by Thalia Eames
Reality crowded in on her thoughts. Dashiell hadn’t answered a single call or text from any of them. Not from his parents, his brothers, or Jules. He’d cut them all off. They didn’t know if the Tahvilis had killed him, or if he’d become someone else in the process of getting to know his real family. Jules took a deep breath. If one of those two things turned out to be true, Jules hoped for the latter. She could deal with him choosing another life, but the thought of someone hurting him or of him dead destroyed something inside her. Daz had to be alive.
“I keep calling and texting him, but he doesn’t answer.” The twitch of annoyance winked under Lennox’s left eye.
“Leave it alone.” Another ice chip, another question—this one from Jules. “Have you talked to Garrett yet?” Another ice chip.
“No.” Lennox fluffed her curls. “Can we leave that subject alone too?”
“No,” Jules said. “Do you not understand how dangerous what you’re doing is? You’ve let it go on for too long, Leni. Tell that man you’re on birth control, not because you don’t want his children but because you need counseling.”
“I’m not crazy, Jules.” Lennox left the table.
“Not because you’re scared. But you’re crazy as fuck if you think your marriage isn’t in trouble. Garrett has been so good about catering to your fears. He keeps half of himself hidden for you. What are you doing, Lennox?”
The worst cramp of the day clamped down on Jules from her shoulders to her abdomen. “Ugh,” she cried out. Lennox went into the cabinets. Jules heard the maraca sound of the pills shaking in their bottle before Lennox brought them over.
Shaking two painkillers out, her best friend held the medicine up to her. But something strange happened. The fever she’d carried around with her for seven months began to subside. One moment she had the chills, the next, nothing. Jules grabbed Lennox by the wrist, knocking the pills to the floor. “Something’s happening.”
The perplexed look her friend gave her would’ve been comical if Jules hadn’t been in shock. That’s when the front door swung open and the voice Jules desperately needed to hear called out. “Blue?”
Jules froze. “Leni, am I hallucinating or did you hear that too?”
Lennox leaned to look into the foyer. “We’re in the kitchen,” she called out.
The wild tingle of excitement nearly made Jules bounce off the banquette, and then he was in the room, filling it with his powerhouse energy. The bond between them snapped back into place. Jules stood to take a step and stumbled on a chair leg. Daz crossed the room in a millisecond, his arms closing around her before she fell.
He looked good. His dark gray eyes were filled with mirth and a different shade of confidence than the bad boy swagger of seven months ago. The V in his long-sleeve black T-shirt drew her eyes to the masculine hardness of his chest. She licked her lips. Her fingers stroked over the clean, perfectly groomed hairs of his short beard. Daz rumbled, almost in a purr, and rolled his face into her hand to kiss her fingers.
And Jules realized she hadn’t had a single cramp since he’d caught her. All the months of pain and fever were suddenly gone. She went limp against him even though she felt strong again for the first time in a long while.
“I’m home, baby Blue,” Daz said against her cheek. He kissed her tenderly and sweetly and she melted. When he lifted his head to lock gazes with her she saw the moment their explosive connection kindled in the depths of his eyes. “Can I take you to bed?” he asked.
Jules started to shake her head no but ended up shaking it yes. Daz had no idea she’d been sick for so long and, honestly, she wasn’t sick anymore. It didn’t make sense, but nothing between her and Dashiell Warren ever had. From moment to moment they leaped from one intensity to another. Right now, Jules definitely wasn’t sick. But she was horny. “Take me to bed.” She kissed Daz breathless.
“Wait,” Lennox said, as Daz scooped her up and started for the stairs.
“Later, Leni,” Jules called back. “Kill him later.”
Daz chuckled but he had no idea how serious she and Lennox were. She didn’t have time to explain it now. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to scream while he pounded her so good she’d fall into a deep comatose-like sleep for the rest of the night.
And that’s exactly what he did. He blew her mind. Before morning they’d had sex in so many positions both her thighs and her mouth were sore. Then a momentary coma descended, and she slept without cramps or fever for the first time in months.
