"Monty?"

I rubbed the side of my temple as a dull ache formed up between my eyes. I closed them and drew in a breath. Some things hurt more to remember, and that was why I chose not to.

"Monty." Rosie's voice made my eyes pop open. She hugged the couch pillow tight in her arms. Nathan did the same. "Her parents were murdered? My grandparents?"

I nodded, looking in my bowl to see my ice cream had melted. "Yes."

Rosie frowned, pouting her pink lips, and stared down at her fingers. "That's why she never talked about it."

"Right," I muttered with a sigh.

"And she blamed you for it?" Nathan asked. His glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose, and his hair covered his forehead. I glanced at him before turning my gaze towards the TV. I hadn't recalled when we turned it on.

"She blamed me for a while," I said as I cracked my neck from one side to the other. "Eventually, she stopped."

"And the whole 'planning to kill her father,' thing?" Rosie bit her lip.

"Ah," I said, "that took me one-hundred years to admit."

Nathan noticed my ache. He stood, disappearing into his room. When he returned, he grabbed my hand and dropped two pills in my palm. I swallowed them without water.

"What was that?" Rosie asked as her eyes followed Nathan back to his seat. "What'd you give Monty?"

"He's had head trauma." His hands shifted into the pockets of his jeans. "I mean, I can't confirm it without an x-ray, but it's the only thing I can pair with his severe migraines and memory loss. Those pills help with the pain."

Did you have to tell her so nonchalant, Nate?

"Memory loss?"

The pills started their effects, and I groaned uncomfortably.

"You can't remember things?" she asked me.

I looked at her with half-lidded eyes. God, did she look like Charlotte. Why hadn't I noticed the resemblance before? "I can't remember, but I can't forget," I said. "Sometimes—a lot of times—if I remember, I get headaches."

"Migraines," Nathan corrected, "and nightmares."

Rosie chewed on her lip, her eyes bouncing between Nathan and me. "That's why you don't remember Grampa Vick, or Abby, or—"

"Anything," I started towards my room, "I can't remember anything."

She tried to follow me, but Nathan stopped her. 'Leave him,' he told her, 'he needs to sleep it off.'

I turned into my room and shut the door, just as I heard her say, "Will he have a nightmare?"

Perhaps, Rosie. I dropped onto my bed and closed my eyes. Or, perhaps I'll dream of your mother.

**

I felt cold air on my face. Drops of water splashed on my forehead and slid down my nose and cheeks. I winced, shifting my head as I rolled on my side. Was my window open? Had it even rained lately? Grumbling, I stretched out my hand, but when I reached for my pillow, it wasn't there.

I wasn't in bed, I wasn't awake. I was dreaming.

My eyes popped open, unintentionally allowing rain to drip inside them. I blinked away the water and wiped at my lashes. Blades of grass brushed against my cheek as I rolled onto my back. Thunder rumbled in the sky as lightning sliced through the array of grey and black clouds.

I lifted my hands and stared at my fingers. My nails were dirty. Faint lines covered my knuckles—healed wounds—as though I'd recently been in a fight. My heart stopped. This was different. Scary, even.

"Nathan?" I called out but received no answer. I hadn't expected one.

I wasn't sure what to do. Should I call out my own name three times and hope I'd wake? Or should I click my shoes together?

"Shit."

My hands dug into the wet soil as I pushed myself up to sit. There were trees, countless trees. Large rocks littered the ground. Beside me was a cave; a cave I remembered. I thought about it and realized, I knew the wooded area. The thunderstorm. I looked down at my shoes—black and scoffed—and my pants. They were tattered at the knee from a fall I'd had, from a fight I'd won, but almost lost. And I almost lost it because of:

"Charlotte."

I jumped to a stand. Approaching the entrance of the cave, my hand sat on its jagged rocks. Smoke from an old fire warmed my face. "Charlotte?" I called, but only my echo came as a response.

Merde. Where was she?

Thunder crashed directly above me. My hair—long and unkept—slapped against my face as the wind blew. I remembered this day—the one I'd never forget.

