Protected by Stone (A Paranormal Romance Novel)

by Cynthia Brint

  How could you forget your own birthday? I wondered, biting back my curiosity. He looked unsettled, eyes avoiding mine. Maybe he's ashamed about it. No easy way to ask him how old he is, now. Great. He looks only a little older than me, I guess it doesn't matter much.

  He handed me something wrapped in paper. It was the size of a grapefruit. Removing one for himself, he placed a glass container between us on the blanket. Whatever it was, it steamed when he peeled back the cover.

  “Is that soup?” I asked, leaning in to inhale the spicy scent.

  “Correct.” He reached out, his hands on the package I'd put on my lap. The paper rustled, only mildly louder than my breathing. “And this... is a bread bowl.”

  Looking down, I gawked at the hollowed out dough. “Oh!” I was delighted, he'd taken some of the bread I'd bought and made something ingenious. “Grault, this is very clever of you.”

  His grin split his face. “Thank you, Miss Blooms.”

  Hearing him say my name so formally mulled my joy. “Can't you just call me Farra, please?”

  He glanced at me, then slid a ladle from the basket. “That would be improper. You're the owner of this house.”

  Yet, you always call her Tessa, and not Miss Blooms, I thought petulantly. I scratched at the outside of my arm, doing my best not to pout. “Is it more improper than taking me on an impromptu picnic?”

  “Hardly impromptu,” he said flatly.

  “That's not the part you should be arguing.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Grault poured soup into both our bread bowls. “Miss Blooms, if you are having trouble taking this for what it is, I don't know how to soothe you.”

  How to soothe me? My mind conjured a few ideas, all quite inappropriate. “It would be easier if I did know what this was.”

  “It's dinner.” His elegant fingers extended a spoon to me. It reminded me of when he'd offered me a hand to help me up.

  Like then, I hesitated to grab it. “But is it just dinner?”

  In his fingers, the spoon dipped. “I don't know what you mean.”

  Taking the utensil, I twirled it in the hot liquid. The soup looked like melted rubies in the candle light. “Forget it. I guess I thought something else was going on here, and—just forget it.”

  We sat in silence for some time, each of us looking into our bowls. The steam tickled my chin, encouraging me to try the alluring meal. It was close to burning on my tongue, the bright flavor of tomatoes doing a dance with onions.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed in through my nose. “This is really good,” I whispered.

  He hadn't touched his soup yet, simply watching me the entire time. “Thank you, Miss Blooms.”

  “It's so good,” I went on, hearing the heat in my voice rivaling the food, “that it makes me angry.”

  “I—what? Angry, why?”

  Taking another bite, I felt the spice coat my tongue. “It's unfair. You've been able to cook this good, all this time, and you never... you never once suggested that you take over the kitchen duties.”

  It was a small motion, but Grault sat up straighter. “That was always Tessa's—”

  “I'm not Tessa, though!” I snapped, setting the bread bowl to the side. “I'm not her, and I can't be her. Isn't that obvious by now?”

  “Miss Blooms,” he said crisply, “it's been very obvious since the start.” His words cut like barbs, sticking in too deep. “However, that—Miss Blooms?” As he had opened his mouth, I climbed to my feet. I wouldn't sit idly under his insults.

  Oh, good, that feeling of distance between us that was there at the start. There it is again. Now I can think properly. Brushing grass off my dress, I spun to walk towards the exit.

  “Miss Blooms, wait!” he called, chasing after me like my own shadow. “I'm not finished explaining!”

  “You don't need to explain anything,” I muttered, looking straight ahead. My goal was the hallway, to leave that garden behind. “From the start, I knew you were disappointed by me. Telling me the details is wholly unneeded.”

  Grault's fingers closed on my wrist, covering most of my lower arm. Logically, I knew I couldn't pull away, but I still tried.

  “Miss Blooms!”

  “Let me go!” He was reminding me of how weak I felt, he needed no effort to try and hold me still. “Just let me go already! I'm not going to listen to you chide me about how bad I am.” Tears were boiling in my eyes, I wanted anything but for him to see them fall. “For you to act like you're doing me a favor because you made me dinner once, as if I need such pity anyway!”

