Hidden Desire

by Amy Patrick

  I ascend the steps and drop into a chair next to her. “No thanks. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

  “That sounds pretty funny coming from a guy who spends all his nights in dance clubs and bars.”

  “Yeah well, work is work.”

  “Did you work tonight?” she asks.

  “Nah.” I nod toward my place. “Didn’t think it would be right to leave my ‘houseguest’ alone.”

  “You like her, huh?”

  “No. It’s not like that. She’s human. And... well you know.”

  “Ava’s with a human.”

  I snort a laugh. “Thanks for the reminder.” Standing up, I say, “You know, I think I will join the party. I could use a drink.”

  Brenna slides from her chair and walks to the door, opening it and letting the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glasses out into the night. “Me, too. Maybe it’ll help me forget that I’ve got two more weeks of this ahead of me.”

  Laughing, we step inside together. I help myself to the bar and lean against it as the next performer takes the floor. Two horrendous pantomimes and another drink later, I’m about ready to call it a night and slip back into my own condo when Brenna approaches me, her cell phone in hand.

  “It’s Ava.”

  I let out a weary breath and take the phone, bringing it to my ear with a surly, “What is it?”

  “How are you Culley?”

  “Lovely. What’s going on Ava?”

  “Brenna told me you’ve been helping that human girl—and she’s staying at your place. Do you have feelings for her?”

  “Of course not—not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It would be completely natural if you did, you know. You’re nineteen. Remember in New York when you told me all you could think about was kissing me? Well, I think that was not really about me. It was about being ready for a monogamous relationship, ready to bond. It’s time, Culley. All you need is to find the right girl.”

  “Yes, well, thank you Oprah, but I’m not really in the mood for relationship advice from the girl who dumped me—”

  “Are you sure she’s fully human? She’s not part-Elven or something?”

  “What? No. She’s tiny. She’s blind. Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, if you’re attracted to her, I thought maybe... okay, well, here’s why I wanted to talk to you.” She takes a breath, and there’s a long pause. “Asher is half Elven.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. “What? How is that possible?”

  “We just recently figured it out. He’s not susceptible to my glamour, which I always thought was weird, and I think he looks Elven, but after hearing about how Asher’s mom met his dad—and what he was like—the pieces connected. They were never married. She had a brief love affair with him when she was eighteen and got pregnant. And get this—I think he’s a Dark Elf.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “No—all we have is a first name—Hagen.”

  “That’s extremely common. I know at least six Hagens. It means ‘firstborn son.’”

  “I know,” she says. “It doesn’t help much. She met him when he was passing through her family’s property on his way to Altum for the Assemblage almost twenty years ago. She thought she loved him. I’m not sure if she was swayed or not. Since then, he’s been in and out of Asher’s life, seeing him only a few days a year—always here in Mississippi, never at his own home. He claims he’s always moving around so Asher can’t come visit him. He must be in the Dark Court. He knows he’d be punished for bonding with a human.”

  “How does Hagen get past the iron barrier at the farm?”

  “He doesn’t. He always has Asher meet him somewhere else, and they talk and have lunch or supper at a restaurant.”

  “He never told Asher?”

  “No, but he’s been trying for a while to get Asher to leave the farm, to move away from Mississippi. I think he wants more of a relationship with him. We’re trying to find him. If he is in the Dark Court, he could be an ally for us in the battle against the S Scourge. He obviously doesn’t hate humans if he bonded himself to one—and he must care about his son or he wouldn’t bother visiting him.” She pauses. “We need all the help we can get. Of course you know we’d love to have yours.”

  “I’ve already told you—”

  “I know what you said. But you’re going out of your way to help a human girl when there’s nothing in it for you. I don’t think you want to see them all destroyed.”

  “I don’t really care what you think.”

  “Culley. All I’m asking is that you think about it. Look inside your heart. About helping us—and about Laney.”

  Suddenly my skin is broiling. My head feels like it’s going to pop off my neck like some kind of pressurized cork.

  “I’ve got to go. Don’t ask Brenna to put me on the phone again, okay? If I want to talk to you, I’ll call.” I hang up the phone and leave it on the counter, heading for the door. I might need another midnight run on the beach.

  A couple hours and a shower later, I’m still thinking of Ava’s words. Look inside my heart.

  I don’t know about my heart, but my hand is on the doorknob to Laney’s bedroom, and my mind is spinning between two opposite points.

  One side is telling me to put my idiot arse in the bed and get some sleep. The other feels like it’s possessed by a powerful sorcerer, impelling me to turn that knob and open her door. I just want a quick look at her. I won’t wake her. I need to make sure she’s okay, that she’s comfortable, and that she’s still there after the rude way I pushed her away and left her earlier tonight.

  The sorcerer wins, and I enter the bedroom, taking care to make no noise, drawing close to the bed in the darkness. The sound of Laney’s slow, even breathing assures me she is in fact there and she didn’t hear the door open. She’s left her drapes open, and moonlight streams in, illuminating the shape of her body under the thin coverlet. One of her little bare feet sticks out of the covers, tempting me as always.

