by Lila Dubois
“You look amazing. Stunning,” Oren said after a reverent pause.
Maeve’s face broke into a grin, and drop-dead sexy was suddenly dangerously approachable.
“Took you long enough,” Henry muttered. Maeve grabbed for him, but he danced back. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Uh, these are for you.” Oren presented Maeve with the flowers. Her eyes got wide and she stroked a rose with one slim finger.
“Thank you. No one has ever given me flowers before.”
“Then they’re all fools.”
Henry left the room in disgust.
Maeve bit her lip. “What do I do with them?”
“You should put them in some water. I’ll help you.”
Together they rummaged in the kitchen until they found a vase. Oren showed her how to cut the stems under water—gardening had been one of his recovery hobbies—and then she happily arranged them.
When the vase of flowers was set in a place of honor on the dining room table, Maeve ran back to her room for a coat at his suggestion.
Oren looked at the flowers. It had been a very long time since he’d felt like he was able to make someone happy. He’d screwed up his life and hurt a lot of people, and since then he’d been just treading water and not making waves. Watching Maeve fuss over the flowers reminded him that he’d once been the kind of man, and the kind of lover, who could make a woman’s eyes light up.
Tonight, he hoped to be that man again.
Maeve licked her lips, her eyes fluttering closed. “I love this.”
“I can see that you do. Are you going to share?”
“No, get your own.”
Oren leaned back in his chair, espresso cup in hand. Maeve was happily doing obscene things to a piece of triple-chocolate brownie cake and a glass of sweet port. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he touched the eight-year sobriety chip he’d stuck in there, a talisman to help him turn down the offers for wine he’d been sure would come with the meal.
Maeve’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m teasing—you can have some.”
“I think I’d rather watch you eat it.”
Oren shifted in his seat as Maeve spooned up another bite, popping it between her pink lips and moaning in bliss. This was a special kind of torture. Naked pole dancers doing midair splits were less sexy than Maeve and chocolate.
“Good, because I like eating it,” she said when she was done. “I also like having dinner with you.”
Oren smiled in agreement. He’d thought the conversation might be similar to all of their others, where one party was left a little baffled by the other. But over dinner they’d found common ground. They’d talked about the politics of the environment and the commodification of public resources. Their pasts had come up, and Oren hadn’t shied away—she already knew the gory bits. He’d held her hand when she described the early death of her mother, who’d fled to America to give Maeve a better life. It was a familiar story—even the fact that Maeve’s mother had come from Ireland was certainly a common tale in America. The twist was that they’d been fleeing a civil war among the fairies of Ireland—one that would be mirrored by the Troubles the human people of Ireland went through.
A cold shudder had gone through him when Maeve said that one of the reasons her mother left was because the banshee were a relatively weak class within the fae and that Maeve’s own father had died early in the fighting. If she was weak…that was something to worry about later.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” their server asked.
Oren looked to Maeve, who was eyeing her cake plate as if thinking about asking for more. Lips twitching, Oren told her, “We can come back another night, for more cake.” Maeve looked guilty and Oren laughed. “I think we’re done.”
“I’ll bring the bill right out, sir.”
When the server left, Maeve sighed. “I do love this cake.”
“I know.”
Maeve set her spoon down. “Does this mean the date is over?”
Oren tensed. “What do you mean?”
“It’s the end of dinner. Are we going to do something else?”
“I didn’t arrange for tickets to anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oren didn’t think it was, though after this dinner, he had no doubt that Maeve would love a full night on the town.
She bit her lower lip, releasing it so that slid slowly from between her teeth. Oren’s cock twitched. She hadn’t been asking if they were going to the opera.
“Maeve?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to come back to my place…for coffee?”
“Does coffee mean sex?”
Oren barked out a laugh and pulled out his wallet. “Yes, yes it does.”
They barely made it to Oren’s front door before they were all over each other.
Oren had to admit that the image of Maeve dropping Catherine to the floor with her touch was on his mind as he offered his hand to help her out of the car. But when they touched, he felt fire, not ice.
As they approached his door, he drew her closer to his side, sliding his hand around her back to rest on her hip. He’d pulled her too close and they bumped as they walked. Oren grabbed her to stop her from falling. Their bodies thumped together, chest to chest.
Maeve’s eyes widened, and he knew she could feel his erection against her belly. He’d been hard for her since that damned cake.
“I want you,” he said, voice rougher than he would have liked. He didn’t want to scare her.
Maeve’s eyes glittered in the moonlight. She was so beautiful, so exquisite; it was hard for Oren to believe that she was here with him. Cupping her face, he brought his lips to hers. She tasted like chocolate and something darker, something richer and more powerful.
Her lips trembled against his, and then she threw her arms around him, kissing him back with greedy desperation.
Oren dropped his hands to her hips and pressed her body hard against his. His cock leapt in his pants, wanting, needing to be inside her.
