Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Is your head really bothering you that much?” he asked. He took a deep breath and mentally crossed his fingers. And then, hoping it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, he offered her an easy out. Just in case. “You don’t want me to take you home now... do you?”

  Her eyebrows rose in a startled expression that he’d seen only rarely on her face. “No. I— No, of course not, Sam. It’s not that bad, or anything. I’m just...”

  As her voice trailed away into confusion, Sam felt an almost imperceptible lightening of his mood. She didn’t know – not yet. Which meant, whatever it was, at least she wasn’t anticipating the terrible moment when she’d turn him down. He still had a chance.

  “Okay, good.” He reached for her hand. Maybe he should ask her now? He’d planned to do it over dessert, but why prolong the suffering? If he got it over with now, maybe they’d actually be able to enjoy their meal. But on the other hand... what if she said no?

  He gazed at the hand he held clasped between both of his, trying to picture his ring on her finger – and failing. Maybe he should have gone with another type of cut. Or another stone, altogether. An emerald, perhaps, to match her eyes.

  Marsha’s hand was warm and soft and, as always, Sam felt a tingling current of energy spread through him from the contact. She was magical. It was the only explanation for the way she affected him, and he doubted he would ever get used to it. But good lord, what was he thinking? How could he ask her to marry him? To do so would change everything. For good or ill.

  And if it were for ill?

  Maybe he should wait for a better time, and not push his luck. But he’d promised the boys he’d ask her tonight, and he could only imagine how they’d look at him if he took her home without having gotten the job done. It was too late to back down.

  “Listen, Marsha, there’s something that... well, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and—”

  “Oh, here’s our food,” she said, as she slipped her hand from his. There had been a slight tremor in her voice. He glanced at her quickly, but her eyes were fixed on the waiter, watching as the man pared a mountain of paper thin curls of Parmesan cheese on top of her pasta.

  Well, like mother, like sons, Sam thought, as he sat back and watched amused despite himself. Apparently, nothing was going to affect her appetite, either.

  He cut into his mushroom. “So, the boys mentioned that you spoke with their dad the other day. I gather they’re not going to be spending their weekends with Alex anytime soon?”

  Marsha kept her eyes glued to her plate as she answered, “No, he’s uh, not in a position to deal with them right now.”

  Sam snorted quietly. Marsha shot a quick, nervous glance his way. Was that what was bothering him? Was he worried about how having the boys around all the time was going to impact their relationship? Well, that figured. How long had she expected him to be happy with going home alone each night, anyway?

  He’d told her once that he was an opportunist, and certainly he’d always seemed to be on the lookout for opportunities to get her alone, get her into bed – and not always bed, either. The kitchen counter, the hot tub at the cabin, the mattress in the back of her van...

  But nowhere lately. In fact, now that she thought about it, they hadn’t had sex in over a week.

  She swallowed, her pasta suddenly tasteless. Maybe it wasn’t nervousness that she was sensing from him tonight. Maybe he was just frustrated? But no, that wasn’t it, either.

  Her senses tingled. She was suddenly aware that she’d missed something important. She looked at him questioningly. “What?”

  “I said, have you considered suing for full custody? He’s pretty much stuck you with it anyway, it seems. You might as well get compensated for it.”

  Marsha sighed. “Sure, I’ve thought about it, Sam. I just... I can’t do that to them. The boys need their father. Inadequate as he is, he’s still better than nothing.”

  “Well, I’d say that’s debatable,” Sam said as he picked up his wineglass. He gazed at her over the rim as he drank. “And... you know, there might be another kind of option for them. As far as fathers go, I mean. Other than inadequate or absent.”

  “Yeah,” Marsha snapped, pushing her plate aside, as she thought about that. The other big mistake in her life. “Completely anonymous, you mean. Like Jasmine’s father.”

  Sam grimaced. “That’s not quite what I was getting at, angel, but – is something wrong with the food?”

  “No, I just— I just don’t seem to have much of an appetite anymore.”

  “Perfect,” he muttered sardonically, signaling for the waiter to remove the plates. He stared at her for a moment. “So... I guess maybe it’s time to order dessert.”

  Dessert? She thought about that. Tension lay coiled in her gut like a snake. A big snake. Maybe one of those South American pythons, the size of a school bus. How could anyone think of food at a time like this? “I don’t really think I want dessert tonight, Sam.”

  “No, huh?” His mouth compressed, as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. He plucked the dessert menu from the table and handed it to her. “Okay, well... humor me, all right? Just order something.”

  What the hell was he up to, she wondered, suddenly furious. He had something he wanted to tell her, that much was crystal clear. This was no spontaneous turn in the conversation. This was something he’d planned in advance.

  Whatever it was, it was making him even more nervous than before. And, as always, his nerves made her head throb.

  But oh, it was ridiculous! Nervous or not, she still could not believe he’d break up with her here – right here in public. So, then what else could it be? And why tonight, of all nights? It was Valentine’s Day! Whatever was wrong... surely he was capable of lying to her about it for one more night, wasn’t he? Capable of keeping her in the dark for just a little while longer?

