by Renee George
“You look like someone who is a made-up story,” Emily whispered. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. “I only mean…,” she amended, “…you shouldn’t be real.”
He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “Can you feel my heart beat?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the thud against her palm. “Yes.”
“I am real.”
His voice intimately caressed her skin and raised goose bumps on her arms. She couldn’t form a coherent word, so instead she nodded her head and mumbled, “Uh-hmm.”
He leaned in closer, his breath a whisper of heat on her neck. Emily trembled, but only partially from fear. Anticipation danced inside her belly, and she felt the keen disappointment when he moved back from her, taking his warmth with him.
“Now that we have that established, I will outline my expectations. I don’t eat breakfast so you will be on your own for morning meals. But I expect you to join me for lunch every day in this dining hall at twelve-oh-one. Not a minute later. After, we shall walk in the garden together from twelve-thirty until one-fifteen. You will be on your own until supper, which we shall take at six-thirty daily, except Sundays when I am unavailable. When I do not require your company, you are free to explore the mansion and the gardens. You are not to leave through the front door at any time.”
“What about the visits with my dad?”
“I will arrange for your transportation.” He studied her, and she felt very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes. “Do not worry, Emily. I will see to all your needs.”
She raised a brow at him. “You’re going to buy me tampons every month?”
“Oh.” His expressions grew perplexed, and Emily nearly laughed. She’d almost bet no one had shocked Marcus Tsavaras in a very long time. “I hadn’t thought…”
“Do I tell Ky or Zan? Are they your servants too?”
“Not exactly.”
Both men did have the same dark brown curls and gold-colored eyes as Marcus. “Are they your family?”
“In a sense.”
“Well, do I ask them? Or is there someone else?” She hadn’t been allowed to bring her phone or any electronic devices with her, and there wasn’t a telephone in her room.
He rose to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back. “If you make a list of required personal items, I will make certain you receive them. Please, if you’ll excuse me.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I suddenly have a headache.”
She wondered which of his heads actually ached. Did he get double migraines? Yikes. Without another glance in her direction, the two-headed monster exited the dining room. He acted like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Perhaps he was worried that she would talk about other womanly issues. She laughed softly.
Her fear of Marcus had been diluted by his charm and patience. He made her think that reality really was stranger than fiction. It was almost as though she were living in her very own fantasy novel. She wondered how their story would end.
She stood up, grabbing the bowl of nuts and the plate with the honeycomb. No sense letting such tasty treats go to waste. When she left the dining room, she walked directly into her bedroom.
“Not possible.” Oh, who was she kidding? She lived in a house that operated like a magical maze, she worked for a two-headed ex-god, and she was once again paying for her father’s sins.
She put the food on the nightstand, and then flopped onto her bed. The soft plush of the mattress comforted her aching body. With a man like Marcus Tsavaras, the impossible was possible. She should just accept that she was in her own personal fantasy land and go with it.
Chapter 4
It had been two weeks since her service had started, and Emily had fallen into an almost pleasant rhythm of existence. She truly looked forward to spending time with Marcus. She’d taken his suggestion of exploring the house and gardens. Each day, as noon drew near, she was always led back to her bedroom. She’d grown accustomed to landing back at the beginning and treated her exploration as an adventurous game. Too adventurous at times—like when she hopped on the stair banister and slid all the way down. The small rise at the end whacked her tailbone and make it difficult to sit comfortably for several days.
Marcus had asked her if she wanted any pain medicine at dinner, which had been her only clue that he knew what she did when he wasn’t around. If there were cameras in the house, she hadn’t seen them. If there were servants who watched her, she didn’t see them either. For the most part, she felt completely alone.
This morning she’d found the kitchen, which looked like something out of manor house in the early twentieth century England but with modern conveniences. But who did the cooking? She’d never really wondered before since she’d assumed he had a full staff of help hidden somewhere, but the kitchen was empty. All the counters were spotless and the room was absent food smells that lingered in a well-used kitchen. Did Marcus have the meals delivered?
She opened the giant side-by-side fridge. It was packed with fresh vegetables, fruits, whole milk, eggs, the finest cheeses, and cream. Everything packaged was labeled organic, and everything not packaged, she guessed was farm to table. In the bottom meat drawer, there were packages wrapped in white butcher paper with a variety of labels: steaks, bacon, sausage, lamb, pork loin roast, whole chicken, split breasts, and more. It was a foodie’s nirvana.
Emily involuntarily clapped her hands. Her heart raced as she closed the fridge to search the cabinets. In one long shallow cabinet, rosemary sprigs, thyme, basil, dill, marjoram and more hung from tiny nails in small bundles. Each was clearly labeled though she would have known each by sight. On the lower shelf were little drawers with more exotic spices like saffron, cardamom, sumac, and some she’d never heard of—asafoetida, fennel pollen, and urfa biber.
Her mouth watered at the possibilities. Bulbs of garlic, Vidalia onions, red and gold potatoes, dark red beefsteak tomatoes, juicy limes and lemons, sea salt, and coarse ground pepper were out on the counter.
She blinked. Had they been there a moment earlier? She hadn’t noticed them. No matter. This place always surprised her.
