Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  Madde was flattered, far more flattered than she should be.

  But wait just a gosh darn minute. If Adala could make friends with a mortal man, why couldn’t she?

  “You come here much, Frank?”

  He softly chuckled. “That sounds suspiciously like a pickup line, Madde.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  He laughed harder. “Come on, now. I’m, what, forty years older than you? Maybe older. Don’t you want to be ’round the pretty boys who want to buy you some frou-frou drink?”

  “With an umbrella in it?”

  Frank nodded.

  “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He swallowed, a curious look to him.

  She shrugged. “What’s the problem, Frank? Don’t want to be my friend? Am I too tough for you?”

  “Friends...” His voice sounded slightly disappointed.

  The fact was, though, if she weren’t a Valkyrie, if she were a dís again, and knowing what she now knew about human men and dísir potentially being compatible, she would have asked Frank to take her home with him. It was bold, but that’s the way she rolled. And she liked him. He seemed to get her, tough old man that he was. Which made her wonder if she got him, tough old woman that she was.

  But she was a Valkyrie. She was fatal to mortal men.

  Maybe making a new friend was stupid. Not for Adala, of course, because her sister would make any man happy by her mere beautiful presence. She was pretty and feminine and so smart. As well as polite and considerate. Nothing like Madde.

  Madde knew only her sister put up with her schmitt. And she was losing her to a human, which, because Madde loved her sister so much, she’d let happen without complaint. But without Adala, she had no one.

  Frank sucked in a breath. “So, you’re a toughie, huh?”

  Madde took a sip of her beer while arching a brow at Frank.

  “You did hear me, girl, that I was a Master Chief? We’re kind of known for being tough.”

  “I’ve heard a few rumors.”

  He squinted his eyes, trying to cover a smile. “While I’d bet you were an...officer, weren’t you?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “That’s because I’m right.” He smiled. “You think, ma’am”—the emphasis on ma’am was to establish he definitely thought she’d been an officer rather than enlisted like him—“you can out-tough this tough-as-shit old man?”

  She turned more toward him. “Any day of the week, hot shot.” She hoped this would be the start of a friendship, this weird challenging thing she had with Frank. And she hoped she could simmer down the attraction she felt toward him. That was most unexpected.

  He laughed. “You’re on, Madde.”

  Chapter Eight

  MACK, DR. JOHN Michael McAlester, glanced around his therapy group. Frank was missing. So was Luke. Mack tried not to cringe when thinking about Luke and how happy the man was.

  Luke had called, warning him he wouldn’t be around tonight because he was hanging out with his new fiancée, Samuella. Cute-as-hell name to go with the cute-as-hell girl. Mack wanted to be happy for Luke. Instead, he was angry.

  Or envious.

  The need to get drunk, so fucking drunk he couldn’t remember his name, made him want to weep.

  “So, what’s going on? Talk to me?” He smiled at the people who remained in group.

  It wasn’t that Mack wanted Sam for his own. No, there was already a woman who had been on his mind for far too long. He’d finally found out her name.

  Lily.

  He’d say it over and over to himself like a prayer.

  But he didn’t deserve her.

  A drunk didn’t deserve anyone.

  The need for whiskey was like the ache for a lover. It felt so satisfying just thinking about his favorite amber brew with slick, clear ice inside a perfectly clear glass. He liked the kind of glass where the ice would make little chiming noises every time it’d hit. He’d give his right nut to hear that sound at that second.

  He was sweating. Panicking because he was angry as fuck that Luke found love. He was angry as fuck that he was a drunk. And angry as fuck that he didn’t have the balls to ask for help.

  And no one was fucking talking.

  He took a deep breath, deciding he would go first then.

  “Okay,” his voice sounded off, bitter, darker, deeper, “let’s talk about fairy tales.”

  Spook, the resident former spy, who had yet to talk about what had brought him here, probably because it was still classified, looked confused. Aaron glanced up, looking like Mack had caught him daydreaming. Oh yeah, Mack had seen him spacing out with a goofy grin.

