The thought that runs through my scrambled brain startles me. Am I actually scared for Jett? Why? I pretend to run my fingers over that tangled chestnut hair, trying to soothe myself. For the first time I let myself imagine what it might be like when, and if, he gets to see me again. I’m not naïve, I know watching me die changed Jack. I’ve seen it happening these past few months. This must be what he was like before me. The rumors I heard about him as a child run through my head. Legends, almost.
A man of ice so cold the North wind turned aside when he walked by…
Will that be the Jack I return to? And will he insist on taking his revenge on my sister, even if I do get my life back? He might.
And I don’t think I can live with that.
I swallow and let my fingers trail down one angular cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin, the bite of his stubble.
Then his feet come off my desk with a resounding crash, making me jump. I lift my head. No way.
“You got some balls, showing up here.” Which echoes my thoughts almost exactly. Visiting Stephen is one thing, but coming to Jack? She’s lost her mind, and she looks it.
Jett’s face is even more strained than I saw it last, but her eyes snap with reckless defiance.
“You’ve never scared me, Jack Frost.”
Her hands are raised, but other than the dropping of his boots to the floor, Jack hasn’t moved.
“What? Not going to try to kill me?” She raises an eyebrow. To the casual observer, Jett looks unfazed from her encounter with Stephen. But I’m her fucking sister. Her voice is brittle, too high, and her fingers are trembling. It’s slight, but it’s there. Jett is starting to unravel.
“I’m working on it.” Jack’s smile is so cold I’m surprised ice doesn’t form on the tiny window behind my sister. “I’ve got plans for you, just not somewhere that was important to her.”
“Jack Frost, sentimental? Shocking.” Her sneer isn’t convincing but Jack’s too full of rage to notice.
“Tell me why.”
Their eyes meet and hold across the room, misty green and lapis blue.
“Someone had to do it, didn’t they?” My stomach knots at the fury in her voice. “You certainly weren’t going to man up.”
Jack’s hand tightens on the desk, the wood groaning under his grip. “Because I loved her. Because I thought she could be saved. Something that you obviously don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” Jett takes a step back, her eyes narrowed slits. Then she seems to gather herself, her chin coming up. “I’m not here to hash out this maudlin shit. I’m here because it’s time for you to understand what the prophecy was really about.”
“I know what the goddamn prophecy was about. I’ve seen it. That’s your excuse for killing her, is it?”
“Of course it is!” she snaps. “But you never understood half of it.”
“What the hell do you mean?” He lifts an arm, the blackened tattoos clear and sharp on his tanned skin. “I know what I felt, you crazy bitch.”
“You don’t know shit, Frost. You never have.” She sneers, hair flying as she shoves the desk at him, the screech of the legs digging into the wood hurting my ears, but not as much as the sound of her voice. Tears glitter in those hard blue eyes. And I don’t think they’re all for Stephen.
Jack pushes up from the chair with a curse, knocking my desk aside with one hand.
“The reason your tats went apeshit at Seph’s christening wasn’t because they recognized her as your nemesis, genius, but as your future bride. Seph was never Summer.” She smiles tightly. “I am.”
Jack stumbles. All the color washes from his face, his eyes burning bright in the soft gloom.
“But the prophecy…” he chokes out.
“Has been fulfilled. I destroyed your whole world, Frost. The day I killed Seph. And Cerunnos knows. He’s always known. Enjoy what’s left of your life, King of Winter.”
She’s gone before the shards of ice he sends screaming her way can make contact.
Jack sinks back down into my old chair, his expression blank, utterly motionless. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
I don’t reach for him again. I can’t. I’m shaking enough for the both of us.
14
His bride? I’m still getting used to the idea that Jack has loved me all these years, that he wasn’t just a backstabbing, power-hungry elemental prick. Now I find out he was supposed to be my destiny all along? Talk about fucked up.