Sliding his hand down her thigh, he grabbed her leg under her knee and pulled her leg up, hooking it over his hip.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she felt his cock against her in the new position. She ground her hips against him and Oren almost ripped his pants off and had her right there.
“Inside, we should go inside.” Disentangling their bodies, he fumbled with his keys, opening the door with all the finesse of a first-time car thief.
Once inside, they came together again, hands groping. When he slid his hand under her dress and touched her warm, wet panties, Oren realized what he was doing.
“Not like this,” he said, pushing her away.
He led her to his bedroom. In hopes that this would happen, he’d cleaned and even dug up some old meditation candles, setting them around the room. He lit the candles now, then brought Maeve to the center of the room. As she watched, he removed his jacket, shoes and socks. When that was done, he turned his attention to her.
Picking up her hand, he kissed her fingers, the inside of her wrist. “You are…” The kisses moved higher, to the inside of her elbow, her shoulder. “…so beautiful.”
She reached for him, but he evaded her, giving her other arm the same treatment before circling around to her back. Holding her hips, he rocked them gently side to side as he kissed her neck. Then he grasped the tab for the zipper of her dress and lowered it inch by inch, kissing each bit of flesh he exposed.
When he was done, Maeve turned to face him. Her eyes were bright, focused, as she slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders.
It fell to the floor, revealing plenty of pale, bare flesh and a pair of tiny black panties. Her breasts were perfect globes, with large pink nipples that tightened into points as he watched.
Oren couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
Settling his palms on her waist, he slid them up to her breasts, cupping the firm handfuls. Maeve’s eyes fluttered and her head fell back. The long line of her throat was painted with
candlelight and begging for his touch. As he thumbed her nipples, he kissed her neck.
Soon her hands were on his back, clutching at his shirt. Oren grabbed her by the hips, hiked her up and carried her to the bed. Maeve landed on her back, her body pale against the dark comforter. Oren stripped off his shirt and tie. Maeve sat up and struggled with his pants, finally getting them open.
Oren closed his eyes as the fabric of his boxers raked his throbbing cock. His eyes popped open when her thin, strong fingers wrapped around him, stroking from the base up to the sensitive head, which was already wet with pre-come.
“My turn,” he said as he pushed her hands away, knowing that if he didn’t this would be over sooner rather than later.
She lay back, propping herself up on her elbows to watch as he grabbed a condom from a drawer and rolled it on. Then he pulled her panties down and off, panting with his need to touch her, be in her. Oren traced his hands up her legs, marveling at her perfect skin. At his touch, she spread her legs, then took his wrist and guided his hand to her sex.
She was warm and wet, and when he slid two fingers into her, her body clenched around him.
He climbed onto the bed between her legs.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.” Her fingers traced the lines and planes of his face.
He kissed her as he flexed his hips, pressing the tip of his cock against her sex until he found the waiting entrance to her body. He kissed her cheek, then buried his face in her hair as he slid into her.
Maeve arched under him, her legs coming up to cradle his hips.
“More,” she demanded, and all he could do—all he wanted to do—was please her.
Oren flexed his hips, pressing his cock deeper, until they were connected, one, whole.
For a moment, Oren thought he felt it—a connectedness he’d never know. He had a second of wonder if this was what she felt when she looked into the past, into the future. Then she arched under him, her body expressing its demand that he move, that he pleasure her, take her, and the feeling was gone.
Withdrawing partway, Oren surged in again. Her nails dug into his back, her breath fanned his neck. Her pebbled nipples traced patterns on his chest and they moved together.
Oren hugged Maeve to his chest and rolled over, putting her on top. She looked uncertain so he took her hips in his hands and helped her find her rhythm.
In this position he could stroke her smooth belly, her breasts and, most importantly, reach between their bodies to find her clit with his thumb. As Maeve rocked her hips forward and back, he stroked and rubbed the nub of flesh.
He felt her orgasm coming. Her body tightened around his cock, and he had to grit his teeth to hold back his own orgasm. Her fingers against his chest were suddenly cold as ice.
Oren reared up, rolled her onto her back and thrust into her.
“Yes, yes!” Maeve threw her head back, screaming her pleasure. Her pussy was like a vice around him as he thrust into her. Oren pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His orgasm built in the base of his cock, his need peaking even as she sighed in pleasure and stilled under him.
Oren came, gasping her name.
When the last shudder had passed through him, he collapsed on top of her for a moment, before rolling to his side.
He gave her a moment to herself, then pulled her against him, holding her tight.
This was madness—she was a creature of myth and legend, over one hundred years old and with terrifying powers—and he was falling for her.
On a sigh, she turned and snuggled into him, tucking her head under his chin.
He kissed her forehead, then whispered, “I think Henry was right—this is dangerous.”
“Did I hurt you?” Maeve’s voice was worried.
“No, but I like you. I really like you.”
He felt her smile before she said, “Does that mean you want to go on more dates?”
“Yes.”