  “It wasn't pity!” he growled, a noise so wild it crept into my muscles, locked me up on the spot. I stopped tugging, my hand still trapped in his grip. Hovering above me, Grault's eyes were a storm of black ice, of pride that didn't know what to do with itself. “It was never, ever pity,” he said, speaking in a hush. “I would never help you out of something so pathetic as that.”

  Don't cry, don't ever cry in front of anyone. Especially not him. My molars creaked from straining. “Then what? What made you do this, all of this, if not pity or guilt for me?” He doesn't care, he could have helped all along and he never did, he let me flounder and fail and... and...

  There was surprise in his eyes. “What motivated me to do this?” It sounded like he was asking himself.

  My brain was working hard, battling my heart in a fight for what would break down first. I could see his lips, how close to mine. Feel the energy from his flesh where it held me near.

  He denies me at every turn, but why do I even want his approval? Why do I care what he thinks, or wants, or any of it?

  “What I was trying to say to you,” he whispered, white lashes hanging low, “was that I knew you would never be like her. But, that it never mattered to me. Tessa never needed help... and she never let me try. I guess I got used to that arrangement, after all this time.”

  The leftover anger deflated, leaving me to work with just my private confusion.

  His mouth made the cruelest of frowns. “It was never pity. Not pity. I just... when I saw that fear, saw you struggle, those were sides Tessa never let me glimpse. It made me want to just—I'm not sure I can say.”

  Shutting my eyelids, I was swept up in the feeling of my heart expanding. What was it that Junlit said... about getting close, and then...

  “Miss Blooms?” he said softly.

  I licked my lips quickly. “Y—yes?”

  “Are you alright?”

  The embarrassment sank in slowly, but it was there to stay. Ah, good, I'm making an idiot out of myself all over again. “Yeah,” I sighed, starting to open my eyes. Guess I'm just bad at reading the signs. “I'm fine, I was just—”

  His lips were soft, more tender than the buds of new flowers. It didn't seem fair, someone as strong as him being blessed with such a sweet mouth.

  Losing thought, reason, I stood there in shock while he explored the kiss. It was what I'd wished him to do, but now, I forgot how it was done. I was so jumbled, if asked to spell my name, there was a good chance I'd fail.

  His hand left my wrist, falling away in the same breath as the kiss stopped. Grault's eyes were feverish, flicking over me with worry. “Perhaps that was the wrong thing to do, Miss Blooms. But I thought...”

  “Farra.” The name flitted from me, reminding me who I was, what was happening. “If you're going to kiss me, you have to call me Farra.”

  My pale suitor stared down at me, unmoving as the earth. His palms cradled my cheeks, his shade falling on me as he swept me into a rougher kiss. It was hungry, unapologetic in its need. The grit in his voice when he spoke against my lips, made a single word with his tongue, sent ripples to my lower belly. “Farra...”

  Only then did I return the kiss.

  Chapter Fifteen.

  It was astounding how fast winter made its presence known.

  My mind didn't grasp time as easily, not with someone like Grault at my side. The house was never cold, my mood far from drab.

  There wer
e a few knowing looks from the guests, and Junlit made sure I gave him extra pancakes for a while (even if the bet hadn't been official!)

  Sitting by the kitchen window, all I saw outside were the grey clouds. The green glass made things all the more dark, the sun hiding from view.

  Will we have snow so soon?

  As if to prepare, I tossed another log in the furnace. It kept the building toasty, which also kept me happy.

  Staring out at the fields of dying grass, I found myself looking at the lake in the distance. It had been over two weeks since the attack, and not once had I been out behind the house.

  There had been no need to, with Grault around. Besides the wood, he'd even taken up the mantle of assisting me with cooking.

  That, no doubt, was what was making the tenants the happiest. Who could have guessed he was such a good chef? My suspicion was that he'd learned it all from Tessa, something I never had the chance to.