Every meal Marcus had provided had been delicious and beautiful, but like Zan, the dishes sometimes lacked soul. Emily looked at her watch. Eleven-ten. She had fifty-one minutes before she had to meet Marcus for lunch. Just enough time to make him a meal.
She pulled pans down from the pot rack, turned two burners on the gas stove and placed cast iron skillets over the flames then set the oven to preheat at to 350 degrees. She grabbed bacon and the split breasts from the bottom of the fridge and opened them up on the counter. She mixed the butter with sprigs of rosemary, salt, and sage. She zested a lemon peel and mixed that in as well. After, she lifted the skin of the split breasts and generously applied the butter compound. What was left, she scooped into one skillet and let melt as the pan heated. She finely chopped the bacon and placed it in the other pan. When the buttered pan sizzled, she threw in the breasts, skin down.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped, startled by the voice. She brushed her arm against the bacon pan, and she winced at the stinging burn. Zan stood in the doorway. His dark brown curls shined like his eyes as he smiled, watching Emily when she went to the sink to run cold water for her forearm.
“Where’s Ky?”
“I’m here.” He stepped from behind the door where Zan lounged.
“I’m making lunch for our boss,” she said.
“Five-star chefs from all over the world cook for him,” Zan said.
“So, you don’t think my cooking will be up to his standards?” she snapped. His smugness irritated her. “I don’t really give a damn. I need some Southern home-cooking. I’m a real woman with real food needs.”
Zan’s gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering on her hips, her stomach, her breasts…”You certainly are,” he agreed.
Her lower body clenched under his appraising stare. Emily blush
ed. She prayed neither of them could tell her nipples were rigid under her bra, and, oh lord, she hoped neither of them was the kind of creature who could smell she was turned on. While it was hot to read about in a paranormal romance, it was horrifying to think about it happening to her in real life. Why did she let Zan get to her?
“I think he’ll enjoy having something different,” Ky said.
She concentrated on soothing the slight burn and avoided looking at either of them. “Thanks, Ky.”
Zan stepped into the kitchen and crossed to Emily. She could feel the heat of his broad chest inches from her back. She turned the water off and rotated to face him.
This close he smelled of cloves and jasmine, and Emily felt herself melting. His gaze felt like it could stroke her skin. The warmth of his body caressed her, cocooned her skin, soaking down into her bones. She wondered what his lips would feel like pressed against hers—what he would taste like. She imagined his strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her against his firm muscular chest as he conquered her with his lips and hands. She would lose herself in Zan. She lost herself…
The scent of browning chicken snapped her out of her lust-induced trance.
“Damn it.” She side-stepped the gorgeous man, ignoring his cocky grin. Ky beat her to the stove and was already turning the breasts. The skin was crisp and golden-brown. Perfect. She smiled up at him, startled by how his face changed when he smiled back. “Thank you.” The deep, jagged scar seemed less horrible now in the light of day.
“You’re welcome.” He met her eyes, almost as if daring her to look away. “It smells good.”
Emily held his gaze for a moment, challenging herself to stay present, to not add to his sadness, but the sizzling bacon needed stirring. She grabbed a wooden spoon and mixed it around, making sure each piece cooked evenly. “I’m only cooking enough for two, or I’d invite you to eat with us…if that’s even allowed.”
Ky shook his head, and once again she could feel the heat of Zan’s body as he sidled behind her to peek over her shoulder. “I’d love a taste.” His fingertips brushed the side of her waist.
Emily shivered.
Ky stepped away from her to give Zan more room.
“No,” she whispered. She grabbed Ky’s hand. It wasn’t what she wanted. Was it? Zan gave her butterflies, but so did Ky—without making her feel like the lion’s prey.
Zan leaned down, his breath tickling her ear. “Yes,” he said, his lips soft against her lobe. “Always yes.”
“I’m going to burn Mr. Tsavaras’s meal if you don’t leave me alone. On top of that, you’ll make me late. I get the feeling he isn’t the kind of…person…” She wasn’t sure if person was the right word, but she used it anyhow. “…to put up with deal breakers.”
“You’re right, of course,” Zan said. He took a step back and bowed to her. Goddamn. He made her mouth water almost as much as the food did. “We’ll leave you to it.”
“Yes,” Ky agreed, he withdrew his hand from hers. “A bargain made must be kept.” He gave Zan a meaningful look and without another word, they both left.
Emily’s shoulders sagged in relief. The final look from Ky, the sad expression, reminded her of Marcus. The side of him with the lighter patch. It often had the same expressions the scarred man evoked. Was she creating similarities where they didn’t exist?
The tension in her body eased without either man in the kitchen. Zan was too much predator, and she would not be his prey. He probably had a string of women he used and threw away. He was beautiful like the sun, and she was certain he was just as deadly. No, she wouldn’t be blinded by a gorgeous face, a flirty smile, and a body the gods would envy. She would not let her first time be just another notch on his bedpost. She turned the burners off, and placed the chicken, pan and all, in the oven.
* * * *
Marcus waited in the dining room for Emily. It was noon exactly, and she had one minute to appear. She would. She’d never been late.
