The Castle of Water and Woe

by Steffanie Holmes

  Jane followed Rowan toward the kitchen. I was just lurching to my feet when warm arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground. I found myself staring into Arthur’s kind eyes. A loose strand of his long blonde hair fell across my face, tickling my skin.

  “Allow me,” he said, pulling me against his warm chest as he started for the stairs.

  “Again? You know, I can handle stairs on my own.”

  Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re going to refuse this generous offer in the name of feminism to walk up to your room under your own steam?”

  “Hell no.” I snuggled down into Arthur’s arms, relishing the safety of his enormous frame and his hot, distinctly-Arthurish scent. I remembered the very first time he’d carried me up to bed, and we shared an intense kiss – the first kiss I’d had in Briarwood – a kiss that, more than anything, loosened the strings around my numb, grieving heart.

  Arthur lurched up the narrow spiral staircase leading to my bedroom, stumbled across the corner of the rug, and plopped me down on the bed. He flopped down beside me on his back, his long hair falling around his head like a golden halo.

  “I should get up,” Arthur said, even as his eyes fluttered shut. His long eyelashes tangled together. I reached across and ran my hands over his bicep, admiring the taut, bulging muscle, tracing the lines of his intricate tattoos, trailing over the bumps in his flesh below his elbow formed by rows of parallel scars.

  As soon as I touched the scars, Arthur jerked away. “It’s late. You need to sleep.”

  “I want you to stay,” I said, my hands falling to my sides. “We could sleep together. Not … do stuff, just sleep.”

  “I think you’ll sleep better by yourself.” Arthur stood up, heading for the door. He turned and smiled at me, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sweet dreams, Maeve.”

  “Arthur, are you—”

  But he had already disappeared.

  I flung the shirtdress off my head and crawled between the sheets. Mmmmmm. I’m going to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I have never been this tired in my whole life, not even after that time Andrew and I stayed up to catch the Leonid meteor shower, or when Mum and Dad went to that bible camp and Kelly and I stayed up all night for a Supernatural marathon.

  Maybe I’ll fall asleep dreaming of Dean Winchester ...

  My phone beeped. I groaned, my eyes barely opening as I fumbled for my nightstand. I grabbed the phone and held it up to my face. Red welts danced in front of my eyes as I squinted at the message. It was from Kelly.

  Hey Maeve. I think it might be about 9PM over there, but this time zone thing doesn’t make any sense. If you get this, can you call me? No reason, I just miss you :)

  Urgh. Noooo, Kelly, it is not 9PM. I dropped my phone back on the nightstand, exhaustion creeping along my veins. She said it wasn’t urgent. I could talk to her tomorrow.

  I’ll see you in my dreams, Dean ...

  TEN: MAEVE

  I woke up to sunlight streaming across my face. I’d been so tired last night I hadn’t even bothered to shut the curtains, and now light flooded my room, sending stabs of light right into my head, ensuring I was fully awake even as my mind screamed for more rest.

  At least Dean had shown up. The benefits of being a spirit witch who can manipulate dreams. I beamed as I remembered how we were running through the castle, trying to escape some angry ghosts, and we decided to hide in the secret staircase leading down to the kitchen, and things got quite R-rated after that. I giggled to myself as I wondered if the actor who’d played him had got pulled into my dream, as well.

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes. What time is it?

  A delicious smell wafted under my nose, and a creeping sense that I wasn’t alone snaked across my shoulders. I turned toward the door.

  Rowan leaned against the doorframe, a tray in his hands and a smile darting across his lips. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, blinking. His long lashes curled together, dusting against his flour-smeared cheeks. “I was just going to put this down and leave.”

  “Then why are you loitering in the doorway?” I asked, patting the bed beside me, inviting him in.

  “I … um … was watching you sleep.” He took a tentative step toward me, then stopped, his body stiffening. “I’m sorry. That’s creepy.”

  “A little bit, but I trust you. I don’t think you’re creepy.” I patted the bed again. “Please, come sit with me.”

  “I didn’t come up here with the intention of watching you. I didn’t know if putting the tray down would wake you, and so I was just standing here and—”

  I laughed. “Get over here, you.”

  Rowan perched on the side of the bed, as far from me as it was possible to be. After a couple of moments, he rethought his position and shuffled across so his leg pressed against mine. He slid the tray over our legs so it balanced between us. A plate of scones – two savoury pinwheels stuffed with pesto, and two tall, fluffy sweet scones paired with bowls of jam and cream – sat on one side, with a silver teapot and two cups on the other.

  “I’m still not sure about this tea business.” I frowned as Rowan picked up the pot and poured out two steaming cups.

  “I think you’ll like this one,” he said, just as a sweet smell wafted under my nose. Raspberry and vanilla. How heavenly. “I have a collection of loose leaf herbal teas as well as the classic English brews. This is one of my favourites.”

  “Consider me converted,” I smiled, raising the cup to my lips and taking a long sip. “What’s the time? How early did you have to get up to do all this?”

