She swallowed toothpaste and choked.
Samuel looked up. “You okay?”
“What are you doing here?” The question came out garbled. She removed the brush and wiped the dripping foam away with her fingers.
“I’m here to wake you every couple of hours. Regan said you should be monitored for the next day or so.”
“What? No,” she practically squeaked. “You can’t stay here.”
Samuel ignored her objection by returning his attention to his cell, his thumb scrolling the small screen. He bent his leg and propped his arm on his knee, looking quite settled in.
“I can ask Johnnie. She’ll come stay with me if you insist on someone being here overnight.”
“It’s almost four in the morning.”
“You can call my cell every couple of hours. Or I can set my alarm.”
“Abby, come to bed.”
An honest-to-goodness shiver shot up her spine at the unintentionally suggestive demand. It was quickly followed by a full-on body flush running from her toes to her hairline. She was in so much trouble.
“I really am fine,” she said in a last-ditch effort to avoid the unavoidable.
“It’s non-negotiable,” he said, without lifting his gaze.
She returned to the bathroom, acutely aware of parading around in oversized panties and a spaghetti-strapped top claiming to have a built-in shelf-bra, but in truth, had no support at all. On autopilot, Abby spat out the remaining toothpaste and rinsed. Suddenly blind to the ugly bruises, all she could see in the mirror was the deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face. She was nervous—really nervous.
Did he plan on them sleeping in the same bed?
Of course, he did. Ferwyns didn’t know the meaning of personal space. It probably hadn’t crossed Samuel’s mind to offer to take the couch. Why would he do that when there was a perfectly comfortable bed with room to spare?
Yes, they’d kissed once, and it was the best kiss of her entire life, but that didn’t mean anything else would happen if she slept beside him. He would wake her a few times during the night to make sure she was lucid, and that was it. End of story. No big deal.
“Be an adult, Abigail Colleen,” she told her reflection firmly.
Her stomach a mass of butterflies, she reentered the room and grabbed a lightweight sweatshirt from the dresser’s middle drawer. Abby ruined her attempt at casualness by pulling it on too quickly. Clearing her throat and brushing aside her bangs, she glanced at the sofa longingly before rounding the footboard as nonchalantly as if jumping into bed with a sexy male was totally routine.
Right.
Samuel didn’t glance up at her approach, obviously not nearly as affected as Abby by the impending closeness and lack of clothing.
See? Everything was fine. Just fine.
The commander pulled away the blankets and she cautiously climbed in. Abby gave him her back, scooting dangerously near the edge. The bedsprings dipped with Samuel’s weight, and the lights went out. She slammed her lids closed and exhaled. The mattress depressed again directly behind her and his warm lips brushed her temple in a feathery caress.
“Go to sleep. I have you.”
The velvet promise flowed over Abby like southern summer rain. A profound sense of peace and contentment seeped into her veins, lulling her to sleep faster than she would have believed possible.
Abby was warm and cozy, the delicious weight on her torso encouraging her to burrow into the cushy mattress and drift back to sleep. Wriggling her butt further into the heat enveloping her from shoulder to hip, she sighed in bliss.
A soft grunt sounded in her ear. A hot puff of air blew across her cheek.
She stilled, struggling to open her heavy lids. The sunlight shining into the room made the task harder. Abby’s first coherent thought was she’d forgotten to close the apartment drapes again, but quickly discarded the inane observation as the more urgently relevant second and third slammed into her consciousness: the comforting weight on her upper body was a masculine arm, and the substantial warmth behind her was a bare chest.
Samuel’s bare chest.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
She held in a groan, unwilling to do anything that might disturb the softly snoring male. Now fully alert, her mind raced to take stock of the impossible situation.
She’d been sleeping on her side, tucked securely beneath the commander’s arm. Long strands of her hair were trapped between his fingers, his palm loosely cupping her throat. She’d made things considerably worse by inadvertently nestling closer to the alarming hardness of his groin.
Exactly when had he gotten under the covers?
Her heart thundered, cheeks burning with the understanding that any second Samuel could awaken and find them entangled in her bed. The only way to prevent that awkward scenario was to extricate herself immediately. Sooner than that even.
Abby shifted her hips until they no longer intimately touched his and then placed her fingers under Samuel’s wrist. If she could lift his forearm enough to slide underneath the dead weight, she could hightail it to the bathroom. No idea what her next step would be, but one problem at a time.
Samuel’s hand reflexively tightened on her neck the moment she began pushing. His fingers dug deeper into her hair, and he grumbled incoherently before pulling her closer. Every muscle in Abby locked, waiting for his breathing to even out again. Afraid to keep trying and wake him fully, she blew at the bangs that had fallen into her eyes and stared at the ceiling in frustration.
Stubborn Ferwyn.
Samuel had woken her once during the short night, again sometime after dawn and now it was…late morning? Early afternoon? She didn’t know or care. All Abby wanted was a hasty escape route. She could be a grownup tomorrow.
But the raspy sound of Samuel’s “Mornin’” and a bristly jaw rubbing across the top of her head let her know it was far too late to run.
“Um,” was the best response she could come up with.
