his dark dusting of morning stubble igniting a trail of shivers over my collarbone. “But if you want to test my endurance, I’m completely on board with that.”
Laughing, I push him back by the chest with questionable effort. “I’ve got Spanish lessons in less than an hour.” And if he keeps kissing me like this, I swear to Gaia, I’ll never make it to class.
He draws me back against him by the front of my shirt. “I’ll give you a very good reason to ditch.”
I swat his hands away as I stand and wipe the chalk from my skirt. “You can show off your physical prowess when I get home.”
“What if I want to show you now?” His fingers graze my waist as it swings out of reach. I let my gaze linger playfully on his chest. Then lower. My grin widens as I settle into a sparring stance.
“Fleur,” he laughs, “this isn’t exactly what I had in—”
I drop to the mat, sweeping his legs out from under him. His breath rushes out with the force of his fall, and before he can react, I’m on top of him.
“Fleur—”
Slamming his wrists against the mat, I pin him down with my knees. Something flashes in his eyes, wicked and wild. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” He surges under me, throwing me sideways, careful to control my fall as I crash down into the thick foam. We grapple, breathless and giggling, tumbling over each other until he’s got me pinned.
“You’re holding back,” he says, loosening his grip, giving me an out I don’t need. He may be stronger, but the windows to the villa are completely open to the garden outside. I could summon roots and vines to haul him off me and hang him from the ceiling by his toes if I wanted to.
I melt into the mat, my laughter dying as the hard angles of his hips sink to fit against the soft, warm space between mine.
“Maybe I like you like this,” I whisper.
I see it then, in his almost-flinch—whatever it is he’s been stacking on that weight bar and carrying alone. His dark hair falls over his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, angling my face to catch his gaze. I know why he spends so many hours in here. And while I can’t deny the end result is amazing, it hurts knowing why he’s become so obsessed. “I love you, Jack. You.” I didn’t fall in love with him because of his magic. Nor did I fall out of love when he lost it. If anything, I fell harder, loving him more, for the strength it must have taken him to give it away. “I love you like this.”
ringing in my ears.
“I don’t need a spotter.” He arcs his back a few inches off the bench, lifting his shirt to mop sweat from his face. His sly grin widens, teasing a blush out of me when he catches me staring at the taut lines of muscle underneath. We’ve been living together, sleeping together in the same bed, for more than a year, but the sight of him still knocks me breathless sometimes. He reaches up and tugs the end of my pink ponytail until my face hovers upside down above his. Perspiration shimmers in his dark hair and shines on his upper lip, leaving a deliciously salty taste on mine as he steals a sweaty kiss from me. Under the bright overhead lights, his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Whatever irritation I felt moments ago melts away as he swings out from under the bar and tugs me gently onto his lap. The calluses on his palms catch on the loose fabric of my skirt as he slides his hands up my hips, leaving snowy white trails of chalk on the dark cotton before settling on the small of my back.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, the words tinged with worry. “Your physical therapist—”
“My physical therapist gave me the green light,” he reminds me. It’s been nearly eighteen months since Gaia brought him back from the brink of his last death with three arrow-shaped scars in his back and a hole in his heart where his magic used to be. A hole he insisted would fill with time. But some days, I’m not so sure.
My brows knit and he draws me closer.
“The doctor said you could ease your way back into a light training routine.” I wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Three hours a day in here isn’t ‘light training,’ Jack. And benching two twenty—”
“Isn’t going to kill me.” He turns my hand over and presses a kiss against my palm. Goose bumps ripple over me as his lips travel to the crook of my arm. “My body’s in excellent shape,” he whispers, his dark dusting of morning stubble igniting a trail of shivers over my collarbone. “But if you want to test my endurance, I’m completely on board with that.”
Laughing, I push him back by the chest with questionable effort. “I’ve got Spanish lessons in less than an hour.” And if he keeps kissing me like this, I swear to Gaia, I’ll never make it to class.
He draws me back against him by the front of my shirt. “I’ll give you a very good reason to ditch.”
I swat his hands away as I stand and wipe the chalk from my skirt. “You can show off your physical prowess when I get home.”
“What if I want to show you now?” His fingers graze my waist as it swings out of reach. I let my gaze linger playfully on his chest. Then lower. My grin widens as I settle into a sparring stance.
“Fleur,” he laughs, “this isn’t exactly what I had in—”
I drop to the mat, sweeping his legs out from under him. His breath rushes out with the force of his fall, and before he can react, I’m on top of him.
“Fleur—”
Slamming his wrists against the mat, I pin him down with my knees. Something flashes in his eyes, wicked and wild. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” He surges under me, throwing me sideways, careful to control my fall as I crash down into the thick foam. We grapple, breathless and giggling, tumbling over each other until he’s got me pinned.