  Cupcake is curled into a furry ball on her pillow. He’s doing a terrible job of guarding his mistress. Instead he’s completely zonked out, looking content and happy to be near her, the lucky bugger.

  Laney’s face is peaceful, serene. The moonlight gilds her smooth cheek until it resembles white silk. I want to reach out and stroke her skin with a fingertip, to feel that softness and gain some of that innocence for myself through osmosis. As she dreams, the corners of her mouth turn up in a sweet smile, and I find that I’m smiling in response.

  I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than this girl—this foolish, trusting girl who doesn’t know any better than to fall into a deep sleep and leave her doors unlocked in the house of a monster. It’s like the tale of Beauty and the Beast come to life, only the beast is a male model—his ugliness is hidden on the inside where it can’t do the very necessary job of warning people away from danger.

  I need to send her away. It’s the only way to save her. Keeping her here within my reach is the cruelest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Though I’ve pretended to fight it every step of the way, I suspect that in some secret place deep inside, I wanted it. The worst part is—I think she wanted it, too. I think she’s starting to like me.

  God, I hope not.

  My gut does a weird fluttering thing at the possibility. Getting on my knees, I kneel beside the bed and study her face—for what? Clues to her dreams? Tear tracks?

  What did she think after I stopped our kiss so abruptly and left the condo? Did she cry? Did she get angry and vow to pack her bags and leave at daybreak? The thought causes my blood to race with a mixture of fear and relief. It would be much better if she isn’t attracted to me, if she hates me now. I won’t really know until morning.

  If she does, we can just keep our distance over the next few days in the condo and go about our separate lives until her new place is ready for her to move in. Simple. Sensible. Miserable. But that won’t solve the bigger pr
oblem here—she’s not safe in this city. Eventually I’m going to have to get back to work, and I won’t be able to watch over her every minute. There’s no end to the trouble she could wander into.

  The only truly safe place for her is back home. And there may be only one way to convince her to go. Ava’s plea pops back into my head. We need all the help we can get.

  It’s crazy. It’s terrifying. But I may have no other choice.

  If I were to help Ava and her friends stop the S Scourge—stop my father from eradicating most of the human population and subjugating the rest—there would be no more reason for Laney to remain here in Los Angeles. She’d go back home—voluntarily—and she’d be safe. I could go back to my normal life.

  Laney stirs in her sleep and murmurs something that sounds like, “I need you.”

  Heart thrashing, I rise to my feet and back slowly away from the bed. Who is she talking about? Dreaming about? Her idiotic ex-boyfriend? Her parents?

  Me?

  The stupid exhilaration the idea sparks in my heart drives me to take action. I ease the bedroom door open, slip out into the hallway, and close it again. Getting my phone out of my pocket, I hit a contact button I haven’t used in a long time.

  The surprised-sounding feminine voice answers. “Culley?”

  “All right, Ava—what do you need me to do?”

  Chapter Ten

  Morning Person

  The next morning my hearing is on high alert for sounds of Laney rising and getting ready for the day.

  She must have set an alarm or something because the shower turns on shortly after seven o’clock. Feeling like I haven’t slept at all myself, I pop out of the bed and out of my room, heading for the kitchen. I’m prepared for any sort of mood from her this morning—irritation, annoyance, sullen silence, outright hostility. In the past, girls have reacted rather badly to me rejecting them. Maybe a fresh cup of coffee and a hot breakfast will smooth things over a bit and at least keep things civil between us.

  Naturally, I’ll offer to drive her to the clinic again. I know enough about her stubborn nature by now to realize she’ll go there even without my help, whether it requires a bus, a cab, or even hitchhiking. A shudder passes through me. A cold-shouldered thirty minute drive of silence is nothing compared to the horrors of what could happen.

  Laney’s bedroom door opens as I’m spooning scrambled eggs onto a plate for her. It’s one of the few things I know how to cook. Ordering takeout is my finest culinary skill. I could have servants if I want them—a chef, a maid—but preferring privacy to convenience, I’ve declined so far.

  Adding a piece of toast, I set the plate onto a placemat before one of the stools and turn to pour coffee into a mug.

  “Good morning!” Laney’s bright, cheerful voice is nearly a song. It’s so startling, I spin around and slosh hot coffee out of the full mug onto my hand.

  “Ow. Shit,” I yell then hastily add, “Good morning.”

  She laughs. Her face is clear and happy, her smile wide and genuine. “That’s a strange greeting. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m all right. Just a spill.” I grab a towel, mopping up the floor, and turn on the cold water to run over my hand. I give her an assessing glance. “How did you sleep?”

  “Wonderfully. Mmmm... I smell coffee. And toast?”

  “Yes, I whipped up a little breakfast.” Squinting, I search her face for signs of hurt, anger, falseness or at least some missed sleep or late night tears. No, the cheer seems to be real. What the hell? Did last night have no effect on her at all?

  “Thank you. I’m starved,” she says, feeling for and sliding onto the stool at the counter. “I want to give you some grocery money, okay? I can’t stay here and not at least help with expenses.”

  “Oh yes—you’re going to eat me out of house and home.” I snort. “It’s a few meals, sweet. It’s not going to break the bank. Okay, coffee’s on your right. Want anything in it?”

