Heaven Sent (Lupine Bay Book 1)

by Maribel Fox

She pulls it away, makes a face, and then walks off, wiping the back of her hand on her pants.

  Odd.

  Generally, I’m able to entice anyone to sin. Seamus has always been immune, but then again, he’s never needed much convincing anyway. Ava though…

  That… Now that is something interesting. So very perplexing.

  “Ye finished?” he snaps testily.

  “Jealous?” I ask with a grin. “You’ve never had a problem sharing with friends before…”

  “Oh, we’re friends now, are we?” He laughs, drinking and shaking his head. “What’re you doin’ here Raj? And don’t tell me it’s to catch up on old times. Old times never had you in a get-up like that. What business does Hell have sending ye after me?”

  He’s too damn clever. There’s no getting past him, no point in keeping up the charade. I groan and drop my head in my hands, fingers combing through my hair.

  “They want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m bound to do their bidding. We can’t all be independent of other influences,” I snap.

  His face darkens for just a moment. I know it’s a sore spot with him. The Fae are divided into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, but Seamus being the only one of his kind — and with some particularly useful skills — isn’t welcome in either of them. He’s too valuable as a neutral party, and neutral he’s always had to be.

  A Fae without a court is… It’s unheard of. Like a bird without a nest. It just doesn’t work. And to be honest, I’ve always thought that it’s taken its toll on Seamus more than he lets on. The endless centuries of being alone have given him the freedom to do whatever he wants — something I’ve always been envious of with all my duties and obligations — but it also leaves him without a support system. He has no family, no connections.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, knowing it’s not him I’m angry with. It’s Hell. Hell and their statuses and influences, their tiers and echelons of pointless puffery.

  “Why do you even care about doing what they want? You never did before,” he says, still bitter, still suspicious.

  He’s right, of course. The asshole’s always right. But those bad boy days of rebellion were before. Before my sister disappeared and cast my family’s name into shame and disgrace. Before I was the only one left who could restore us to our rightful place.

  Rightful place. That’s the only thing that matters to my family. To anyone in Hell. Status is everything. Your name is everything. And they’re counting on me to win back the favor of the higher-ups.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a family matter, not worth getting into honestly.”

  Seamus looks uncertain, but I know the word ‘family’ is pretty much a guaranteed out of this conversation.

  He looks at me across the table for a long time, trying to read me I’m sure. He’s good at it, but there’s nothing he’s going to get out of me and he should know that.

  Finally, he sighs, drains his beer, and drops it onto the table with a heavy hand.

  “Couldn’t tell you why I’ve stopped here. Just felt like a good place to stop,” he says. “He’ll have a—” He looks at me half-way through calling to Ava.

  “A pale ale if you have it,” I answer, resigned. There’s no point in trying to have a conversation with Seamus without a drink in hand. It’s an insult to his heritage or something.

  “Take it out of my account,” Seamus says as the sassy little bartender drops off our drinks. She doesn’t say anything but gives me another weird look before walking away.

  “So you just… What? Decided to settle down for the first time in a thousand years?” I ask incredulously, lifting the beer to my lips.

  Seamus shrugs. “I dunno. Just feels like I should be here. I think it might have something to do with this cool sword I’ve been hauling around for the last century,” he adds, a fine sword materializing in his hand. It looks old, but in perfect condition. There’re no breaks, no marks from the hammer. It’s in pristine condition for something of its age, and I lean in a little closer.

  Seamus grins — a look that sets me on alert immediately — and suddenly the beer in my throat is boiling.

  I can’t cough it up, but that doesn’t stop me from sputtering and gasping for breath.

  “What the fuck?” I growl, my throat raw. I’m a Devil, of course, so I’m not wounded, but it still fucking hurt.

  Seamus chuckles. “Like I said, it’s a cool sword. Or rather a hot one if ye catch my drift,” he says, laughing at his own stupid joke.

  I cast a sideways look at the sword, but just then, we both seem to turn at once, feeling the eyes on us.