“You’re holding back,” he says, loosening his grip, giving me an out I don’t need. He may be stronger, but the windows to the villa are completely open to the garden outside. I could summon roots and vines to haul him off me and hang him from the ceiling by his toes if I wanted to.
I melt into the mat, my laughter dying as the hard angles of his hips sink to fit against the soft, warm space between mine.
“Maybe I like you like this,” I whisper.
I see it then, in his almost-flinch—whatever it is he’s been stacking on that weight bar and carrying alone. His dark hair falls over his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, angling my face to catch his gaze. I know why he spends so many hours in here. And while I can’t deny the end result is amazing, it hurts knowing why he’s become so obsessed. “I love you, Jack. You.” I didn’t fall in love with him because of his magic. Nor did I fall out of love when he lost it. If anything, I fell harder, loving him more, for the strength it must have taken him to give it away. “I love you like this.”
Lacing our fingers together, I raise our hands up over my head, bringing our faces close, the same way I held him down at the edge of the pond near the safe house, the night we shared that first earth-shattering kiss. It had started as a snowball fight, two Seasons wrestling in the marshy grass in a fit of laughter to see who would come out on top. Maybe he let me get the best of him that night, but it didn’t matter. Did it? Our lips met somewhere in the middle.
“I’m making you late.” His nose brushes mine, and his mouth skates over the edge of my lips. “You should probably get ready for class.” The words are lost in the haze that wraps around me as he grazes my ear. His voice is deep, rough with desire, sending a delicious shiver through me, and I wonder if he knows how much power he has. How he ignites my blood and makes my body thrum, even without his Winter magic.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” I ask.
Jack’s breath stills against my neck. He pulls back a little, just enough to search my face. He presses a too-soft kiss to my lips before untangling himself from my hands. Suddenly, his warm weight is gone, and he’s reaching down to help me up. “I’ve got my meeting with Lyon, then I’m going for a run.”
“Where?”
“To the park,” he says, reaching for a towel.
My hands freeze where they smooth the wrinkles from my shirt. Forcing a smile, I hitch a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing at the treadmill I bought him for Christmas. He hasn’t turned it on once since I took it out of the box. The sleek black machine sprawls like a slumbering cat, positioned strategically in front of the open window. “It won’t kill you to try it, you know.”
“Neither will running outside alone.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. We both know why I bought it. He knows I hate running. That I only go running with him at the park every morning because I’m afraid to let him go by himself. I don’t worry about myself out there. The rules of our world have changed since the rebellion. Most of the restrictions that used to keep Seasons in check have been lifted, giving us more freedom than we’ve ever had before. But while most Seasons seem grateful for the change, I’m not foolish enough to believe there aren’t still a few out there who feel loyal to Michael
and miss the old ways. Lyon assures us he rounded up as many as he could find, but it only takes one, and Jack’s face is far too recognizable—he might as well be the poster boy for the whole revolution. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s vulnerable without his magic. Daniel Lyon may have granted Jack immortality as part of the benefits package for the roles we played in overthrowing Michael, but just because our bodies don’t age doesn’t mean we can’t be injured or die. We both have to stay vigilant if we want to plant safe roots here. And running alone in the city isn’t smart.
“Why won’t you use it?” I ask, leaning a hip against the treadmill.
“Because . . .” He rakes up his sweat-matted hair, the jagged crown of black spikes falling back over his eyes as he paces away from me. “It makes me feel claustrophobic.”
“It’s in front of the window.”
“I can run outside. It’s perfectly safe. I don’t want to be hooked up to electronic devices all the time.”
I tap my ear, where my transmitter usually sits. The one Jack makes me wear whenever I leave the villa. “Aren’t you being a little hypocritical?”
He shakes his head, laughing silently, his hands on his hips as he saunters toward me. He curls his arm around my waist. “I’m supposed to be your Handler. Not the other way around.”
I lean back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t need a spotter, either.”
His lips chase mine, smiling against them as he steals another kiss. “Too bad. You made your choice. You’re stuck with me.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I’ll never regret it.”
Jack had been as good as dead, bleeding out beside a frozen lake, when I was given the choice to save one person to be my Handler and protector for the rest of my immortal life. Watching him die nearly killed me, and I have no intention of losing him again. “Treadmill, please,” I say, ruffling the ends of his damp hair. I rise up on my toes to plant a last kiss on his cheek. “Or wait for me to get home and I’ll go with you.”
“Wear your transmitter!” he calls after me.
“I have my cell phone,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Fleur?”
