Under His Skin

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Turning on his heel he walked out of her bedroom, leaving the door open as he disappeared down the stairs at the end of the short hallway. She watched him go with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify eating at her nerves.

  Fuck him. I’m not a killer. Against her will, all the pain of the last two years swarmed around her, buzzing with misery in her ears until it was all she could think about. She pressed her lips together, thinking of her own fur and what it was like when she lost it. All the nights she’d lain in bed contemplating suicide swirled through her mind like a cloud of angry bees. Sagging back against the pillows, she finally recognized the emotion souring her belly.

  Guilt.

  She closed her eyes. “Fuck,” she whispered.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  Ana’s eyes shot open. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for the source of the voice. The pale blue curtains that hung around the window to her left hung straight and still, no signs of an intruder there. The small dresser next to the window still held the small covered bowl she’d mixed the herbs in earlier. The sight of the incomplete spell filled Ana with fresh determination. She had to get out of these bonds so she could try this last spell. It would work, she knew it would.

  The voice faded from her mind until suddenly a weight on her stomach drew her attention. The world turned red as she found the pixie who was the cause of her current misery perched on her blanket-covered midsection.

  “You!” she hissed, almost choking on the surge of her own anger. “How dare you show your face to me?”

  “Why don’t you give them back?”

  His question halted the scathing insults that had leapt into her head at the sight of him. There was no judgment in his voice, no disgust. He just sounded . . . curious. Momentarily thrown, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “The skins you steal. Why don’t you give them back after they don’t work?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered. With the guilt Brec had managed to inflict on her with his parting shot, this was the last conversation she wanted to have. Already her mind was thumbing through the many imaginary images she’d created over the past six months. Images of what the skinwalkers must be going through without their skins. Her stomach rolled and she quickly pictured the iron chest in her mind and shoved all the thoughts inside it. She turned her gaze away from the pixie, trying to escape his tiny curious gaze. The little weight on her stomach didn’t move.

  “I saw you try his fur on,” Nu continued. He cleared his throat. “I saw your fur.”

  Panic seized Ana’s chest. All other thoughts fled her mind on a wave of mind numbing fear and she whipped her head around to fix the pixie with a look of pure desperation. “You didn’t do anything to it did you? It’s still safe, isn’t it? Where is it? Did you tell Brec about it?” Tears stung her eyes before cascading in waterfalls down her cheeks. Images of her fur burning before her eyes danced in her head. She’d lost it once and survived. I can’t do it again. Oh, Perun, god of thunder and lightening, please don’t make me have to do it again. “Please tell me.”

  “I didn’t touch your fur and I haven’t said anything about it to Brec,” the pixie said quietly. He sat down on her stomach, softly stroking the blanket with his hand in a soothing gesture. “And I give you my word that I never will.”

  Her heart pounded, waves of nausea flowing over her with each body wracking thud. She blinked her tears away, trying to focus on the pixie. She knew little of the winged fey, but if they were anything like most of the older races then their word was not something given lightly—and it was something that was never broken. Her fear ebbed, ever so slightly. She still trembled with the thought of Brec discovering her fur, but at least she could breathe.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said finally. “You told Brec about the other skins and you had to know how he would react. You’ve guaranteed my torment if not my death at that selkie’s hands. Yet now you rush to assure me—with your solemn oath no less—that you won’t destroy or betray my skin.” She shook her head, fighting the urge to close her eyes and give up on the world that in the last few hours had become nothing but emotional chaos. “What do you want from me?”

  “Answer my questions first. Why do you steal the skins of others when you must know that only your own fur will make you change?”

  Helpless to fight anymore, physically or mentally, Ana let out a deep breath.

  “I have to believe they will work,” she whispered. “It’s all I have.”

  “But you know better than anyone what it’s like to live without your skin,” the pixie pressed. “Why do you keep them after you try them?”

  “What if the next spell would make them work?” The words were only a whisper when they left her lips, but she knew the pixie heard her.

  “Ana, you know they won’t work for you. If you just tell Brec where they are, he’ll return them to their owners and he’ll let you go.”

  “I can’t!” she hissed, trying not to scream. Frustration and fear squeezed her chest. “My skin is down there. If I tell him where the other skins are, he’ll find mine.”

  Nu stared at her, a bewildered look on his tiny face. “Why does that scare you so badly? Surely you don’t think Brec would . . . steal your skin?”

  The world floated on her tears and she fought not to blink and send them sliding down her cheeks. “The last time a man found my skin he threw it into a fire. I lost my life that night.”

  Pity darkened the pixie’s eyes and she gritted her teeth. She didn’t want his fucking pity.

  “Ana, Brec would never do that. He can’t even bring himself to torture you to get the information.” The pixie snorted. “For pity’s sake, he believed you when you said you took his skin because he was so attractive you wanted him for a husband.”

