The Nymph's Curse: The Collection

by Danica Winters

  Harper looked up from his chest and his fingers fell from her. “Don’t you believe me?”

  He hadn’t meant for her to think he was questioning her honesty — he simply wanted the real answers. The truth that all supernaturals would hide from the human world.

  “I do believe you. That’s not what I meant.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Then what do you mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  He couldn’t outright ask her if she was a nymph. If she wasn’t, she would think he had lost his mind, and there would be no way he could explain his suspicions — not without revealing his own truth. Yet, if she was a nymph there would be a world of possibilities, laid out before them — and also a new set of vulnerabilities and weaknesses.

  Harper dropped her head back down, but this time her body was rigid and tense in his arms.

  “Harper?” he asked in a soft voice barely above a whisper. “Is there anything about you I should know?”

  She jerked in his arms and sat upright. Her tell was obvious — he had been a poker player for too many years not to notice the way her gaze flashed around the room like she was looking for an escape — a classic fight or flight maneuver that always gave away someone who was trying to conceal something.

  “What?” she asked as she glanced at the door.

  “You can be honest with me. If there is anything you need to tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll accept anything you have to tell me. Anything.”

  There was a look of confusion on her face. “What are you after?”

  He thought for a second. “Have you ever been in the hospital before?”

  Harper nibbled on her lip. “No.”

  “How old are you? Really?”

  She glanced back at the door. “Twenty-nine.”

  Though she looked twenty-nine her tell had once again given her lie away.

  “Then who was the tenth president of the United States?

  She thought for a second. “John Tyler.”

  He couldn’t control the smile that took over his face. “Do you really expect me to believe that a regular person would know some random detail like that? I bet there are only a handful of humans who could name the tenth president off the top of their head.”

  “What do you mean, Chance?” Harper’s face pinched into a tight scowl. “You don’t know me. How do you know I’m not some history buff?”

  “I didn’t see a single history book.”

  “That’s my sister’s house — not mine.”

  “I know, but something tells me you and your sister had a few of the same interests. And I think Carey might have had the same interests as well — interests that involve the swan on your back.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” she stammered.

  “Harper … ” He paused as he decided how to proceed. “Are you a nymph?”

  Her face flushed and she jumped out of bed. “Carey told you?”

  He couldn’t help but stare at her beautiful, unmarred flesh — skin too perfect to be that of a regular human woman. “Are you admitting you are one?”

  Harper stared at him, as if she was trying to decide whether to fly free of the confines of the room or to stay and face his questioning. She reached out and her fingers brushed against the blanket as if she was going to take the cloth and cover her body. Before she could pull the blanket from the bed, he took her fingers in his and stopped her — she didn’t need to run. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. No. He only wanted to know the truth.

  “You can tell me, Harper.” He tried to soften the admission. “We all have secrets. If this is yours, I want you to know you can trust me.”

  Harper stood still, staring down at their entwined fingers. After a moment she reached up with her left hand and laid it on top. She gripped their hands as if she wanted to meld their flesh together, to make them one being — with a shared heart.

  “So you knew Carey was a nymph?” She looked up.

  Her soft caramel-colored eyes were laced with fear and it made the knot of nerves in his stomach clench tighter. “Yes. She told me.”

  “Why? Why did she tell?”

  “Before we were married, she wanted to tell me everything about who she was. She respected me enough to tell me the truth of your kind — and your curse.”

  Harper sat down on the edge of the bed. Her simple action made the knot in his stomach loosen.

  “Chance,” she said softly, letting go of their entwined hands. “I have to say I don’t understand. I don’t understand why she would tell you … or why she would put you in that kind of danger. It’s … she … acted so selfishly. Don’t you think if she cared for you at all that she would have wanted to protect you from such a terrible curse?” She dropped her hand to the bed, steadying her body.

  Of course Harper would never think there was anything to the story besides Carey being selfish and reckless.

  “She did try to protect me.”

  “Even with Starling?” she asked softly, as if the words weren’t an accusation, rather a way to draw his attention to what really mattered.

  “I’m not sure what she was trying to do by not telling me about Starling, but I’m sure she had her reasons.”

  “Do you think she didn’t tell you about Starling because Starling is a nymph?”

  “I’m not sure she is a nymph. I can’t just come out and ask her. She barely knows me,” Chance said. “But maybe she’ll tell me when she’s ready. At least I hope so.”

  “That still doesn’t make sense as to why Carey wouldn’t have told you about your child.”

  “As many problems as Carey had, she wasn’t all bad. There was a time when she was great. Times when her only goal in life was to be happy — and maybe she thought by not telling me she could get back to being happy.”

  “Being happy doesn’t always mean you are making the right choice. Sometimes you have to think about other people before yourself.”

  “Harper, she was aware of the consequences of her curse — and she wanted to protect me, but she didn’t need to … There’s something about me you don’t know.”

