“Not a single moment, Glowworm.” He pushed her backward onto the bed, slipped between her thighs, and spent the rest of the morning erasing any lingering negative feelings from the dream.
He kept his promise. By late afternoon he had already talked to Cole on his cell phone and reassured him that he’d been just fine, that he’d just needed some time to himself, but that he was ready for more guy time. Kiernan had then spent the next thirty minutes reassuring her that even though he was having ‘guy time’ with another Laochra he still wouldn’t hurt the defenseless, and he had asked her over and over if she was okay with him going.
“You’re sure it’s okay? Really? I promise it’s just a bunch of bar fights.” His duffel bag was sitting by the TV and he was fidgeting with his phone, putting it in his pocket and taking it back out to check the time over and over.
“I don’t care how many fights you have to get in to get the vines back under control. Just don’t kill anyone.” Neala was curled up on the couch in a dark blue shirt and jeans, trying not to fidget too badly at the idea of him going off to pick fights. Fights could be dangerous though; she knew that better than most, so she quickly added, “Unless you have to, obviously.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think it will get to that.” His face changed and he pushed his hand through his hair. “Oh gods! I’m an idiot. I forgot something really important. I’ll be right back.” One second he was standing there and the next there was empty space. It was so sudden that it kind of hurt her head, and she had to rub her eyes. Hopefully mortals didn’t catch him doing that trick, it would be impossible to explain. She waited, but after fifteen minutes she got up and grabbed juice from the kitchen. Another five or so minutes passed and she had flicked the television on when Kiernan reappeared near his desk.
“You have an issue with ‘be right back’, has anyone ever told you that?” She smiled at him so he’d know she was playing and walked over to him. He looked flushed like he’d been running, and she arched an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to give you this before I left.” He pulled a strand of leather from his pocket and held it out to her. She took it and hanging from the center of the leather was a silvery disc with the words ‘mo ghaol’, my love, hand carved into it.
“It’s just a little gift so you don’t forget that I love you –” Kiernan’s face froze and he clapped his mouth shut. “So… I said that, but you don’t need to say anything back. I just wanted you to have it, and I should really go, he’s called twice.”
“It’s okay, Kiernan, it’s beautiful.” Neala’s stomach was somewhere around her ankles, and she opened her mouth to respond to the declaration with something, but he leaned down and kissed her. It started out rushed but slowed into a long, gentle kiss until he finally pulled away from her.
“I really have to go. Tomorrow and the next day should be all I need. Be careful, please? Oh – and design books should start arriving from the contractor for the cottage if you want something to do.” Kiernan ran his thumb across her cheek and all she could do was smile at him and then, poof, gone again. It kind of made her dizzy when he did that. She’d have to remind him to step back next time so she could maybe close her eyes for a second, or look away.
She had been gripping the silver disc in her palm and she forced her hand open, it really was beautiful. The metal had been hand hammered, and cut, and then he’d somehow carved the words into the disc.
My love.
Did he really love her? He’d said it, but they’d only known each other about four weeks. Well, he had been stalking her with his creepy observation glass for a few centuries, so maybe it made sense he’d say it.
Perhaps the better question was did she love him?
Neala groaned. The dream had wrecked her night’s sleep and she was exhausted, she could deal with all of the feelings the last few days had brought up after a nap.
Taking the two ends she put them around her neck and tied the leather together letting the disc slip under her shirt between her breasts. She turned around to the living room and sighed, she could entertain herself for a couple of days. She’d just stay inside, avoid people and catch up on movies and finish reading Kiernan’s books, and plan a cottage.
Time would fly by, and first? A nap.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Seattle, Washington
Time wasn’t flying by, but at least she was being productive. Sleeping in Kiernan’s bed without him had been weird and she’d found herself back on the couch, with his pillow, sometime in the early morning. When she woke up, she’d quickly realized how lonely it felt to wake up to an empty home. She’d never been alone and it was odd to have no one to talk to or even observe. It had left way too much time to think, and contemplate, and consider – reflect – mull over – ponder … why the hell had he dropped that bomb on her and left?
Her fingers kept finding their way back to the little metal disc that rested against her chest like it had always been there. When she traced it, she could feel the grooves of the letters against the pad of her finger, mo ghaol. So, he loved her, or he believed he did – believed it enough to carve it into a gift for her – but she didn’t know what to say back. Even after a day of thinking about it, she couldn’t figure it out. She knew she cared about him, Laochra or not, and he was good. Whatever he had done in his past under Gormahn’s influence, it wasn’t the person at the core of who he was, a funny, gardening, neat-freak, warrior.
Even thinking about him made her smile.
As Kiernan had promised, huge design books had started arriving and she was careful to wait until the deliveryman left before she’d step out the front door to grab them. There were books of floor plans, examples of kitchens, floor and wall colors, a book of fabric swatches, and others discussing styles of homes.
It was overwhelming.