FLEUR
A guitar riff screams against the walls of the villa, drowning out the morning chatter of the jays as I follow the sound through the veranda. By the time I reach the workout room, Jack’s favorite ’80s punk mix is reverberating in my bones. I push open the door, covering my ears against the hammering of drums.
“Jack!” I can’t even hear myself over the bass. Neither can he, apparently. “Jack, you really shouldn’t—”
His back rests on the weight bench, his legs spread, his bare feet pressed flat against the floor as he shakes chalk from his hands and adjusts his grip on the bar. It’s loaded down with far too many plates. I open my mouth to shout again. Oblivious, he sucks in a few short breaths, gritting his teeth as he pushes the bar from its cradle. Jack’s muscles tighten into distracting patterns, cords straining in the flushed column of his neck as he lowers the bar and presses it up again.
Eyes squeezed shut, he pushes out a few more reps. I hover close, my hands poised to catch the bar if it drops. His jaw strains, his breath heating my face as I help guide the bar the last few inches into the cradle.
His gray eyes flash open as the bar clatters into place with an echoing thud. A smile tugs on his lips. He lies there, covered in sweat, grinning at me upside down, lip-synching the words to whatever song is blaring through the speakers. I reach for his phone and shut the music off.
“I said, you shouldn’t be lifting this much weight without a spotter!” My voice is too loud, the music still ringing in my ears.
“I don’t need a spotter.” He arcs his back a few inches off the bench, lifting his shirt to mop sweat from his face. His sly grin widens, teasing a blush out of me when he catches me staring at the taut lines of muscle underneath. We’ve been living together, sleeping together in the same bed, for more than a year, but the sight of him still knocks me breathless sometimes. He reaches up and tugs the end of my pink ponytail until my face hovers upside down above his. Perspiration shimmers in his dark hair and shines on his upper lip, leaving a deliciously salty taste on mine as he steals a sweaty kiss from me. Under the bright overhead lights, his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Whatever irritation I felt moments ago melts away as he swings out from under the bar and tugs me gently onto his lap. The calluses on his palms catch on the loose fabric of my skirt as he slides his hands up my hips, leaving snowy white trails of chalk on the dark cotton before settling on the small of my back.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, the words tinged with worry. “Your physical therapist—”
“My physical therapist gave me the green light,” he reminds me. It’s been nearly eighteen months since Gaia brought him back from the brink of his last death with three arrow-shaped scars in his back and a hole in his heart where his magic used to be. A hole he insisted would fill with time. But some days, I’m not so sure.
My brows knit and he draws me closer.
“The doctor said you could ease your way back into a light training routine.” I wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Three hours a day in here isn’t ‘light training,’ Jack. And benching two twenty—”
“Isn’t going to kill me.” He turns my hand over and presses a kiss against my palm. Goose bumps ripple over me as his lips travel to the crook of my arm. “My body’s in excellent shape,” he whispers, his dark dusting of morning stubble igniting a trail of shivers over my collarbone. “But if you want to test my endurance, I’m completely on board with that.”
Laughing, I push him back by the chest with questionable effort. “I’ve got Spanish lessons in less than an hour.” And if he keeps kissing me like this, I swear to Gaia, I’ll never make it to class.
He draws me back against him by the front of my shirt. “I’ll give you a very good reason to ditch.”
I swat his hands away as I stand and wipe the chalk from my skirt. “You can show off your physical prowess when I get home.”
“What if I want to show you now?” His fingers graze my waist as it swings out of reach. I let my gaze linger playfully on his chest. Then lower. My grin widens as I settle into a sparring stance.
“Fleur,” he laughs, “this isn’t exactly what I had in—”
I drop to the mat, sweeping his legs out from under him. His breath rushes out with the force of his fall, and before he can react, I’m on top of him.
“Fleur—”
Slamming his wrists against the mat, I pin him down with my knees. Something flashes in his eyes, wicked and wild. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” He surges under me, throwing me sideways, careful to control my fall as I crash down into the thick foam. We grapple, breathless and giggling, tumbling over each other until he’s got me pinned.
“You’re holding back,” he says, loosening his grip, giving me an out I don’t need. He may be stronger, but the windows to the villa are completely open to the garden outside. I could summon roots and vines to haul him off me and hang him from the ceiling by his toes if I wanted to.
I melt into the mat, my laughter dying as the hard angles of his hips sink to fit against the soft, warm space between mine.
“Maybe I like you like this,” I whisper.