“Go get dressed,” he said, nose skimming her unblemished cheek before delving into her hair. He inhaled, and then his mouth was at her ear. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Okay.” She was as motionless as a stone statue, her heart ready to burst from her ribcage. The mattress shifted as he left the bed.
Abby’s brain must have shut down because although freed, she still didn’t move. The rustle of Samuel’s clothing roused her enough to glance over her shoulder and see black cargos cresting firm buttocks in gray boxer briefs. Whipping back around, Abby waited until his zipper rasped closed to throw off the covers.
“You have eggs?”
She scurried to the bureau, her chin in her chest. “Yeah, I think so.” She sounded breathless and said more firmly, “In the lower bin.” Risking another look, she glimpsed him padding barefoot around the kitchen while pulling on his t-shirt.
“Omelets sound good?”
She grabbed panties and a bra, childishly hiding them in front of her body. Yes, she was being ridiculous. She didn’t care.
Moving to the closet, she nabbed a black sleeveless blouse and pair of aqua-colored slacks from their hangers.
“That’d be great,” she said, unable to resist a last peek.
Samuel crouched in front of a lower cabinet, searching for something and making a lot of noise doing it. As she watched him putter in her space, her heart foolishly swelled.
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” he replied, eyes shining like bronze coins as he twirled a copper skillet. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And didn’t that thought tempt Abby as much as it scared her?
Chapter 15
“A soft voice can be heard above the loudest shout.”
Bridget MacCarthy
Abby spent over an hour with a detective from the MPD.
Liaison Carter Jenkins arranged for dozens of padded folding chairs and rectangular wooden tables to be set up in the Harbor Complex’s largest conference room. He
also made sure a Fae Touched lawyer was assigned to every police investigator present, hoping to ensure the exchanges went smoothly.
They didn’t. At least not when a Dádhe was questioned.
After the initial preliminaries, the detective would rattle off the names of the humans the vampire allegedly assaulted, and then push for a confession. The queen’s representative would provide corresponding sheets of paper for each victim while the berated Dádhe remained silent. The accusing officer eventually accepted the offered documentation, and issued a curt warning not to venture beyond the city limits.
The same scene played out repeatedly until it was Abby’s turn. She refused to press charges against the vampire who’d almost broken her jaw, but couldn’t lie when asked about the Dádhe’s attack on the man at the bar. Lady Rose’s attorney assured that no repercussions would result from her testimony, but she didn’t understand how that could be true.
It was Noah who explained it.
Samuel refused to leave Abby alone until the twenty-four to forty-eight-hour concussion observation period ended. He dropped her off with his nephew in the Guard’s lounge where Tucker, Johnnie, and two others were also hanging out. Her friend’s presence made the enforced visit more pleasant—and Abby’s newly devised Plan B easier to implement.
Plan A was to get the commander to agree to the shorter timeline which ended around midnight. If he insisted on the lengthier suggestion, she’d talk Johnnie into a sleepover and relieve Samuel of babysitting duties because there was no way Abby was spending another night with a barely clothed shifter in her bed.
No freaking way.
Noah informed Abby that every Untouched visiting the island was required to sign a legal document relinquishing certain rights. The disclaimer for “accidental bites” was disclosed in the fine print.
“Waivers?” Abby asked incredulously.
“Is a golf club’s favorite type of music sah-wing?” His question was muffled as he stuck his head in the lounge’s full-sized refrigerator.
Johnnie responded with a huffed laugh. “It’s meant to protect the Dádhe from a Feeder who changes their mind after giving away a free sample. Some humans come to Chess hoping to entice a vampire into offering a lucrative two-year blood contract. And when they fail, it can be…disappointing.”
“That piece of paper is coming in handy now,” Hop Blackwater commented. “Can you imagine if the MPD could prosecute the Fae Touched under Tennessee law? Crack that legal doorway and we may never be able to shut it again. We could lose the right to govern ourselves entirely.”
The Guard member Abby saw briefly in wolf form at Chess appeared to be in his early forties. His human version was a roughly attractive male with caramel skin, high, flat cheekbones, and a wide-bridged nose. Blue-black hair parted in the middle fell unbound to his waist, strands of white near his temples and faint crow’s feet framing a hard, clean-shaven face.
“You don’t think the victims from last night have a right to be upset? To want some form of justice?” Abby asked him.
“Do the Dádhe deserve to be persecuted for being forced into bloodlust against their will?”
Hop was the first Ferwyn Abby met whose irises weren’t a shade of brown, but a turbulent, stormy gray. She wondered if that made him a different breed of wolf altogether.
“Humans are picketing in the streets, blocking bridge access to the island,” he continued. “They are swarming the hub at the monorail station and calling for vampire heads to roll. Your president has already called for a special committee to look into the Fae Touched situation.” Hop spoke scathingly, unaware the US leader was no longer Abby’s anything. “The American government has been searching for a way to either control us, use us, or kill us, and now we’ve handed it to them on a silver platter.”
“Handed them what?” The question came from the vampire who’d introduced himself proudly as “Gregory Alfred Hutchins, personal assistant and secretary to Prince Myles, the heir to the East South Central Region and the Standish House thlán.”
