For some reason that amused Armand, and then he pointed out, “When I entered the room you weren’t even sure immortals weren’t a bunch of monsters after all.”
“That was just because Livy—” He shook his head, not even wanting to remember her in those moments. “But you said that wasn’t her. That she’ll be fine.”
“So now you think my daughter is the woman you thought she was after all,” Armand reasoned and nodded. “She is. Jeanne Louise is smart, sensible, loving, and compassionate. And she loves you. And you’re mortal.”
Paul stared at him blankly, uncomprehending.
“What do you think she would do if you fell in front of her and broke your back, or neck, or if you were hit by a car, or just anything of that nature happened?”
Paul frowned. “She’d try to help me.”
“She’d probably turn you,” Armand said grimly. “She wouldn’t even think, she’d just rip open a vein and turn you on the spot rather than lose you. And if she did that she’d be put to death.”
Paul sat back in his seat weakly.
“On the other hand, most mortals live their whole lives without deadly accidents occurring and live to a ripe old age,” Armand said on a sigh. “And then she’d simply have to stand by and watch you die of cancer, heart disease, or just plain old age.”
“People die of old age all the time. It’s the natural way,” Paul said quietly.
“For mortals it is,” Armand agreed. “But Jeanne Louise isn’t mortal, and time seems different to us. Because we live so long, time doesn’t pass for us like it does for you. Or perhaps it doesn’t really for you either.”
“What do you mean?”
Armand hesitated and then said, “Twenty years seems like a long time, doesn’t it?”
Paul nodded.
“But twenty years ago you were—What? Nineteen?” When Paul nodded, he asked, “Does it really feel like twenty years have passed since then?”
Paul blinked at the question. In truth it didn’t. Sometimes he wondered where the time had gone.
“If you stay together, Jeanne Louise will have to watch you wither and die over decades, something you couldn’t bear to do even for weeks with Livy,” he pointed out.
“You think I should let her go,” Paul said solemnly, and felt his heart pang at the very thought.
“No,” Armand said. “My daughter loves you. You are her life mate. And she gave up her turn for your daughter after all. She should get something out of it, even if it’s just a couple of decades with you.” He sighed and then straightened his shoulders and said grimly, “But if you love her, you’ll make it clear that you don’t ever want her to give up her life to turn and save you. And you’ll make sure she never does.”
Fifteen
Jeanne Louise murmured sleepily and arched against the body at her back, instinctively thrusting her breast into the hand caressing it. But her eyes opened when she felt a kiss pressed to her neck.
“Paul?” she whispered with confusion.
“I thought you’d never wake up,” he growled by her ear, tweaking her nipple for making him wait.
A husky chuckle slipped from her lips, and she shifted onto her back in the bed to peer at him. “Is Livy all right?”
“Mmm hmm,” Paul murmured, his attention on the sheet he was tugging down to reveal her breasts. Bending, he pressed a kiss to the nipple of one, mumbling, “She’s up and having breakfast with your father and Eshe.”
“Oh,” Jeanne Louise sighed as his mouth closed over her nipple. She closed her eyes as he suckled, but blinked them open when he suddenly stopped and lifted his head.
“I love you,” he said solemnly.
Jeanne Louise hesitated, the worries that had made her cry herself to sleep earlier rising up inside her, but she pushed them back, and cupped his face in her hands and said, “I love you too, Paul.”
He smiled crookedly and bent to press a kiss to her lips, then raised his head again and said solemnly, “Thank you for saving Livy.”
Jeanne Louise swallowed and nodded, unable to speak past the tears suddenly crowding her throat and swimming in her eyes. She didn’t regret saving the girl, but she regretted losing the chance to turn Paul.