  “It’s nearly lunchtime,” he grinned. “I got up about an hour ago, but everyone else is still in bed. Except for Corbin. He’s sleeping in a chair outside Blake’s bedroom.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Rowan buttered a scone. “He doesn’t trust Blake yet. I can’t say I blame him.”

  “I don’t get him sometimes. He wants what’s best for the coven, but he doesn’t want to accept any help … omigod, these are amazing.” The fluffy, buttery scone melted in my mouth, and basil and tomato flavours exploded on my tastebuds.

  “Corbin is always thinking about us, about the coven. It’s his whole life. We’re his whole life.” Rowan said. “He’s never gone to university or nothing.”

  That surprised me. I’d seen Corbin translate at least three arcane languages with minimum effort. “But how does he know all that stuff? Half the time he sounds like a professor.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think the idea of going to university has ever occurred to him. Or maybe it has, but he’d just never consider it a possibility. He taught himself all those languages. He doesn’t really have other hobbies or interests. He rarely leaves Briarwood, and the only time I’ve known him to leave Crookshollow were the months he spent in Arizona at your community college, and even then he called the castle every day. Corbin’s family looked after the castle – and watched over you – his whole life. He sees this as his purpose.” Rowan snapped his mouth shut, as if suddenly realising that he’d said four sentences in a row and had used up all his allotted talking time for the day. He cast his eyes toward Flynn’s iron sculpture on the wall opposite my bed, his lips moving silently as he counted the leaves that formed the stylised star map.

  “Did you want to say something else?” I asked.

  Rowan nodded. I waited until he finished counting. When he had, he lifted his teacup to his lips and took a long sip. His hand shook, “When Corbin first brought me here, I wasn’t doing so well. He said I might … cope better if I had something to occupy myself. So I started baking.”

  “Did you go to a class?” I tried to imagine Rowan in a room with a bunch of little old ladies, learning how to ice pink cupcakes.

  Rowan shook his head. “I don’t really do well with lots of other people around. Too much pressure. I watched cooking videos on Youtube, and Corbin brought me some cookbooks and I made a lot of bloody awful stews before I got
the hang of it.”

  “What do you mean, you weren’t doing so well? Didn’t you want to be here?”

  “Very much so.” Rowan was looking away again, his shoulders stiffening. He tapped his foot on the floor in a regular rhythm. “But also not.”

  Rowan was wound so tight, unravelling the layers of him might take an entire lifetime. But I wanted to, so so much. I ached to dive inside him and swallow up his pain.

  “So what happened?” I pressed.

  Rowan turned back to me, but the look on his face said he was done with talking. His lips found mine, grazing my skin with such exquisite tenderness that my body melted against his. He slid the tray off our legs, and I lay back on my pillow. Rowan leaned over me. His hands slid down my naked shoulders, pulling down the edge of the sheet and exposing my skin, inch by inch.

  I reached up and tangled my hands in Rowan’s dreads, loving the way they fell down the sides of his face and brushed mine. I’d never even seen a guy who looked or felt like him before.

  Rowan gasped against my lips as his hand cupped my breast. His touch shot fire through me. I leaned deeper into the pillows, sinking into a cloud of Egyptian cotton as I lifted my arms and pulled his shirt over his head. Rowan bent his face over me, taking my nipple in his mouth. So soft, so sweet, so delicious – just like his baking.

  His hands trailed over my skin, like butterflies fluttering from flower to flower. Rowan slid out of his trousers and dropped them on the floor, rolling on top of me and encasing my in the heat of his body. I opened my legs for him, and he sighed – a happy sound, soft and beautiful, a great release of tension. Rowan ducked his head, his dreadlocks falling over his face, hiding his face from me, as he hid so much of himself.

  My fingers clamped the sheets as Rowan’s tongue slid between my folds. Slow, languid, heavenly. I savoured every delicious moment. Each stroke reverberated through my whole body, oozing through my veins like liquid honey.

  The ache inside me hummed as it grew, pressing against my skin, demanding to be free. Right behind it was the pillar of fire – my spirit magic flaring up, raised from the ashes by Rowan’s devotion.

  Rowan’s hands gripped my thighs, pushing my legs up to get better access. His dreadlocks fanned across my stomach and his tongue … oh God that tongue …

  “If I’d known I’d be interrupting a party,” a strange voice said from the doorway. “I’d have brought some crisps.”

  I yelped, my heart hammering, remembering how Daigh whispered in my ear before we managed to close the gateway. Rowan’s eyes bugged out. He leapt back, toppling off the end of the bed and landing on the floor with a thud. I yanked the sheets up around my neck, but not before Blake had got a long, languid look at the goods.

  My cheeks burned. Can this bed just swallow me up now?

  But underneath the embarrassment, the magic still coursed through my veins. And I found myself hoping that both boys would crawl on the bed, roll down the sheets, and wrap themselves around my body ...

  “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” I demanded, pulling the sheets over my face so I didn’t have to look at Blake, and he couldn’t see how embarrassed or turned on I was. “Or did they not do that in the fae realm, either.”

