Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

  “I think I do.”

  I stopped and gave him my best warning glare. “No. Really. You don’t.”

  “I’ve had six months to think about it.”

  “Yes, and I was unconscious for most of those six months.” Unfortunately, those six months had not been a vacation. They’d been filled with a malevolent darkness. A nightmarish ogre stalking me to the farthest reaches of my mind. If Percy hadn’t kept me safe, I didn’t know what would’ve become of me. “Technically, we’ve only known each other for a few days.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  I hesitated but only for a moment. “I do.”

  He leaned back against a barely worn Arizona Coyotes jersey. “You know as well as I do, we’ve known each other for years. Decades, actually.”

  Was he talking about when we were kids? When I’d turned the wolf into the boy? Or… or did he remember at last? Not just the fact that he would steal into my dreams as the wolf when we were kids, when he would show affection by licking my fingers. We’d clearly bonded psychically when I brought him out of the veil. But I’d come to realize there was more to it.

  I started pacing again. I’d been dreaming about him since I was three, and I was now convinced I was somehow seeing the real Roane. I literally watched him grow up in my dreams. I watched him blow out birthday candles and take his first driving lesson and get his first tattoo. And those visions, while fleeting, were crystal clear. I knew the boy. I knew the man. But I was confused. If he was the same boy I’d watched grow up, why didn’t I recognize him the instant we first met in my grandmother’s kitchen?

  I chewed a nail as I paced, turning the questions over and over in my mind before an answer came to me: because I’d only seen parts of him. His strong hands when he tied his shoelaces. His sculpted jaw when he shaved. His sparkling eyes when he looked into the rearview. As though I was seeing him through his eyes. Watching his life unfold through his vision. His hearing. His sense of smell and taste and touch.

  Especially touch.

  From the time I was seventeen, I’d had dreams of a delicious lover. The epitome of a schoolgirl’s fantasy. As I got older, I just thought I was having very vivid, very wet dreams. I’d climaxed more in my sleep over the last twenty-seven years than I had with both of my exes combined. Not to mention the handful of boyfriends I’d collected throughout my life.

  But lately, I began to wonder if the dreams were not all connected somehow. Were they him? This boy who grew up in my dreams? This lover who stole into them?

  I sank on the edge of the chair, my head bent in thought. Even if it was him, even if he’d dreamed about me as much as I’d dreamed about him, did we really know each other well enough to consider the M-word?

  “Roane, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I’m certain I do.”

  “No, I mean, with me.” I turned to him and pleaded. “I… I have horrible luck when it comes to marriage. Can’t we just table the M-word and have sex for the next few years? We can always revisit the idea in the future.” I let my gaze slide past him as my marriages, both of them, flashed before my eyes. “In the very, very distant future.”

  His expression gave nothing away as he took a long moment to consider my offer, but his piercing gaze never wavered. “You’re more like your grandmother than I thought.”

  I gasped. “I am nothing like… wait, really?” I asked, realizing that was a huge compliment. My grandmother was amazing.

  “Am I going to be like Houston? Hanging around for forty years until you decide to accept my hand?”

  Police Chief Houston Metcalf had apparently been proposing to my effervescent grandmother for decades before she finally accepted his hand a few hours ago.

  In all honesty, I had no idea why they didn’t get hitched sooner, other than the fact that, like my two, her first marriage went horribly, horribly south. Like deep south considering she and her coven had to kill her estranged husband with some kind of witch fire when the black magics he’d been using consumed him. The fact that he’d asked her to kill him made the mental image a little easier to bear. And Percival had stuck around and had essentially become the house we were in now.

  Whatever the reason, I was certain my grandmother had her reasons. I set my jaw. “I think their relationship is complicated.”

  “I think every relationship is complicated.”

  He had me there. “You do know I’ve been married twice, right?”

  “Third time’s a charm.”

  “It’s just…” I stood and started pacing yet again. “Both times were absolute disasters.”

  “You told me about that asshat who took everything from you.”

  “Yes. Everything besides the Bug, my vintage mint-green Volkswagen Beetle.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Everything besides the Bug. But you never told me about your first marriage.”

  “That’s my point! We’ve only known each other for a few days. We haven’t had time to talk about all of the things men and women talk about.”

  “I’m not discussing china patterns no matter how long we’re together.”

  I stopped in front of him and crossed my arms. “I just meant there is so much we don’t know about each other. The fact that you didn’t know about my first marriage proves that.”

  He stretched out a leg and braced an elbow on the arm of the chair to lean his head against a thumb and two fingers. “I said you didn’t tell me about your first marriage. Not that I didn’t know about it.”

  “Fine, you googled me.”

  “No. Well, yes, but you know damned well we’ve been in each other’s lives a lot longer than a few days. Do you think I wasn’t there for your wedding night? Swimming in your memories of it while you slept? In your… disappointment?”

  I sat again and asked hesitantly, “Do you remember me in your dreams like I remember you in mine?”

  The penetrating gaze that traveled over me spoke volumes, and I found myself tugging at my hem again. “I do.”