Charlotte and I had gotten into a fight. What started off as a conversation about love and marriage, ended up becoming an argument over money and places to sleep. I'd forced her to ride trains, frequent brothels, and small inns. She'd followed me, willingly, and never complained until that morning. "I cannot live this way!" she told me, "I want to be normal! I want to be a normal wife!"

I still heard her cries, and remembered throwing a glass on the floor of our rented room, telling her, "I'm not normal! This is what I am! If normal is what you want, if being a wife is what you crave, it surely isn't going to be with me!"

I hadn't meant it, but I left. I loved her, but I couldn't hurt her. So, I'd found a way to let off steam.

I went to the local pub, picked a fight, and punched a man square in the face, dislocating his jaw. I didn't care for the blood on my hands or the bit that dripped from his face. I wanted to pummel him, crush his skull, kill him. And I would have, if she hadn't run in, screaming at the top of her lungs for me to stop being such a monster.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back and led me to a cave in the woods just outside of North Carolina. I could never control my temper, could I?

"Lamont!"

Ah, there she was.

I spun around, looking out into the trees. The rain hadn't stopped, nor showed signs of it. I was drenched. My white shirt, stained with blood that wasn't mine, stuck to my chest. My shoes dug further into the soil.

And Charlotte, dressed in blue with a white shawl to cover her head, pushed past the rocks towards me. "Lamont!"

A part of me wanted to smile, but, dream or not, I still felt the anger from that day. It boiled in the pit of me. With a sigh, I shifted one step back and crossed my arms.

She moved in front of me, quivering and wet. Her dress, normally a pale blue, was darkened with rain and splashed mud. Her shawl stuck to her black hair, partially covering the undone braid that had fallen from its morning style. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and the dark brown of her eyes stared at me with vexation and remorse. I couldn't help but feel the same.

"Come back home. It's raining," she said.

Inside, I chuckled; I remembered this. This was the one memory I refused to tell Nathan in detail. My fingers twitched in anticipation.

Why am I so aware?

I looked up at the sky just as white lighting brightened the clouds.

do I truly have to relive this memory, aware of the decision I'd made?

"Home?" I shook my head. "I don't have a home. You made that very clear, Charlotte May."

"That was not what I said, Lamont."

"I believe it was."

"Listen," she sighed, and looked at the cave behind me, "surely you can't think that is suitable?"

"Did you come all this way to tell me what is suitable?"

Charlotte pursed her lips. "Come back, before we both catch a fever, now."

Had she said that? A fever from the rain? My fingers twitched again.

"I never fall ill, never catch a fever. You go back," I said. "Go back and find what it is you're looking for."

"You!" she shouted. "I've been looking for you!"

"You know very well what I mean!" I shouted back.

There it was, that anger I couldn't control.

She flinched at the sound of my voice, stepping back into the mud that swallowed her shoe. Her hands gripped her shawl with trembling fingers, and I wanted to tear it away. It did nothing for her but make her look like a fool.

"You said it this morning." I stepped back towards the cave, looking inside the shadows that smelled of smoke. "You want to live a normal life, and I promise you, that will never be what I can provide."

"Because of your condition," she paused. "What you are is not wrong, Lamont."

Now, I laughed. Condition? "What I am is wrong, mon chéri."

"No, it isn't," her hand touched my back, "we can live just fine, you must believe it. I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

Resolve settled in. I was torn between loving her and freeing her from the demon that I was. With me, she'd never had the life she wanted, nor the life she was meant to have. We'd be on a constant run, bouncing from town to town. I wondered if my French past would come back and haunt me.

Then, there was our age. I never outright told her—because I didn't know myself—but she knew. She was aware that my condition was beyond explainable, beyond reasonable, and well beyond normal. What she didn't know, was not only could I not age, but I couldn't touch her the way I wanted to. I laid awake in bed many nights, fighting the urge to take her, have her as my own.

How long could that last?

I took a deep breath. "Charlotte, you love me more than anyone else, because you've never loved before. I am the first, and I certainly won't be the last."

God, it'd pained me to say it.

"Just stop that." Thunder echoed with her words. "Stop and come home."

