Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4)

by Amelia Faulkner

  Is this really what I want? I don’t know. I don’t know any more. But he’s so fucking hot, and I don’t…

  I don’t want to lose this…

  Frederick closed his eyes for a moment, then eased his hands up to Michael’s hips and rested them there. If Michael truly felt that sex was the only way to stay, then it was too soon.

  Michael wasn’t ready, and that was that.

  Frederick raised his head and lifted a hand to brush away the curls plastered to Michael’s pale forehead. “Another time,” he murmured. “When you’re feeling less fragile. You won’t lose this just for saying no, I assure you. But you barely know me. It’s all right to have doubts.”

  What would I lose this for?

  The thought flit across Michael’s thoughts so quickly, dismissed lest he allow himself to say it, and all he did was frown with worry.

  “Betrayal,” Frederick answered. “From either one of us. If you stab me in the back you’ll be gone without a farewell, but I expect the same from you should I fail you.”

  “You’re fucking weird,” Michael grumbled, “you know that?”

  “Ah.” Frederick laughed as he retreated from Michael’s mind and restored his senses to him, and he stepped back to show that they were indeed physically separated as well as mentally. “I am well aware, believe me.”

  Michael’s disconnect took him a few seconds to adjust to. He blinked and looked around the bathroom, tallying the minute clues that he was back in reality: their slightly altered positions, the different positions of the toiletries, the increased vapor on the shower stall wall. He squinted down at himself, then let out a breath. “Okay.” He nodded. “I can deal with this.”

  “Good.” Frederick turned the shower off, then raised his chin and eyed Michael. “Towel.”

  Michael balked at him briefly, then scurried out of the shower to fetch him a towel, and offered it to him with an awkward smile.

  “Oh yes,” Frederick mused as he took it and wrapped it around himself. “You’ll deal with it perfectly.”

  21

  FREDERICK

  He saw no need to rouse Michael early, so he left the man asleep in his own bedroom and made his way downstairs. A quick check of his phone confirmed that he had plenty of time to do what he wanted to before he had to go to Icky’s, so he retrieved his laptop from the desk and quickly set up a new user on it. Frederick double-checked that the login privileges wouldn’t allow Michael access to any of his data, then wrote the username and password down and added a note: Apply for your identification papers. Call room service for breakfast.

  He placed the note and one of his credit cards down on the piece of paper, and left both squarely in the center of the laptop on the desk. Michael had been shown that Frederick would know if he did anything silly with the card, so now seemed an excellent opportunity to discover whether temptation would outweigh common sense.

  His trap set, he gathered up everything he might require and left the suite.

  THE CAR DEPOSITED him at Icky’s apartment, and the driver left with instruction to return in two hours. Laurence seemed not to require more than an hour to walk the dogs, so two should be plenty.

  Frederick tapped at the intercom, then gave Laurence a warm smile when the fellow came to open the door.

  “Hey, Freddy!”

  “Laurence!” He stepped inside. “How’s he been?”

  “He’s kinda out of it, I guess.” Laurence took the stairs two at a time. At least his former anger was now replaced by a more background level of irritation, kept in check by his concern for Icky’s well-being. “Sleeping a lot, but I think that’s ‘cause being awake is boring.”

  “I can imagine.” Frederick creased his features at the very notion of cognitive rest. Laying around and intentionally not thinking about things sounded the very definition of torture. “Is he awake at the moment?”

  “Yeah.” Laurence nodded as he closed the apartment door behind them and ducked down to fend off the dogs. “I managed to get him to eat breakfast.”

  Frederick lifted an eyebrow and gave a sly grin. “Best news I’ve heard all week. All right, why don’t you shuffle off and let the girls get some exercise? I’ll try not to entertain Icky too much. It shouldn’t be hard.”

  “No philosophical debates about… I dunno, anything.” Laurence eyed him.

  “Cross my heart, dear boy.” Frederick eased around the dogs and headed for Icky’s room with a wave over his shoulder. “I eagerly await your return.”

  Laurence’s irritation broke, and he even laughed briefly.