  “I did knock, Princess. Several times. When you didn’t answer I thought you might still be asleep. I came in to make sure my very important message reached you.”

  From under the sheets, I could hear Rowan scrambling for his clothes. “Well, I’m awake. Give me the message and get out.”

  “I came to tell you that Corbin wanted to see us all in the library.” Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew Blake was smirking. It was like his smirk penetrated behind my eyelids. “Now that I’m aware of the hidden joys of being the messenger in this house, I won’t bitch about it so much.”

  I yanked a pillow from behind my head and threw it at the door. Blake broke into laughter, and his footsteps descended the tower steps. I lowered the top of the sheet as Rowan scrambled to his feet. “I’d better go,” he mumbled, pulling on his shirt.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Enjoy the scones.” Rowan was already racing down the stairs, his dreadlocks flying around his face.

  I rubbed my cheeks, but I could still feel the heat in them. My heart still hadn’t returned to normal. My pussy ached, urgently demanding attention, but there was no way I could deal with anything like that now, not after the shock of Blake turning up. I rolled out of bed, found an a-line skirt and a lilac V-neck tank that showed off my cleavage, and pulled them on. I ran a brush through my hair a few times (pixie cut for the win), swiped some eyeliner on, and went downstairs.

  Blake’s crystalline eyes zeroed in on mine as soon as I entered the library, and the heat flared in my cheeks again. He licked his bottom lip, and my heart thudded … but not from embarrassment. I remembered Blake’s fingers between my legs at the sidhe, and how good it felt to be pressed between two guys like that, both of them pleasuring me to call up my power…

  My spirit magic hummed in my veins, brimming against my skin from where Rowan had touched me, ready to be put to use. I folded my legs, hoping Blake couldn’t sense how much I wanted to be doing something else other than discussing our fairy issue right now.

  I tore my gaze from Blake, and noticed that everyone else was here as well. Corbin sat at his desk, flipping through the pages of the coven’s grimoire, which now bore a distinctive round arrow hole through every page. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, and I noticed his fingers shook a little as he turned the page. Rowan was right – he’d barely slept. And for Corbin – who often stayed up late reading – that was saying something.

  Arthur stood by the window, his bulk leaning against a chair, Obelix purring from his arms. Rowan sat on one corner of the couch, looking about as uncomfortable as it was possible to look on the overstuffed sofa that threatened to swallow you whole. His eyes darted along the bookshelves, and I knew he was counting in his head. Jane sat on the other end of the couch, flipping through a stack of books, while Flynn sat in the middle and bounced Connor on his knee.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Corbin’s eyes darted between Rowan and I, his expression unreadable. “Blake has told me something interesting that may be the key to why Connor was deliberately targeted by the fae.”

  “Do we know he was targeted?” Rowan asked.

  “We do,” Blake said. “Daigh sent the fae after specific babies – children he knew hadn’t been baptised. He had a list of six of them, all born in Crookshollow within the last six months, and we were going after them all. Apparently, becoming an official member of the jolly Church of England makes you somehow improper for whatever spell he’s trying to cast.”

  “And you have no idea what that spell is?” Arthur asked. His voice was hard, but that hardness didn’t reach his eyes. He was getting ready to trust Blake.

  “If I knew, I’d have told you already. Daigh didn’t exactly trust me. He had this idea that I’d betray him and run off to the human world as soon as I got the chance.” Blake glanced over at me, and that wicked smile played across his face. “What an idiot.”

  That smile reached right through my chest and grabbed my core, seniding a shiver of desire through my whole body. My mind flew back to the sidhe, where Blake and Flynn had rocked my world, and to my bedroom, to that crazy thought I’d had that maybe Blake and Rowan together ...

  “Then why did he send you into this realm in the first place?” Corbin said, his shoulders tensing. Unlike Arthur, Corbin was not ready to trust Blake.

  “When he sent me up to manage Connor’s abduction, that was the first time he’d ever allowed me to enter the human realm. And I had to go to pretty extreme lengths to earn that boon.”

  “Such as?” Corbin demanded.

  “You know that fae, Kalen? Dark silver tipped hair, eyes like broken glass, so dumb he needed to be watered twice a week. He was determined to do anything he could to place Maeve in Daigh’s hands, but you guys beat h
im up pretty bad. Well, now he’s not going to be a problem any more.”

  “You killed him?” Corbin’s eyes narrowed.

  Blake shrugged. “That was what you were going to do to him, wasn’t it? But no, I didn’t kill him. Daigh did. I just implied that his incompetence was an unacceptable risk during these crucial days, and Daigh happened to agree.”

  “You admit that you double-crossed your own side?” Corbin growled.

  “I was never on their side.” Blake leaned back, folding his arms lazily behind his head, exposing the hard muscles of his biceps, ringed in black and grey knotted tattoos. “I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to escape for most of my life. I had no idea I’d fall in with such an understanding, hospitable bunch. Can we go for curry now? I’m starving.”

  “But you didn’t—”