by T. K. Toppin
As I walked aimlessly through the brambles, my thoughts drifted. I knew depression was close. It was only a matter of time before I went off the deep end. Even now, I sensed it clawing at me, trying to drag me down in its seductive embrace. I had good reason to let it just take me. I had nothing to lose.
With effort, I shook off the temptation and re-assessed my situation. I was a three-hundred-year-old relic with no claim or name. No job, no money, and no real place to call home. Granted, Lorcan and Max insisted I was a part of their family, so this was my home now. But where did I stand within this home?
Did I stand with Lorcan and he with me? Was I a best friend to Max or just some pet that needed training? And now that I was house-trained, I could be left alone to my own devices. Where was Max these days anyway? And what was I to do with my life once I was “established.” And when would I be “established?” Lorcan didn’t seem to be in any hurry to create my new identity, anymore than he was to declare his feelings toward me.
I kicked a stone in frustration. Everyone was busy doing what they did. No time for me. A desperate part of me wanted to throw a mighty tantrum just to get a little attention.
A sobering thought struck me. Did I…love Lorcan?
Surely I did, or I wouldn’t be this annoyed or agitated. In fact, I did have some feelings for him. Aside from the obvious gratitude I had for saving my life and his companionship, I cared a great deal for him. Whether it was love or lust, a definite attraction existed. I thought of him more than anything else, and he’d even infiltrated my dreams, making me wake with a start, covered in a blanket of heat and wanting.
But did he feel the same way? Maybe I was just obsessing. And blast that Carmen for being such a dammed saint that the man constantly thought of her and not me!
I growled out loud, and the sound brought a shot of guilt surging through me again. Carmen was beautiful and exuded the wholesomeness of an angel. The image of her wheat-colored hair, sparkling blue eyes, and larger-than-life smile popped into my head.
Think of something else.
My brother. His family. For the umpteenth time, I let out a great big sigh. The same questions plagued me, needling me like a pebble in a shoe. Had they lived long and happy lives? Were his great-great-great-grandchildren among those with whom I walked with now? My great-great-great-nieces and nephews. Would I see familiar faces in crowds, faces that held resemblances to my family and friends?
Was any part of my family still here, or were they exterminated, erased from memory to wipe away the legacy of my father’s work? Quin had made a few attempts to locate any relatives. But then I got kidnapped, and Lorcan didn’t show any interest in wanting to help. To ask again made me feel guilty, knowing he was busy. But I desperately wanted to know all these things, and at the same time, I didn’t. The answers, I knew, would destroy me.
Three hundred years ago, I’d been an artist on the cusp of entering major art shows and gaining exposure for my work. Maybe I could do that again; paint portraits like I used to. But how would I establish myself without exposing my true identity? A nobody appearing out of nowhere, I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Did people even buy art these days?
I missed Madge badly. She had been a wealth of good advice, her honesty and open mind always ready to help and listen. I missed her serene calm and infectious good nature. Just being in her presence had made everything okay. And Quin, always up for something new, forever talking, expressive and tongue-in-cheek, and behind his effervescent façade, holding a wickedly intelligent mind. A mind that was logical while still leaving room for the mysterious, the magical. A mind that could tell me what I wanted to hear in an instant, and allow me to see what the problem was with clarity. I missed them both.
Quin’s logical mind would ask: What was my problem? What did I want?
I didn’t know. Did I want a life? If so, it meant my problem was I needed to find it? No, that wasn’t quite right.
“I have a new life,” I muttered.
So it meant I needed to start living the new life. That sounded more plausible.
But how and where did I start?
That’s the problem. I was, essentially, lost. Adrift.
And did I want Lorcan in my new life? Yes, I did. Who else was there? Lorcan was the only person I’d met to date who I was deeply attracted to. It was a friendship that had grown to affection and…love? My old life was no more. It was the past. Everything I did, everyone I cared for, loved, was in my old life. Lorcan was in my life now, and Lorcan was who I wanted.
