The way he had summoned an image of that beast yesterday; now that was impressive. She wanted so badly to learn how he did it, she’d almost asked. Almost. He’d laugh in her face. He already thought she was an ignorant, rude mongrel. No need to give him more ammunition.
The huge sword was still on his back. He shrugged it off and pulled off his shirt. Rose paused with the cup halfway to her lips.
His golden hair, damp with sweat, spilled down his back. Tall, big boned, layered with carved muscle, he was made with strength in mind, but the massive width of his shoulders and chest tapered to a flat stomach and narrow waist. His hips were lean, his legs long and powerful. Despite all his bulk, there was a honed sleekness about him—he was strong, supple, and quick, a man who spent all his life sharpening his body into a weapon. That’s what they did, the nobles of the Weird. Their ultimate purpose was to lead armies into battle.
Declan turned very slightly. It was a tiny movement, but she caught it—he’d checked that he could be seen from the window. Ha! He was showing off for her benefit. Rose smiled into her cup. Blueblood or not, he was still a man.
Declan flexed a little, displaying a perfect chest to the grass, and stretched. Rose leaned her head to the side, following his movement as he turned, letting her stare trail the sharp line of his biceps to his muscled back, and over his chest to his flat, ridged stomach. They really did know how to make them in the Weird.
No hair on his chest or stomach. All of that muscle clothed in golden skin, slicked with sweat from running. Against the cold fog of the morning, he radiated heat as if lit from within by his own warm glow. He was beautiful. Even his iceberg eyes were captivating despite the menace.
She drank her coffee. He must’ve done something truly awful to have to look for a bride in the Edge. Maybe he was a rapist . . . No, she decided. She just didn’t feel that creepy vibe from him. A killer maybe? Murdered the son of somebody important in a duel? That she could see.
He picked up his sword. Now what?
Declan held the blade above his head, pointing parallel to the grass. For a long moment he stood still, utterly focused, and then erupted into sharp strikes. He slashed and thrust, fluid muscles rolling under his skin, faster and faster, cutting down invisible opponents in a lethal dance born of melding the sword fight and art.
That was entirely more than a woman could take. Rose lowered her cup to the table, leaned her head on her elbow, and simply watched.
She harbored no illusions. The only value she had to him was in her ability to flash and bear children. If she agreed to become his bride or his mistress, she would live in the house of a cold frigid man who would probably despise her, among people who would be so busy looking down on her because of what she was, they would have no chance to find out who she was. Her brothers would be servants at best. It would be a terrible life. True, Declan was heartbreakingly beautiful and hypnotic to watch. But she would have even more fun when she watched that muscled back and that perfect ass recede as he walked down the path away from her house, never to return.
ELSIE sat in her room on the rocker, holding Mr. Clooney. Through the doorway she saw her granddaughter and her best friend, Leanne, talking in hushed voices. On the porch, Amy’s daughter Mindy was trying to do the same with Kenny Jo, Leanne’s oldest boy, but he wasn’t answering.
The four-eyed creature sat in the doorway blocking Elsie’s exit. She had spent the whole night drawing the ward glyphs on the floor with a Magic Marker. She would’ve drawn more, but the marker had run dry.
The creature leaned and nudged at the invisible wall of magic streaming from the glyphs. A spark shot from the twisted swirls and nipped the creature’s chin. It sat back on its haunches and showed her its teeth: bloodred and nasty. It wanted to get her. She shook the teddy bear at it. It was the same one who killed Mr. Bana, she was sure.
“Thanks for coming,” Amy said. “I don’t know what got into her. She sat like that since yesterday noon. She won’t come out, and I can’t drag her out by myself.”
“Older folks get like this sometimes.” Leanne nodded in understanding.
Amy was tall and soft, with a round face and a round belly and round hair of little brownish curls. Leanne was about the same height, but skinny and wiry, with a sharp face. Like a blond ferret with boobs. All of the Meddlers’ women bred that way. Elsie pursed her lips. Together they would drag her out. She’d tied herself to the rocker with her scarves, but she knew the restraints wouldn’t stand up to them for long.