  Mack ground his teeth, hating himself, but he kept talking. “So, yeah, many academics think that fairy tales lead women to feeling that the only way they’re accepted is by being submissive as many of the heroines of fairy tales seem to operate.”

  Everyone turned to the one woman in the group, Ellen, who was brave enough to keep coming every week, and Mack knew he needed to shut his mouth, so everyone would quit staring at her. But he didn’t.

  “There’s the thought, too, that men feel that the only way to be a man is by being hyper-masculine, showing bravery, never coming down from our white horse.”

  Todd, a younger man who had just joined, grunted like he understood that a little too well.

  Something about that should have calmed Mack down. People, at least one, were listening. But he seemed hell bent to make some kind of odd point he hadn’t planned. He didn’t even know what it was himself.

  “But the thing I want to talk about, regarding fairy tales, is that they can interfere with our relationships. They can make us assume certain things.”

  Todd nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I get that. Like they make you think that since a girl doesn’t just get you, like if she actually wants you to talk and shit, that she’s not the right one.”

  Mack pointed at the young former Army private. “Yes, exactly. And fairy tales can hinder our emotional healing. We’re all in here to heal and find support. But fairy tales give us this idea that someone out there can save us. That it’s a woman’s job to fix us because we’re fucked up. Or that it’s a man’s job to save a woman because she has to be a damsel in distress rather than just a human being. Rather than realize that we’re supposed to save ourselves.”

  Aaron’s mouth hung open, and he looked completely disappointed in Mack. At least that was Mack’s interpretation. So, yeah, the urge to drink ratcheted up a few notches, a constant drum in his ear. Like those gigantic Japanese drums—taiko. The sound intense and overwhelming. And with Aaron looking at him like that, those taiko drums just got louder and louder.

  God, I want to be his hero, even though he already is one, Mack thought. But I want to be everyone’s hero. And the person I’m truly lecturing is myself. Because I want Lily to find me, I want her sad blue eyes right here in front of me. And I want her to tell me everything will be okay, even if I am an alcoholic, even if I can’t seem to stop drinking, no matter how hard I try.

  Aaron shook his head, but it was Spook who said, “Yeah, I get that. But people help. I mean, I’m no psychiatrist, but having someone, someone good and kind and patient...it helps.”

  Everyone stared at the former spy because this was the first time he’d offered much of a conversation. Spook was making progress, and usually Mack would be elated. But he just felt...depressed. He didn’t usually give lectures, especially about fairy tales. He listened. He was good at it. It was the one thing he took pride in. But he couldn’t help his feelings. All because he wanted to meet Lily and impress her, and he ultimately knew he couldn’t because he was a lying drunk under it all.

  “Yeah, it does.” Aaron nodded. “I mean, I don’t want someone to fix me. I want to figure out my own problems. I want to breathe in a tight space and not get...crazy. I want to be around people and not feel so pissed off that I don’t recognize myself any longer. And I don’t expect someone else to fix that for me. But hav
ing someone there, someone waiting for you, man, it’s great. Having someone who listens, really listens...it doesn’t just help. There’s this synergy, you know? I talk, then she talks, and things get figured out somehow. Not because anyone’s trying to fix the other, but because...maybe it’s simply because it’s nice someone gives a good God damn.”

  The Japanese drums got so loud Mack could hardly hear anyone. He wanted a drink so fucking bad and felt pathetic about this need of his. But he smiled at Aaron, conceding it would be nice if someone gave a good God damn.

  Chapter Nine

  OKAY, ADALA HADN’T been able to break things off with Aaron.

  Not even a little bit.

  They were in week three of daily hanging out, and she was sure...of nothing.

  Except one thing.

  She kept falling for him.

  So she had to put a stop to things.

  But...