  “Some artificial sweetener. And milk if you have it. I know you’re Mr. Made-of-Money and you don’t need my contribution, but I want to do it anyway—for my sake—not for yours.”

  Remembering the things she’d told me about how eager she was to start living as an adult and not be taken care of like a child, I say no more about it, changing the subject instead.

  “So, I assume you’ll want to go to the clinic again today?”

  “Yes.” She smiles. “But I don’t need you to take me there. I downloaded an app last night called Nearby Explorer. It tells me where all the mass transit locations are and gives me walking directions to get there. So you see—I can take care of myself.”

  My head snaps back in shock. “Oh.”

  I haven’t seen her use a phone yet. I sort of assumed she didn’t have one because how could you dial or text on a screen you couldn’t see? She must keep it in a pocket or that ever-present purse of hers. If I’d known about that earlier, I’d have snatched the device and searched it for her contact information already.

  “How did you download it?”

  She rolls her eyes and gives me a tolerant smile. “The same way everyone does silly. From an app store. But I use the voiceover feature with my phone to tell it what I’m looking for or what to do instead of typing it in like I used to do.”

  “Oh,” I say again, feeling supremely stupid for not realizing she’d be using adaptive technology. “Well, you won’t need the... Explorer or whatever to get to work today. I’m going that way anyway on my way to work, so it’s no trouble to drop you off.”

  She tilts her chin, tensing her forehead in the way someone does when they’re not sure you’ve told them the facts. Finally, she says, “Okay. If you don’t mind. But this is the last time. Tomorrow, I’m going to get myself there.”

  Tomorrow, I’ll have already gone through your phone and notified your parents of your whereabouts.

  “Very good. Well, what do you say we leave here in an hour?”

  I have no intention of dropping her off and leaving her there unsupervised. Just as I did yesterday, I plan to stay outside the clinic all day and wait for her. Laney agrees, and we start the drive from my posh neighborhood to the clinic.

  I’m still baffled at her attitude this morning. It’s as if she doesn’t care at all about my bizarre broiling-hot-then-ice-cold behavior last night. Maybe the kiss didn’t affect her as much as it did me? She did say she had a serious boyfriend before and they’d been working up to “going all the way.” Maybe his carnal skills were a lot more developed than mine.

  Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as I thought she did.

  “Would you describe the scenery to me?”

  Her question yanks me out of my brooding thoughts. “You want to know what I see?”

  “Yes please. I’ve made this trip several times now, and it would be nice to know what’s between here and there. I am sort of a tourist after all.”

  “Well, you’re pretty far from the touristy areas right now. You know I live in Malibu. From there we drove through Pacific Palisades and Santa Monica on the way to I-10. Those areas are pretty nice—ocean views, wide streets, lots of green spaces, shops, and restaurants, and big homes. From the highway you can’t see much that’s interesting. Just a lot of buildings and cars. Off in the distance are the San Gabriel Mountains. You can’t always see them, but today’s not too hazy.” I hum a low laugh in my throat. “I don’t usually see them even when it’s clear. I’m so used to them being there.”

  “Sounds pretty. We don’t have so much as a big hill where I live, much less any mountains. I wish I’d come to California years ago.”

  Glancing away from the road to take in Laney’s face, my heart tugs at the forlorn expression she wears. As we exit the highway, I renew my efforts to describe the surroundings for her. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot I can say that’s complimentary.

  “We’re in South L.A. now. There are... houses... trees. A market. A church.”

  We pull up to the front of the clinic,
and I put the car in park. “And we’re here. I’m not sure you want to know what the clinic looks like.”

  Laney releases her seatbelt and turns in her seat to face me. “Thank you for playing tour guide for me.” She pauses, then adds, “You really do have a very nice voice.”

  Wham. My heart slams against my sternum then rolls up to my throat, blocking it. “Uh, thanks,” is all I can manage to force out. Why do a few kind words from this girl affect me so much? It’s ridiculous. It’s like my brain has reverted back to adolescence and the first time a pretty girl spoke to me at a middle school party. That was a long time and many miles ago.

  There’s no way I’ll be able to sit here in my car all day with nothing for my mind to do but wander and torment me with images of something I’ll never have—something I shouldn’t even want.

  It’s time to get back to work. Time to go see my father.

  Chapter Eleven

  Angel of Death

  Father’s in his office in downtown Los Angeles where he conducts his legitimate business with the human world.

  His entertainment law firm represents a huge number of Elven and human actors, models, musicians, public speakers, and athletes. The office also serves as the headquarters of the Dark Council. On any given day he could be negotiating a contract with a movie studio or professional sports team or assigning someone to handle damage control after an Elven celebrity has a particularly public bad day. Today he’ll no doubt be giving an ear bashing to his only son about shirking his duties as a drug pusher.

  I check in with the receptionist, and she lets my father know I’m here—right after she lets me know, in no subtle terms, that she’s available if I’m interested in an evening or two of everything but. Giving her a wink, I head down the corridor toward Father’s office and promptly forget about her. If I took up every woman who put out that offer, I’d never have time to do anything but.