by Amy Patrick
He’s swaying me—the cheater.
I took in a deep head-clearing breath and let it go while he watched and waited.
“It’s a very, very nice offer, and you make a compelling case.”
His eyebrows drew together, his lips pressing into a thin line, as if he was bracing for a strike to the face.
“But?”
“Is it okay if I take some time to think? I’d prefer to make a decision when I’m not under the influence of your Sway.” I raised a significant brow at him.
He frowned. “I’m not swaying you.”
I huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Really? Well then, not only are you just fine without musical glamour, you don’t need Sway, either.”
His lips curled in a rascally grin. “See, when you say things like that, I feel like I really could fall in love with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well don’t strain yourself. I don’t want you to pull a muscle or something.”
We resumed our walk, our hotel coming into sight a block away. I glanced over at Anders periodically, and every time, he was smiling to himself, as if re-living a happy memory.
Finally I could stand it no longer.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you grinning like that?”
“I’m happy,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “Because you’re going to say yes.”
“You don’t know that,” I argued, though in a good-natured tone. “Unless there’s a future-predicting glamour you forgot to tell me about in there somewhere.”
“No. I can’t predict the future.” He paused for so long, I thought that was all he was going to say, but then he added quietly, “But I am the luckiest guy I know.”
7
Nic
Dear Macy,
I’m on my way to you. Again. Still. Only now I don't know what I’ll find when I reach you. And I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there. I may see you yet never speak to you again, if that’s what’s best for you. My heart aches when I think about it. I’d love nothing better than to put this letter, and the last one, into your tiny perfect hands and kiss you until neither of us can breathe. But I don’t know if you’d let me. I don’t know if you’d even want them—or me—anymore. Maybe you’d tear up my words or throw them away without even reading them.
All I know is that I have to say these things to you one way or another, and if I never get the chance to say them in person, at least I’ve gotten them out this way.
I don’t know why all of this has happened to us. I don’t know why you came into my life when you did. But I have to believe it all meant something. I can’t go on if I don’t believe that. All I have at this point is hope—hope that at least a small part of you remembers what we had and still longs for it, hope that somewhere in your heart there is still some love for me. Because mine belongs to you completely and always will.
* * *
I finished the letter as the wheels touched down on the tarmac at Sugarland Regional Airport. Chuckling to myself at its pathetic sappiness, I folded it carefully and tucked it into my pocket, right next to the first love letter I’d penned to her.
A black Audi Q7 waited near the private airport facility’s main hangar, and as I neared it, an Elven woman emerged from the front driver’s side and approached me.
“Mr. Buonoccorsi? I’m Jodi. I’ll be happy to take you wherever you’d like to go. Do you have a hotel in town already or would you like for me to make a call?”
Once again, Nox had apparently come through, arranging a ride for me at the airport.
“Oh. Um, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”
“Well, I imagine you’re in town for the rodeo, right? You’ll want to stay at least a few days to see everything.”
“The rodeo? No. I… don’t know anything about it.” Her presumption made me wonder, though. If this “rodeo” was a big deal here in Houston, maybe that was where Macy would be. Her impulsive nature would draw her to the center of excitement, wherever that was.
“Is that a popular attraction here?” I asked Jodi.
She laughed, apparently amused by my ignorance. “You could say that. About two and a half million people attend it every spring. It’s a two-week event that includes not only championship rodeo events every day but a giant fair and concerts by top musicians each night—many of our people perform there each year. Attendees come from all around—you should definitely check it out while you’re here.”
“Yes. I will. Take me there.”
“What? Now? You don’t want to go to your hotel first?”
“No. The rodeo is where I need to be.”
I couldn’t explain it, but I felt certain of that. I’d heard some bond-mates speaking as if they had a sixth sense about their partners, where they were, what they were thinking. Most of the time, though, they stayed so close together it wouldn’t have been used for the purpose of tracking one another.
She grinned. “Okay then—let’s rodeo.”
When we reached NRG park $ in downtown Houston, I took in the enormous stadium, the other huge outbuildings, and the parking lot around them filled with carnival rides, food stands, and masses of people. I felt a mix of excitement and dismay. Excitement because if Macy was still in this city, this was definitely where she’d be. Dismay because I wasn’t quite sure how I’d find her in this sea of humanity. The event grounds seemed as big as the whole island of Corsica to me.
Jodi dropped me off as close to the stadium entrance as she could get—which wasn’t very close actually—promising to take my luggage to a suitable hotel and check me in, so I’d be sure to have a room later tonight.
“You’re going to be thankful for a soft bed,” she informed me. “Rodeo Houston is a bit overwhelming.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
I thanked her—hoping I would not be alone in that bed but sharing it with Macy. But I was getting ahead of myself. First I had to find her, and that would be no easy trick. If only nymphs used mind-to-mind communication the way Elves did. At least I didn’t think they had that capacity. Not knowing any other nymphs or even that she was one, it wasn’t likely Macy would be aware of that ability even if she did have it. It was something we’d have to figure out together once we were together again. I had to believe that would happen—until it was proven otherwise.