"Home," I closed my eyes, "to the room we will lose tomorrow because I haven't the money to pay?"

I turned to face her and her trembling lips. I couldn't stand to see her cry. It ruined me. I'd promised to keep her safe, to keep her alive, but if I stayed with her, and loved her, I'd do much worse than the past few months could have ever done.

My thumb caressed her cheek, wiping at the rain that stuck to her skin. Her hands clutched mine in desperation, afraid I'd leave; because I would leave. I planned to kiss her once more and turn around.

Leaving was all I was ever good at. Charlotte, France, whatever life I had before that.

"Go back and tell them I've left. They'll take pity on you."

"Lamont..."

"And then find a good man to marry, hm? Have children. Have a normal life."

Even the rain couldn't mask those tears.

"I want all that and more with you," she said softly. "I want a normal life with you."

I grabbed her. My arms gripped her shoulders and I pressed my lips on top of her head. She cried against my chest as I pulled us into the entrance of the cave and out of the rain.

My fingers twitched again. I knew what was coming. Was it wrong that I wanted to change my decision from that day? To let her be free?

I was so selfish.

"I forgive you," she cried. "I forgive everything you've done, and everything you will do. I know you're no angel. I simply cannot fathom the idea of what you really are. That is because I love you, Lamont."

She knew not of what she'd forgive, but the man in me accepted it and apologized. "Charlotte May, all I can offer, and all I will ever have to give, are apologies. I haven't any money, not anymore. I want nothing more than to give you the world, and I cannot do that. For that, I am sorry."

Charlotte kissed me. Her weight pushed me back against the cold, stone wall, and her tongue forced its way past my lips. I welcomed her kiss, deepening it further. She anticipated it, wanted it; I knew it by the way she tugged at my shirt. She started at the bottom and worked her way up.

For a second, I let her. I watched as she freed my chest from the cloth that stuck to my skin and pressed hard kisses up towards my neck. She bit me, sucked until my skin was red.

I taught her well, but I couldn't continue.

I grabbed both of her wrists and spun her around, our bodies switching places. Anxious lips reached to kiss me again, but I shook my head. "Charlotte, stop," I told her. "Please."

"Why?" she whimpered. Her leg wrapped around mine. Her shawl slipped from her shoulder and fell into the dirt. "I want to be with you, forever."

I groaned, pressing my forehead against hers. My fingers dug into her skin, "You don't understand. I cannot hurt you," I whispered.

Charlotte slid her nose across mine, to comfort me. "You will not hurt me, Lamont. I know you."

Love, you know so little of me. "I need you to leave. Go back into town, and tell them—"

"I will not leave," her voice was firm.

I swallowed my heart. "Charlotte May, you will die with me."

Her lips reached mine and kissed me softly. I felt a tremor run up my spine. Losing control of my hands, I let them drop down to her waist and pulled her body against mine.

"I will die without you," she said against my lips, sliding her fingers through my hair.

This wasn't my Charlotte. I didn't think of it then, but remembering the moment, the way she looked at me—hot and determined—she was no longer the timid girl I met on the porch. Her passion for me intensified with that of her love, and perhaps anger fueled this lust.

Or, perhaps she knew.

Charlotte was without a home, a family. She'd lost her name, her status. There was no money, no jewelry. Together, we had nothing. With me, she would lose it all whether I stayed or left. There was nowhere left to go but down

Why not travel to hell with the demon of her dreams?

I wanted to stay.

My hands reached for her neck, amorously wrapping my fingers around it. Rain and sweat sunk into my skin. As I moved my lips to her ear, she gasped and closed her eyes. "Forgive me," I said, nearly choking on the words.

She nodded and moaned, pressing her head back against the stone. I parted her legs, lifting her dress as my fingers slid up her thigh. Her skin was hot, her body trembling under the feel of my hands. She wanted me, to love me, and knew not of the pain it would bring. The wind howled as I cupped her sex, masking the whimper that broke past her lips.

"Say it, love," I breathed against her ear. "I need to hear you say you forgive me."

