by Amelia Oz
"How old are you?"
"A lot older than you," he responded coldly. His aloofness seemed infinite; the tender companion I'd spent the last weeks with had disappeared with the arrival of Murad.
"I’ve been told witches can change their appearance—mask their age. And it made me wonder how old you are. Are you over a hundred?" I persisted.
"Stella, is this what you wanted to discuss with me?" he asked, his jaw tightening.
"Why are you acting like this?" I responded with testiness.
"Like what?"
"Like someone different from the man who’s been sleeping next to me. Who seemed to care about whether I lived or died?” A muscle jumped in his jaw but then he picked up a piece of paper from his desk and read from it. I bit my tongue and prayed for strength. Confidence surged when I noticed the paper was upside down.
“It’s the spell removal, isn’t it? I look different. You don’t like it.”
“It makes no difference to me. You were fine before and equally so now. Your appearance is unrelated to the content of your character. I meant what I said before.”
A non-answer. Could I get a witch to alter my appearance to someone he might find more attractive? A brunette beauty with dark eyes or to become taller? Was it possible? Was it worth gaining his admiration? My stomach roiled. As much as I hated not feeling connected to what was in the mirror, the changes weren’t stupendous. I knew in my gut that I couldn’t—wouldn’t change my physical self for someone unless it was for me.
"I believe you. I know I would like you even if you looked different. Do you like me, Alaric?" He met my gaze then, and I drew in a breath at what I saw. Stormy eyes tinged with despair and longing. They told me his secrets.
"Do I like you? Of course, I like you," he said harshly, glancing away. I inched closer. "Do you more than like me?" This mattered so much. He had to accept this.
"What is it with these school girl questions? You're engaged to someone. Royalty no less."
"I don't see a ring on my finger," I said. He frowned.
"I'm sure it's an oversight and he will give you one soon.” Desperation clawed up my spine. I was not a girl who considered things, making checklists of pros and cons. I launched forward, landing sideways on his lap. His hands were trapped by my flowing skirt, giving me time to place one arm around his neck, while the other turned his gorgeous face to mine.
"Damn it, Stella," he whispered furiously. "Stop this." He turned his head but didn't shove me off his lap, though he easily could have. Hope surged.
"I don't care. Look at me," I begged. Baleful eyes met mine and his jaw clenched. Before he could speak or shove me away, I pressed my lips to his. Once, twice, and then I lingered, investigating the shape of his mouth. His lips were hard and unyielding—at first.
Then they crashed upon mine as he straightened, meeting my reckless exploration with a hunger that matched my own. There was a hopelessness to his kiss that I tried to erase with soft reassurance. His warm hand drifted beneath my skirt, cupping the skin of my outer thigh, startling me. His hand moved no further, yet his caressing fingers electrified, causing me to tremble. I clutched him closer, wanting to dissolve into him, yet also needing to remember what I'd set out to accomplish.
I pulled away first this time. At first he refused to allow it, crushing me closer. Self-satisfaction sunk warm and deep into every cell of my body. I was making him admit with his kiss what he couldn't say out loud. He finally leaned his head back against his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. There he was. The boy from the movie theatre.
"Stella, you are, without a doubt, making this worse. We have to stop." His voice caressed my name, belying his words.
"Why did you save me—bring me here?" Boneless, I tried to focus on anything but his lips. My heart was galloping a mile a minute, my every sense prickling at his nearness.
"Duty?" he suggested darkly. I shook my head.
"I think you more than like me. I more than like you, too."
"Stella..." he groaned.
"Wait. Hear me out. To be honest, I wonder myself if it's the enchantment at work. What I feel seems real, though. You were there for me when I needed you, but it's more than that. I only feel complete when you're in the room. I've felt this since that day in the woods.” He jerked and I touched his throat with one hand, willing him to understand.
"You're also forgetting that I am going to die. We all die. Well, maybe not you for a long time. But I would rather live a short life that I choose over a life that other people decide for me. Losing Silvan, knowing how fragile life is, everything seems much clearer." He leaned his head back against the chairback, eyes hooded and indiscernible.
"If there's a chance I can break the enchantment, then great. But whether I have one year or two hundred, I want to spend it with the man I feel something for. I choose you. You just need to accept it and get over all this chivalry. We can find a way." There. My cards were all on the table. Alaric tried to lift me off his lap but I clung to the tall leather seat back.
"Wait! I'm not stupid, Alaric. We don’t have to do…the deed," my cheeks warmed, "until we get past this stupid timeline. Murad is just doing me a kindness—as a family friend. I know you must be impressed with him in your world, but trust me—he’s no threat to what I feel for you."
Alaric's lips twitched but then he ran his nose along my jaw, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “The deed?” he murmured against my skin. The room went fuzzy as his lips moved against my neck. His fingers trailed along the bare skin between my throat and shoulder, making me heated and dizzy.
"I must be mad. What is it that you feel for me, Stella?" His voice was husky with that whiskey-smooth tone. My eyes burned as I erupted with my pent-up secrets.
"I love you, Alaric. As crazy as that seems in such a short time. I love you. I don't know for certain if it's the enchantment because I’ve never felt like this before. But I can't imagine this feeling ever going away."