I maneuvered down a crowded walk lined with food and souvenir stands, my nose bombarded by the smells of frying dough and roasting meat, popcorn, and something sweet—taffy? Or maybe candy apples. A small girl passed me, burying her face in a large fluff of pink-and-blue spun sugar. Cotton Candy. That’s what the sweet smell was.
The air was filled with music, dinging carnival games, the metallic swish and clatter of amusement park rides, and the excited squealing—and not-so-excited wailing—of children. Above my head a sky ride carried rodeo fans from one end of the vast complex to the other. I made a mental note to check that out later as a possible surveillance tool. But my goal for now was the immense stadium itself. It was straight ahead, looming over the outside festivities like a watchful parent at a playground.
As I neared it, a woman sashayed into my path, holding a platter in one hand and lifting a small bit of cooked meat on a toothpick toward me with the other. She was human, very pretty with deeply tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and a chest that didn’t look entirely… natural.
I couldn’t help but notice that last part because it was amply displayed in a tiny tank top with the words “Slow Hand BBQ—Get Some While It’s HOT,” stretched across the front.
“How ‘bout some barbecue, cowboy?” she said, running her eyes up and down my obviously non-western attire. At least I thought it was my clothes she was checking out.
I shook my head, impatient to get to the main arena. “No thank you. I’m not hungry. I’ll get some later.” I tried to walk past her, but the woman shifted her position to stand right in front of me. Naturally, I stopped so as not to mow her down.
She jutted out one denim-clad h
ip and pulled a slip of paper from one pocket—which was remarkable considering the tight fit of the skimpy cutoff shorts. “You’re not going to get this later. It’s a ticket to the World’s championship barbecue contest and a private tent pass.”
At my blank look, she continued, a bit less confident now. “You know—a tent pass? You’re obviously not from around here, but these things are like gold. You can’t even buy barbecue from the contest entrants—you have to be invited.” Her lipstick grin was wide and lascivious. “And you—are invited.”
I shook my head in bafflement. What did she want from me? I’d already said no thank you. And I’d never tasted barbecue in my life—it wasn’t a common thing where I lived.
“I… appreciate it, but I’m not even sure I like what you’re offering.”
At this, she reached forward and brazenly tucked the ticket into my front waistband, letting her fingertips linger just inside below my navel as she pulled herself close to me. “Why don’t you come do a taste test and find out?” she purred close to my ear.
Ah. Now I got it.
I’d like to have said all sexual urges had left my body once I’d become chemically bonded to Macy. That would have been nice. But it wasn’t true. They were still there. In fact, the desire to bond was even stronger than before. But it had Macy’s name, fingerprint, and DNA pattern all over it.
I had no desire for this woman or any other beside Macy. I hadn’t even noticed her obvious flirting at first. Maybe that was what being bonded was—you weren’t just unable to bond with another partner—you didn’t even want to.
Manacling the woman’s wrist, I removed her fingers from my waistband. “I said, ‘no.’ Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my girlfriend.”
I stepped around her and resumed my mission, not looking back.
“You have no idea what you’re missing, Mr. Italian Stallion. My Boston butt is legendary,” she called after me, a bitter edge to her flirty tone.
I shook my head, not bothering to answer. She was wrong. I did know what I was missing—Macy. And I wasn’t going to let anything interfere with finding her now that we were finally in the same city together. Perhaps within the same square mile. The thought gave me goosebumps.
Stepping into the main building, I was caught off guard by the incredible crowd noise. The huge arena was packed with people watching some kind of horse-riding exhibition. As I made my way to an empty seat, a loud crack sounded, and a gate at one end of the long dirt-floored arena opened.
A horse shot out of the opening, jumping and kicking as soon as he got clear of his confinement. On his back, a man clad in jeans and chaps and a tan leather vest that matched his cowboy hat clung to a rope and undulated with one hand in the air, his body whipping and snapping as the dappled brown-and-white horse spun and bucked.
It was violent and exciting. I’d never seen anything like it. My only impressions of what took place at a rodeo had come from movies and television. If they had anything like it in France or Italy, I’d never been there. Then again, it wasn’t exactly my scene.
Was it Macy’s? She was so American, and this seemed like such an American event, from the way people dressed to the types of foods I’d seen them eating. Fried Twinkies and pizza on a stick, for instance. My eyes searched the impossibly large crowd. She could be in this very building, and I’d have no chance of spotting her. I supposed I could walk out into the center of the arena and hope she spotted me. Of course I’d likely end up on the receiving end of those thrashing hooves or at least in handcuffs. No, there had to be a better way.
I ducked back out of the building into the steamy parking lot. The sun was setting, but the air was not much cooler than it had been when the plane landed. Pulling out my phone, I dialed Nox.
He answered after one ring. “Hey—you in Houston? Jodi meet you at the airport?”
“Yes. I’m at the rodeo now. I was wondering… have you been able to reach your friend? I think I’m going to need a little help to find them—that or a miracle.” The crowd milling about outside seemed even larger than the one inside the stadium.