  Aaron was perfect. Of course, he was. In these past weeks, she’d gotten to know him better and better. His master’s degree was about the fourteenth century, a time she remembered well. They’d spent endless hours talking about the medieval upheavals of that era—recovering from the Black Plague hadn’t been easy for any civilization. But it had come with the surprising outcome of, then considered, lower-status people having more power in much of Western Europe. Ah, talking about the peasant uprisings with Aaron had been, even if the topic was bleak, wonderful.

  Sharing and laughing came too easily with Aaron. So she knew she had to put a stop to things. Also, she’d been lying to Madde, which made her feel terrible. She’d never lied to her sister before. But her sister being her sister—non-communicative, a tad hostile as well as a tad anti-social—wouldn’t understand befriending a man.

  But here she was in Aaron’s house, cooking dinner, while he was out, soon to return. He was at a group therapy session. Two appointments he’d missed because he’d been with her. When he confessed about the group, she’d insisted he go. He’d negotiated, telling her the only way he’d go was if she were here waiting for him. He’d opened his house to her, even when he was gone, and that had to be some sign that he wasn’t growing tired of her yet. Or scared. Which she’d thought he would feel eventually. Wouldn’t anyone else?

  Which meant, sadly, it was up to her to put a stop to things.

  There’d been thousands, if not millions, of times when Aaron had gotten too close, when she could have touched him if she weren’t constantly vigilant. And it was getting hard to be vigilant. More often than not, she was enjoying herself so much she let her guard down. Big problem when she knew she could kill him by being absentminded.

  But that was only part of the problem. The real dilemma was her blammed hormones. Throughout the years, she’d had a few infatuations with men. Knights in chain mail, blacksmiths with their huge arms, even the monks who studied books all day—there was something bewitching about every kind of man.

  That said, men of past generations weren’t exactly known to be big on equality for females. Being raised in an all-female society—no roles, no stations, even the Norns weren’t exactly typical leaders—meant she had a hard time keeping a crush once she got to know a man better, as in got to know his misogyny better.

  When she’d gotten her first taste of education, before Zurich and her psychology degree, during the Victorian age, she’d had enough interaction to be repulsed by men for eons. Men had been strict about a woman’s place. She’d obliged the station while amongst humans, but she’d come home each night to Madde and complain about the men. But, oh, she’d put up with it just to learn. Learning was...magical, the sparkling enchantment of knowledge. And having knowledge opened a door in her mind to freedom that no one could ever take from her.

  That said, there was knowledge of human interactions she had abhorred. There’d been one female, Blossom Fairchild—the names in the 1870s were something, weren’t they?—who, like Adala, had just wanted to learn. Back then, Adala had been interested in biology, as was Blossom. She and Adala had made fast friends, her first human friend. But Blossom had been told by her parents, who threatened to alienate her, to marry. When she had wed, she’d been told by her husband she could no longer study, she couldn’t read any more papers, do any more research. Adala hadn’t understood the dictates and had taken her friend an article about spores. Blossom’s husband had beaten her so badly a rib or a few had been broken.

  Adala was horrified, her friend begging her to stay away. She had. She’d also never finished that first degree, finding it too difficult, too unfair, to get her education when Blossom couldn’t. But she couldn’t help but watch from afar as the once sparkling-with-life Blossom faded into a shadow of herself from the brutality of her marriage.

  Adala always kept this in mind when she visited Aaron, waiting for him to say something sexist, something insensitive. But he hadn’t. In fact, he was open-minded and fair about...everything.

  So, yes, she thought as she stirred some clam chowder and checked on the biscuits in the oven, this had to end. If anything, because she was getting more and more attached to Aaron. Falling for him.

  What a strange idiom for a female who could no longer fly.

  Anyway, the man had no faults. Except he seemed hell bent on getting closer and closer to her. Not just emotionally. Physically. Did he have a death wish? She didn’t think so. He just wasn’t careful.

  So, she had to be. For him.

