by Shona Husk
“If you’d like, we can talk to Brigit about letting go of the asthma and accepting healing.” Even though Mave had chosen death, that didn’t mean the shock hadn’t stayed with her…and after a while she’d forgotten to move on and let go of the damage he’d caused.
“It’s worth a try?” Hope lit her face. She was desperate for a solution.
“It might work.” And it might not. He hadn’t had any luck talking to Fane, but he had to do something.
She held out her hand and forced a smile. “Enough talk of magic. Would you like to give me the guided tour of your place?”
He took her offered hand, the contact sparking the familiar heat in his blood, and he basked in the warmth instead of running from it. For a moment he didn’t know where to start. There wasn’t much to show. She’d seen the living area, so he showed her the empty bedroom first. Then he realized he’d stumbled into a little trap. She was waiting to see his room.
He hesitated, not sure if he wanted someone else in his space, then he gave in. What harm was there in letting her see? He could’ve fixed it up with magic as he opened the door, but he didn’t. He had to start trusting someone with something, and Amanda was that person. He couldn’t kiss her with his fingers crossed behind his back. Since she already knew he had trouble sleeping, this was just an extension of that problem.
There were no sheets on the bed. The blankets were folded at one end with the pillow. Everything was neat, but not normal. He waited for her judgment.
“Where do you sleep?” They stood in the doorway, close enough he could smell the sweet blossom of her shampoo.
“Sofa.”
Amanda turned and leaned her back against the doorframe. She tilted her chin to look up at him. Her fingers reached up and traced his jaw. As much as he’d like to lay her on his unused bed, the idea filled him with equal parts of desire and terror that he’d be too rough. Given her tentative touch, he suspected she was testing her boundaries too. He let himself relax a little. For the moment they were both safe.
She cupped his cheek. “You’re not going to invite me in?”
“No.” He took her hand away, then saw the curl of her lips. She was teasing him, as if not being able to sleep in his own bed was perfectly acceptable.
Her lips parted to speak. He leaned down and sealed them with a kiss. Somehow kissing her was easier than figuring out how to respond to her gentle taunt. Their bodies met. Her breasts pressed against his chest in a delicious promise that made his body respond and his blood pressure rise. Her arms slipped around his neck and into his hair. He didn’t pull away from her touch. His hands caressed her hips and dragged her closer. She moaned against his lips.
He pulled back, but it was too late to hide his lack of control. Around her, all he could think of was having her.
Amanda’s eyes glittered like emeralds. “I won’t rush you.”
Those words knocked him flat. His chest hollowed. No amount of air could fill his lungs. Every secret he’d tried to hide was exposed. He should’ve known she’d work out how unsure he was about every touch. She was a counselor. She’d added up the tiny bits he’d told her.
“How much do you know?” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t know exactly what happened to you, but I see the result.”
He looked away. “The result? The result is I don’t trust myself when I’m around you.”
“Why?” She didn’t move.
“I might hurt you.” Silence swelled between them and crackled with tension. The unspoken truths and unspent longing added fuel to the storm ready to break. “If you want to leave, I understand. I’m pretty fucked up.”
“Everyone is. Those who deny it are the ones to worry about.” She laced her fingers with his. “Did you want to talk about it?”
The truth burned on his tongue. “I want to tell you, but…” But he didn’t want to see pity in her eyes. He much preferred the simmering heat.
Amanda pressed her lips together, her green eyes assessing him as if she was weighing up how many more questions she could ask. She gave a slow nod. “You speak hundreds of languages.”
Dai held her gaze. She was opening the door. He wanted to tell her everything, and he could. He could tell her his life story from the Roman invasion to being cursed and finding the cure. And she didn’t have to understand a word, only listen.
“Do you really want to hear a story you can’t understand?”
“Will you tell it to me in one of those almost dead languages you speak?” she said with a half-grin.
“I can do that.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. If he was going to tell her a story that began in ancient history they were going to have to sit down. “Would you like another coffee?”
“Have you got cookies to go with it?”
No, but he could. “What type?”
Her tongue touched her lower lips while she thought. “Something chocolate.”
“I think I have something suitable.” He’d have to leave a twenty dollar bill by the supermarket register to make up for all the stuff he was stealing every time he opened the pantry door.
“Do you want some help?” She released his hand with a lingering touch that left his skin burning for more.
“I’m fine.” Even though she knew about magic, he didn’t want to be explaining what amounted to theft.
While he made another round of herbal tea and coffee, she sat on the sofa and watched. She wasn’t rushing him, she was just opening up every fence he’d put up and waiting for him to walk out. And he was. One step at a time. And it was so easy he was expecting a trap…or punishment.
He sat down next to her, close enough their legs could touch. He picked up a chocolate-coated cookie and broke it in half so he could dip it in his tea. It was a habit he’d picked up in England and continued with because in the Shadowlands there was no one to complain about bad habits. He paused, cookie just above the tea—he wasn’t in the Shadowlands anymore—and glanced at Amanda.
