“That’s not the only thing beds are good for,” Marcus said, his voice lower and more intense than usual. He pulled Phoebe into a kiss that was deeply possessive. Had she still been a warmblood, it would have left her breathless.
But there was no rush for them to make love. They had hours and hours left in the day, and no need to look for food or shelter or warmth or light. They had each other, and that was enough.
“Let’s go look at the barn,” Phoebe said, drawing away and leading him back toward the stairs.
They stepped outside the kitchen door that led out back—it would need to be planed at the bottom to make it easier to open and close, Phoebe noted. And it was a good thing they were vampires, and impervious to cold, because the wood wasn’t thick enough to keep out the chill for much longer. How had Marcus’s family survived a Massachusetts winter with only that thin door between them and the snow and the wind?
Marcus stopped in his tracks.
Phoebe looked back at him. She recognized this spot. It was etched in Marcus’s blood, just like the coastline of America was on the newel post on the stairs.
“You made the only choice you could,” Phoebe said, returning to his side. “It had to be done.”
“Hey!” A woman waved from the road. Her hair was iron gray and she was wearing an apricot-colored shirt and white cropped trousers as though she were about to go on holiday in the Caribbean. “You two are trespassing. Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.”
“I’m Marcus MacNeil. I own this place.” His true name flowed smoothly off his tongue. Phoebe blinked, used to thinking of him as Marcus Whitmore.
“Well, it’s about time you showed up. Every year people come and clear the snow, and mow the hay, and make sure the roof hasn’t collapsed, but a house doesn’t like to be empty.” The woman peered at them through wire-rimmed spectacles. “I’m your neighbor. Mrs. Judd. Who’s she?”
“I’m Marcus’s fiancée.” Phoebe tucked her hand into Marcus’s elbow.
“Are you two planning on living here now?” Mrs. Judd looked them both over. “It would be awfully hard work to make this house habitable. It’s not connected to the sewer, or the power grid, for starters. Of course, nothing worth doing is ever easy.”
“You’re right,” Marcus said.
“There are lots of stories about this place, you know. Somebody found a human skull under that tree.” Mrs. Judd pointed to the large elm tree. “They say the split in the door was made in one of the last Indian raids. And the cellar is definitely haunted.”
“How enchanting,” Phoebe said brightly, wishing this busybody would leave off the spooky stories until they got to know her better.
“You sound foreign,” Mrs. Judd said suspiciously.
“English,” Phoebe replied.
“I knew you were different.” On this rather ambiguous note, Mrs. Judd decided that they had visited long enough. “I’m going to spend Labor Day at the Cape with my kids. If you are going to stay here, can you bring in my mail? Oh—and if you could feed my cat, I’d appreciate it. Just leave food out on the back porch. She’ll find it if she’s hungry.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Judd trod off in the direction of home.
Marcus wrapped his arms around Phoebe and held her close. His heart was beating a bit fast, which put their bloodsongs out of sync. “I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”
“I am.” Phoebe sighed happily. “I choose you, Marcus MacNeil. I choose this place. I choose to wake up here tomorrow, next to you, surrounded by memories and ghosts, with no electricity and a falling-down barn.”
Phoebe held Marcus until his blood stopped racing and their hearts were beating to the same rhythm.
Evermore.
“I’m sure you never dreamed we’d end up here,” Marcus said. “It’s not exactly a beach in India.”
“No,” Phoebe confessed, thinking of Pickering Place with its elegant furniture, and the grandeur of Sept-Tours. Then she looked back at the MacNeil house. She thought of all that had been lost within its walls, and all the joys that might be found there.
“I didn’t realize how much this place still mattered to me,” Marcus said.
They stood, hands entwined, and looked over the farm where Marcus had lived so many years ago, and which was now his. Hers. Theirs.
“Welcome home,” Phoebe said.
Evermore, sang their two hearts.
Evermore.