  Unless this was something else? Unless he was sick, or dying or something, but no, that was ridiculous as well, she’d sense something like that. Ill health was right there in the aura—almost impossible to hide, unless you were someone like Scout, who’d found a way to shadow her aura, when it suited her to do so.

  Marsha’s thoughts veered suddenly off in another direction. She could not believe she’d missed seeing that about Scout the other day. It was because of what she had done to Bob, wasn’t it? It had to be. That kind of thing always weakened her powers. Left her confused and— maybe that was the problem now? Maybe she was misreading a perfectly clear situation? Maybe he wasn’t planning on leaving her after all?

  “Marsha, are you even listening to me?”

  She stared at him blankly. A slow blush spread itself across her face. “I’m sorry, Sam. I guess my mind was wandering.”

  His expression was one of exasperated disbelief. Oh, God, was that it? He thought she wasn’t paying enough attention to him? Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? A week! They hadn’t gone a week without sex in— well, never, actually.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. Wh-what were you saying?”

  He stared at her helplessly for an instant, and then he looked away again. “Well, I was just thinking, you know, that... well, how’d you like a little something to go with the necklace I gave you? Because I could— maybe I could, uh...”

  Her hand went to her throat, she fingered the cool stones of the necklace he’d given her last September. A present? Like maybe... a going away present, perhaps? Was that what he was thinking? Her heart sank.

  “Sam, I really don’t think that’s necessary. You’ve given me so much already. I, I really don’t need another present.”

  “Well, this wouldn’t be a present, per se. It’d be more like— well, I don’t know, exactly.” He broke off, frowning.

  Marsha’s hand tightened on the gems at her neck. More like what, she wondered? A pay off? A bonus? Compensation for services rendered? Was he nuts? Could he really believe she’d agree to take anything from him under those circumstances?

  This wasn’t happe
ning. She pulled herself together, sat up straighter and quickly grounded herself – pulling so much energy up from the earth it made her head spin. Whatever was going on, it was time she put a stop to it.

  She had no plans to hold him. Even though she loved him – and probably would all her life – if he wanted to go, he was free to do so. But she was not going to get kissed off in public. Or find herself embarrassed by the offer of some cheap consolation prize. She could spare herself that indignity, at least.

  “There’s really nothing more that I need, you know, Sam.” She purposely made her voice go low and soothing, purposely let her energy flow over him, into him. “So, let’s just finish our meal, and we can discuss this later. Right now, I want you to—”

  He let out a loud sigh, and shook his head. “No. I don’t think we can discuss this later, Marsha. And I’m pretty sure neither of us feels like eating. I need to do this now.”

  The wave of energy that radiated back from him, practically knocked her from her seat. She’d forgotten how strong he was. That was something else she’d noticed right from the start; the enormous, unexpressed potential for power that she’d sensed lying dormant inside him.

  Well, it wasn’t dormant tonight, was it? She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by what she saw there, unable to look away. She felt the shields she’d raised to protect herself fall uselessly away as he smiled at her. A sad, rueful smile. Surely she’d misread his intentions, she thought, as she felt the love that poured from him.

  “Angel, look, I—” He stopped again. She felt him steel himself as he reached for something in his jacket pocket. “I’m sure I’m going about this all wrong, but... well, here. This is for you.”

  She stared in confusion at the box he slid across the table towards her. The blue velvet appeared to glow with energy.

  “Open it.”

  Open it? She didn’t even want to touch it. But all the same, her hands reached for the box, practically of their own volition, and pried up the lid. She gasped at the sight of the ring inside. She could sense all the energy he’d unwittingly imparted to it. So strong – she was almost afraid to look at it.

  “Marsha, will you marry me?”

  Marriage? A host of conflicting emotions crashed through her. Confusion, embarrassment, relief, happiness, despair. They caught her off-guard, completely unprepared. She burst into tears, and hid her face in her napkin.

  Over the sounds of her sobbing, and the clamor in her head, she head Sam sigh. “Well,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “Not exactly the response I was hoping for, angel.”

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  * * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  * * * *

  A soft rain was falling, making the wet road a diamond bright glare in Ryan’s headlights. By the time he reached the nature center his eyes burned from the strain of looking at it.

  He pulled into the parking lot, turned off the engine, and scrubbed his hand across his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, hoping they might calm him, but they only accentuated the heavy ache in his chest. Why had he even bothered driving out here tonight? What the hell did he think he was going to accomplish?

  Maybe he should just turn around and go home. Whatever they had to say to each other, it could wait for the morning, couldn’t it? Surely the cold light of day would make her tears and recriminations easier to handle, or make the magnitude of her betrayal a little easier to face.

  For a moment longer he sat there, keys in hand, listening to the chorus of tree frogs and debating with himself. But in the end, he found that easy didn’t enter into the equation after all.

  Siobhan was here. Holed up in her dark, secluded cottage beneath the pines, like a princess in a tower.

  And despite everything he was feeling at the moment, despite everything he had gone through in the past two days and everything he’d learned, still her presence drew him to it, as surely the moon draws the tides.