  Ava. She’s staring open-mouthed and unblinking. Another man at the bar turns, but when I look back at Seamus, he’s made the sword disappear.

  “Whoops,” he says, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. “I’ve been trying to stay low-key.”

  “You’re doing a bang-up job, materializing magic swords out of thin air,” I say, giving the rest of my beer a dubious look. I can’t fault him too much though. That’s just how Seamus is. I’ve never known him to make long term plans — a Fae weakness. Maybe if they did, there would be more of them around. Their numbers have dwindled considerably in past centuries.

  No idea how Seamus has avoided the same fate. Probably dumb luck, knowing him.

  “Why do you think that sword’s important?” I ask casually, deciding to take a chance on my beer. It’s still cold, thankfully.

  “Not the foggiest clue, but I plan on staying in town until I figure it out.”

  That makes me frown. It shouldn’t be surprising to me that Seamus has no idea what he’s doing. Like I said, Fae aren’t known for their intricate plots. But still, he’s got Hell all worked up in a tizzy just because he feels like sticking around in one place for a while?

  Something smells off, and it’s not just the stench of stale beer on him.

  I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t think I’m going to get any more info out of Seamus. I’m not sure he has any more to give. But it doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere anytime soon, so that gives me time to go back to Hell and report, find out what their next move is.

  “What about the girl?” I ask, eyes traveling back to Ava, admiring the stubborn slant of her brow. She’s the kind of feisty woman that’s hard to crack, but so satisfying when they finally submit.

  I watch her polish the bar and my eyes go to her thin wrists, imagining them in leather cuffs, chained over her head, her face flushed with anticipation, that stubbornness the only obstacle to her unbridled pleasure.

  “What about her?” Seamus asks, suspicious. “Not getting enough action in Hell?”

  I barely hold back a growl. No. I am not.

  Not for lack of opportunity. For lack of interest. But suddenly…

  Well, consider me interested.

  I lick my lips again. “She’s not the reason you’ve found this town so intriguing?” I ask, smirking at my old friend.

  He’s not in the mood for it though. “My reasons ye’ve been told, don’t be daft.”

  “Of course,” I say, finishing my beer without any more teasing.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asks as I stand up and brush non-existent lint off my sleeve.

  “No magic sword compelling me to stay,” I answer with a shrug. “Besides, I’m sure I’ll be back.”

  “Joy,” he says, monotone, rolling his eyes. But you know, I think deep down, he might actually be happy to see me again.

  3

  Ava

  “That could help bring people in, don’t you think?” Ian says from across the picnic table. I look up from my laptop and blink to focus on him. He’s looking at me for an answer, eyes wide and expectant.

  Then he sees that I didn’t hear him. His face falls, shoulders slumping.

  “You weren’t listening,” he says, defeated.

  “I’m sorry, tell me again.
I’ll pay attention, I promise.” I know he’s just trying to help with his little schemes to get more business for the B&B. In my defense, his schemes are terrible. And plentiful.

  “Never mind. It’s dumb anyway,” he pouts, turning back to his homework.

  “You sure? I could really use some ideas to get people to fill these rooms.” I hate that Ian knows about our financial struggles. There’s really no hiding it though - not when you run a hotel and don’t have any guests. He can put two and two together.

  He shrugs. “I was just thinking like a party or something. Like a dance.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, bud,” I say carefully.

  “But?”

  “Parties are expensive. I’m not sure we could recover if it didn’t do well.”

  “Oh,” he says, turning back to his homework with new dedication.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a good idea. I’m sprucing up our online listing and once we get a few people in and get our occupancy rates up, we’ll have a big party to celebrate.”

  “You mean it?” he asks, sitting up straighter.

  I laugh, confused by his excitement, but I don’t really see any reason to say no. That’s a lot of ‘if’s but if it gives him something to look forward to, who am I to crush his spirit?

  “Yeah, sure, why not?”

  He grins off into the distance, then nods. “Cool.” And then he’s back to his homework.