Afterward, she lay wrapped around him naked and sated, but with a flicker of darkness dancing at the edge of her thoughts.
“What were they like?” she asked.
Daz nuzzled her neck. “The Tahvilis are what everyone says they are. Ruthless and twisted. But it’s strange, Blue.” He lay back and threw an arm over his eyes. “They take such good care of each other. And when one of them dies, they mourn unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
She rested her chin on his chest to look up at him. “Wow. I didn’t expect you to come back with stories of love.” She’d lost hope he’d come back at all.
“Me either. I think that’s why the old man decided to let me go a few months back.” Daz squeezed her hip.
The dark flicker at the edge of Jules’s awareness solidified.
“I met the old man, Amin Tahvili. I’ve never met anyone like him. When he’s sitting still so much power radiates from him, you pause before every step you take. Yet, he loved the son and grandsons he lost and I think he loved me, a little, because my mother ran away and they never found her.”
“And your father?” Jules asked, stroking his hair the way she used to, before he’d left her.
Daz blew out a heavy exhale. “An unknown quantity,” he said.
Jules lay with him for a while longer. “How do you feel about that?”
“Same way I did before.” Daz played with the swath of blue in her hair. “I can live with it.”
Beneath the sheet covering them, Jules tapped her left foot. “But they let you go a few months ago…”
He nodded. “The old man said I looked like my mother and he could neither take the death of another son nor lose her again through me.” A glint of wonder entered his gaze. “He’s pondering allowing a part of the family to go legit an—”
“Good night, Dashiell. Let’s talk more in the morning. Okay?” Jules said, hands balled into fists. The darkness she’d only glimpsed before boiled just below her surface.
“Okay,” he said, kissing her with such tenderness it cut.
From the moment they stepped down off the staircase the next morning, Averdeens and Westlakes and Warrens and Reardons descended on them. Dillon shot Daz a cold-blooded glower before he took Jules’s hand to lead her to the couch. “I need to give you a check up,” he said. “Lennox said you experienced a pretty wild recovery.”
The touch of Dillon’s skin against hers didn’t feel right. Jules gently pulled away. Dillon didn’t notice. He sat her down on the couch, snapped on a pair of gloves and examined her. “You’re not cramping anymore?” He stuck a thermometer in her ear.
“No.”
“Wait. What?” Daz walked over to crouch down beside Dillon. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m starting to think it’s you,” Dillon answered.
Cash grabbed Daz by the shoulder and whipped him around. “We called you. Mom. Dad. We thought you were dead. We didn’t know if they’d buried you somewhere in the bayou.” Cash turned red.
Jules had never seen him so angry. Yet he had every right to be. Now that the instant healing and sexual hunger had worn off, her anger had started to bubble up too. The acid of Daz’s disregard for their feelings burned the back of her throat.
Anger brought hot tears to Cash’s eyes. “Do you know what it’s like to think your brother is dead?” His hands fisted and unfisted. Finally Ca
sh shoved his hands through his short hair. “Do you— Can you even— It was like somebody cut out a chunk of me.”
Daz grabbed his brother around the neck with one arm, patting Cash on the back with the other. “I’m sorry, little brother,” he said, holding on to Cash when he tried to break free. “I didn’t want the other Tahvilis to find any of you through me. I couldn’t take the risk of them pulling you into their mess.”
With a mighty jerk, Cash pulled away. “That cousin of yours already knows how to find us.”
“That’s bad enough, but I made Touraj promise he’d never reveal details about any of you.” Daz’s mouth firmed into a grim line. “He made a blood oath to me that he’d keep my confidence and I trust him to do that.”
Cash slowly began to calm down. Daz grabbed his brother by the upper arm. “I will never put any of the people I love in danger again. I don’t care whether that danger comes from the outside world, or inside me. I will protect you.”
“Call Mom,” Cash said. The front door slammed when he left the house.
Daz started to chase after his brother when Jules cried out. Dillon tried to help her sit back on the couch but she recoiled from him. The touch of his hand felt like needles stabbing into her skin.