  He headed reluctantly for the front steps with every intention of knocking on her door, since he no longer felt comfortable using his key. He refused to even consider the broader implications of his actions; why, for example, did he suddenly find it prudent to obtain permission before entering the premises?

  But when he tested the door handle and found it unlocked, fear thrust all other considerations to the back of his mind. It was dark and quiet inside the center – too dark. And too quiet.

  He hurried across the darkened room towards her apartment, guided by the faint sliver of light that showed beneath her door. Christ, what had he been thinking? He’d been a fool to leave her alone for two days with a maniac on the loose.

  Heart pounding, not stopping for an instant to gauge the wisdom of what he was doing, Ryan pushed through the door. Siobhan glanced up at him from the armchair where she sat; curled beneath a blanket of misty gray wool, her arms wrapped around her knees, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of her caftan. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her and trying to catch his breath. He recognized the caftan she wore, midnight blue and trimmed with silver. He knew how it felt to skim his hands along its silken surface, knew how the heat of her skin would warm the fabric.

  His dog lay on the floor by her feet but it didn’t move, other than to blink at him, sleepily.

  “Hi,” Siobhan said, after a moment. The bleak tightness in her face softened a little and she gave him a tentative, watery smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

  “Your door was open,” he told her.

  She frowned, as though the non sequitur confused her, her glance went to the door he had just come through.

  He moved further into the room. “No, not this one. The outer door. And your lights are off and- Jesus, Siobhan, you scared the shit out of me just now! I thought maybe...” His voice trailed away as her eyebrows rose in amusement.

  “Are you saying you came all the way down here just to check on my door?” One corner of her mouth kicked up in a small smile. She unclasped her hands and leaned back in her chair as she gazed at him, a fond, almost tolerant expression on her face.

  She was treating him like a kid again, he thought, but for once, the idea aroused no anger.

  “How very Neighborhood Watch-like of you, Ryan,” she said as her smile glimmered brighter. “Or were you acting in a more professional capacity?”

  Ryan sat down on the footstool facing her, she was coming a little too close to the truth, and, at the moment, he wished it were anything but that. “Not exactly.”

  Her eyebrows rose further up her forehead. “Not exactly? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed. “It means that I know what’s been going on here.” He spoke quietly, his eyes on her face, watching as wariness and a deep sadness replaced the amusement. “I know how the bobcat got out, and who killed your fish. I know about the secret you’ve been keeping. I know all of it, Siobhan. Or almost all.”

  “I see.” She nodded and looked away. “So, is that what kept you away for two days?”

  “Yes. I realized that- Look, you gave me no choice. I had to know the truth. So I went searching for answers. And today, I found them.”

  “And are you back, now that you have your answers?” she asked, turning to face him once more – her chin lifted proudly, her air of quiet dignity only slightly marred by the tears swimming in her eyes. “Or did you just stop by to get your dog?”

  He stared at her helplessly, wondering if he should believe that his answer even mattered to her. “Siobhan... honey, you know I’ll do whatever I can to protect you, but I need you to level with me. I need to know what really happened to your daughters, and how much you knew and, and how much of it you were involved in.” Ignoring the appearance of confusion on her face, he shook his head and plowed on. “You can’t protect him anymore, sweetheart. He’s going down. But he doesn’t have to take you with him.”

  She frowned at him, her expression guarded once again, and he felt his heart twist at her lack of trust. How mu
ch farther did she need him to go? Wasn’t his willingness to perjure his soul for her evident by now? Wasn’t that enough for her?

  “Who doesn’t? Ryan what are you talking about?”

  He leaned forward and captured her hands in his. “I’m talking about your husband, Siobhan. I know he’s alive. I know about the insurance scam. I found him out, okay? So cut the innocent routine, ‘cause it’s not working. I don’t know yet if he killed your daughters, but it’s only a matter of time until I find that out, too. I want to help you, but you’re gonna have to trust me, here. You need to tell me what you know. And you need to do it now. Nick already knows about some of it and—”

  “T-Tim’s alive?” The words emerged as a frightened whimper. She tried to pull her hands from his, but he tightened his grasp on them. He felt the shudder that wracked through her. She shook her head. “No. No, he, he couldn’t be. I didn’t- No! It’s a lie! You can’t prove that. You can’t prove any of it!”

  He resisted the urge to shake her. “Siobhan, I already have proved it. I’ve got his fingerprints. I’ve got his address up in Oregon. Now, stop playing games and let me help you!”

  “But I’m not . . . I didn’t... I... I...” Her face twisted as she stumbled to a stop and Ryan watched the blood drain from her face, watched the pain fade as her eyes grew huge and glazed over. Her voice was dull, inflectionless. “And you think I— Oh, my God.”

  In the deadly quiet, Ryan studied the shocked bewilderment on her face. She couldn’t really be that surprised, could she? She had to have known? “Siobhan?”

  She continued to gaze at him, blindly. As if she didn’t know who he was, or who she was. Or as if she didn’t quite understand anything he’d said.

  He’d heard tales of men who’d been stabbed through the heart so neatly they didn’t even know they were dead, they just kept walking for a block or more before they fell. He could imagine that they’d wear just such an expression.