  Holy crap. “What…” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat before continuing. “What did you see?”

  “What did you see?”

  I picked invisible lint off my tee. “I asked first.”

  He thought a moment, then said, “I saw your first bite of chocolate.”

  “Heaven,” I said, thinking back.

  “Your first day of school.”

  “Scared out of my wits.”

  “Your first kiss.”

  “Oh my God.” I scrubbed my face in embarrassment. “Wait. Are you counting the time Harold Pesci kissed me on the playground after throwing dirt in my face? Because—”

  “No. Your first real kiss.”

  “Ah. Gibby Saldana behind the gym.”

  “Was that his name?”

  Even the kiss had been a disaster. I’d had braces. He’d had very chapped lips. As brief as it was, it did not end well.

  Still, did he remember more? Did he remember stealing into my dreams and giving me impossible expectations? Because no man had ever measured up to the apparition who seduced me in the darkest corners of my imaginings.

  “I remember everything,” he said, as though reading my thoughts.

  Heat pooled in my abdomen, and I pressed my knees together. “I have to admit, I feel like part of the reason my marriages failed was because I was cheating on them with you every night.”

  “Right. It had nothing to do with the fact that both of your husbands were assholes.”

  “My first one wasn’t,” I said in Martin’s defense. “He was just—”

  “Malicious.”

  “Misguided.”

  “Self-absorbed.”

  “Lost.”

  “Narcissistic.”

  I gave up. “We married too young.”

  My dads had tried to tell me. Naturally, I didn’t listen. I’d wanted more. I’d wanted to hold the man making love to me. To get to know him. To laugh and cherish and savor the little
moments. While my nights were filled with unimaginable pleasures, my days were empty in comparison. A shell of what I’d come to crave. But I quickly discovered my dream lover had tainted my ideals of what most men were capable of.

  I decided to keep that little chicken nugget to myself and changed the subject. “You didn’t recognize me when we first met?”

  “Though I knew who you were, I did not recognize you.”

  “And I didn’t recognize you. How? I saw so much of your life. We shared everything.”

  “Through our dreams. How often do you look at yourself in a dream? How often do you see your own image?”

  “True. It’s just all so surreal. And you’re insisting we’ve known each other for decades. I disagree.”

  “How so?”

  “I only know what you dreamed about. I only saw the snippets of your life that filtered into your unconscious mind. I never got to know the real you. Your hopes or interest or aspirations.”

  “Right now I only aspire to you.”

  As delicious as that sentiment was, he was missing the point. Clearly on purpose.

  I couldn’t believe any of this was real. And I had questions. Many questions. I decided to start with one that had haunted me for years. “When you were in middle school, a bully took you down and punched you over and over.” The memory caused a sharp ache in my chest. “He just kept hitting you. Bloodied your nose. Almost broke your jaw. But you didn’t fight back. You could easily have taken him even though he was twice your size. By that point, I’d seen what you were capable of. You could’ve killed him, but you just let him hit you. Why?”

  He dropped his gaze to the tumbler in his hand. “I take it that’s a no?”

  “What? No. Not… I just think we should wait.” I pulled a thread on my hem and started unraveling the shirt. “I think we should get to know each other a little better. We could… we could keep this purely physical while we think about it.”

  “It’s okay.” He set the tumbler on the table and stood to leave.

  My heart jumped into my chest. Had I hurt his feelings? Was he mad? I couldn’t decipher anything from this impossible man. He was the hardest person I’d ever tried to read.

  I stood and spoke to his back. “Roane, you don’t understand. My marriages were unmitigated disasters. I promised myself—”

  He turned, and the uncompromising expression he leveled on me silenced me instantly. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt or irritated or bitter. He was determined. “Marry me or lose me forever,” he said softly, his smooth voice evoking spasms of desire from somewhere deep in my core. They were the same words Houston had said to my grandmother that very night.

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Coercion, but yes.”

  “And by lose you forever, you mean…”

  “I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.” His gaze darted to the massive windows behind me as though he could see into the blackness beyond. Then again, he was a wolf. Maybe he could.

  “You’re going to force my hand?”

  “Yes,” he said without a hint of hesitation. Or guilt. His eyes held little warmth when he looked back at me. “You’ve left me no choice.”

  How did this get so serious so fast? Wasn’t it just yesterday we were playing doctor on the kitchen counter? Quite admirably, I might add. And now he wanted to get married?

  I’d been so betrayed in the past. By men I thought loved me. There were few things more disappointing than finding out you were nothing more than a means to an end. My first marriage lasted all of two months. We were both nineteen. I’d had a small apartment and a decent job while I went to school and he’d needed a place to live. But he knew my fathers had money and began manipulating me to get his fair share. On our wedding night, no less. Unfortunately, I saw his true nature only after the ink had dried.

  My second husband was much cleverer. He took his time. Planned meticulously. Stole everything out from under me when I wasn’t looking. Clearly, I could not be trusted when it came to men with a penchant for saying exactly what a girl wanted to hear.

  “Your marriages didn’t work because they weren’t with me.”