Running over to her, Daz got down on his knees, his hands kneading her thigh. “What’s wrong, Blue?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “There was a sharp needle-like pain when Dillon held my elbow.” A flicker of worry flashed in Daz’s eyes before he hid it.
“Are you feeling any pain now,” he said, gesturing to his hand on her knee.
“No.”
“What’s going on?” Gran said from the stairs. “I heard Cash yelling.”
“Cash and Daz had it out. But I seem to be cured,” Jules said. Gran squeaked and came over to pat her cheek. Needles erupted through her skin on contact. Jules jerked away.
Dillon snapped his rubber gloves back on. Lifting a finger he said, “Tell me if you feel any discomfort.” He quickly tapped her skin. Nothing. Jules shook her head. This time he held the gloved finger against her forearm. Dull needles scraped her skin. “It hurts,” she said, “but not like bare skin.”
“Lennox,” Daz beckoned. “Come over here and touch Jules, please.” He sounded worried and it scared Jules. When her best friend touched her and the same agony exploded across her skin, Lennox curled her fingers away.
“This isn’t possible.” Daz stood and began to pace. “I did the research. No one has this condition.” He growled low in his chest. “It’s not contagious. It—” Guilt transformed his posture. “Dillon, did I do this to her?”
The doctor stood still for a moment. “I’ve done the research too. I haven’t found any cases of your condition. Has anyone else ever contracted it before?”
“Not once,” Daz breathed out the words.
Jules covered her mouth to keep from screaming. She couldn’t live without touch. Even now she wanted to hug Lennox for comfort. Being touchy feely was in her nature. Her family had raised her on hugs and kisses and handholding. A wave of anxiety so vicious it gave Jules the shakes thundered through her. She. Could. Not. Do. This. Touch deprivation would slay her.
Gran inclined her head to study Jules. “Be quiet, boys.” She shushed them. “Our Juliana’s not in a good place.” Daz turned back to the couch and sat beside her. Gently taking her by the nape, he kissed her forehead. No pain.
Without thinking about it Jules snatched away from him. It startled him. He looked wounded but he didn’t touch her again.
“You boys said you did your research?” Gran asked. Her usual playfulness had been replaced with purpose. Both Daz and Dillon affirmed they’d searched for answers in many places.
“Well,” Gran adjusted her purple sequined tracksuit, “you weren’t lookin’ in the right book.” She started toward the stairs. When no one made a move to follow her she said, “C’mon, it’s time for us to go into the attic.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gran led them up to the third floor to a door in the middle of the hallway. Once they’d gone through they found another flight of rough wooden steps. Gran led the way, with Garrett holding her hand to keep her steady.
At the top they found a large room shaped roughly like half an octagon. The exposed wooden structure of the house gave the room character, as did the warm reds of the Persian rug in the center, and antique furniture.
In the middle of the rug stood an ornate mahogany podium. They each walked around it to find a massive four- or five-inch-thick leather-bound tome on the stand. A ring of silver glyphs was stamped into the dark green, nearly black, leather.
“Gran, how’d you get all this stuff up here? I don’t remember buying any of this?” Garrett asked.
“Oh.” Gran waved him off. “Lennox bought it all at thrift shops. She loves thrifting.”
“Why not?” Garrett folded his arms over his chest. “I’m clueless about a lot of things in my household.”
Daz watched Garrett’s posture. Alpha male to alpha male, something—or someone—had made the big werewolf unhappy, and Daz wouldn’t be surprised if Garrett erupted soon. To change the subject, he activated his smartassery. “Also, why does every grandma resort to going to the attic?”
“It’s pretty much a law of the universe,” Lennox said.
“Do you think that’s why hip breakage is so common?” Daz asked. Jules giggled and he felt better about the tension between them. He needed a private moment to talk to her, to try and figure things out.
“Shush,” Gran said, lifting the book in a surprising show of strength. “I give you: The Big Book of Weres.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Garrett said dryly.
“This is the best secret ever, Gran!” Nox yelled out.