  Kids are weird. Especially little brothers. This one’s alright though. I like him most of the time, these days. And I like this time we spend together in the afternoons. I’ve normally got some kind of accounting or administrative task to do for the B&B, and he’s got homework, so when it’s nice out like this and the sun is bright, and the daffodils are in full bloom, there’s no resisting the call of the picnic table. The lure of being near the woods is too much to ignore. So we set up out here and soak up the healing energy of mother nature.

  Being outside has always made me feel better than being inside. As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be in the woods, with my toes in the soft earth, trees crowding in close for a warm embrace. Whenever I’m stressed, taking a walk outside makes it better, it helps me remember to breathe.

  I need that reminder a lot these days if I’m being honest.

  There’s a prickle on the back of my neck, and I reach back expecting to swat away a fly before I realize it’s not that kind of prickle. It shimmies down my spine, fading away between my shoulders as I shiver and turn in place.

  Homer. There’s no doubt it’s him with his shock of warm cider hair and sharp green eyes — not to mention the ever-present beer in hand, this time a can so I can’t even reprimand him for having a bar drink outside. He wanders over to us and I can smell beer from a fair distance away, beer mixed with pipe tobacco and… tree sap? It’s honestly not an unpleasant smell, strong as it is.

  What is unpleasant is having him just stop right next to our table and hover over me, leaning into my personal space.

  “Uh… Hi,” I say, leaning back since he’s blocking the sun, cast in deep shadows from this angle. I don’t know why but seeing him outside of the bar is weird. And in the daylight? It’s kind of like seeing your teacher outside of school for the first time. And realizing that he does exist outside of the bar brings up a million questions.

  “’Lo,” he says, lifting his beer to me, taking a long drink.

  There’s something else I’ve never noticed about him in all his time in the dark corner — he’s dirty. Like, slept-on-the-ground-for-weeks dirty. I’m curious about it, but it’s not like I can just say ‘whoa, have you always been this filthy?’ First off, it’s rude, and he’s my best customer at the moment.

  Second, there’s the implication. And my little brother’s here. I don’t need to be thinking about that, thank you very much.

  “Hi!” Ian says brightly, putting his pencil down. “I’ve seen you before. Are you Ava’s friend?”

  “He’s no—”

  “Not yet,” Homer says, a twinkle in his eye, cutting me off before I can say anything. I glare at him and his grin grows bigger.

  “I’m Ian. Her brother,” Ian says, a note of haughtiness in his tone. He’s either trying to bluster in and do the protective brother thing, or he’s taunting Homer for already being close with me. Definite power move either way, and I’ve got to give the kid props. He even thrusts out his hand for a shake and Homer looks at me with a coppery eyebrow arched like he’s wondering if this is serious. There’s a scar running through the end of that brow, and a dozen more hidden across his face.

  What kind of guy is this?

  I smirk and shrug, and it’s all he needs to step forward and shake Ian’s hand heartily. “Pleasure to meet ya, Ian. Name’s Seamus,” he says.

  Seamus.

  Okay, I’ll give it to Rue, that is better than Homer.

  “Do you live in the woods, Seamus?” Ian asks, and if I had a drink I’d have done a spit take. Luckily, there’s nothing in my mouth, so it’s just a muffled squeak and a wide-eyed ‘are you crazy?’ look at my little brother.

  He expertly avoids my gaze; Seamus seems unbothered by the rudeness, so I guess I’m going to let it go. For now. This kid needs to learn a lesson in tact if we’re ever going to have guests. Yeesh.

  Seamus grins. “Now why would you ask a thing like that?”

  Ian looks him up and down.

  “Ian,” I challenge, but I know that look in my brother’s eyes. He’s sized Seamus up and can see that he’s got an interest in me. And he’s going to step in the way.

  “Because you’re really dirty,” he says. “Like a satyr.”