Too bad he had sixty seconds to think about her reactions to his alters. He knew she wanted Zan. He could sense her desire, thick and heady, every time he was near, but she was also drawn to Ky. Not in the same way, but maybe that was more significant.
“She would never choose Ky over Zan,” his left head said.
“I’m not so sure,” the right disagreed.
Maybe it was time to test Emily. Would she be drawn to his darkness, or to the side that many thought of as weak—the side that held his humanity? The darkness had been fed for so long that the light had grown untended. Like a neglected flower, it began to shrivel. Ky had been withering for a millennium now, but somehow managed to not disappear altogether. He feared Emily’s rejection would be the final blow, and in a way, it would be a relief. Waiting to see if she would be the one to love him made him want desperately what he’d never had.
Emily entered the room carrying a large tray, and Marcus leaped to his feet to help her. She didn’t flinch anymore at his appearance, and inwardly, he smiled. He never thought any human would get used to a walking, talking, two-headed monster, but Emily had turned out to be rather adaptable.
The food smelled wonderful. The chicken breasts, smothered in bacon and wild mushroom gravy, were cooked to perfection, and the butter and herb-roasted potatoes were more satisfying than the five-star meals he was served on a daily basis. A perk of being a master of doors…and of wealth. Emily, without being made or paid to cook, had prepared a meal for him.
He tried to remember the last time someone cooked for him just because they wanted to, and he realized Emily was the first. He didn’t take his seat at the end of the table as usual. Instead, he took the seat next to Emily’s and his heart skipped a beat when she smiled her approval.
“You’ve been busy,” he said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she replied.
He took a bite, closing his eyes on both faces to savor every bit of the taste. “Not at all,” his left side said as his right mouth finished the bite.
Emily laughed. She was pleased he enjoyed the food. And her pleasure made him happy. A sudden gut ache spoiled the moment. He didn’t want to feel happiness and joy. He had loved in the past and that love was not returned, as was his curse. He couldn’t allow himself to be that vulnerable again. If he allowed Emily into his heart and she rejected him, it would destroy him. It was the only real truth Marcus knew.
His cell phone rang. He knew it would either be Benoica Dilian, Queen of Caledon, or Myron Gray, the leader of the shadow warriors. They were the only two phone numbers not blocked during meals. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. The queen. His irritation grew. He swiped his finger across the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Your majesty.”
“I’ll never get used to being called that,” she said.
“Just so, my queen,” Marcus said. “How can I serve you?”
* * * *
Emily watched Marcus, careful to keep her expression blank. He’d never taken a call before during their meals, and she wondered who could be so important that he would break that rule now? Was it a woman? Perhaps someone who was like him? His own kind?
She felt a stab of jealousy and her eyes widened. Why in the world would she be jealous? Maybe her envy stemmed from his attention being shifted elsewhere like an only child contending with the new baby. Not because she felt attracted to him, but more because she’d been the center of his world until this moment.
Her mother had been her father’s center, and in some ways, Marcus had reminded her of how much her dad had loved her mom, of how they’d been as a couple when she hadn’t been sick. They would talk for hours, content to exclude the world, sometimes even excluding Emily. Marcus had made her feel like the only person in the world for him, but the phone call was a reminder that she was only a small part of his day.
Marcus swiped the phone again, ending the call. “I’m sorry, Emily. I have business that I have to take care of tonight.” Both faces looked unhappy as he stood up. “I
may not be able to make lunch or our walk tomorrow, but Ky and Zan will be available. Only one, though. Who would you prefer to spend the afternoon with?”
She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. She’d grown fond of her walks with her beast. Besides, even with his monstrous appearance, he didn’t make her as uncomfortable as Zan or Ky. The secret parts of her that fantasized about forbidden desires longed for Zan. She’d dreamed of him more than once, and she couldn’t deny the way he affected her body whenever he was near. Ky was kind, considerate, and while her lust for him was not the same as it was for Zan, she wanted Ky just as much. With that realization, her decision was made. “Send Ky to me.”
Marcus’s faces showed no emotion, and she couldn’t tell how he felt about her decision. “He will arrive shortly.” Marcus tapped the face of his phone. “I apologize for my early departure. The meal was delicious.”
He took her hand, an uncharacteristic move, and brought it to the lips of his right face. His lips were supple and warm, and against her will, her lower body tightened at his touch.
“You are a talented cook.”
Emily smiled, startled by the stir he created in her body. “Thanks.”
“It was my pleasure, I assure you.” He gave her one last glance. “Enjoy your afternoon with Ky, and I’ll see you for supper tomorrow evening.”
“Okay,” Emily said. She wished he didn’t have to go, and the longing made her question her sanity.
Chapter 5
The new garden was vibrant with lush green shrubs and colorful roses, hydrangeas, and gladiolas today. She’d never asked Marcus why it was never the same, but with Ky, she felt like she could.
“It’s magic.” He smiled. “The ability to shift the world and other objects is what has made Marcus Tsavaras indispensable. He makes doors where there are no doors.”
“How so?”
“When you walk into the garden, it’s never the same garden twice, because each time you’re transported somewhere else in the world, to some other garden.”