Gran smiled at her great-grandson but threw an unlit candle at Garrett’s head. He ducked. “Easy, grandma.” He said the last like an insult. Gran stuck out her tongue at him. “First of all,” Garrett continued. “Why didn’t the book burn in the fire?”
The perplexed look on Gran’s face said it all. “Because…it’s The Big Book of Weres. Duh. It can’t be burnt, or shredded, or otherwise destroyed.”
After a moment of biting his lip, Garrett called on his wife for help. “Lennox.”
“But, Gran, where did it go when we were rebuilding the house?” Lennox asked.
“Well, Leni, it went where it goes when it’s protecting itself. It’s The Big Book of Weres.”
“Makes sense to me,” Nox said.
“I know!” Gran replied.
Even Daz’s sense of mischief had reached its limit. “Let’s get down to it. How can the book help Jules?”
“Oh yeah.” Gran set the book down. “We open it and see what it has to say about the situation.”
“That’s it?” Daz stood beside her, peering over her thin frame at the book.
“Of course that’s it, Dashiell. It always opens to the right page.”
Jules walked over to stand on the other side of Gran. Checking for approval, she opened the book. The two-page spread had a drawing of what looked like a wolverine on one side, with a smaller inset image of a honey badger beneath it. Other than the drawings, glyphs similar to the ones on the cover spanned both pages.
“Wow,” Jules said. “It’s really beautiful. I know some cosplayers who’d slay for this. How do we read it?”
“You don’t.” Gran shrugged. “Leni, come over here. I didn’t bring my glasses.”
Lennox joined them at the podium and looked askance at Jules. “Why didn’t you read it?”
“How can I? It’s covered in glyphs.”
“It’s not. It’s in English— Wait. Gran, does our ability to read this book, and the fact it’s in our attic, have anything to do with whatever kind of supernatural creature we are?”
The question r
eceived a frown from Gran. “I suppose so.” She waved a hand. “Look, Leni, it’s cold up here. Read the book so we can go down and have apple cider.”
“Wait, Gran,” Lennox stopped their momentum again. “If we had this book all along, why didn’t we use it to help Daz?”
Gran shrugged again. “I didn’t know he had a shifter problem. I thought he was cursed.” She looked around the room, stopping on Daz. “What do I know about curses?”
Lennox closed her eyes and took several breaths for patience. Then she read from the book, “In instances in which a wolverine (or less frequently a honey badger)—”
“A honey badger,” Daz said. “That’s the shifter in Jules’s bloodline.”
“That’s what we’ve been smelling on her?” Nox said. “Honey badger.”
“Duh,” Gran said, shaking her head. “Go on, Leni”
“In instances in which a wolverine (or less frequently a honey badger) develops a
condition in which the touch of all other beings becomes an agony upon them, it is known as the Mating Imperative,” Lennox read. “The wolverine in question will most assuredly be an alpha descended of a mighty bloodline. Completing the mating dance is the only cure for the agony of touch brought on by the Mating Imperative—”
Daz interrupted. “But we’ve had sex a bunch of times. It didn’t cure me.”
Gran gave him another of her perplexed looks. Rather than answer, she turned to Jules. “It’s a good thing he’s so pretty, and from all your screaming at night, good with his hands too.”
Nox called out to Daz. “Uncle Daz, when did you start having the touch problem?” Everyone but Jules looked stunned by the affectionate “Uncle Daz” Nox had used to address him. Daz didn’t know whether to be happy with being accepted or to escape through the slatted attic window.
“I’m not sure,” he answered. “It amplified gradually but around five and a half years ago.”
Nox opened his tablet cover and pulled up an image. Bending to take a look, Daz got a second shock.
“One of the anti-fans posted that.” Nox took the tablet and showed it to Jules. In the image, the entire Cross band and a bunch of other people crowded in for the camera. Jules sat half on, half off Adam Cross’s shoulders at what had to have been a hell of a New Year’s Eve bash. On the right, one of her hands looked like she’d grabbed the nearest person to keep from falling. The closest person happened to be him, Daz. Everyone looked drunk off their asses and perhaps the drink had erased the memory.