But what if he didn’t want me? What then? Could I still live here, knowing he didn’t care for me? I shook my head vigorously. This wasn’t right. The old me was a strong-willed, independent woman. What happened to her? I needed to start being independent again—to experience the outside world. To get a grip and grow up! That was my problem. I’d become too dependent.
Fuck it. Enough now.
In a huff, I squared my shoulders, marched toward the house and stomped my way down to the basement, not even realizing everyone had gone until I heard silence.
No matter. My attention was drawn to the corner, to a small room where Lorcan stored his files. The door was ajar and I knew he was in there; his spicy cologne scented the air, and I heard his clipped North Yorkshire accent muttering something. Without knocking, I pushed the door all the way open. It thudded against something solid and a startled grunt followed. I hesitated, realizing I’d knocked the door straight into Lorcan.
Lorcan’s furrowed features appeared instantly at the door, barring me from entering. Stepping back in surprise, anger dashed across his face. And Michael Ho stood behind him, wearing an odd expression. As quick as ever, Ho’s expression changed to one of congenial politeness. Ho gave me a curt nod, sharp enough to slash the air before him. Someone else was in the room with them. My eyes flitted to a hand resting on the edge of a table; a man’s hand, its owner shrouded in shadows. His fingers tap-tap-tapped, impatient, in a strange rhythm where his index and little fingers each did a single tap, then his ring finger tapped twice, the sound emphasized by the ornate, blackish ring he wore on that finger.
“Josie, what…” Lorcan struggled visibly with his temper, managed a quick smile. “I’m a little busy here.”
I felt bad now. I’d disrupted something important. And private. Why else would three men tuck themselves into a small room and whisper amongst themselves? The hostility emanating from the room almost bowled me down. Taking an involuntary step back, then another, I folded my arms across my chest like a shield. Too late now to back down, I may as well get on with it.
“Sorry, but I need to talk to you.” My voice held steady, thankfully.
“Look, it’ll have to wait,” Lorcan snapped, his head jerking to indicate he was with people. He seemed really upset now; coldness washed over him, making him look like a stranger.
Shit a brick. I swallowed. Oh, to hell with it! “Well, when you’re finished with your important meeting, I’ve something important too, that I need to discuss with you!” Emotion made my voice rise, matching his annoyance and anger. “If that’s okay with you!” I added with a snarl, and purposely gave Michael Ho and the faceless hand a nasty glare.
Spinning around, I all but stamped my way—for form’s sake—back upstairs. Once at the top of the stairs, I broke into a run and headed straight to my room, slamming the door shut with a tremendous boom. My breath heaved, and my chest constricted with anger and—no—rage. I kicked at the bed-leg, then cursed loudly at the pain it caused to my foot. Then I kicked it again. Repeatedly. With a final growl, I stalked the room like a caged tiger, picking things up and slamming them back down. I muttered crude oaths about the different ways to wring someone’s neck, wondering what it would be like to inflict such pain to someone.
Moments later, Lorcan burst into the room, face red. It halted my prowling long enough to register how pissed off he looked. Very pissed off.
“What the devil’s wrong with you?” In a few quick stri
des, he was face to face with me, grabbing my arms, pinning me to the spot. He shook me, squeezing my arms even tighter so that they hurt.
“Stop that, you fucking brute!” I jerked away, thumping my fists into his chest. I had the effect of a balloon hitting a solid wall. Wrestling with him briefly, I glimpsed the extreme rage on his face. Lorcan hadn’t move an inch, but as if jerking awake, he flinched in surprise and let go. I backed up a step and glared at him, my mouth gaping in insult and surprise. How dare he manhandle me!
Lorcan took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. Composed, he finally looked at me, weariness creasing his face. Though his anger had dissolved, he was still steely. I gulped. Sometimes, I forgot he’d killed people while serving in the military. We never discussed it, and he never spoke about it. In an instant, I flashed to the scene in the abandoned veterinary clinic, and how those fanatics died. How easily he could snap me in two, if he chose to.
