And with his chest pressed against me and the warm scent of him surrounding me, I wondered if I cared.
“An excellent idea.”
Whatever sense I’d possessed when I’d entered his room had washed away with his intense stare, the press of him against me, and the burning deep within that had only seemed to heighten with our bond. My hand drifted back out of my pocket as we looked at each other, but this time, I did nothing to stop my fingers as they pushed the edges of his dark curls away from his face.
Thankfully, Mrs. Whittle’s knock jarred me back to reality.
“Mr. Henderson?” she called, rapping on the door yet again. “I do hate to bother you like this, but I was wondering if you’d seen Miss Nightshade, by chance. I’m a bit worried about her.”
Zen pulled away, his smile full of mischief, and reached past me for the door. I quickly jumped into action and dove against the wall, pressing my body flat so I’d be covered when it swung open. I didn’t know what in the devil he was up to, but I wanted no part of giving the poor old woman a fit of some sort, which was precisely what finding me in Zen’s locked room with him half naked would have done.
“How can I help, Mrs. Whittle?” he asked. Her lack of reply could have only been due to her shock as she ogled the demon. “Mrs. Whittle, are you all right? Can I get you some water?”
“I’m quite fine,” she said as her feet shuffled across the floor. “Could you perhaps keep an eye out for her, though?”
“I’d be happy to go look for her now, if you’d like.”
“No, no. No need to do that. I just…it’s just that I worry about her. She’s about the same age my son, Malcolm, was when he died. I don’t think I could take it if something happened to her.” Silence stretched out for a moment, and I felt the empty space where my soul had once lived ache in an entirely new way. “But I’m sure I’m just being a ninny about the whole thing. Just ignore me—I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“You’re never a bother, Mrs. Whittle.”
She lingered for a moment, undoubtedly tongue-tied and overwhelmed with emotion; then she and her footfalls made their way down the stairs without another word.
Zen closed the door and looked at me in the dim light of the room, not an ounce of amusement in his expression. Something in Mrs. Whittle’s words had most definitely sobered the mood. “I have something for you,” he said, still hovering by the door.
“Other than a strange little box imbued by a druid?”
“That wasn’t for you, remember?” His smug smile returned, and the moment was lost.
“I’m heartsick—”
“This, however, is.” He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a shiny black circle; a ring of sorts, though unlike any ring I’d ever seen. It had the luster and sheen of onyx, but it was smooth and uncut and formed into a perfect band. When it glinted in the firelight, an orange glow seemed to emanate from within.
“What is it?” I asked, reaching for the mesmerizing ring.
“Something to enhance your abilities—to make your fire power greater.”
I plucked it from his open palm, and the warmth that radiated through me was instant. “This is…it’s...”
“From my realm,” he finished for me. “I had it forged a while ago. I had planned to give it to you sooner, but…” He merely shrugged, as though that were answer enough.
“But what?” I asked, still staring at the black ring.
“You’ve proven difficult to win over.”
My gaze shot to him. My embarrassment at my actions moments before combined with his indifference fueled my temper, an unwelcome result, but the outcome nonetheless. “Is that what this is?” I asked, a hint of anger tinging my question. A note of warning. “A trinket to woo me? To make me trust you?”
His brows bunched in surprise. “No—”
I cut off his response with a raised palm. “Do not speak a word if you intend to lie to me right now. It will not be taken with grace.”
“If I may finish,’ he said, embers burning in his harsh gaze, “I had this made to increase your magic, Andy. Nothing more.”
I looked at him standing before me in all his statuesque beauty, which only served to remind me of Xandros and the way I used to look at him. Of the gifts he’d given me before he’d robbed me of everything that had ever mattered. I looked back down at the ring in my hand and wondered…
I dropped it back into Zen’s palm.
“I can’t accept it,” I said as I edged past him to the door. It was halfway open when he caught my arm.
“This will help get you what you want,” he said, pinching the ring between his fingers. “Help us both.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, dejection in my tone, “or perhaps nothing can. Not really.” He searched my face, looking for a clue as to what he was missing. “Even Xandros’ death can’t erase what he did—what he took from me.”
I walked to my room, collecting the pitcher of water by the door before unlocking it. Zen never tried to stop me; he never said a word. Instead, he watched as the fiery witch he knew devolved into the younger woman Xandros had manipulated. The one whose mother had been murdered. The mother I still mourned silently when no one was looking.
The painful truth was that even Xandros’ death could not give back all that I’d lost. But it would keep him from taking anything else.
I couldn’t let another demon take even more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I awoke the next morning to an unwelcome sight.
Zen sat perched on the end of my bed, grinning at me—truly grinning—like a schoolboy who’d just gotten away with a terrible prank. “Did you know that your nose twitches like a rabbit’s while you sleep? It’s somehow amusing yet oddly endearing…”
I sighed heavily. “Why are you here, Zen?”
He was off the bed and walking toward me before I could rub my eyes. With one smooth tug, he yanked the bedsheets right off, leaving me in the blouse I’d slept in and nothing more. Before he could get an eyeful of my scars that stretched past the hem (and everything else it barely concealed), I snatched the quilt back and wrapped it around my waist.