  Her fingers slipped from the sheets and she turned and exposed all of her beautiful form. She deserved to know the truth, especially since he knew the truth about her. And who knew, maybe they could make this more than a one night thing, but in order for anything to happen they needed to stand on even ground.

  “What don’t I know?”

  There was no going back. “I’m … like you.”

  “You mean a shifter?”

  He shook his head. “No … not a shifter. I’m a demigod. My mother was human and my father was a god.”

  He half expected her to run from the room, but Harper sat still as she must have been thinking about his revelation.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve met a demigod.”

  He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  “If you’re a demigod,” Harper paused, “does that mean Zeus’s curse doesn’t affect you?”

  “I’m not completely immortal. I’m like you, harder to kill than a mere human, but given the chance to live as an immortal. As for Zeus’s curse … ” He shrugged. “I’m still here. I loved Carey, but I don’t know if she felt the same. It’s hard to say exactly what effect the curse has on a demigod, but I’m not gonna worry about what could happen.”

  The air buzzed with unspoken concerns. From the troubled look upon Harper’s beautiful face, it was easy to see that she didn’t agree. “You probably don’t really want to hear about my relationship with Carey, but the truth is that she was worried about the curse too. We took one day at a time. We loved each other, but there was always a wall.”

  Chance tried to not stare at the tender skin of Harper’s thighs and think of running h
is fingers up that skin to make her forget their troubles. “Carey would never admit that she was running from some of her feelings. And I never blamed her. She couldn’t let herself love when all she knew that I could be killed anytime for our love.”

  “You don’t need to explain the way Carey felt to me,” Harper said softly. “I know how a nymph must guard her heart out of the fear of losing the person she cares about.”

  “Sometimes running away is the only answer.” But it didn’t make the pain any less intense. “Who is your father?” Harper asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

  “My father was the god Caerus, the youngest child of Zeus.”

  “Your father’s the god of luck? No wonder you’re a gambler.”

  “There’s a lot more to being a good gambler besides just being lucky. You have to be smart and know when you should take a bet or walk away. And more than anything, you need to know when to take a chance.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chance had slipped out of her bedroom in the night, making an excuse of Starling in the house as a need to hide their night of passion. He was right, but her arms had never felt emptier. For a moment, Harper wondered if she had made a mistake in allowing her body to overtake her mind, but then she thought of the secrets they shared and the new and overwhelming connection they had made. They had shared things about themselves that few were privy to — there was no going back to an in-the-box friendship. They had moved into a new realm of a relationship — more than friends, sharing lovers, but, each for their own reasons, still unable to love.

  Chance had talked about being a good gambler and knowing it was more than luck. Sometimes being good was knowing what bet to take and when to walk away. For Harper, this was one of those moments in life when she needed to look to the lessons and pain of her past. If she had learned anything, anything at all, she had learned that love was one bet she was not willing, to take — love only ended with heartbreak.

  Of all of the people in the house, she and Chance were the last people who needed to further their relationship. Chance needed to concentrate on his newly acquired daughter. Starling needed him. She needed love. And she needed to find closure following her mother’s untimely death. Any child who shut herself away from the world so dramatically needed help the most. Though Harper could try to connect with the girl, the one who held the lone key was Chance.

  Chance admitted he knew nearly zero about how to deal with a teenage nymph. To be honest, Harper barely had a clue either. A teenage girl was an enigma — not quite woman, but no longer a child; able to love, but unable to love those closest to her. As different as Starling was, with her quiet demeanor and standoffish ways, beneath it all she was still a teen. She was still a child who had to be aching after the loss of the person dearest to her, yet she was forced to be a woman out of the circumstances of her past and present.

  Of the numerous inspirational posters Harper had seen on her email and social media, one clicked into her mind — the first step is always the hardest. Maybe those cliché little posters were right. Maybe the first step with Starling would be the hardest, but it was a step that needed to be taken.

  Harper pushed herself out of bed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her normally brilliant eyes carried the dullness created from a lack of sleep and too many worries. She walked to her suitcase and flipped it open. Her shirts and pants were divided, each item folded at an exact dimension to match the article of clothing beneath.

  Her thoughts moved to Chance. Would he be able to handle the journey he was going to have to undertake with Starling? Could he handle the pressures and needs of the teenager? Would he even be able to take the first step — or would he and the girl keep each other at arm’s length while the time passed until she was of an age to take care of herself?

  Last night had proven he had the ability to open up and share, but sharing with a sullen teenager was far different than sharing with a woman who lay in his arms. Starling had no reason to feel anything for Chance, at least nothing approaching affection.

  If anything, Chance had failed. He had failed to know Starling was alive. He’d never reached out to Carey, had never known he had a child, and now that Starling was alone the State wanted him to take control of her life? It was no wonder that the girl barely spoke or addressed them — and Harper couldn’t blame her.