“I’m sorry.” He raised his hands in peace, much like that first moment I saw him. Blowing out a breath, Lorcan stepped closer and gently touched my shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze. “I am sorry.” In better control of his emotions now, he even gave me a small smile.
I must’ve worn a sullen pout, since he flicked a finger good-naturedly under my chin, a habit of his whenever I did so. I snorted out a breath, my anger gone. Exhaustion pressed down on me instead. Turning away I muttered, “Me too.”
“Tell me, what’s bothering you.” His tone soft, Lorcan came up behind me, his finger trailed up and down my arm—another habit of his. The heat from his fingers had the warming effect of a branding iron. I wanted to shiver in relief as goosebumps formed on my arm.
“Do you love me?” I blurted. I’d meant to ask him if I’d done something wrong that he ignored me, and when was he ever going to get around to my identity issues and other legal matters. Look for relatives. Teach me the things I needed to know. But I couldn’t stop myself, and I realized that was what was really bothering me.
“What?” Surprise made his voice waver and his finger stopped in mid-stroke.
I jerked around, looking him in the eyes. The anger crept back at a higher magnitude. “Do you?”
Lorcan’s face made all sorts of strange contortions, from scared to embarrassed, confused to angry, then finally, pensive. He seemed unable to meet my eyes.
“Of…course I do. You know that,” he said finally, measured, as if treading on thin ice.
“No, I don’t know that. How could I?” I bit back. “You never tell me what you’re feeling. I’m not a fucking mind reader. And you spend more time stuck in that basement working and ignoring me and ranting and raving about this problem and the next. How the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel? I’ve nothing to do all fucking day, and you won’t let me do anything I want to do. I can’t even leave this frigging place, and I have to wear your dead wife’s clothes, and her goddammed shoes are too small. Do you even know how that makes me feel?”
I practically screamed at the top of my voice, flapping arms wildly, and I went back to stalking the room. I wished I could breathe fire, scorch everything in sight. Venting my rage felt so good.
“What am I supposed to do all day? Sit around and watch TV, or listen to Mrs. Patel talking ’til she’s fucking blue in the face? I don’t belong here.” I jabbed up my fingers at his face with each point. “I have nothing to do. I have nothing here. No name, no place to call my own. Nothing! I don’t even own my own fucking underwear!”
My breath became clipped, and the beginnings of a big, almighty, wailing sob crawled up my throat, making my voice to shake. I barely heard Lorcan muttering something about me swearing too much. Who the fuck cared if I cursed. Fuck him!
“What am I supposed to do? Please tell me. I need to do something. I feel useless and angry and helpless and, and…” A sudden wail gasped out like a whipped puppy, but I swallowed it back with force. “And I might as well be dead. Maybe you’ll think of me more if I am!”
He flinched.
I broke down in howling tears. It was embarrassing, but it felt so good. And I didn’t care. I was hurt, and I wanted to hurt back. Blinded by the waterfall from my eyes, I didn’t see when Lorcan pulled me into his arms and held me securely against him. I howled even louder.
“Hush-hush, now,” Lorcan cooed softly, stroking the length of my back with a strong, sure hand. “Shh.”
“M-my b-irthday is on Wenss-daaay,” I snuffled squeakily into his shoulder. Hearing how pitiful I sounded brought a fresh set of tears streaming out.
Lorcan was silent for a moment, then his body shook in a silent laugh. I felt it vibrating along his stomach and shoulders. Unable to contain it, he let it out in a great big guffaw of laughter, squeezing me harder. Why was he laughing?
“It’s not funny!” I struggled in his arms. “Stop that.”
When Lorcan sobered to a chuckle, he pulled back and wiped the tears from my face with his thumbs. His expression softened with an endearing smile that filled me with immediate warmth. My eyes continued to leak profusely, and a slimy trail of snot ran down my upper lip. To my horror, he wiped that away too.