  Lastly, there was Madde to think of.

  Her sister was not stupid and probably already knew she was going to Aaron’s, seeing him, talking to him. But she didn’t say anything. She just bit her lip and nodded, her frown growing day by day.

  Madde would not understand talking to Aaron, and finally Adala didn’t either. It was getting painful to be around him. She ached to touch him. Just a little. Maybe his hair that looked soft and was growing longer than he wanted it to be, but he kept forgetting to schedule a haircut. Maybe she’d touch around his blue eyes. They were the darkest blue she’d ever seen. Like the ocean’s depths. She found other worlds in Aaron’s eyes, and even that was getting painful to witness.

  So she was making his favorite things—the chowder, biscuits, and there was homemade strawberry ice cream setting in the freezer—as an offering for when she’d say goodbye.

  She liked that he preferred simple things. She liked that so much. Because she preferred simple things too. Only, she wasn’t a simple human woman, was she? Nope. She was a female who could kill him.

  Her eyes stung at the thought. She wished things were different. Oh, how she wished it.

  She blinked a lot and wiped at her eyes after hearing the front door open. Sniffing and checking her reflection in the glass cabinet, she almost rolled her eyes at herself, because who cared how she looked when she was just going to...leave?

  “Oh my God, that smells amazing.” Aaron walked into the kitchen, stopped in his tracks, his smile falling off his face. “You look...beautiful.”

  He couldn’t mean it. She was wearing his jeans, which were too big, barely hanging onto her hips. She’d had to cuff them, but she loved wearing his clothes and hoped he wouldn’t notice if she kept these jeans. And a few of his T-shirts she was hiding under her pillow back at the stables.

  Her attire was topped with one of Sam’s black T-shirts, which was a tad snug around her chest. It had a unicorn looking like it was wiping its behind, as a dog might, with a smeared rainbow trail for the skid mark. She wasn’t even close to beautiful in this get-up.

  She looked down, noting her peony-colored toenails that were about the only pretty thing on her, then glanced up confused.

  “I want to hug you,” he said breathlessly.

  “Because I made clam chowder?” She tilted her head.

  “Because I’m happy to see you.”

  She smiled, her heart hurting because she was right. This had to end. Tonight. Maybe this very second because she couldn’t stand to hear him say things like she was beautiful or he wanted to hug
her.

  Instead, out of her mouth came, “I’m happy to see you too.” She internally shook herself, trying to think of something civil to say rather than I want to hug you too. “How was group?”

  He frowned. “I...it wasn’t the best.”

  “I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just glad to be home.”

  “Me too.” Blammed it. She shouldn’t have said that either.

  “What are we listening to?”

  She swallowed and nodded toward her iFairyPad and speakers she’d set up. “Amy Beach is the conductor. I think it’s the Colorado Orchestral Symphony playing.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  She smiled but swallowed down the happy bubbling sensation she always felt when she was around Aaron. “Do you know of Amy Beach?”

  He shook his head and walked a little closer. Then way too close as he peered into the pot of chowder. She had to back away as she said, “She was America’s first female composer. I think this was played in the 1890s.”

  He glanced up, smiling. “That’s cool.”

  “Her husband told her she couldn’t perform once they were married. She’d been a pianist. He told her she could only compose. I’d guess to stifle her talent.”

  He frowned again. “Jesus.” His jawline kicked. “Jesus, that’s schmitty.”

  Aaron had adapted to her G-rated swearing—well, almost adapted. She smiled, her heart breaking all the more.

  “Did you read Virginia Woolf?”

  She nodded.

  “A Room of One’s Own?”

  She nodded again.

  He shrugged and looked down at the chowder once more. “It just...it makes me think, you know? How many women, how many people, could have contributed to our society if...it’s so fucking unfair, you know?”

  “I know,” she whispered. He was succinct and profane, and dead right.

  He glanced up, his dark brows furrowed, looking outraged. “I wish I knew the words—”