  I shook out of my musings and stared at him. “That’s a bold statement.”

  “And true.” He stepped closer and bent his head until his mouth was at my ear. His warm breath fanned across my cheek when he said, “You chose me. I have no choice in this. Do you think I want to beg for your attention?”

  I leaned back to look at him. “I would never ask that of anyone.”

  The half-smile that flickered across his face was anything but joyful. It held a deep sadness that left me winded. “And yet here we are.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.” He locked his hands behind his back. “I’ve waited for you for years. From the moment you changed me, I’ve been yours.”

  “Roane.” I started to step closer, but he tensed as though he would step back if I did. Or maybe he wanted me closer. I had no idea. I simply could not read him.

  He studied me another moment, weighing his options, then said softly, “Every breath I take is for you.”

  My response, if I’d had one other than the gawk I’d fixed on him, would’ve been drowned out by the explosion that shook the windows and rocked the house.

  Two

  You know you drink too much coffee if:

  You want to be cremated just so you can

  spend the rest of eternity in a coffee can.

  —Meme

  An explosion ripped through the house, the concussive sound causing an instant ringing in my ears. Roane tackled me to the ground and covered my body with his as dust and particles of sheetrock rained down from the ceiling.

  Once the rattling stopped, we exchanged horrified glances, then scrambled to our feet. Roane darted out of the room before I found my balance. As I ran toward the balcony overlooking the foyer, he sailed over the balustrade. I skidded to a halt and watched in awe. He landed on the first floor unfazed, bending at the knees to soften the impact, then sprinted into the kitchen while I took the stairs.

  Thick black smoke billowed out of the back of the house, the kitchen drowning in the stuff. Then I heard the coughing.

  “Annette!” I flung myself into the smoke-filled room.

  Roane flung me back. Sort of. He picked me up with one arm and rushed me out of the house along with a short, curly-haired vixen named Annette Osmund. After planting both of us on the front porch, he went back in to open windows and… what? Put out the fire? Was there a fire? Was Percival in real danger?

  I glanced at Annette and did a double take. She didn’t have an ounce of soot on her face. She had several pounds, and she was wearing them like a bear wears its coat. Either she’d been in the middle of her nightly skincare routine or her face had been at the epicenter of the explosion. Her curls sprang out in wiry coils on top of her head, and a trail of smoke wafted up off of them.

  I wiped the lenses of her turquoise cat-eye glasses, making the situation worse, then hugged her to me. She didn’t protest, which proved how stunned she was.

  Then it hit me again how loud that explosion had been. Smoke alarms screamed all over the house, and my thoughts turned to my grandmother. She’d been staying in a second basement apartment with an entrance right off the kitchen. Panic shot through me. I was just about to go back in when Roane emerged carrying another passenger: Ruthie Goode, my grandmother and the latest love of my life.

  He lowered her to her feet and tried to steady her, but I threw my arms around her shoulders before he could accomplish his goal.

  “Gigi!” I said, holding her tight.

  Her face and blonde hair had a light dusting of soot, making her bright eyes look even bigger as she glanced around in wonder. She coughed softly and huffed out a puff of smoke.

  “Are you okay? Oh my God, what happened?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  I hugged her tighter. “You could’ve been killed.”
>
  She patted my shoulder reassuringly, then coughed again as I led her and Annette farther out. Then another thought hit me. I’d brought home a stray. Minerva, a skittish twenty-something member of Gigi’s coven whose uncle almost killed us both that very day. And I’d left her to burn alive.

  I sprinted toward the front door again only to be tackled once again. Roane carried me out of the house in one arm and Minerva in the other. He deposited us both on the lawn, gave me a warning growl, then went back in.

  Minerva hadn’t quite gained her balance. I steadied her, then gave her a thorough once-over.

  “What… what happened?” She looked back at the house. She’d been in one of the upstairs rooms, and she’d been sound asleep when the explosion went off by the looks of her. The poor girl had been through so much in the last few days, and now this.

  “I know it was loud,” I told her, worried about PTSD, “but we’re all okay.” I leaned closer. “You’re okay.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she tried to gain her bearings. “What was loud?”

  “The explosion.”

  Her lashes formed a circle around her pretty brown eyes. “There was an explosion?”

  I almost laughed and pulled her into my arms. “One that you slept through, apparently.” And I thought I was a deep sleeper.

  She hugged me back, suddenly on high alert.

  I glanced around at everyone. “Is everyone breathing okay? Gigi?” The smoke had seared my already raw throat as well, and I’d barely gotten a couple of lungfuls.

  Gigi nodded but kept a hand at her throat as she watched smoke billow out of Percy’s front door.

  I looked over at Annette. Her ash-covered face was now streaked with tears, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She’d clearly been the closest to the explosion. “Annette, what happened?”

  She coughed. There was a lot of that going around. “I don’t know. The oven exploded.”

  “The oven?” The graveness of the situation began to sink in. “Do you mean the Wolf double convection oven with gourmet mode, dual fuel range, six burners, signature red handles, and a French top that costs more than my car?” Admittedly, that wasn’t saying much.