“I didn’t mean to laugh like that. It’s not funny. I’ve been an idiot. I am truly sorry if I’ve been ignoring you.” His hands cradled my face. Looking up at him, I felt terribly needy and helpless. I sniffed loudly, and without a care. “It hasn’t been fair on you at all. I know.”
Lorcan gently kissed my fevered brow, lingered there a moment before putting his forehead to rest against mine. A thumb trailed my lips lightly. “Josie, I do…love you. Please know that.” It seemed he fought for the right words, his voice layered thick with emotion.
“But…” I prompted, and held my breath.
He smiled, tilted his face back, and regarded me with a longing expression, his thumb continued to stroke my lip to distraction. He stared at me, like he was trying to memorize every last detail on my face. He leaned in and kissed me. Slow and unhurried, his tongue explored every crevice of my mouth, and brought my held breath out in a long, dizzying sigh. I returned the favor, melting, forgetting I had arms and legs; I hung there as if his hands on my face were the only things keeping me upright.
When at last we broke apart, his still cradled my face. Pressing me close against him, his breath heavy and thick, I felt a pulse of heartbeat escaping from his groin. A wave of heat crashed through me in answer. I pulled him closer, I wanted to be swallowed by him.
“I will never hurt you intentionally.” Lorcan whispered and, for a moment, I thought he said it to himself. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He pulled away and let his hands trail down my arms, grasping my hands firmly for a moment, then slipped away. Our fingers twined as though meandering through rows of feathery grass until there was nothing but electrically charged air between us.
We stood staring at each other. My face slack, numb and wanting. And his, sad and tired. Without another word, he turned and quietly left the room. I felt cold as his warmth left.
Chapter 12
He was in too deep to back out now. How had it gotten so out of hand, so out of control? Was his obsession to destroy Lancaster so great he’d lost track of his own life and what really mattered? And look at what it was doing to Josie. Dear, sweet Josie.
I’ve gone and put her in danger. Had he really? Of course she’s in danger!
What had he been thinking? He’d been too lax, so caught up in his effort to discredit Lancaster, so swept up in the blinding current to see the tyrant’s destruction, that he’d exposed her unwittingly. He should never have allowed her into the basement, not ever—especially when they were present.
Would they try to hurt her?
He’d told everyone she was a family friend who’d suffered an accident and had amnesia. It sounded convincing enough. A few of his colleagues didn’t want her around, or even in the house, when they came. Others tried to insist she be included, or at least informed to see where her persuasions lay. Lorcan w
as strict on that, insisting she knew nothing and cared nothing for anything they did. But Ho scared him, literally scared him, and Lorcan didn’t scare easily. He disliked the way Ho spoke to Josie, especially since Lorcan knew what Ho’s real agenda was.
Ho was a man who couldn’t be trusted once your back was turned, and he didn’t appreciate any disloyalty. Whomever it was Ho represented, this mystery man was no better. But Lorcan was close to finding out who it was Ho worked for. It should be a matter of days before all was revealed. And the way Ho chastised him in that cold, threatening way…that he should control Josie, handle her…the way he repeatedly said his employer didn’t like loose ends.
They were not pleased Josie had burst in on their meeting yesterday.
“What if she heard?” Ho had said, in a mocking tone with the underlying layer of ice.
And that man, the man known only as Mr. Jones the Expert. A cheesy name, like a film noir character. Ho had brought that man into his home. Who was he really? And was his information really of any worth? Lorcan didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. There was a shiftiness about Jones. Yet he seemed hesitant—disgusted with Ho. Frightened, even? Lorcan couldn’t be certain, but this Jones was an enigma.
Lorcan had always trusted his instincts. All his life, and during his training while in the military, he’d honed his steady mind, his natural distrust of people. He’d excelled in the military, was a natural, and prided himself on seeing things others didn’t—sensing things. But now, he didn’t know anymore. A veil had been put over him, clouding his judgment. Was it because too many people were involved? Or was it that he was no longer in control? Perhaps it was because of Josie? He just didn’t know anymore. And that bothered him. Even retreating to his calming mental exercises to steady himself hadn’t help.