“No, I’m sorry. I’ve called, but he seems to have his ringer off or something. Texted too. I tracked his phone—they’re definitely still in downtown Houston. I’ll try texting again—stress that it’s urgent for him to get back to me. Do you want me to tell Anders about you and let him tell Macy… or did you want to do that yourself?”
I thought about it for a moment. “No. I want to tell her—I want her to see me so she knows it’s real. But if you could pinpoint their exact location for me, it would be very helpful.”
“I’ll do my best. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” I slid the phone back into my pocket and scowled at the constant stream of bodies passing my location.
What were the odds I’d happen to see her? Not good. About as good as the odds of Anders eagerly responding to Nox’s questions about his location if he was aware of my return—and if he’d fallen in love with my bond-mate. I couldn't count on that avenue of discovery.
In the meantime, I knew only one thing to do—start walking and hope that somehow the bond-mate sixth sense was real and our hearts would lead us back to each other.
8
Macy
My heart had been aching all day. I knew I was fine physically, but that old hollow pain had returned to my chest. Even as Anders and I watched the bull riding contest and the barrel racing and cuddled the baby pigs and goats at the livestock birthing center, the ghosts were back in full-haunt mode. I kept turning to glance over my shoulder, sensing a presence, feeling like I was being watched.
Maybe it was the fact I was considering letting go of Nic’s ghost and accepting Anders’ offer. The thought made me feel guilty. No, guilty wasn’t the right word. It made me feel… rebellious, as if my illogical heart was rebelling against my brain’s very logical line of thinking. Something inside of me still clung to Nic’s memory, stubbornly refusing to release its choking grip.
Now, strolling around the Midway, I forced a smile when Anders asked how I’d liked the giant Ferris wheel.
“It was great,” I said. “Way better than that octopus thing. I didn’t think I’d live through that one.”
“I thought you were a thrill seeker.”
I sniffed a laugh. “Used to be. Not anymore. These days I play it safe.”
Anders rolled his lips inward as his eyes narrowed to a speculative squinch. “Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know… you seem different today.”
I shook my head and smiled again. “I’m fine. Maybe I’m tired.”
He nodded and glanced off into the distance. Then his gaze came back to mine and he grinned widely, catching my hand in his. “I know exactly what you need—come on.”
Not waiting for my agreement, he set off in a brisk stride, pulling me with him. I had to nearly skip to keep up. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Wait, Anders, really. I am tired. I don’t think I can walk much farther tonight. Maybe we should get the shuttle—”
In one swift move, Anders lifted me and swung me onto his back piggy-back style and wrapped his hands around my thighs, holding me securely in place as he kept moving at breakneck speed.
“Oh my God—what are you doing?” My hands scrabbled to grip his shirt, his shoulders—wow, he had amazing shoulders—so I didn’t fall off and land on my butt in the parking lot.
He threw a grin back in my direction. “The show’s about to start.”
“The show?”
I peered over his head to the NRG stadium ahead.
“Yeah—the concert.”
I’d read there were several musical acts each evening of the rodeo, but the headliners performed on the big stage in the stadium.
“Anders—people lined up for that a couple hours ago. We’ll never get a seat,” I argued.
He laughed. “You let me worry about that.”
Inside the massive building the seats did look
to be filled from field level to nosebleeds. I squinted up toward the sixth level, searching for any openings. But Anders didn't head for the stairs. He strolled right out onto the dirt, toward the stage and the season pass holder chairs set up in front of it. All of those were filled as well. It was only minutes from show time.
Supremely self-conscious, I squirmed to get down. Anders released me, stopping only a second for my feet to make contact with the dusty arena floor before resuming his determined stride.
“What are you doing?” I hissed as he strolled past the rows of pricey VIP seating and right up to the stage, which had just gone dark in preparation for the beginning of the concert. An announcer’s voice came over the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
Anders only smiled and gave me a quick wink. “You’ll see.”
Reaching the stage, he motioned for a roadie in black jeans and a black t-shirt to come over. The guy leaned down, listened to whatever it was Anders said close to his ear, then nodded and disappeared backstage. Within a minute he reappeared, holding two folding chairs, which he carried off-stage and set up in front of the front row. Then he shook Anders’ hand and ran off backstage again.
I stood beside our out-of-thin air concert seats, gaping at Anders. Suddenly, blindingly bright lights illuminated the stage, and a loud guitar riff boomed from the speakers.
“How did you do that? Did you pay off that roadie?” I yelled over the opening notes of the first song.
He grinned. “Nope. It’s a professional courtesy. Plus, I know this guy—he’s a friend.” His hand lifted toward the stage, where I finally trained my eyes.
A very tall, very well-built singer swaggered out into the lights, playing the guitar slung over his hip, and my breath rushed from my lungs in a whoosh. “Oh wow. Derrick McGinn.”
Derrick was one of the hottest country stars around, with a few Grammys to his name and regular TV appearances. He played to sold-out crowds all over the country, and his songs seemed to be on the radio every time I tuned in to a country station. His voice was great, but I suspected his incredible good looks had as much, if not more, to do with Derrick’s chart-topping success.