“Like this.” She bit off diagonally opposite corners and placed one end in her coffee and then sucked. Before the cookie could cave in she put it in her mouth. In an effort to make it polite she covered her mouth with her hand.
He opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. He was about to tell her everything and she was mutilating a cookie. He wanted to be that cookie.
“Sorry. I can’t resist. I’ve taught Brigit how to do it with hot chocolate.”
“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen anyone do to a cookie.” He smiled. He’d never be able to look at a chocolate cookie without thinking of Amanda. Which wasn’t a bad thing.
She grinned and reached for another one.
He ate his cookie and licked chocolate off his thumb while he considered where to start his life story and in what language to tell it. Her perfume wrapped around him like cobweb, brushed against his skin until it tingled for her touch.
There was no point in stalling. With the taste of chocolate still on his tongue he started at the beginning in the language he’d grown up speaking, Decangli. “When I was born the world was a different place. As second son of the king I had responsibilities.”
Amanda turned to face him, her knee on the sofa, her head tilted a fraction like she was listening for a familiar word. The coffee and cookies were forgotten on the table.
He stumbled over sentences he hadn’t used but had wanted to say and gradually his past unfolded like an old blanket coming out of storage. Exposing it to light took away some of the stains, and the colors were revealed beneath old bruises. He talked of memories he’d thought forgotten, his sister and parents, his cousins and their childhood before the Romans came.
She flinched when he spoke of Claudius, Dai’s fingers curling against his leg. But the hate that had once accompanied the memory was gone. He’d outlived the general, had survived the curse. He had a chance to have a future he’d never dreamed of. The loss was there when he told of
Meryn fading after that first summons. Then Brac’s failed attempt to take out the druid. Fane’s suicide. And Anfri’s death. All of them gone.
Amanda hung on every ancient word. She didn’t ask questions. She just let him talk as no one else had ever done. Her lips curved at the mention of Roan and Eliza’s names. He stopped when the curse broke, and he was a man again. She knew the rest.
“The language is beautiful.” She leaned over and put her arms around him. “Thank you for sharing.”
He returned her embrace. His hand skimmed down the vertebrae of her spine, and the fabric of his reality shifted in her hands. In baring his soul, he’d bared his heart, and freed it had found someone he wanted to love.
Dai drew Amanda to him. Her leg slid over so she could sit in his lap facing him. As close as he’d ever been to her, and yet not close enough. He needed to feel her touch on his skin. He cupped her face and kissed her, his tongue sweeping past her lips. Her mouth was sweet from the chocolate and coffee, a taste that would keep him awake all night. Her fingers trailed over his chest and she moved a little closer. Hip to hip.
He let his hand trace down her throat, along her collarbone, his fingers barely touching her skin. He’d known how to be gentle once. Held Mave as a baby. Been close with Seiran. He could be kind again. Amanda’s hips moved against him as her teeth raked his lip and send heat spiraling through his blood, hardening his flesh. There could be no doubt about his intention. She moved against him sensing the shift in his hunger. His hand slid over her shirt to cup her breast. A little moan escaped her lips as her eyelids fluttered down.
Her hands smoothed over his shirt, gripping the fabric as if she couldn’t let him go.
“I’m not staying the night.” Her words were light and breathless, as if she were convincing herself. She leaned forward and placed her mouth on his. “I want to stay the night.”
She gave her hips a wiggle as if trying to get even closer, but there were too many clothes between them. He wanted her in his arms, skin to skin.
“I’d like you to stay,” he murmured against her lips. He’d like to wake up in bed next to her.
He felt her lips pull back into a smile. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
Even as she spoke her hand slid beneath his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tightened, but she didn’t pull her hand back. Her fingers continued their slow exploration, tracing circles on his skin. Her touch spread out, fingers running over his ribs, brushing the lines of old scars, and showing tenderness where there had only been pain. He swallowed, hard. How was he going to explain them? Truthfully.
But she didn’t ask. The knowledge the scars existed was enough.
Amanda flicked the top button of his shirt open. She kissed his collarbone and opened the next button, then she drew back. Her eyebrows went up as her gaze remained on his chest. “Another tattoo?”
“I have many others.”
She nodded and shifted the fabric, her fingers tracing the web but not touching the spider in the center. “It’s not a gang thing?”
He laughed. “It’s a magic thing.” He caught her hand to stop her exploration. As much as he wanted to feel her hands on his skin, he wasn’t ready to explain all of the marks on his body, no matter how much his body thought otherwise.
“Ahh.” She nodded. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Not tonight.” His hands settled on her hips, knowing he couldn’t keep her there without telling her everything.
“I should go before it gets too late.” For a moment she didn’t move. Then she leaned in and kissed him again. Slow and deep. Her tongue glided over his in a caress that left him wanting a little more than what either of them was willing to give.
She pulled back with a sigh like leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’m going to guess that you don’t have any protection handy anyway.”
“Protection?” From what?
“Condoms?”
“No.” But he would acquire some.
“Then it is definitely time I go before we accidently go any further.” Her hands covered his. “Another time.” She slid off him and stood.