His betrayal shaped my whole life. That independence everyone goes on about, that reluctance to accept a helping hand, that eagerness to play with men—but only up to a point—hell, even the way I skittered away from ever examining my powers too closely, all of that pretty much stems straight from Jack.
First loves and all. Only loves and all. Sure, I cared about Georg. Very much so. I even loved him, but there is love, and then there’s love. Jack consumed me, inside and out.
I look at him and everything falls away. Everything.
I sniffle, wiping away tears as the credits roll.
“If it makes you cry, why do you watch the stupid thing so much?” Jack flicks the TV off, then throws the remote at the coffee table. It skids off and bounces across the carpet. I know he’s frustrated as fuck, but he’s gentle when he tilts my chin up from where it’s buried on his chest.
There’s a frown on that gorgeous face. He hates when I watch The Iron Giant. I know because he’s hidden the disc twice. Once I found it in the bathroom cupboard, behind the towels, and once under the kitchen sink. He won’t actually throw it away, though, because I like it. I give him a watery smile.
“Because it’s a good kind of cry.”
He’s a quick study, Jack Frost. But even after six months or so of being back in the human world, there’s a lot that still confuses him. A lot he may never understand. I’m learning that elementals are a breed apart.
“Explain,” he demands in that growly voice that never fails to make my insides go warm and gooey.
“It’s like …sad and happy, all mixed up.”
“He died. What the hell is happy about that?”
“He wanted to be the hero, not the villain. And he got his wish. Superman.” I sigh again and let my arms wrap around Jack.
“Sacrifice is noble and all that hogwash?”
“It’s not hogwash.”
“Death is death, sweetheart. It doesn’t endear you to those you leave behind.” His words are harsh.
I swallow, something cold seeming to brush the back of my neck. Jack’s hands smooth the chill away, rubbing down my spine over and over. He hates to see me cry. Even at movies.
His touch starts to make me squirm, reminding me that I have plans for tonight. “Whatever, Jack. The end is supposed to give you hope. Like maybe everything will all turn out okay in the end.”
“Nothing ever turns out okay in the end.”
I lift my head, looking into those cool, hooded eyes.
“Nothing, eh? What about us?” I throw it out like a challenge and in a way, it is—to myself. I’ve been working up my courage for a while now, so maybe that’s how I ignore the sudden, almost painful tightening of his arms. “We’re doing okay.”
“Just ‘okay’? I’ll show you okay.” There’s something wrong with his voice as he leans in for my mouth, but I ignore it as I put a hand on his chest, halting him an inch from my lips. I need to say this before I lose my nerve.
“I love you.”
His eyes widen, locking on mine. Then a shadow flits through them before he lifts a hand to my cheek, his fingers rough, but incredibly tender.
“I know, princess. I love you, too.”
My stomach drops in relief and happiness.
Then his mouth is on mine, hot, demanding, yet somehow so much sweeter than usual. Like he’s trying to drive all thought from my brain. It fucking works.
Before I know it, I’m on the floor in front of the couch, Jack having shoved the coffee table aside with one foot. Thick and warm, t
he rug pushes at my back while Jack, hard and hot, pushes at my front. I wrap my legs around him and arch up. He’s looking down like he’s never seen me before, like he’s trying to memorize my face or something. It’s a little scary. I tighten my thighs and he groans.
“Fucking hell, Seph. Quit it.”
“I want you, Jack. Properly this time. I’m ready.”
“What if I’m not?”
I’d laugh at the words if it weren’t for the expression on his face. He’s perfectly serious. This man has seen every inch of me naked in the last few weeks and I’ve seen all of him. But he won’t take that last step. I was hoping admitting how I felt would reassure him that I was ready, but now I’m not so sure.
“Is something wrong with me?” I narrow my eyes, trying to lighten the mood. To get him to crack a smile. “Maybe you’re just not an ass man?”
“Gods, Seph. I am definitely an ass man.” He lifts mine in both his hands, squeezing in unmistakable appreciation. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
“I…don’t want to hurt you.”