Two more creatures padded from the kitchen. One slunk by Amy, almost brushing her big butt. She shivered and glanced over her shoulder. The creature looked right at her. She shrugged and turned back to Leanne. Elsie sneered. Stupid girl.
The creature by the door smiled at her. Soon, its gray eyes promised. Soon.
“It’s not that I want to manhandle her, but . . .” Amy leaned forward and said confidentially, “She’s wet herself. I just don’t want it to get around that I abuse my grandma and all that. You know how people are.”
“You don’t have to worry on my account,” Leanne assured her.
The two creatures hooked their claws into the wall and began crawling up the side like two huge ugly lizards. Tiny flecks of plaster broke off and fell on the floor.
“No, I know. You don’t gossip. I just . . . I sure do appreciate this. With Bob away hunting, I’m by myself here. I’d like to get it done before the younger kids are up. That’s not something they need to see.”
Leanne nodded. “Let’s get it over with.”
They headed to the door. The creature slunk out of the way, behind the couch. Leanne stopped in the doorway and stared at the floor covered with black lines. “Oh my.”
“She’s done it overnight. I don’t even know what this is.” Amy shook her head. “Last thing I need is some foulness to pop out of these glyphs. You know? I have kids in the house.”
Leanne shook her head. “Sometimes the mind just gives out.”
Amy crossed the room and stopped before Elsie. “Grandma. You’ve got to come out.”
Elsie let go of Mr. Clooney and clutched the armrests of her rocker. They wouldn’t be getting her out, not where the beasts could get her.
“If you’re refusing to listen to reason, Leanne and I’ll have to take you out by force.”
Elsie dug her nails into the wood.
“Suit yourself.” Amy sighed, leaned over, and tried to pull her free. “Oh, my Lord in Heaven, she tied herself to the chair. With her good scarves, too.”
She went into a crouch to pull loose the knot by the chair legs, and Elsie raked her face. Blood swelled. Amy stared stunned, tears swelling in her eyes. “Grandma!”
Elsie raised her hands, her bony fingers curled like claws. “You leave me alone!”
Leanne struck at her left hand, pinning it down with both of hers. Elsie scratched at her, but Amy clamped her right wrist to the armrest. Elsie snapped, trying to bite, and Amy pressed her left hand onto her chest, pinning her to the chair. Elsie growled and gnashed her teeth, but couldn’t reach Amy’s arm.
They looked at each other.
“Now what?” Amy breathed. “I can’t reach the knot, and if I let go, she’ll claw us bloody.”
“Kenny Jo!” Leanne called. “I’ll get him to untie the knot, and then we move her just like this right into the shower. Kenny Jo!”
The screen door banged, and Kenny Jo crossed the living room and stepped into the bedroom. The glyphs shivered a little. Elsie buckled against Amy’s hand. Kenny Jo wasn’t a dud like Amy. “Run!” she yelled at him. “Run!”
“Ma?”
“I need you . . .”
The first creature padded from behind the couch and stared at Kenny’s back. He turned and went white as a sheet. The creature stepped forward, rocking on its haunches. Kenny stumbled back. His mouth gaped open. He choked, struggling, gulped, and screamed, setting the glass on the windows ringing.
SEVEN
ROSE didn’t r
emember her coffee until Declan was done with his workout. Her drink had gone cold. She got up to get a fresh cup just as he strode through the door. He dwarfed the kitchen, big, golden, and intimidating. At least his shirt was back on, which was definitely a good thing. “Coffee?” she asked.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She had hoped he’d take a shower, which would have gotten him out of the kitchen. She could’ve used a moment to cool off.