“And you want us to live together?”
Oren felt his lips twitch, remembering what Henry had said about her watching chick flicks. “Yes, I want to live with you.”
“And you love me?”
Maeve turned to look at him. Their gazes met, held.
“I just met you.” Oren tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “I barely know you or understand what you really are or what it would mean to be with you.”
The light of pleasure in her eyes was fading. She dropped her gaze. Oren tucked his fingers under her chin, forcing it up.
This time when their eyes met he could see a sheen of tears.
“This is crazy, but yes, I am falling in love with you.”
She smiled, and one perfect tear fell from the corner of her eye. “I was sure, from the time my mother died, that I would be alone. I could not return to my mother’s people and I was too important to my Clan to be with any of them. When I was young, I had sex with a few of them, but it was never more than physical. They needed me as the Seer, not as a female with wants and desires of her own.”
Oren could only imagine how lonely that would be. He kissed her forehead, hugging her tight.
“I had a girlfriend in college. We were pretty serious but broke up after graduation. For most of my twenties, I worked. The industry likes to make people pay their dues, and I usually worked sixty-hour weeks so I didn’t have time to date.
“Then I had a chance to edit this independent film. I loved the script and the director. I agreed, doing it for what I thought would be no money. That little movie was an amazing success. No one expected it. I won an Oscar and so did the director. The next year I was asked to edit a summer blockbuster. By thirty I was one of the top editors in the business.”
Oren stroked her arm as he thought back on his life.
“I wasn’t working as much and could have met someone if I wanted, met them and fallen in love. In a way, I did fall in love, but it was with drugs, not a person.
“I lost my friends, alienated my brother and mom and killed my career. It was only when I lost everything that I realized that the money didn’t matter, the success didn’t matter, if I didn’t have people to share it with.”
“But you’re better now.”
“Yes, I’m sober, and I see my family on holidays, but I still sometimes feel…”
“All alone.”
“Yes.” He kissed her head. “I guess I was looking for a mate.”
They snuggled for a moment, but he could feel that she was restless. Maeve propped herself up to look at him.
“Maybe it’s wrong of me, to think of taking a mate, of loving you. What would that mean for my Clan? What would—”
Oren pressed a finger to her lips. “Let’s worry about that on, say, our fourth date.”
She smiled against his finger, then lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Oren stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. He was terrified, he was thrilled.
That was love.
It was the most terrifying, unholy, sound he’d ever heard.
Oren woke with a start, body flushing cold and hot as his system flooded with adrenaline. He didn’t know if he should fight or flee, but his instincts were screaming at him to do something. That sound meant something was wrong…meant death was coming.
He reached for Maeve, his first thought to protect her. The space beside him in the bed was empty…and ice cold.
Then he saw her.
The candles had sputtered out, but there was some light filtering through the curtains—enough to see her by.
Maeve stood beside the bed, her head tipped back, her hands half-raised and curled into claws. Her mouth was open and she was screaming.
No. Not screaming. Keening.
Like a banshee.
The hair on Oren’s neck and arms stood on end. Though he’d never heard the sound before, he had no doubt what it meant, as if some primitive part of him recognized the warning.
“Maeve!”
She didn’t hear him. A
s her wailing continued, a bitterly cold wind swirled through the room, though there was nowhere for it to come from. Her hair came loose, whipping against her naked body. Her eyes were bright but stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. She was in banshee mode, with inhumanly long fingers and nails, pointed ears and a sharp face.
“Maeve!”
It was as though she were caught in a trance. His skin dotted with goose bumps, so Oren grabbed the comforter, wrapping it around himself before approaching her.
“Maeve.” Fingers trembling, he reached out and touched her forearm.
The wailing stopped. Maeve stood still as a statue, unmoving. Gritting his teeth, Oren dropped the blanket and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake.
She gasped, head snapping down, bright blue eyes almost glowing with intensity.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“Is that…was that…the banshee thing?”
“Yes.” Her eyes closed.
“Am I dying?”
“No. But Seling is.” She pulled back from him. “I must go.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, there isn’t time, and it’s dangerous.”
“That’s why I’m coming with you.” Oren pulled on the first pants he saw.
“Call the others. I’m going to him.” She let out another tortured cry. “I did not see this.”
“Where, where are we going?”
“The building with no walls, the one we saw today.”
“The set, he’s at the set?”
“I have to go.”
“You need me to drive you.”
“No. I don’t.”
Maeve traced a pattern in the air and a shimmering iridescent circle appeared. It emitted a pulsing light.
“What…” The shirt Oren was holding dropped from his fingers.
Maeve smiled at him—a happy, mischievous smile. In that moment, Oren felt this strange certainty that he was meant for her, and she was meant for him.
“String theory.” She stepped into the oval and disappeared. The oval winked out of existence.
“Fucking science.” Oren scrambled to find his jacket and the cell phone in the pocket. “As soon as this is over, I’m going back to college.”