"You are too young to know what love is," he whispered against my hair.
"That's crazy talk. Love is more intense when you're my age. I won't change my mind. What I'm asking you to consider is to wait for me."
He raised his beautiful brown eyes to mine, and it was my turn to look away. He lifted long fingers to my face, holding me immobile for his perusal.
"Stella, be very clear about what you want. What are you suggesting exactly?"
"You seem to have lived a long life. Three years can't be so long in comparison. For me, three years without you seems like forever. Time will pass slowly if I don't have you in my life. I can still be married to Murad in name only—and we can still see each other. Discreetly and platonically." I choked on that last word but rushed to get it out, afraid he would stop me at any moment.
"I see the way women look at you, and it makes me want to do bad things, even if I can empathize. I know I don't want to break this curse only to find you've disappeared, moved on to someone else." I was putting my whole self out there, hoping he felt the same.
"Stella…you won't feel this way later. You don't know me that well. There are things about me I haven’t told you..." He drew in a ragged breath.
"I don't care! Nothing you tell me could change how I feel about you. I accept you for whoever you are. Why can't you trust me?" I grabbed his hand, pressing his palm to my cheek.
"This is an infatuation, Stella." His fingers curled into my hair, as if he couldn't help himself. Then he stood abruptly with me in his arms and I realized how much of my coercion he'd merely allowed. He plopped me unceremoniously upon his desk before he leaned forward with fists pressed to the wooden surface on either side of my hips.
He tried to look stern but then his lips were on my face, running across my eyelids in feather light sweeps before trailing down my cheeks and across my sensitive lips.
"Damn it, Stella. I'm not good for you. This...attraction...could get you killed. It's too hard for me not to touc
h you. I've never struggled like this in my entire, very long life."
It took considerable mental fortitude, but I pushed against his chest until he stood upright, no longer touching me.
"We can be smart. I'm very strong-willed in case you didn't notice—", He chuckled and I slapped his chest playfully, “—we can spend time together and not kiss or touch. I just want to be with you. I don't want to go away and miss you so much my soul feels inside out."
I saw the moment he teetered. So close I could taste it. And then it was gone. He raked hands through his hair and then shoved them into the pockets of his black trousers, rolling his shoulders back. The motion stretched the fabric over his arms and chest in delicious ways yet I kept my word to be discreet and platonic, only glancing quickly. Several times.
"You are beautiful, Stella. Inside and out. You are also still grieving Silvan." He strode to the windows and turned his back to me. I wanted to join him, wrap my arms around him from behind. But I needed to prove to him that I could exercise restraint.
"I think you might be feeling an absence with Silvan's loss," he began. "Perhaps you're trying to fill one love with a different kind. I cannot deny there is an attraction but you don’t know the difference yet between lust and real…”
A heavy domed paperweight sailed through the air and collided with his back. He turned and glared at me in surprise. I glared right back.
Springing to my feet, I yelled, "You don't get to psychoanalyze me if it's to turn me away. I know what I feel. If you don't share my feelings or are unwilling to give up dating for a few measly years, then that's your choice entirely. But don't try to dismiss what I know I feel." Angry tears pinpricked and I clenched my palms hard, fighting for control. His face shuttered and he turned his back to me once more.
"Stella. This is impossible. It's in your best interests to forget about our time together. You’ll have a long and happy life with this arrangement with Murad. You don't know me well enough, nor have you lived long enough, to decide something so important. I’m also not a man to sneak in the shadows. You’re an impulsive child with a temper. I don’t have time for you."
Each word pierced my soul. I knew he cared about me. I felt it in his kiss. His hands. How could he behave as if he couldn't get enough of me and then just coldly throw me away to someone else?
"I suggest you look forward to your wedding." He concluded flatly. The ice prince was back. He wasn’t even giving us a chance. Smoothing my skirt, I dug deep for dignity as I moved towards the door. He spoke quietly as my fingers touched the knob.
"I'm stepping out to torture someone in the basement and will be gone awhile. I'd appreciate it if you behaved yourself for at least one night." There was Alaric. Arrogant and making jokes as if something important hadn't just happened. Tears burned by nose and eyes but I refused to turn around.
"Thank you for allowing me to stay here. I appreciate your hospitality," I said stiffly, to the solid wooden door before me. I left, proud of the mature way I closed the door behind me. It was quiet in the apartment. I considered returning to my room but was afraid of the lure my bed held. I could so easily get sucked back into the black hole of melancholy. I wandered into the kitchen where Grayson was decorating a cake.
"Impressive, Grayson. You should have been a chef," I commented, my voice sounding fragile and unnatural even to my own ears. His pleased smile faded when he glanced up and got his first full look at me.
"Oh, yeah. Clara removed the last of the ugly juice. I look like this now." I circled my head with my middle finger. He closed his mouth and continued his work, apparently willing to go along with my deflection.
"Apologies, Ms. Avery. I didn't mean to stare. It's just that you...look more refreshed today," he finished. I climbed unsteadily onto a stool at the kitchen island.
"Thank you, Grayson. Murad was freaked out a bit.”