  My face is probably ten shades of scarlet with how hot it feels right now, and I want to crawl under the table and hide from the embarrassment. Seamus laughs, a deep full-bodied belly laugh that warms me up like tea in front of the fire on a cold night. It erases the embarrassment and makes my throat tight all of the sudden.

  “A satyr? Where’d you learn of such beasts?” Seamus asks.

  “He’s reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe right now. Wants to run away to Narnia. But don’t we all?” I joke, no real effort behind my fake laugh. I don’t know why this is so weird right now. I don’t know why I’m being so weird. It’s like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to act normal and my brother doesn’t remember what manners are and this guy’s mossy-green eyes keep making me forget how to put words in a sentence.

  It’s not good, is what I’m saying.

  Seamus frowns, not even playing along with my half-hearted joke. He looks more confused than upset though. “Narnia? Haven’t heard of it,” he mutters, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “To answer your question, am not a satyr, but I ‘ave been living in the woods.”

  Ian leans forward, all false bravado gone. “Really? That’s so cool! Ava won’t let me live in the woods,” he pouts, sending a daggered look at me.

  “Aye, ‘tis one of life’s great pleasures. Must say that I miss hot showers, though. Another one of them pleasures,” he adds with an exaggerated wink at me.

  What was that for?

  Probably nothing, you over-analytical freak.

  Right. I probably shouldn’t be studying his every move for some deep hidden meaning.

  “Well, if you’re missing hot showers, we’ve got a couple in the B&B that no one’s using. It’s not normally a perk we offer to our bar patrons, but…” I wave my hand at him and then around like that somehow explains it. He’s dirty. He’s here all the time. I think he gets what I’m saying. It’s just that half-way through I started to actually think about him in the shower upstairs — I swear I started thinking about whether or not the shower would leak, imagining it empty, but then why would it be empty, right? I should at least run through the scenario with someone in the shower and…

  Yeah, so now I’m thinking about Seamus in the shower upstairs, and while my wishful thinking is keeping the downstairs closet dry in my hypothetical situation, the downstairs in my situa
tion is decidedly… less dry.

  Seamus, just smiling at me like he’s been reading every single mortifying thought that’s fluttered through my head, finally nods. “Lovely of you to offer. I quite like the woods to be honest with you. Maybe I’ve got a bit of beast in me, eh?” He chuckles and drinks from his beer, strolling away as casually as he came over.

  “That guy’s weird,” Ian says, frowning as he watches him leave.

  It takes me a moment to recover from my daydreaming and its after-effects, but I finally blow out a breath and laugh, shaking off the fluttery feeling in my chest. “Yeah, he definitely is,” I agree.

  “Wait, so like... He said in the woods? You sure he didn’t mean a cabin in the woods?” Rue asks incredulously.

  “I’m telling you what he said. I don’t know if it means something else. You know he has that funny way of phrasing things,” I mutter, sorting through the mail for the B&B and bar.

  Rue grins, her eyes going dreamy. “Yeah he does,” she sighs. “That accent is so hot.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”

  “Oh, come on, like you wouldn’t take a big old bite out of that yummy Shepherd’s Pie?”

  “You’re impossible, you know that?”

  “I’m not hearing a no,” she taunts, waggling a finger at me. “Admit it, you so want to get down and dirty with Lucky the Leprechaun.”

  I scoff, rolling my eyes even harder as I rip open an envelope. “Why do I put up with you?”

  “Because you love me, and I work even when you can’t pay me.” She grins.

  Got me there.

  Another bill, I groan inwardly, adding it to the growing pile that I never seem to be able to make a dent in.

  “It’s weird though, right? Sleeping in the woods? He obviously has money—”

  “Seamus is such a sexy name, too,” Rue says wistfully, not caring for my pondering. “So much better than Homer,” she says, gagging on the name.

  “If you think he’s so hot, why don’t you make a move on him?” This kind of conversation has become pretty routine since he’s shown up. Even more so since his friend — who Rue still hasn’t seen and isn’t sure she believes exists — came and added another layer of intrigue.