Her green eyes were dark. And he knew if he’d said yes, she may not have stayed the night but she’d have stayed.
Chapter 17
Above Meryn, the Goblin King’s rock spire pierced the gray, timeless sky. He watched and waited until he was sure no one was watching him and waiting to attack. Then he crossed the distance with an arrow notched and ready to use, hoping to find an entrance into the fortress.
Rubble was strewn across an opening as if the goblins had hacked their way into the rock. Meryn glanced around and listened, but he heard nothing over his pulse. He put away the bow and arrow and moved toward the mouth of the cave. His hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword. A bow was useless in close quarters—and he wasn’t expecting to get in without being challenged.
He drew in slow breaths. This was it. He would die or become goblin; either way he would be free of the screams that tore at the inside of his skull, scratching to get out. He hesitated at the entrance, but no one came out to question his presence. Could he go straight in?
“Sire?” His voice rolled over the rock smoothly, not the voice he was used to hearing when he gave orders.
He kept his hand on his sword ready for an attack. None came. Neither did the king. He drew his sword with a whisper of metal and took another step forward over the rubble.
“Sire, I beg for your help.” Again the strange voice fell from his lips.
He waited until the echo faded without response—then he went inside.
The cave was dim. His eyes didn’t adjust to the dark the way they should have. He blinked a few times to make sure, but his eyes were human, not goblin, and the shadows didn’t disperse.
He crept down the hallway, careful not to trip on the rocks that were scattered on the floor. Ahead a faint green glow illuminated a tunnel. Because he couldn’t see in the dark, he went toward the light. Where was the king? Was he in the Fixed Realm of men? Where was his troop? His queen?
He stopped when he reached the lit cavern. Candles burned without melting, casting a green glow on the polished wood table in the center. Around the table were the remains of chairs. They’d been smashed apart. He’d never seen furniture like that before, yet he knew what it was and he knew people would sit around and eat at a table. Meryn ran his hand over the edge and frowned.
Where was everyone?
Meryn took a taper out of a candelabrum and began exploring the castle, hoping he would find the king, or a sign of where he was or when he’d be back.
He walked down hallways that lead nowhere or that looped back on themselves. He found a room made of shiny white tiles, a room full of empty shelves, and bedrooms. Every room he found was empty except for shards of broken furniture.
One huge cavern glimmered with gold dust. But there was no gold, only shattered amber panels like the sun had fallen and been claimed by the darkness. Had the king taken his gold and gone somewhere else or had he left the Shadowlands forever?
“Where are you?” The rock swallowed his shout. “Why won’t you help me? I’m one of you!”
The accusation settled and revealed the truth he hadn’t wanted to see. The rubble, the broken furniture, the missing gold. The king hadn’t left. The goblins had invaded.
The king was dead.
He slumped down against the wall, taper in one hand, sword in the other. The hands that held them were now familiar as if he had used them in another life he couldn’t remember but flitted at the edges when he slept and dreamed of blood and tears.
“No!” Meryn shook his head unable to believe he was alone and human in a land full of goblins. There had to be someone. He couldn’t live as a human in the Shadowlands. Being human hurt; every heartbeat cut deeper into his chest. “Somebody help me!”
***
Dai woke up under a starless sky with cool dust beneath his feet. He didn’t need
to turn to know where he was.
The Shadowlands.
He frowned. He’d beaten the dream. Defeated the nightmare. His past had no power. The chill crept up his legs even though the scent of Amanda’s skin clung to him. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa after she’d left, while thinking of what he would’ve done with her if she’d stayed. He could only imagine…and dream. But this was not the dream he hoped for. So why was he here?
Dai searched the sky, but the twilight remained empty.
“Somebody help me.” The words in Decangli echoed over the flat landscape around him.
Dai reached for his sword but found none. It was a very long time since he’d been weaponless in the Shadowlands, not since that first night. But it was his dream and he could control it. At his thought, a throwing knife appeared in his hand. Bone-handled. Why these knives? He’d had many over the years, yet here, in this dream, it was these blades made from goblin bone.
No goblins appeared out of the gray, and Claudius didn’t reform out of the dust. This wasn’t his nightmare. Why was he here? He hadn’t been summoned. There was none of the compulsion that usually accompanied the transition between realms…he hadn’t thought to try traveling between realms. Could he? But then why would he want to come back to the Shadowlands?
Because someone had called him; and while he should wake up and leave, he was curious. Who would call him in his own language? He turned slowly and scanned his surroundings.
“Show yourself,” Dai called out in Decangli. His voiced dropped and sunk into the dust like it always had.
The dream was close enough to the real thing that he almost believed he was back in the Shadowlands. The cold bone handle in his hand was the only reminder he was asleep and in control of this dream—to a degree. It depended on who wanted the meeting.
In the rubble by the rock spire a figure moved, like a goblin, but something else. The almost-man he’d glimpsed before while fending off Claudius. He blinked hoping to see the weave of the Shadowlands, but nothing changed. He was powerless here, as he’d always been. His was a magic based in life, not death. But he wasn’t defenseless.