All my worry instantly goes poof. “Aww. You’re not going to hurt me. Our bodies are meant for this, remember?” I grin up at him. “And I trust you.”
“I know, baby. I know you do.” His voice sounds thick, even rougher than usual, but he turns his head so that I can’t see his eyes.
I cup his jaw and turn it back to me, trying to put everything I’m feeling into mine. “Tonight, then?”
He finally gives me the smile I’ve been hoping for. So I ignore that muscle in his jaw ticking wildly in and out, and the darkness gathering in his eyes.
“Tonight. But not on the floor.” He gets to his feet with me wrapped around him, not staggering even a little. There is a lot to be said for having an elemental as a boyfriend. One is the fact that your weight is never going to be an issue. Jack could lift me with one hand and not even break a sweat. It makes a girl feel positively delicate and protected.
I wrap myself around him happily and squeeze. “The bedroom? How traditional.”
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. You deserve perfect.”
“Don’t worry,” I giggle, feeling just a touch of nerves as we reach the bedroom door. My fingers tighten on the back of his neck. “How else would I remember this night?”
I blink and shiver. I’m in Mrs. Rudd’s hallway, having walked right through the door without realizing it. Rochie and Mrs. Rudd are sitting on the couch. Dimly, I recognize the episode flashing on the screen. Dean’s going to hell.
I’m right there with you, man.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re as pale as a ghost.” Rochie giggles and nudges Mrs. Rudd’s cheek with a tiny elbow. Drunken fairies. I’m so not in the mood.
“Why are you back so soon? Did it already happen?”
“If you mean did my sister just rise several notches on my shit list, yes.” But since she was already in first place, what does it really matter? Poor Jack. I should’ve stayed with him, but I couldn’t.
We’ve lost so much already. Losing the promise of the future he wanted for us…it’s too fucking much.
For once I want the fairy tale to end the way humans think they do.
A happily ever after? For us?
“It’s not too late, Persephone.”
I blink. Mrs. Rudd is right in front of me, her face kinder than I’ve ever seen it. It makes her look different somehow, younger and almost…pretty. I shake my head to get the cobwebs out.
“You keep saying that.” I shake my head again. “But I’m still dead. Jack’s still set on murdering my sister, and whatever Cerunnos is planning for Jack, it can’t be good.”
“Have a little faith that things will work out, dearie.”
I see Jack’s face again, the shock when Jett told him who I really was. Deep down inside, he knew, though. You’re mine, princess. You’ve always been mine.
“I want to. So much.”
“Then do it. Get back to your sister. She’s the key.”
“I can’t! You don’t understand the things she’s doing, where she’s going. It’s too fucking much. Even if this works, what the hell am I coming back to?”
“I thought you had decided to fight, Persephone.” She shakes her head, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Sounds to me like you’re giving up all over again.”
She’s right. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with me? Haven’t four months of being helpless taught me anything?
Maybe it is all going to shit, but I’d still rather be in it, helping to shovel, than watching from the sidelines a second longer. “Fine, goddammit. Fine. But at least tell me what I’m following her for.”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
Great. “At least let me read the spellwork Mom gave you.”
“No. But the next step is releasing you from your grave. Normally that would mean digging you up, but since Jack took a rather unconventional route—“
“We need to break his spell on my body.”
She nods.
“How the hell is following Jett going to solve that problem?”
“I don’t know, but it’s what your mother said to do.”
“You know, it’d be nice if just once my mom could tell me these things herself.”
“I’m sure she would if she could.” Mrs. Rudd holds out the plate, her voice soft. “Brownie?”
“I think not. I need a better way to track her, then. This guesswork shit is for the birds.”
"I can help with that." Rochie stirs again, yawning, her little mouth smudged with chocolate, her eyes a little dazed. Belatedly, I remember my mother’s warning about Mrs. Rudd’s brownies. What the hell does she put in them that could make a fairy look like she’s that righteously high?