She had left the television on for noise, but had ultimately set up at the kitchen table around lunchtime so she could spread out. In an empty notebook she was writing down various things she liked along with page numbers and book titles. It was a complete fucking mess. At this rate she’d have a modern country façade with a rustic kitchen, an ultra-modern living room, and an airy, nature-driven bedroom. Deciding on a single theme for a whole house was challenging, but that was not what Kiernan had asked her to do. He’d asked her to pick what she liked, so she decided to just make the list of what she liked and deal with everything else later.
It had already been almost twenty-four hours since Kiernan had left and her chest ached with how much she missed him, she kept turning to show him something that made her laugh only to scan the room and remember he wasn’t there. She wanted to call him and make sure he was okay, but knew it would be impossible for him to explain to the other Laochra. She wanted his opinion on shutters, and what the hell linoleum was, and whether or not he’d hate the idea of doorless cabinets in the kitchen.
She wanted him back.
She missed him so much that it hurt, like a physical ache under her ribs. A girl had once told her that she was heartsick for the boyfriend she’d had before she was taken and sold. The girl had refused to eat, refused to do anything – she had disobeyed simply by refusing to move or react. Neala couldn’t remember what had happened to the girl, but she suddenly understood the idea of heartsick too well.
Maybe she did love him.
As she filled a glass of wine the realization settled over her like a cloud and she stepped away from the table to take a break from decorating plans. It really seemed to physically hurt to be away from him, and she wondered how people could stand to be away from their loved ones, if this was what loving someone felt like. The ache in her chest spread wider and grew sharper and she reached her hand up to rub the place it sprang from – and light caught her eye. She held her hand out and saw that bands of light were ghosting around her wrists, slowly growing brighter and more solid by the second.
“No.” Neala tried to draw a deep breath and the pain doubled in her chest, making her
drop the wine glass, which shattered and splashed red wine across the tile floor. Panic clutched her, and she shook her head, trying desperately to wipe the light away from her. “No, no, no, no, no...” The bands of light became solid, immutable, and pain was steadily moving up her arms like there was glass in her veins. The pain from her arms was reaching towards the sharp ache in her chest, trying to connect it – she was sure it would kill her. She suppressed the urge to scream as the bands pulsed again and she collapsed to the floor. It was impossible to breathe now. She felt like her ribs were broken into shards and fire was filling the space where her lungs had been.
This was what a god’s rage must feel like, this was the end.
She tried to focus on Kiernan, on Eltera, as the edges of her vision started filling with black and she forced her eyes tight against the glow of the bands. The last thing she saw was not going to be the curse that Gormahn had placed on her. If she was going to die, she was going to die thinking of Kiernan; his playful grin, the way he always stepped too far when lunging with a sword, the way he called her Glowworm, and the way he kissed her.
Her body was humming underneath all of the pain, and she wished for the void of unconsciousness, she prayed for it.
Then, there were voices.
At first they sounded far away, and then it was as if someone cranked up the volume. They were shouting, someone else was trying to shout over them, and she realized the pain had backed away from excruciating to merely terrible. A raw gasp for air inflated her lungs for the first time in minutes, but someone kicked her hard in the stomach and she quickly lost the breath she had gained.
“Holy shit, it worked.” A man’s voice. Gleeful, but not close enough to be the one who had kicked her.
Where the fuck was she?
Neala placed her hands against the ground, which was covered in a beautifully patterned, thick carpet. She pushed herself up as the pattern came into focus, and her stomach dropped. When she lifted her head she thought she saw Nikola striding towards her from the massive desk in his study, but no, Nikola was dead.
It was his son. Marik.
“Oh, gods. No.” Neala could barely speak through the raw feeling in her throat and chest, the air still felt like fire in her lungs and another gasping breath came as she tried to stand up.
“Oh, yes.” Marik stopped a few feet in front of her and smiled.
This could not be happening. She had to get away from here. Someone reached for her arm and she immediately stood up and broke their hold. Another grabbed her from behind and she twisted the man’s hand to slip out of it. Her time without oxygen still had her dizzy, but she reacted on muscle memory when one of the guards threw a punch. She blocked it, brought her elbow into his face, and returned a kick to his stomach to knock him back. A windmill swing came at her and she let the arm extend past her so she could grab it and just as she was about to bring her elbow down to break it – Marik’s voice rose up again.
“Fae. Kneel.” His voice almost seemed to echo against the walls of books. The bands reacted violently, the pain immediately spreading up her arms and spider webbing across her skin like someone had poured hot oil over her. The arm she’d been about to break swung back, and somewhere in her head she registered the guard had backhanded her. It was nothing compared to the pain of the bands, and she wondered if they’d always hurt this much, or if this was punishment for being free of them so long. Once she’d collapsed into a kneel the pain ebbed, but the bands glowed fiercely bright at her wrists as if they were celebrating their new master. She had a new master. Marik’s eyes were glittering as he stepped forward towards her.
“How?” Neala choked out the word before gritting her teeth as she fought the urge to cry. She was looking straight at Marik, but she took notice of the two men in suits that had their backs to Nikola’s desk. They both looked shocked and terrified, and she didn’t know who they were, but they had clearly not expected her arrival. In her peripheral vision she knew there were at least two guards.
