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Back Seasons of Chaos Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. Epilogue
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. About the Author
  68. Books by Elle Cosimano
  69. Back Ad
  70. About the Publisher

“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.

2

If I Should Ever Come Back

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JACK