  Tessa, I thought idly, my thoughts floating away. I was hardly looking at the lake, not really seeing it. The flash of silver light was so tiny, I thought I'd imagined it.

  That was strange, did I just see... Again, the blip of color. It was coming from the center of the lake, muted by the rippling dark waves. The wind was clawing outside, rattling the window.

  My veins were rattling harder.

  I just saw the sylph, didn't I? Pressing my nose to the glass, I squinted intensely. While the monster had never truly left my mind, it was easy to keep the problem in a distant part of my brain. Grault made me feel safe, and his (and Dirk's) words about the creature not being able to harm me as long as I stayed away from the lake were ringing true.

  So far.

  What does it want, I wonder? My suspicion was an awful one. Tucking my hands into the sleeves of my sweater, I shivered despite the warmth. It wants me. I know it must want me.

  Behind, I heard footsteps. Grault's familiar scent, clean as ice and pine, came to me. Turning, I welcomed the feel of his arms around my waist. “Farra,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “What are you looking at?”

  Should I tell him? I wondered, trying to weigh the ups and downs in a mere minute. No, he'll just worry about me. There's nothing new here, just a monster in a lake trying to... to get my attention? Snuggling against him, I slid my arms under his jacket. His smooth skin met mine. “Just the clouds, I think it might snow. Speaking of which, are you ever going to wear anything under this coat of yours?”

  As if self-conscious, he nudged my fingers out from under the thick cloth. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing, Farra?”

  It still gave me sparks to hear him call me by my first name. “People normally wear things under a jacket, is all,” I chuckled. “Didn't your mother ever teach you that?”

  Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, he flashed a tiny smile. “Would you like me to wear more clothes, then? I suppose I could do that. I worry that you would grow frustrated quickly when trying to peel them all off.”

  I blushed furiously, reaching up to adjust the collar of his jacket more violently than was needed. Grault had become far more playful and affectionate in the week since we'd first kissed. “I've never peeled off your clothes.”

  “True,” he agreed, “you've resisted that much.”

  Scoffing, I made a face and stepped backwards. “Resisted! That's not fair, you make me sound like I can't control myself.”

  “The opposite.” He leaned forward, showing me that, if my goal had been to retreat, the kitchen counter at my back was a poor choice. “I'm saying you're quite good at controlling yourself, Farra.”

  His arms were on either side of me, that wicked grin so very near. He wasn't wrong, not really. I'd fallen hard for the feel of his lips, how the muscles in his chest felt on my cheek. But we've done little besides kissing. “I think,” I said quietly, “that you might be the impatient one.”

  Grault's fingers vanished into my hair, ruining the bun I'd rolled it into. I'd never have pegged the man for someone so raw, so excited just to touch me. Yet every time he got close, I could literally hear him inhaling my scent like it were his last breath.

  “Why?” he whispered into my ear, breaking the kiss. “Farra, what makes you hold out?”

  I had to close my eyes, searching for my bearings. He could make a glacier melt, if he wanted to, I suspected. So passionate for what seemed so cold of a man before. “Grault,” I said, hearing my hoarseness. I calmed myself, tried again. “Grault, it's going to sound... very dumb.”

  “What is?” His thumb dragged down my throat, making me gasp. “Tell me, you know I'll do it.”

  Talking around the tingling in my mouth was a chore. “I'm worried you won't.”

  “Ask, just ask, Farra.”

  It took all of my composure to grip his jaw, pulling him away from the sensitive skin of my neck. His eyes were black lava, challenging me all over again. “You mean that?”

  He turned enough to take my hand, kissing my inner wrist. “Of course, always.”

  I hoped my voice didn't waver. “I want to see where you sleep.” His aura rippled, tension crawling into his limbs. I knew he would falter at my request, he had before. “You still haven't shown me, it's becoming really strange.”

  “Farra, a room is a room, where does it matter where I lay my head?”

  “It matters when you want me to lie with you.”

  Gaping, the big man pushed himself against me. His forehead touched mine, our noses nuzzling. “You make quite the case when you phrase it like that.”