  You two are so alike.

  Frederick quirked an eyebrow at that, but smoothed it over as Laurence fetched the dogs’ leads and took them down the stairs.

  “Right,” he said to Icky as he held up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Icky scowled at him. “Bugger off, Fred.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  HE CLEARED Icky’s breakfast leftovers away into the kitchenette and fetched them both a cup of tea, then settled in to keep watch on his recalcitrant brother.

  “I’m bored,” Icky groused.

  “Quite understandably.”

  “Bed rest is boring.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Frederick sipped his tea and steadfastly refused to take the bait.

  “We could relocate to the living room…”

  He glanced up from his phone and eyed Icky. Color had returned to his cheeks, at least, but he still had that unfocused gaze which suggested that he couldn’t see properly. And if Icky couldn’t see, then his concussion was still a pressing concern.

  “It sounds an awful lot,” he drawled, “as though you are thinking.”

  Icky glowered in his general direction. “You are so damn obtuse,” he muttered.

  “Correct. And that’s why I make for an excellent nurse. Drink your tea, it’s good for you.”

  Icky felt for his cup and then gripped it with care before he took a sip. “Where is Laurence?”

  “Out walking your dogs. He shan’t be long. You are supposed to be engaging in cognitive rest.”

  “But it’s so dull!”

  Frederick laughed and put his cup down. “Good heavens, what are you? Twelve? Behave yourself or I shall tell Laurence that you attempted a crossword puzzle.”

  Icky scowled and hunkered down a little, hands curled around his tea for comfort.

  Frederick watched him, then sighed faintly and shook his head. “You’re going to be all right, Icky. You’ve been through this sort of thing before, and you always pull through. I know it’s dreary, but I’m afraid you really must rest. For Laurence, if not for yourself.”

  That seemed to have the desired effect, and Icky’s shoulders began to unwind.

  Frederick took up his tea once more and returned his attention to his phone lest an hour’s peace and quiet drive him bonkers.

  ICKY WAS DOZING LIGHTLY by the time Laurence returned, so Frederick eased quietly from the bedroom and closed the door so as to not disturb him, and he held a finger to his lips as he looked to Laurence.

  Laurence nodded in understanding. “Everything okay?” he whispered.

  Frederick nodded and drifted away from the door at his back. “Very well-behaved,” he murmured as Laurence poured fresh water for the dogs. There were grains of sand in their fur, mostly on their bellies, and Laurence’s sneakers likewise had evidence of beach on them. Laurence’s clothes were sweaty, so at least there had been a modicum of exertion. “You may have to wait for a shower,” he concluded.

  “Sleeping, huh?” Laurence nodded and poured himself a glass of water, then winced at the noise the dispenser made.

  I guess I won’t have ice. Not if it’ll wake Quen.

  “Indeed.” Frederick set his cup by the sink.

  Laurence gulped down half the glass before he grabbed a kitchen towel to pat his face dry with. Icky hadn’t thus far successfully civilized the American, it seemed. “No problem. I guess I’ll just…�
� Laurence waved vaguely around the apartment.

  I’ll wait. Doing nothing. Goddess, there’s gonna be at least another week of this! I’ve gotta find something to do or I’ll lose my shit.

  Frederick smiled gently and beckoned toward the dining room table, leading the way. He pulled out a chair for Laurence, then settled down in a seat opposite. “It is as dull waiting for him to recover as it is being the one who is poorly,” he murmured. “Is there something you could occupy yourself with while you watch over him? Television? Games? If you like I could come over for longer, or more often, to give you time to yourself?”

  Laurence flopped down into the offered seat and sprawled across the table. “I can’t ask you to do that, man. You’ve already stayed longer than you wanted, right?”

  Frederick shrugged. “It is what it is. While I’m here I may as well be of some use to you.” He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing Icky. “Your mother has a business to run, so she cannot be expected to aid you in this. I, on the other hand, have nothing but time at the moment.” He smiled gently. “Allow me to spend it as I see fit, hm? You can’t stew alone in this little apartment all day, every day.”