Fire flashed in his eyes as he stared at where my naked legs had just been, then faded as he brought his gaze to meet mine.
He smiled at me as though I hadn’t just seen a glimpse of his darkness. “Well, that was unexpected—”
“Which is precisely why you don’t pull the covers off of someone!”
“No. Not that,” he replied, staring at the collar of my shirt, where the top few buttons were undone. It hung wide open, exposing far more flesh than it should have. I clutched it closed quickly and refocused my anger while his gaze lingered.
“Then what?”
“In truth, I’d expected you to sleep in the nude.” Blood rushed to my cheeks, and my mouth flopped open and closed as I tried to find the correct expletive to shout at him. “Not to worry, though,” he said with a wink, “there’s always tomorrow.”
He punctuated his remark with a smile, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my head. “You son of a bitch!” I growled as I rose to face him.
“That I am, Andy my dear, and what a bitch she was, but we don’t have time to chat about my mother at the moment—or yours, either, for that matter. We have an auction to prepare ourselves for and little time in which to do so.”
I snuffed out the fireball growing in my hand before I did something foolish, like burn down Whittle House because my nerves were frayed. Instead, I snatched my pants off the floor and shimmied into them under the cover of my quilt, then dropped it to the floor. Zen couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d tried. “What strange sorcery was that?” he asked, gawking at my now pant-clad legs.
“Women are far more resourceful than men ever give them credit for,” I said as I stared him down, hands on hips, just like Ivy. “But that shouldn’t shock you, since you aren’t, by all accounts, a man.”
His endlessly dark eyes narrowed, his amuseme
nt nearly hidden in their sly depths. “Quite right, Andy my dear. Quite right, indeed.”
I brushed my sleep-mussed hair from my eyes and let out a breath. “So, what preparations do you wish to discuss now that you’ve invaded my room at this hour?”
“’Invaded’ seems a touch strong, but I’ll concede your point,” he said, settling back down on the edge of the bed. “I need you to ascertain where this event is occurring. I will do the rest.”
“I don’t see how I can. Ivy never sent for me last night. I’m clearly being kept in the dark, for my own safety or theirs—perhaps both. I don’t think they’ve forgiven me for what happened to those witches in the tunnels, and I’m pretty certain they think I’m lying to them—”
“Which you are—”
“—because they acted strangely when I returned.”
“This is why I suggested you tell them. We could have avoided this very outcome—”
“How? By marching you in there and announcing that I unwittingly bound myself to a demon, but not to worry, all will be fine, because you plan to help us eliminate the threat? Oh, and beyond that, I’m now stuck with you for eternity unless I forfeit my life—again—to sever the bond?” He looked at me unfazed, as though that were exactly what he’d expected me to do. “Have you taken leave of your senses completely?”
“Not completely, no—”
“I’m being serious!” I shouted before quickly lowering my voice. “They’d have attacked you before I could have explained any further.”
His lips pressed to a thin line. “Then they are not very sisterly, for a coven of such powerful witches.”
I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself. It wasn’t their fault that their trust only extended so far. Mine barely did at all, and that stymied our connection. I’d never really given it much thought until that moment, but my reluctance to fully integrate with the Lilies—beyond our missions—was very much a reflection of my mother’s and my excommunication from our former coven. The severing of that visceral bond had taken its toll on us both, and I’d carried that bitterness and pain with me when I’d joined the Lilies. They’d welcomed me with open arms, but I’d questioned their motives and actions from day one.
How fitting that they now questioned mine.
“Ivy hasn’t contacted me about tonight, but it’s possible that she is still considering my involvement. She won’t say a word until she’s come to a decision. Petal will say nothing without Ivy’s say-so…”
Zen leaned in upon my hesitation. “But you think one of the others would?”
I bit my lip as I thought. “Willow might. She’s the most understanding of my behavior. And Hazel…Hazel is easy to mislead and speaks without thinking. If I could get one of them alone, it’s likely that I could get the information we need.”
“Then why are you still standing here?” he asked as he handed me my coat and ushered me toward the door.
I slammed my palm against it so he couldn’t pull it open. “And what, pray tell, will you be doing in the interim?”
He eyed me for a moment before answering. “I need to ascertain how many demons Xandros will have with him, procure the proper attire for the event—for both of us—and a litany of other things I won’t bother to name in the spirit of expedience.”
“Don’t forget masks; it’s a masquerade. Anonymity is important at events such as these, or so say the morally corrupt, anyway.”
“Masks it is, then.”
“Good. Now, when shall we reconvene to prepare?”
He looked out the window at the sun as it crept up behind the city buildings. “We will dine here this evening and retire early to dress for the auction. Events like these rarely begin on time, so we need not rush.”
“All right. I guess I will see you then.”
I released the door and stepped back to let him leave. Instead, Zen just smiled at me and said, “that won’t be necessary.” Then, in a blink, he fell through the wood floor as though it were water, leaving me staring at where he’d just stood, mouth agape.