“Get me something of hers. I can make it so you can track her. You’ll always be a step behind her teleportation deal, but at least she won’t be able to ditch you entirely.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”
“I wasn’t feeling as charitable earlier.”
I start to drift for the door, grumbling. Rochie’s high-pitched voice follows me cheerily. “It has to be something she’s really attached to.”
Attached? Jett? Has she met my sister? With a snort, I fade from the room.
15
Jett’s bedroom. It’s almost as cold and still as mine. Only there’s less dust.
I have no idea what I’m looking for. My feet drift over the thick bearskin rug on the floor. It’s so huge it reaches from the foot of the high, narrow window nearly to the door. It’s not black, like Stephen’s fur when he shifts or the deep honey gold that was Georg’s grizzly. This fur is pure white. I loved sinking my feet into it when I was little. I used to sneak in here just to do that. Jett would get so pissed. She zapped my ass more than once. I rub my tailbone and push away the memories as I wander deeper into the room.
There is a poster of Sting on the wall. It always seemed incongruous to me, my sister loving his music, but she does. I know the album Ten Summoner’s Tales backward and forward because of her. Damn thing would filter down the hall day and night for most of my formative years. I catch myself humming “Love Is Stronger Than Justice” as I move toward the bed and make myself stop. Maybe love can be thicker than blood, but I don’t think it was love that made Jett kill me.
I slide my hand under the mattress, but there’s nothing there. Fifteen minutes later, though, I find what I need.
It’s behind the painting on the wall. Very blue and very tall mountains form an immense gorge, with this teeny caravan of soldiers or cowboys at the bottom looking like ants. I don’t recall the title, but it’s by some obscure Russian painter. What falls out when I lift the frame an inch from the wall is a picture. A series of them in a long strip. One of those photo booth deals. I didn’t even know they had them anymore. It’s Jett and Stephen. He’s kissing the back of her neck and she’s laughing.
&nb
sp; Fucking laughing.
I’ve never seen her look so happy.
Jett.
Happy.
With a sigh, I pocket the picture and give the bedroom a last once-over, wondering if my sister will ever shoo me out of here again. Doesn’t seem very likely. Whatever happens now, my family is in tatters.
I take the pic to Rochie. She’s a little less The Dude and a little more herself but still plenty mellow. She smiles at Stephen’s image in the photo (I swear the fairy has a real thing for bruins) and flips it over to trace a teeny finger over the back in an odd, swirling shape I’ve never seen before. Then she blows a pinch of fairy dust at it and the glittery substance sticks to the shape she traced, like her fingertip was coated with glue. She hands it back to me and yawns again.
“There. Just hold it, think of your sis, and it’ll tug you right to wherever she is.”
“Like Jack’s spell on me?”
“Just so.” She nods. “Though his is far more powerful and won’t ever fade. This one will only work well for a day or so.”
“So get cracking.” Mrs. Rudd waves me out of the house. “Only a few hours ‘til Beltane.”
The fairy charm pulls me to the Den. I frown, wondering if Rochie is pulling something. Why the hell would Jett be back here? I ignore the insistent pull of the spell for the moment, hungry for a glimpse of Syana.
I can hear Ajax’s voice as I float toward the stairs. “Well?”
Syana is on the couch, her hand over her eyes, looking tired and somehow…grey. Stephen has his hand on the phone, as if he’s just hung up with someone. His face is dark.
“The others will be here in a few hours. I’m going to call Frost when they arrive. You two better be out of sight until it’s over.” The men clasp forearms, then Stephen yanks Ajax in for a fierce hug. I catch the whisper meant for Ajax’s ear alone and it sends a wave of fear down my spine. “I’m sorry, Brother.”
Ajax nods, his throat working. When the men separate, Ajax strides to the couch and swings Syana into his arms. She doesn’t resist. Then I catch a glimpse of her eyes. That familiar hazel is marbled with a pearlescent white.
Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) Page 11