  Blushing crimson, I looked up at the awning of his ivory lashes. “You make me feel awkward when you phrase it like that. Well, you said you'd do anything if I just asked. What will it be?”

  In answer, he looked out the window. “My room is terribly cold. This snow will only make it worse, perhaps when the weather gets better—”

  “Wait,” I said, twisting around to stare out of the glass. “It's snowing?” There, through the emerald sheen, I saw flecks of white drifting down from the dish-water sky. “It's snowing!”

  Shoving Grault aside, I ran at top speed for my bedroom. “Farra!” he called after me, “where are you going?”

  I didn't waste time answering. Shoving on a thick hat, my jacket, and three pairs of socks, I jumped the steps two at a time. His face was priceless, pure bafflement. “Come outside with me!” I said, tugging at his arm. “I want to go play in it.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” He wasn't fighting me, but neither was he moving at my speed.

  Yanking him harder, I grinned through my panting effort. “Because—I—haven't—seen—snow—in—years—and would you just come with me already?” I finished, letting him go to catch my breath.

  Grault arched an eyebrow, looking pointedly out the window of the front door. I hadn't made any mention of it, but I wasn't planning to go in the backyard. I didn't want to be near the lake. Luckily for me, snow came down indiscriminately.

  “Alright,” he said, mulling it over for a long minute. “But if I get cold, I'm coming back inside.”

  “Don't worry,” I said, rushing to open the door. The brisk wind was refreshing, and a warning of what was out there. “It's only some flurries, it won't be that cold yet!”

  My claim proved to be wrong. Within the first half-hour of us running around outside (or me running, Grault watching) the bloated clouds began raining down heavily.

  Laughing, I leaned back to catch some on my tongue. “Wow, look at it come down. I've never seen it like this.”

  “Never?” he asked curiously, reaching down to brush some white fluff off my shoulder.

  In response, I shook my hair free of it. It was useless, more just stuck there. “When I lived in Atlanta, with my parents, I saw it sometimes.” The memory was bittersweet, thinking of how my mother would always make me hot chocolate after I was done playing. “But not down south in Macon, there's not much there at all. Never mind snow.”

  Folding his arms, the man kept staring at the sky. The t
hick clouds were gloomy, hiding away any hint of the sun. “I see. Why did you move, if you like the snow so much?”

  Crouching, I scooped up a handful. It burned, but I liked the feeling. “I didn't move by choice. I guess you wouldn't know about my parents.”

  “I knew Gina,” he said, looking down at me. The snow made his lashes vanish, his irises even darker. “When she was young. The news of her death did not reach us for a long time.”

  “I guess that's why I ended up in an orphanage, and not here,” I mumbled. “Mom must have done a good job of hiding any trace back to my grandmother.” Would it have been better, coming to live here?

  Something he said pricked me, made me glance up with a pinched mouth. “Wait. You knew my mother when she was young? How is that possible?”

  The shock that rolled on his face made my heart sink. It was the look of someone caught with a two headed coin. “What do you mean?”

  “You look my age,” I said, standing slowly. My fingers were numb as the snow fell from them. “You couldn't have known her. Could you?”

  “It was brief,” he said, showing me his profile. “She ran away at fifteen, I was working for Tessa already then.”

  I was running numbers in my head. I guess... if he was younger than her, young enough to remember but old enough to work. Mom had me when she was seventeen, if Grault is ten years older than me, okay, maybe... but he doesn't even look thirty.

  It still sounded weird to me. “How old are you, Grault?” I couldn't mute the doubt in my tone.

  He tilted his head, turning back to me like an owl might. “How old do I look?”

  “I would have guessed twenty-something,” I said nervously, “but that wouldn't work. So, um, maybe thirty, thirty-one?” He would have been, like, eight when he was here, then. And she was fifteen. Does that even make sense?

  His smile was slow as a snail. “Yes. You're correct. I'm thirty-one.”

  It still struck me as wrong. So young to be helping my grandmother, did he have no parents, either?

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I decided not to pry. The mood was already morose from talking about the dead. “When was the last time you built a snowman?”