I needed to be forgiven for the death I'd inflict. It was inevitable, but if she'd die in my arms, she'd die happy. It was the least I could do. I wasn't meant to love anyone; I was meant to be alone.

The cursed weren't allowed to love.

And I...

She...

Give me one moment of bliss.

I grabbed her chin and kissed her neck. Her sighs guided my lips. The louder the gasp, the further I traveled. My tongue found the top of her breast and as I licked away the rain that clung to her skin, she cried my name.

"Say it," I said as I looked up into her eyes, "please."

Her quivering lips moved in for another kiss, but I denied it. I lifted one hand above her head. "Lamont, I've said it, I forgive you," she sighed.

I sucked in a breath. Her legs shook so hard she could barely stand. Her fingers, desperate with need, tugged at me.

"For this," I told her as my hips pressed against hers, breaking a moan of my own. "Forgive me for this."

"But I—"

I kissed her, hard. My hand that held hers linked our fingers together. Slowly, I pulled my lips away. "Say it," I pleaded.

"I forgive you," she moaned as her hips bucked against mine.

It was the only permission I needed.

I didn't bother to remove her clothes or my own. Her bare neck welcomed me with the taste of salty skin that met my lips. It was her unsteady hands that undid my pants, nestling them low on my thighs. It was I that did the rest.

My hand moved from hers to lift her hips against the cave wall. I admired her tan skin. Drops of water stuck to her like glistening diamonds. I looked at her, to find the love in her eyes just once more before I'd lose it all. When I found it, that undeniable glow of warmth and acceptance, I pulled her down on my aching manhood. Her cry seeped into me, into my muscles, and into my soul.

I thrust up into her, slow and deep. She hissed in pain as I pushed inside. For a moment, a regretful whimper left her lips as she realized it was too much, but I kissed away the sound, slowly moving my hips back to do it again. Her breath hitched as she watched me, both mesmerized and afraid. It lit a fire in me, one that burned as I continued. With each pained gasp, I eased out slowly, drawing out a moan of my own.

It wasn't long until her face changed, the pain of her virginity faded into the pleasures of sex. With her back arched, she cried out as she gradually met my thrusts. A ripple of desire coursed through me. We moaned together, sighed together, and kissed to the rhythm of our beating hearts.

"Lamont," she whimpered against my lips. I hadn't noticed, but there were tears in my eyes. She wiped at them as I pressed into her, and we breathed against each other's lips. "You're crying?"

I chuckled and pulled her bottom lip into my mouth, suckling it softly. "I am."

We paused as she pulled away and rested against the wall. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her fingers traced my chest. "Why," she touched my bottom lip, "why, my love?"

Because no woman ever survived my touch. Because I knew I'd wake with you dead in my arms. Because...

"I love you," I told her and took her lips in a kiss deeper than before.

I lifted her dress higher as I gripped her hips. I took a second to admire her: her legs, the glistening sweat on her thighs. With one hand, I cupped the curls over her sex and pressed between them. Her reaction was instant; her face went bright red as she squeezed her eyes to cry out into the storm that echoed in the cave.

I gave in all the way and took her further, harder, faster than I'd meant to. My fingers balled her hair in my hands and I growled—a sound so ravenous—against her neck as I pushed into her again. And again. The sounds of our moans blanketed us in a heat of our own doing. I reveled in it, in her orgasms—one after the other—and when I came close to my own, I moaned her name in a way I'd never done before.

It echoed, both happy and pained.

I kept my eyes closed for some time after, afraid of what'd I'd see when I opened them. Instead, I took the peaceful delight of listening to her pounding heart and gasping breaths. Her hands, trembling and hot, moved up my arms and over my head. She slid her fingers through my hair. "Lamont," she whispered.

It was then that I opened my eyes to look into hers. I thought I'd find death or absence; instead, I found myself. Not the monster I was, but the man she saw, the man she loved. That was who I wanted to be, who I needed to be but couldn't.

I cupped her face with one hand, kissing the sweat from her top lip. When she smiled, I frowned. "I'm sorry," I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. I could already feel the start of her fever. "I'm sorry."