Last Kiss Goodnight - By Gena Showalter Page 0,127

soft-looking rug. The kitchen reminded her of the one in the log cabin, with an island counter and pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, only these were a lot higher up. She would never be able to reach them without a ladder—or Solo.

Two bedrooms were upstairs, and she had no trouble picking out Solo’s. It smelled like him, with a subtle hint of peat smoke. The bed was huge, the biggest she’d ever seen, and there were no covers, only a sheet. A sheet without a single wrinkle. The closet was filled with shirts, pants, and shoes, all black. But there was no sign of Solo.

And the other bedroom was empty.

He wasn’t here, she realized.

Shoulders slumped, she made her way down the stairs. The Targon leaned against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his middle.

“Didn’t find what you were looking for, I take it,” he said.

This was Solo’s farm. His home. But he wasn’t here.

She burst into tears.

Thirty-four

The path of life leads upward for the prudent to keep them from going down to the realm of the dead.

—PROVERBS 15:24

DR. E IS DECEASED. I killed him.” X leaned against a column, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still tall, still muscled.

Solo could hear him, but his voice—and all sounds, really—had been turned to a lower volume. “I wish you had done it sooner.”

“Had you told me to do so sooner, I would have. You had accepted him into your life, and I was never to interfere with your free will. But the moment you rejected him, I was able to act.”

All these years . . . all the torment . . . and the fault was all his own.

He was outside, lying atop an alabaster dais. A sheet was draped over his lower body, but the rest of him was bare, allowing rays from the three suns glowing in the white sky to stroke over him. Rays that were actually healing him. The cuffs were gone, thank the Lord.

He wanted to rise, but he didn’t yet have the energy. The three gaping holes in his chest were still in the process of closing.

“How are you so big?” he asked.

“In this realm, I am big. In your realm, I am small.”

“You were big in my realm, too. For a little while.”

“No. You saw into my realm.”

“Why haven’t I changed, then, now that I’m in yours?”

“You are not like me. And besides, this might be my realm, but it is not my world. It is yours. Alloris.”

He looked around with new eyes. Fresh green grass surrounded him. Flowers of every color bloomed in lush gardens, sweetly scenting the air. Men and women just like him strolled down a cobbled road. Each wore white. Each was smiling.

And behind every person was an even taller being with translucent skin.

No one seemed to care that Solo was out in the open, half-covered.

X grinned. “You will love it here, I promise you.”

“Not without Vika.” His sweet, darling Vika. With every second that passed, he was more determined to return to her.

Where was she? Not on the farm; he’d given that to the Targon. Or maybe she was there. The Targon had vowed to protect her, and the male would not renege. Not just because doing so would cause him pain but because he had the heart of a guardian underneath that irreverent exterior.

Did she think Solo was dead?

Had she cried?

He hated the thought of her tears. He wanted her happy. Only ever happy.

“Why did you never tell me you could bring me here?” Solo asked.

“Because you would have wanted to return,” X said, “and you would not have been welcome.”

“Why?”

“Your temper. Your job. Dr. E. Many other reasons.”

“Am I the reason my parents left and went to earth?”

“No. That was your father’s doing. He took your mother from another man and hid with her so that she could not be taken away.”

“So the husband traveled to earth and shot them?”

“No! Of course not.” X spun around and faced him. He closed the distance and eased down at the edge of the dais. “Your father got into trouble while on earth. He . . . Are you sure you want these details?”

“Yes.”

“He again stole another man’s wife, a man of the worst sort. Your mother didn’t know he was planning to leave her.”

And me, Solo realized. He thought back, and realized he mostly only remembered his mother standing over his crib, singing to him. He didn’t have many mental pictures of his father. “You were