I see it then, in his almost-flinch—whatever it is he’s been stacking on that weight bar and carrying alone. His dark hair falls over his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, angling my face to catch his gaze. I know why he spends so many hours in here. And while I can’t deny the end result is amazing, it hurts knowing why he’s become so obsessed. “I love you, Jack. You.” I didn’t fall in love with him because of his magic. Nor did I fall out of love when he lost it. If anything, I fell harder, loving him more, for the strength it must have taken him to give it away. “I love you like this.”
Lacing our fingers together, I raise our hands up over my head, bringing our faces close, the same way I held him down at the edge of the pond near the safe house, the night we shared that first earth-shattering kiss. It had started as a snowball fight, two Seasons wrestling in the marshy grass in a fit of laughter to see who would come out on top. Maybe he let me get the best of him that night, but it didn’t matter. Did it? Our lips met somewhere in the middle.
“I’m making you late.” His nose brushes mine, and his mouth skates over the edge of my lips. “You should probably get ready for class.” The words are lost in the haze that wraps around me as he grazes my ear. His voice is deep, rough with desire, sending a delicious shiver through me, and I wonder if he knows how much power he has. How he ignites my blood and makes my body thrum, even without his Winter magic.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” I ask.
Jack’s breath stills against my neck. He pulls back a little, just enough to search my face. He presses a too-soft kiss to my lips before untangling himself from my hands. Suddenly, his warm weight is gone, and he’s reaching down to help me up. “I’ve got my meeting with Lyon, then I’m going for a run.”
“Where?”
“To the park,” he says, reaching for a towel.
My hands freeze where they smooth the wrinkles from my shirt. Forcing a smile, I hitch a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing at the treadmill I bought him for Christmas. He hasn’t turned it on once since I took it out of the box. The sleek black machine sprawls like a slumbering cat, positioned strategically in front of the open window. “It won’t kill you to try it, you know.”
“Neither will running outside alone.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. We both know why I bought it. He knows I hate running. That I only go running with him at the park every morning because I’m afraid to let him go by himself. I don’t worry about myself out there. The rules of our world have changed since the rebellion. Most of the restrictions that used to keep Seasons in check have been lifted, giving us more freedom than we’ve ever had before. But while most Seasons seem grateful for the change, I’m not foolish enough to believe there aren’t still a few out there who feel loyal to Michael and miss the old ways. Lyon assures us he rounded up as many as he could find, but it only takes one, and Jack’s face is far too recognizable—he might as well be the poster boy for the whole revolution. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s vulnerable without his magic. Daniel Lyon may have granted Jack immortality as part of the benefits package for the roles we played in overthrowing Michael, but just because our bodies don’t age doesn’t mean we can’t be injured or die. We both have to stay vigilant if we want to plant safe roots here. And running alone in the city isn’t smart.
“Why won’t you use it?” I ask, leaning a hip against the treadmill.
“Because . . .” He rakes up his sweat-matted hair, the jagged crown of black spikes falling back over his eyes as he paces away from me. “It makes me feel claustrophobic.”
“It’s in front of the window.”
“I can run outside. It’s perfectly safe. I don’t want to be hooked up to electronic devices all the time.”
I tap my ear, where my transmitter usually sits. The one Jack makes me wear whenever I leave the villa. “Aren’t you being a little hypocritical?”
He shakes his head, laughing silently, his hands on his hips as he saunters toward me. He curls his arm around my waist. “I’m supposed to be your Handler. Not the other way around.”
I lean back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t need a spotter, either.”
His lips chase mine, smiling against them as he steals another kiss. “Too bad. You made your choice. You’re stuck with me.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I’ll never regret it.”
Jack had been as good as dead, bleeding out beside a frozen lake, when I was given the choice to save one person to be my Handler and protector for the rest of my immortal life. Watching him die nearly killed me, and I have no intention of losing him again. “Treadmill, please,” I say, ruffling the ends of his damp hair. I rise up on my toes to plant a last kiss on his cheek. “Or wait for me to get home and I’ll go with you.”
“Wear your transmitter!” he calls after me.
“I have my cell phone,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Fleur?”
“I know!” My voice carries across the veranda as I stride to our bedroom. I hate that damn tracking device, probably for the same reason Jack hates the treadmill—they remind us too much of the life we fought to leave behind. But as Jack so often insists on pointing out, cell phones are difficult to locate with any degree of accuracy, and they’re useless if you need both hands free to fight. And he’s right—my tracker is the only reliable way he can keep tabs on me when I’m away from home. So, because it means a lot to him and I hate to see him worry, I tuck it in my ear before slipping on my sandals and packing up my textbooks for class. As I drag my backpack over my shoulder, I catch movement across the courtyard.
Through the window, across the veranda, I watch as Jack scoops up his running shoes and turns off the lights.
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