  “Just because he’s stupid, doesn’t mean he’s not cruel.”

  “He’s not stupid.”

  The vehemence in Nu’s voice surprised her. She raised her eyebrows, momentarily distracted from her pain. “I’ve touched a nerve.”

  Nu scowled. “Brec isn’t stupid. He’s a good man who’s confused about what he wants. Just because he’s kind and you were able to manipulate his good nature doesn’t make him stupid.”

  “I will never tell him where those skins are,” she growled, anger and frustration sharpening her words. “It doesn’t matter how kind he is. I stole his skin and if I tell him where the skins are there won’t be anything to stop him from destroying my skin in revenge.”

  Saying the words brought a host of horrifying mental images. Fear spiked inside her so strong she nearly swayed with the force of it. He could burn the rest of her fur, maybe steal it and cast it into the depths of the icy sea. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to escape him somehow. Somehow, she had to retrieve her fur without him noticing and get as far away from Alaska as she could. When she was far enough away, she’d send him a letter telling him how to find the other furs. Surely Mrs. Downing could get the letter to him, the nosey old woman knew everybody.

  Noise from the floor below alerted her to the fact that the selkie was still searching her home for the missing furs. He must be on the lower floor of the split level cabin. She clenched her jaw. It didn’t matter. Even if he searched the basement, he’d never find the trapdoor.

  She shoved all her emotions into the iron box in her mind and locked it tight. Emotions wouldn’t do anyone any good. Only actions counted.

  “You’ve sworn not to tell him of my skin or damage my skin in any way,” she reminded the pixie coldly. “I expect something horrible will happen to you if you go back on your promise.”

  Nu just looked at her with sadness in his blue eyes. “Aye,” he agreed softly. He stood. “I told you I wouldn’t forget what you did for me. I’m going to do my best to help you get what you want. Even if you don’t know what that is.”

  “I know what I want,” Ana seethed.

  Nu shook his he
ad. “No, you don’t.”

  Ana glared after him as he hopped off the bed and flew out of the room. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

  Chapter 8

  “Trust me, Micah. I’ll return home soon, there’s just something more I have to do. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  His words to his brother echoed in his ears as Brec stared at the couch and frowned. No matter how careful he was to tuck his fur behind the heavy piece of leather bound furniture, he was always certain he could see a bit of it poking out when he stepped back. The trail of water he’d dripped inside when he returned from his too brief dip in the sea to let Micah know he was all right just seemed to scream out the skin’s location.

  Feeling a little sick to his stomach, he moved back to the couch and checked his skin for the thousandth time. It was exactly as he’d left it, neatly folded and wedged between the back of the couch and the wall. Perfectly safe.

  “It will never feel safe again,” he murmured to himself. Every time he walked away from it he was hit with the memory of what it had felt like to find it missing. The air froze to shards of ice in his lungs and his hands trembled with fear. A shiver ran down his spine and he forced himself to step away from the couch and take several deep breaths.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  Brec jumped as the pixie’s voice sounded a few inches away from his ear. He turned his head in time to watch the little blue and white fey land on his shoulder. Something about his posture and the expression on his face gave Brec the impression the tiny one fancied himself part of whatever “the plan” was.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Nu. And you’re Brec. Now let’s move on to the plan. How are you going to make her talk? Torture?”

  Good question. Images of some of the warriors he’d treated sprang to his mind. Despite his people’s inherently gentle nature, the warriors were often called to violence by their natural enemy the toos, the shark people who hunted the selkies for food and slaves. Some of the warriors had been victims of torture, usually when one of the toos got it in his head to find Orkney, the ancestral underwater home of the selkies.

  The injuries painted clear pictures for Brec, even when his patient didn’t relate the details. Knives, guns, even poisons had all been used as weapons. He could glean enough information from such injuries to guide him in using those tactics against Ana. His stomach clenched, sending a wave of nausea over him.

  Back in the bedroom, he’d been disgusted with himself for tucking her into the blanket as he had. She was the enemy, she didn’t deserve that kind of comfort. He should have let her freeze, but somehow tying a naked woman to her bed seemed wrong enough without adding anything else. He grit his teeth. He’d been a healer for too long.

  “No,” he said quietly, grisly images still haunting his mind. “No, I won’t torture her.”

  “Good,” the pixie nodded. He tilted his head. “You’re a good man, Brec. I’ve heard you complain to your brother about wanting to be a warrior instead of a healer. Some men in your position would have rushed to use violence against Ana, just in the hope of shaking off the ‘kind and gentle’ reputation that being a healer gives them.”

  Brec shook his head. “A man who rushes to violence to get what he needs is not a warrior, he’s a sadist. There are many ways to get information from a problematic individual that do not include torture.”

  “For example . . ?”