Up close, she caught his scent: a faint aroma of sandalwood and a very male musk emanating from his tawny, sweat-slicked skin. No, she told herself firmly and took a step out of his reach. He looked superb, he smelled like a drug, and if she went over and found out how he tasted, she would throw away her freedom, independence, and future with one kiss.
“I apologize for my attire,” Declan said.
His attire was quite fine, thank you very much. In fact, she should probably go and get a big black trash bag and slide it over him. It would certainly make her life easier. “Not a problem. We don’t have much use for ceremony and formal clothes in the Edge.”
His gaze snagged on her Clean-n-Bright uniform. “Why are you wearing that?”
“It’s my uniform. Everyone in my company wears it.”
“It’s hideous.”
Rose felt her hackles rise. The neon green uniform was hideous, but she didn’t appreciate him pointing it out. She opened her mouth.
“Yet despite it, you look lovely,” he said.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she told him.
“It’s not flattery,” he said coldly. “Flattery requires exaggeration. I’m merely stating a fact. You’re a beautiful woman wearing an ugly sack of unnatural color.”
Rose stared at him, not sure what to make of it. Was it a compliment or an insult? Unable to decide, she shrugged it off.
“It’s customary to offer breakfast to boarders,” he said.
“I hope you enjoy Mini-Wheats. That’s all we have.”
She pulled a box of cereal from the shelf and poured it into two bowls. “I wanted to thank you for saving Jack. And for staying with them and making pancakes.”
“I did what any honorable man would do,” he said.
“That said, I still refuse to go away with you.” She added milk and pushed one of the bowls toward him.
“Duly noted.” He hesitated as if deciding on something. “The boys are very brave.”
“Thank you.”
She sat across from him and looked at him. “Suppose, just for the sake of the argument, that you win the challenges. What are your intentions toward me? Am I going to be auc tioned off to the highest bidder like a prized cow, or are you planning on keeping me for yourself?”
His eyes turned dark. “Did someone try to auction you off, Rose?”
“That’s not important.”
“On the contrary. The slave trade is forbidden in Adrianglia. If someone’s selling people, I want to know about it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what would you do about it?”
“I’d make them deeply regret it.”
She had no doubt he could. “Why do you care?”
“It’s my responsibility as a peer of the realm to make sure the laws of Adrianglia are upheld. I take it seriously.”
“All that is good,” she said, “but you still didn’t answer my question. What are your intentions toward me?”
He leaned forward. Some of the hardness drained from his eyes. They turned deep and very green. “I intend to have you.”
“In what sense of the word?”
A narrow smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. He looked utterly focused, like a cat about to pounce. “In every sense.”
Rose choked on her coffee.
Georgie stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Instantly, Declan leaned back, his face casual.
There was a moment there when his eyes had lit up, and she thought he might have been pulling her leg. Almost as if he said that just to get a rise out of her. Could he be joking? Surely not. Not that she would put it past him to make fun at her expense, but he didn’t seem capable of humor.
Rose added another bowl, poured the milk, and distributed the food. Georgie crawled into the chair next to Declan and poked at his Mini-Wheats with a spoon.
“Thank you for the meal,” Declan said, picking up his own spoon.
“Thank you for the meal,” Georgie echoed. Well, at least one good thing came from the blueblood being here: Georgie said thank you without being reminded.
Georgie looked at Declan, probably waiting for a clue to his next move. She understood why. Something about Declan telegraphed “man.” It wasn’t his face, although he was heart stoppingly handsome, if grim. He had a great build and he carried himself well, but that wasn’t quite it either. It wasn’t his swords, or his cloak, or his leathers. It was something unidentifiable, something in his eyes or in the air he projected, something she couldn’t quite pin down.
For lack of a better word, Declan radiated masculinity. The “depend on him in a dark alley” kind of masculinity. The “hit the bad guy with a chair before he shoots us” kind of masculinity. If they were attacked, he wouldn’t hesitate to put himself between them and the danger, because that’s what men did. The boys didn’t stand a chance.