  Harper slipped on a pair of finely pressed khaki pants and one of her least expensive cashmere sweaters. She feared going downstairs and facing the fallout of last night’s mistake. It wouldn’t surprise her, after her track record with relationships, if Chance had already slipped out with his teenage daughter in tow. So many times in her life she’d had a man leave her bed in the night never to set foot back into her life.

  She could only hope Chance was different, that he wasn’t the kind to bed her and leave. They had shared more than their bodies — they had shared something even more sacred — their secrets. He had shared a secret that most men in his position would have kept — he had put more trust in her than she could have ever expected from any man.

  Picking up her brush, she pulled it through her long brown locks. What would Jenna think about all of this? This impromptu relationship raised more questions than Harper had ever thought possible.

  Her sister had always been a free spirit, and as Harper thought of her, she imagined her sister sitting there watching her as she brushed her hair. It was a beautiful imagining and Harper hated to blink the vision away. Jenna seemed to nod and smile, giving her approval of Chance and the strange situation. Harper’s eyes burned as they grew dry, forcing her to blink — making her picture of Jenna disappear.

  Yes, Jenna would have given her permission. If she had spoken, Harper would have guessed her sister would have told her she was a fool for not wanting more — for not wanting to seize the chance to have a real relationship with the man.

  Her mind drifted to Carey, the other nymph who had once taken a place in Chance’s bed. Harper sucked in a surprised breath as she realized something she had missed. If Carey had gotten pregnant — something that most said was almost impossible for a nymph to do — then was it possible she would become pregnant as well?

  Harper rushed from the room and hurried down the stairs. She needed to talk to Chance. Had he thought about what they had possibly done? Had he even come to realize there were not only emotional but possibly more dramatic consequences to their actions?

  Harper tried to force her concern from showing on her face. She was probably getting upset over nothing — there was no way someone like her could become pregnant — not after they’d only had a one night affair.

  Sitting at the ’50s style metal-edged kitchen table was Starling. As usual, she was hunched over her notepad, making scrawling notes and strange drawings of intersecting circles and dashing lines. From across the room Harper could just make out the word “red” and what looked like some kind of bird.

  The kitchen stood barren and lifeless behind the girl. The only items on the ugly mustard yellow countertops were a dust-covered toaster, a lonely coffeepot, and a butcher block filled with the mismatched handles of a variety of knives. The lonely room was just like the rest of the house, but something about the place was gradually changing — almost as if the place was coming alive with Harper and the girl’s presence.

  “Good morning, Starling,” Harper said, trying to temper her residual fear. What if she was to become pregnant, as Carey had once done? Would she want a baby? How would this affect Starling? What would happen between her and Chance?

  Chance was a good man, an honest man — except when he was playing cards — in which case the game was the focus of his life. He had made a point of telling her he would have to leave — that there were games he had to play. Poker was a profession that a man like Chance, the son of luck, would never be able to walk away from. It was the focus of his life and she had to doubt his fo
cus would ever change.

  His avoidance of a relationship in the shadows of the night had fallen on deaf ears, but now in the light of day her fears rose and were intensified with her new concerns. It hadn’t mattered in the warmth of his arms, but now the entire situation made her feel like the lopsided picture she had seen at the lawyer’s office — one simple thoughtless action would cause the whole picture to come crashing to the ground.

  Seeing how he dealt with Starling’s situation made her more nervous. Here he was, given a chance to have a real life, a real family with this young woman, and instead he was only going to find a way to fit her into his drifting life. Anyone who attempted to have this man in their life would have to face the same treatment. He would never change. He’d never settle down. And she had no intention of following any man.

  Starling looked up from her book for a quick second. “Morning,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Her skin was porcelain white and her hair was still wet from her bath.

  Harper walked through the small dining room attached to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  Starling shook her head and looked back down at her paper.

  “Are you sure?” Harper continued, hoping for more than a simple answer.

  Starling didn’t answer, and a new tear started in Harper’s poorly stitched heart.

  “Well, how about this?” Harper asked, even though she knew she was mostly talking to herself. “How about I run down to the store and get some groceries. When I come back I can cook you and your dad up some breakfast? Would you like that?”

  Starling glanced up. “Chance left.”

  Harper’s stomach lurched.

  “What?”

  “He. Left.”

  “Did he leave a note?”

  The girl lifted her gaze and gave Harper a look that would have made the most hardened mother’s skin prickle.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Starling’s eyebrow rose as if Harper was undeserving of a verbal answer. The tear in her heart widened.

  He had slipped out. He had left her. And even more, he’d left her to care for this wearing teenager — and possibly the beginnings of another child. The softness she felt for the man melted away and was replaced by the harsh pangs of anger.