The Dádhe male was small in stature, only a few inches taller than Abby. He had thin shoulders, cornflower blue eyes, and a youthful face topped by a short cap of riotous brown curls. He seemed more a teenager than an adult, making her curious if he’d been Infused illegally and how he’d survived as only mature humans could handle the influx of Fae magic required for the transition.
“Our independence,” Hop nearly spat, “and ultimately our lives.”
Gregory’s face scrunched in a way that would have been adorable on a six-year-old but was decidedly odd for anyone older. “Well, that’s silly. None of those humans even died.” He made the callous observation without a trace of animosity, as though merely baffled anyone would find the circumstances at Chess upsetting.
Abby was visibly shaken at his coldness, drawing the vampire’s attention. He proceeded to bestow on her the sweetest smile. It started small and crooked, then broadened into a childlike, fangless grin. Gregory dragged his chair closer, scraping its legs loudly across the hardwood floor until their seat arms butted. He looked so delighted with himself that she couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Everyone knows the vampires involved didn’t have a choice and hadn’t meant to harm anyone,” Johnnie said. “They were as much a target as the humans.”
“You think that matters when the majority species is calling for retribution? It’s been less than a day since the attack and every national news outlet in the country has politicians and religious zealots on air demanding a repeal of the Accord. Shouting to anyone who will listen that the safety of their children, the future of the Untouched, is being threatened by those with magic.”
It was going to get ugly. It already was ugly.
“Things will die down and return to normal.” Johnnie’s usual upbeat attitude sounded strained. “Don’t you think so, Jacob?” The only person Abby heard call Tucker by his first name smiled tremulously, looking to Samuel’s beta for reassurance.
Hop appeared skeptical but didn’t argue further.
Tucker rubbed Johnnie’s back soothingly and grunted noncommittally while her friend leaned into his touch.
Gregory’s toothy grin was firmly in place as he patted Abby’s hand in an awkward there-there.
The gloomy mood persisted for several minutes; everyone lost in their thoughts.
“Damn, I think this has gone bad,” Noah said, his voice loud in the previously hushed room. He shoved his nose into an opened carton of milk, screwed up his face in distaste and then thrust the container arm’s length away. “It smells like ass.”
“And you know what ass smells like because…” Johnnie said, bubbly nature returning.
“I’m a wolf,” he deadpanned. “It’s how we say hello.”
Silence reigned for another split-second before everyone burst out laughing. Even the serious-minded Hop. Samuel chose that moment to walk in and ask what was so funny, which made everyone laugh harder. Abby was still wiping away tears when the commander pulled out her chair and helped her stand. They were halfway down the hallway and away from Johnnie—Plan B—before she noticed they’d left the lounge and instantly sobered.
“How did the meeting go?” Abby asked, playing for time. She needed to come up with a feasible Plan C, and in case that failed—a workable D.
Samuel fully clothed was becoming a serious danger to her heart. Half-naked? He was absolutely lethal. She couldn’t risk getting any more emotionally involved with the handsome shifter when every day spent on the island could be her last.
Abby saw the cruel irony in the situation. Where once she’d feared exposure and actively avoided the Fae Touched, now she considered several of them friends. She would miss Johnnie’s sunny disposition and Noah’s corny humor. Zee’s snarky attitude and Lady Rose’s antiquated curses. But her chest squeezed tight at the possibility of never seeing Samuel again.
“Chief Pennington wants to arrest every Dádhe involved in the fiasco at the club. The pr
ince shot it down. Technically the human authorities can’t do jack shit except threaten to ban them from entering the US.”
“They’d be trapped on the island.”
“Yeah.” Samuel grimaced. “Faraday thinks a few publicly offered sacrificial lambs would be enough to appease the masses. He suggested we ask for volunteers.”
“Lady Rose would never agree to that.”
“No, she wouldn’t. But something has to be done. We’ve received multiple vandalism reports throughout the day. A group of Untouched teens threw homemade pipe bombs at several houses in Grandmaster Lake’s High Point Terrace neighborhood this morning. No one was hurt, and the witches’ wards prevented any fires from starting, but…” He scrubbed at his neck. “This isn’t only happening locally. Once the news about Chess broke nationally, all nine regions have reported multiple incidents of violence against the magical community.”
“What about the Anwyll and shifters who protected the humans? Doesn’t their bravery count for anything?”
“A few people came forward to praise our efforts, but the press is focusing on the damage done,” Samuel said, steering her into the elevators with a hand between her shoulder blades.
“Do you think the attack at Chess and the assassination attempt are related?”
“There’s no proof, but I don’t believe in coincidences. Why any Fae Touched would want to promote anarchy is beyond me. What benefit is there in inciting a war with humans?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably. Abby couldn’t become a real member of the magical community without endangering her kind, but she cared what happened to them.
“I can’t anticipate the next move if I don’t know who’s manipulating the endgame. All I can do is guess, and it’s damn frustrating.” His fingers scored his scalp, ripping through his hair until it was standing on end. Abby fought the impulse to reach up and tidy it. “I can’t protect our people if I don’t know what I’m protecting them from.”
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