Under different circumstances, she might not have stood a chance either. But experience had taught her very well: bluebloods were to be feared and avoided. All that rock-steady manliness could be an elaborate act. She had to watch her every step.
Declan put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Georgie hesitated. Getting him to eat was an ordeal lately. He was hungry all the time but ate like a bird, a bite here, a bite there. And if he didn’t eat enough, he got shaky.
Declan chewed, scooped more cereal into his spoon, put it into his mouth, and glanced at Georgie. Georgie fidgeted under the pressure of those green eyes, picked up his own spoon again, and started eating.
“Georgie, you’re staying with Grandma today,” she said.
“Why?”
“It’s not safe to walk to the bus stop or back up from it.”
Declan paused. “You’re going to work? Shouldn’t their safety be your first responsibility?”
“I know my responsibilities well, thank you very much. I don’t work, we don’t eat. It’s that simple.”
They chewed their food. She glanced at Declan. He ate quietly, enjoying his meal. He caught her looking.
“It’s quite good, thank you.”
He had to be used to much better. He was probably just being polite. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.
Georgie stirred in his seat, glancing at her. “Jack said you smelled like William yesterday.”
“Georgie!”
Too late. A predatory light sparked in Declan’s eyes. The blueblood came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood. “Who’s William?”
“None of your business,” Rose snapped.
“He’s a guy. He likes action figures,” Georgie said helpfully. “He asked Rose on a date, but she didn’t go.”
“Does your sister go on dates often?”
“Every week,” Rose said.
“Never,” Georgie declared at the same time. “It’s because Brad Dillon tried to kidnap her on their last date.”
She stared at him. How did he know that?
“Mémère told me. Brad hit her on the head with a club, and she fried him with her flash. Jack and I liked William okay. But Brad is a scumba—”
“George.” Rose loaded her voice with steel. “Go brush your teeth and wake up your brother.”
He slid off the chair and took off.
Declan leaned forward, his features iced over. “This William. What does he look like?”
“Shockingly handsome,” Rose told him.
“That covers a lot of ground.”
“You don’t need to know what he looks like!”
“Of course I do. If I meet him, I’ll have to discourage him from courting you. You
don’t want me to assault some random stranger, do you?”
She took her bowl to the sink.
“Rose,” he called. “This is important. What does William look like?”
Rose rinsed out her bowl, glanced up to the window, and saw Leanne Ogletree on the path to her house, striding forward in a determined fashion. A worried expression pinched Leanne’s face into a pale mask. If a big pink elephant with rainbow wings had appeared at the end of the path, Rose would’ve been less surprised. The words died on her lips. Now what?
Declan came to stand by her. “Who is that?”
“The former bane of my existence. Stay inside, please.”
Rose braced herself and stepped out onto the porch.
Leanne walked up to the steps. She was a thin, narrow-hipped woman, who seemed to consist entirely of sharp angles: sharp elbows, prominent knees, defined face, and a stare, which, as Rose knew from experience, could slice like a knife. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other for the last four years. Rose kept to herself, and Leanne wasn’t a social butterfly either, not since Sarah Walton married and moved away. The few times they had run into each other in public, they’d silently conspired to ignore each other’s presence.
It was damned hard to ignore somebody who was standing right there by the porch.
“Morning, Leanne.” Rose kept her tone civil.
“Morning.”
Leanne’s face was pale, and in her blue eyes, Rose glimpsed a small echo of fear.
There were a dozen things Rose could say—about Sarah, who now refused to recognize Leanne; about Leanne’s husband, Beau Ogletree, who had taken off to adventures unknown; about Leanne’s dad, who just last Sunday got so hammered he puked his guts out right on the steps of the church, scandalizing all local Edger Christians forever. But Leanne stood there, with that fear in her eyes, and Rose let it go.
“What’s wrong?” she asked simply.
“It’s Kenny Jo. We went to visit Amy Haire to help with her grandma Elsie. You know her.”
On the Edge te-1 Page 8