“So much for preferring privacy to slip into your own realm,” I muttered to myself before a knock on the door startled me. I opened it to find Willow standing there, fidgeting with the buttons of her dark wool coat.
“I need to speak to you,” she said softly. Footsteps rang through the hall, and her head snapped to follow Robin, one of the troublesome brothers, as he walked past. She tracked him with the intensity of a hawk but the timidity of a mouse. He greeted us, then continued downstairs. It wasn’t until he was long gone that she spoke again. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I felt you should know what’s happening…” She hesitated for a moment, her discomfort at her decision plain.
“Come in, Willow,” I said, guiding her into my room. I closed the door behind us. Not until I locked it did she look at all at ease.
“I think Ivy and Grisholm plan to keep you from attending the event tonight. She’s with him now, discussing the matter, and has been all night.”
“So that’s why I didn’t hear back.”
She nodded. “Even before she went to him, there was a heated discussion amongst the Lilies regarding you…and your past…”
“Willow,” I said as the pieces slowly fell into place, “do some of the Lilies think I’m somehow working with the demons?” I allowed the perfect amount of disbelief to taint my tone—enough to cover the fact that her insinuation was true, though not in the way she’d implied.
Willow’s immediate silence spoke volumes. “When the idea was tossed out, some of us dismissed it right away, but then Hazel, of all people, said something, and it seemed to turn the tide a bit.”
“What did she say?” My words were barely a whisper.
“She mentioned a condition—a mental condition apparently well understood in her time—where people who’ve been abducted or held against their will for long periods of time begin to sympathize with their captors—”
“Except my captor brought me to the brink of death daily in the hope that I would willingly hand him my soul—which I did, of course, just to escape the unending torture. So why in the name of all that is holy would I ever help him? It’s so illogical that it hurts my head, as does the idea that anyone would choose this particular situation to listen to Hazel’s nonsense.”
“I believe what she says about this syndrome, but I disagree that it is affecting you, which is why I’ve come,” she replied. “Listen, Oleander…I know that your past haunts you, as mine does me; that there are things that happened to you that you are not ready to share, and may never be. But I don’t think that your desire to keep private that which has shaped you should preclude you from getting the justice you deserve.”
The change in her tone when she spoke of revenge was almost frightening. It was like the Willow I knew was no longer there; only the raw emotion that seemingly fueled her own need for vengeance. This was why she understood me, I realized. She’d seen herself in the shell of the woman they had pulled from the demon realm. And though our outward personalities and methods of coping could not have been more different, that fundamental need to right the wrongs done to us (and others) was what drove us. What kept us moving forward instead of toiling in the travesties that were our pasts.
Willow had no intention of letting me miss out on my opportunity for revenge.
And if the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t let hers slip by, either.
“Thank you,” I said as tears stung the backs of my eyes.
“I will deny this conversation ever took place if you get caught tonight,” she said sternly.
“I won’t.”
“Good. Now, let’s go over all that Ivy knows.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was nearly time for dinner, and still Zen hadn’t returned. The mantel clock on the dresser taunted me with the sweep of its hand, the tick of every passing second. When I could wait no longer, I made my way downstairs in the hope that a change of scenery would help calm me.
Sadly, it did not.
The dining room was full when I arrived, with only three open chairs. I took the one nearest the door so that Zen would have to pass me as he entered. Also, it was the furthest away from the brothers, who looked like they were spoiling for entertainment. I had no interest in providing them with any.
Just as I was about to settle in, Zen’s hand landed on the small of my back, and a strange and surprising sense of relief washed over me.
“I took the liberty of laying your gown out on your bed for you,” he whispered in my ear as he passed by to take his seat.
“Mr. Henderson! I’m so pleased you could make it,” Mrs. Whittle said as she placed the soup in the center of the table. “Have you any plans for this evening?”
The demon’s devilish smile turned to me for a moment before he answered. “I have an event to attend later. I believe Miss Nightshade will be there as well.”
“Is that so?” The woman did nothing to hide the mischief in her tone. I quickly reached for the ladle and began serving the others at the table.
“Is it a party?” Robin asked. “Who’s escorting you there?”
I closed my eyes and took a breath, silently damning Zen for mentioning the auction at all. “I’m attending alone,” I replied.
Mrs. Whittle gasped. “Miss Nightshade! You can’t possibly go by yourself. Heavens, what will people say?”
“That I’m far too surly for a man to put up with me?”
“That she’s a beast too wild to tame!” Thomas cried, slapping Robin on the back.
“She may be, but that won’t stop me from trying—”
“Boys!” Mrs. Whittle cried.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Whittle,” Zen said calmly, placing his hand atop hers gently. “I can handle this.” Then he turned those dark eyes to the brothers, and I feared flames might shoot out of them at any moment. “What you juveniles seem incapable of comprehending is that no woman is to be tamed. Only men who are weak and insecure would seek to stifle and undermine that which makes a woman the mysterious and powerful creature she is. Miss Nightshade appears unwilling to tolerate those behaviors, as well she should be. If I were her, I would not be half as gracious about it. You should be thankful.”
A Curse of Nightshade (Witches of the Gilded Lilies Book 1) Page 16