“I’m sure he’ll recover,” Grayson assured me.
“One hopes. Hey, is there anything to eat?” I asked. His surprised smile told me the change of subject worked. Grayson dropped his knife and leapt towards the enormous refrigerator. He practically hummed as he began taking out prepared dishes. We discussed the merits of this and that before compromising on a bowl of reheated mac and cheese. I took a tentative bite and gave Grayson a thumbs up. He stopped staring and resumed squeezing a pastry bag filled with royal icing onto the vanilla cake.
"I'm sure it was quite a shock," he said amiably.
"Do you know where Jing San went?" I asked around another bite.
"Wherever she likes, I imagine. She's enjoying her freedom these days after being tied to the West Coast," he said. I shook my head. It hadn’t been my choice she’d hung out in Portland. "I've never seen her actually arrive or leave the apartment. Where does she go?" I asked. Grayson frowned and switched from one pasty bag to another.
"Jing San has an adjoining apartment to this one. As she’s been friends with Alaric for years, he offered her the property when it was built. There’s an entrance in the library but it's a secret. I would not recommend ever looking for it unless you want to be severed in half," he said mildly. Bless this man for understanding I needed a distraction. Challenge received and accepted.
The cake smelled amazing. I watched him carefully craft small roses from icing along the border. "Are there any pictures of her? Lila, I mean."
Grayson rubbed his chin with a gloved hand, squinting over my shoulder. "There used to be several portraits. She was, understandably, a sensitive topic for many years. I believe any portraits remaining would be with His Majesty. Perhaps if you asked, he might show them to you." I deflated. Asking Murad to pick at a wound was not something I could do. It would be like kicking puppies.
"Did you ever meet her?" I asked, curious.
"Unfortunately, that was before my time. I was a captain of the British Empire under Earl Lloyd-George of Dwyfor in 1915, during World War I. We battled the Ottomans, you know. That was how I first met Alaric." I stared at Grayson, trying to wrap my mind around his age. It was hard to imagine Alaric living such a long life. When Grayson seemed distracted, I scooped a finger full of icing. He smacked my hand with a spatula. The man had eyes in the back of his head. While I nursed my fingers, he cut a thick piece of the completed cake and placed it on a fancy dessert plate before sliding it across to me. He waited expectantly. I took a bite, rolling my eyes as it melted on my tongue. I hadn't felt hungry for so long and the sugar was just the right sweetness.
"Amazing, Grayson." I waved my dessert fork for emphasis. He flashed a pleased smile before moving to clean up.
"Would it be rude of me to ask—what you are, Grayson? I mean, you've obviously lived a long time, but you don't eat and I've noticed your interesting way of...getting around." I said delicately.
"Ah. I’m a shade, Ms. Avery," he responded. I glumly licked the back of my spoon, waiting for him to explain what that meant. He leaned against the counter, sponge in hand.
"A shade is someone that has been brought back from the dead. Neither dead, nor alive. This is very different from a wraith. A wraith is a dead, hungry thing that is a slave to whomever holds their enchanted bones. Stay away from wraiths, Ms. Avery." He returned to wiping the black marble counter.
"So—are you a ghost or something? Is that how you're able to move around like a shadow?"
"Not exactly. A shade occurs when a Primati with exceptional power wills their own life into a person at the moment of death. The two become bonded. As long as the Primati being lives, the shadow of the person who should have passed over is tied to them. As you can see, a shade retains their intelligence and delightful personality. We can choose to disagree with the being who keeps us alive. A wraith is a dead person. Devoid of their soul or humanity, they are often used by sorcerers to do dark deeds on their behalf.
"And before you can ask, Alaric created me as I am now. We’d partnered on military missions together, and when he discovered me shot in a ditch by a shar
ed enemy, he asked me if I wanted to live. He offered me a choice and saved me. Here I am, all these years later," Grayson said on a bow, flourishing a dish towel.
"There are others like me in Master Alaric's guard, yet I’m responsible for the others and keep things organized," he said with a humble tilt of his head.
"I'm sure he’s very grateful to have you in his life, Grayson," I said with a lump in my throat. I might love-hate the man's ever-loving guts right now, but I was still glad he had Grayson to look after him.
"Well. We look out for each other," he said, removing his apron and tossing his gloves into a bin. "I must be going now. It's my night off and there is a game of darts and a certain pub in Brighton expecting me," he said, rubbing his palms together briskly. He disappeared before my eyes. I blinked, unaccustomed to people doing things like that. The silence of the kitchen was depressing. I longed to return to my bed and sob into my sheets for days. Instead, I slid off my stool and washed and dried my plate and fork. The sun was still up and I set off to find Jing San’s secrets.
Chapter 23
The Seeker
Alaric
he had fucking embraced him.
The image of Stella in my brother's arms had seared into my mind. My thoughts were interrupted by gurgling cries. I stared with regret at the broken man before me. He sat tied to a chair in my interrogation room; a chamber which would have made the most experienced military operative green with envy. Long silver pins pierced his hands and encircled his wrists to the arms of the chair. A thin wire kept his neck in place and his body from sliding to the floor.