“It was easy, whore. You belong to this house.” Butler’s voice came from behind her, and she clenched her jaw against the urge to scream, or throw up. She felt her muscles lock up as he stepped past her. “And this house belongs to Marik now.” He stepped up next to the heir who glanced over at him before returning his cold eyes to her.
“Officially, it does. See – I just signed the paperwork taking control of my father’s estate. We had the lawyers draft up a special page to accommodate all of the living property, such as yourself, that he left me.” Marik took a few steps forward and he crouched down in front of her, running his hand over her cheek. Neala started to move her face away, but he grabbed her chin hard. “Once I signed the paperwork, I just demanded that you return. Looks like you heard me, wherever you were hiding. Didn’t you, cunt?”
“Fuck you.” Neala spit into his face, and his only reaction was to close his eyes, and then wipe his face slowly. Butler yanked her back by her hair, making her cry out.
“Where do you want me to put her until you’re done?” Butler’s voice was filled with excitement, and the way Marik smiled when he stood up filled her with dread.
“This shouldn’t take much longer. Keep her with our guest for now.” Marik turned back to the lawyers, who were gawking at her, and spread his arms to gather the men back towards the desk. Butler forced her to the floor and she contemplated fighting, but the guard on her right, who she now recognized from the fight in the snow, was already there. He twisted her wrists behind her back with vicious jerks that strained her shoulders, before using zip ties to bind them together.
“Alright, Fae, let’s go meet your friend.” Butler grabbed her arm and yanked her up, before pushing her out of the study and into the hall. He walked quickly, taking every opportunity to jerk her off balance as they moved down the stairs and toward the kitchen storage area. Neala still knew every inch of the house, and being back in it was like a weight settling across her shoulders. Butler came to a storage room door and opened it, pulling her after him as he stepped in to turn on the light. “Remember him?”
She tried to pull her arm out of Butler’s grip, but his fingers were digging into her skin, and she knew she’d have bruises before it was healed in the morning. On the floor was a man in a dirty suit, his hands zip-tied to the storage shelves. He blinked against the light, but eventually looked up at her. At first she didn’t recognize him at all, and then the sad look in his eyes struck a chord. She remembered him from the night of the Winter Dinner.
Anthony, or something like that. The failed knight.
“He’s been here a few days, if you were wondering where he’d gone. No need to keep up the lies anymore, Andrew. She’s here.” Butler’s voice was filled with bravado, gloating over them in his perceived victory. Andrew, that was his name, sighed and leaned his head against the wall.
He looked rough, one eye swollen and bruised, and a split lip. He seemed weak, they probably hadn’t fed him much. Neala raised an eyebrow at the man, and he only met her eyes for a second before he looked away. The absurdity of the idea that this mortal had been who she was with for all these weeks made a laugh burble up in her throat. When it burst out, it sounded hysterical and quickly stopped.
“You’re an idiot, Butler.” Neala looked at him, knowing the laugh and her comment were going to incite violence. The hard punch to her stomach sent the air out of her and he let her double over to the ground, letting go of her arm. She dragged in air, and pressed him further. “You think this guy helped me get away? You think he’s good enough to do something like that?” Her eyes lifted to Andrew, and she forced a smile for the show of it. “No offense.”
“We know he did. He tried to buy you off Nikola that night and then left when he refused. The next morning you killed Nikola and you left to meet him!” Butler’s voice was booming in the tiny room, the concrete walls keeping most of the noise in. Neala felt her brows knit together as Andrew’s cheeks blushed in embarrassment and he looked away from her.<
br />
He had tried to buy her?
“I haven’t seen this guy since the party, and he wasn’t even the one who took me upstairs that night, Butler. He had nothing to do with my escape, which you’d know if you’d been one of the ones who’d had the balls to try and catch me.” She started to laugh, but Butler’s boot caught her in the ribs, and she landed on her side unable to stop herself with her hands bound. Two more swift kicks to her stomach and he was raging above her. His breath coming in quick bursts, and as she tried to focus on getting air back into her own lungs he paced quickly beside her.
“Just wait. Just wait for Marik to get a hold of you, slut. Then when he’s done with you, you’re mine. He promised. You’ll regret every smart mouthed thing you’ve ever said to me. This house is under a new regime, whore, you’ll see.” Butler was fuming, speaking through gritted teeth as he stomped across the small space. She looked up at him, waiting for him to hit her again, but he just walked out the door and slammed it behind him.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Andrew’s voice was quiet. He sounded almost the same as he had that night, but there was no lightness to it, none of the jovial attitude that had made her see him as a safe bet before she’d ruined the night.
He had given up. Weakling.
“They’re going to do whatever they’re going to do.” Neala rolled so she could sit up. Her ribs hurt, a lot, but when she took a deep breath she was pretty sure none were broken.
“It’ll be worse, because you said those things. Butler’s insane, and he encourages Marik to be the same. Although Marik isn’t exactly sane either.” Andrew wasn’t looking at her; he was talking to the metal frame of the shelving.
“I think I’m more aware of Butler’s psychosis than you are, but thanks.” Neala said it matter-of-factly. The bitterness she felt at some privileged ex-guest of the house trying to educate her on living under Butler’s power was obvious.
Fae Page 25