  How about seduction? Brec cursed himself as his wretched mind bombarded him with images of Ana’s naked body thrashing about on the bed. The position of her arms pulled above her head had thrust her breasts into the air, the cold air puckering her pale pink nipples. A rush of blood flooded his loins as his thoughts turned to all the erotic delights he’d stopped partaking in after Katie left him.

  “You’re thinking about seducing her, aren’t you?”

  Brec’s cheeks flushed and he scowled at Nu. “What are you talking about?”

  The pixie raised his eyebrows. “I have a very keen sense of smell. Also, your eyes are glazing over.”

  “What exactly are you doing here, anyway?” Brec muttered. “Ana didn’t seem terribly happy to see you, and I sure as shit didn’t invite you. What do you want?”

  “I have a debt to repay,” Nu informed him seriously. “And I’m not leaving until I’ve repaid it.”

  “What debt?”

  “Do you care about her?”

  Brec frowned, confused and annoyed by the pixie’s not so subtle refusal to answer his question.

  “She stole my skin, apparently intending to keep it indefinitely,” he said slowly. Anger crawled up his spine as he once again felt the touch of his earlier misery. “There is no greater crime she could have committed against me. How could I possibly care about her?”

  Nu’s face pinched with disappointment. Before Brec could probe for the motivation behind his question, the pixie took a deep breath.

  “So, you’re going to seduce the woman you have tied to her own bed? That doesn’t feel a little too close to rape to you?”

  Fury scalded his veins and Brec jerked away from the pixie, dislodging him from his shoulder. “I am not a rapist,” he forced through clenched teeth. “Do not ever accuse me of such a thing again.”

  The pixie hovered in the air, regarding him with a look that seemed to penetrate Brec’s skin and scan his very soul. Brec met his gaze with a fiery glare of his own. The guilt that licked at his insides over the erotic images he’d been thinking of a few minutes ago only fed his anger. He may feel a physical attraction for the beautiful thief, and he may have considered seduction as a method of interrogation, but he would never force himself on any woman.

  “I apologize for the insinuation,” the pixie said finally. “What are you going to do?”

  Brec sighed and raked a hand through his hair. His gaze traveled around Ana’s cabin, half of him hoping the skins would just be lying out in the open.

  The living room looked like a picture from a magazine. Which is to say it looked expensive and unlived in. The dark leather couch he’d hidden his skin behind didn’t have the lines and indentations one usually saw in furniture outside a showroom. The rug in the middle of the floor with it’s blue and white Native design was still thick and plush, with no track worn through the middle. It was like Ana didn’t spend any time in this room at all.

  He walked around the room, his eyebrows rising as he recognized some of the art. A beautiful landscape portraying a frozen brook surrounded by snow laden stones and bushes glowed on the wall directly across from the door. The caption confirmed his suspicion, labeling the painting as “Buttermilk” by Rod Weagant. The small table next to the leather couch held a sculpture of a spotted seal. Brec would have bet his right arm it was a piece by Alvin Aningayou. Both were Alaskan artists and both pieces were worth several thousand dollars.

  “A trust fund baby, most likely,” Brec murmured. He shook his head in disgust. “Probably explains why she has no empathy for the lives she’s ruined. I doubt she thinks beyond herself in any matter.” He glanced at the pixie, his eyes widening slightly when he found Nu perched on the back of the Aningayou statue. “Maybe she’s using the skins for decoration. Or as trophies.”

  Nu frowned. “There weren’t any in her room.”

  “Except for mine,” Brec reminded him. Unable to resist looking at the spot where his skin was hidden, he shuddered at the thrill of fear and anger that sparked inside of him. He could still feel the burning fury that had scalded him when he entered Ana’s bedroom and found her sleeping under his skin. The miserable thief had actually been smiling in her sleep, nestling under his skin as if it were an expensive blanket she’d bought with mommy and daddy’s money.

  He stared at where his skin lay hidden. He wanted to go back to the sea.

  “She’s not all bad. Look at this.”

  Brec turned and saw Nu inside the drawer to the little end table. He was lifting the front cover of a large black book, stari
ng down at some sort of photo and newspaper clipping. Brec walked over and peered inside.

  “‘Ana Vulpe Donates $50,000 to the Sierra Club,’” he read aloud. He shrugged. “So what, she throws some of her fortune at charity. Maybe it makes her feel better about what a lousy person she is.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry to judge her,” Nu snapped. “You don’t even know her.”

  “But you do, is that right?” Brec challenged. He stepped up to tower over the pixie, studying the little fey’s indignant face. Nu’s earlier words echoed in his mind. “I have a debt to repay and I’m not leaving until I’ve repaid it.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” The pixie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as Brec turned his full attention to him.

  “You said you owe Ana a debt. You also knew about the other skins she stole. Now you’re trying to convince me she’s not a bad person. Exactly how do you know Ana? How do you know about what she did?” His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him and he darted forward so fast Nu squeaked and leapt into the air, flying out of reach. “You know where the skins are, don’t you?”