  “I can’t just leave him,” Laurence breathed.

  “That isn’t what’s being suggested. Not in the slightest.” Frederick shook his head. “And you know it. But you needn’t make up your mind this very instant. Think it over, hm? Let me know tomorrow. There’s no rush.”

  “Sure.” Laurence nodded and turned his attention to the view of the ocean behind Frederick. “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Laurence sipped his water in silence while he grappled with guilt over the idea of taking care of himself while Quentin was bedridden.

  It was the ideal time to begin searching through Laurence’s memories.

  Frederick dove in without delay. He required information, and Laurence had it.

  It was time to find out why Laurence believed he was descended from a god.

  SHE RAN.

  The dogs weren’t far behind. The pure white hounds with their blood-red ears. She could hear their mournful baying and she didn’t dare risk a look behind herself.

  The woods she ran through were dead. The trees, the thorned undergrowth, the very air itself were brittle and lifeless, gray and forever twilight. Thorns pierced her feet and still she ran, because the pain was nothing compared to what hunted her.

  They were the cŵn annwn.

  She should never have ventured into the foothills of Cadaer Idris. This was the land of giants, but more than that it was the hunting ground of Arawn, and now she was to pay the price for her foolishness.

  She saw green up ahead and could have cried with relief, if only she had the energy to spare. The mists parted.

  There was a figure running toward her.

  She waved her hands, trying to draw the woman’s attention. “Go back!” she screamed. “You have to go back! The hounds!”

  The other woman shook her head, wild eyed, and waved her own hands. “Turn around!” She pointed behind herself. “Run! The dogs!”

  They almost collided on the line. The point where the lands of the dead touched those of the living, and where earth and bramble gave way to soft, lush grass. She grabbed the other woman’s arms and gazed into her eyes.

  They stood a moment, both desperate for breath, both clutching one another’s arms. The other woman was lithe like a mink, with dark eyes and skin as pale as the moon.

  “Go back,” they both said as one. And then, “I can’t.”

  They let go of each other and ran. She toward the green, and the other toward death.

  Or perhaps it was she who had made the mistake. A pack of dogs burst from the bushes, their jaws snapping at her, but they ran past her.

  Right to the border. To where the spectral hounds of Annwn were there to fight with them.

  She stumbled and grabbed at the trunk of a tree to keep from falling. Her gaze was caught by the savagery with which the dogs assailed each other, but she had no time to stare.

  A hand the size of a blacksmith’s curled around her arm and turned her to face the way she had been running toward. She tore herself from the dogs and stared up at the man who had caught her.

  A whimper stuck in her throat.

  He was vast, with muscles like corded rope. He wore only two things: a golden torc around his neck, and the head of a deer as a mask. Vast antlers rose from the deer’s head.

  She gasped and fell to her knees, but he pulled her up to her feet again.

  “Sara,” he said. His voice was deep, honeyed. “You are strong.” He raised his head to look past her, then let out a low whistle.

  The dogs broke from their fight and ran to surround them both.

  “You have outrun Arawn,” he rumbled thoughtfully. “Just as my prey has outrun me. It would do him a grave insult to claim his kill.”

  “Claim?” It came out as little more than a squeak.

  He released her arm and raised the mask from his face. There were slits cut into the sides so that he could raise it over his antlers and pull it free, and when he tucked it beneath one arm and gazed down at her, the warmth in his eyes made her breath catch. He was startlingly beautiful, with dark, earthy eyes and a beard which was as wild and free as his golden brown curls.

  “But if you were my consort,” he mused, “it would be his error to have hunted you to begin with.”

  Sara stared at him. “You would take me as your wife?”

  He laughed. “I would be proud to do so. You have outrun death itself. No finer a woman is there in the world.”

  She looked back toward the underworld, but the other woman was beyond her sight. “What did she outrun?”

  “Life,” he answered as he offered Sara his hand. “Be my wife, Sara. Tend to the wild places. Love with all your heart. Live life to its fullest. Hunt your enemies and show them no mercy. Are you willing to do these things?”

  She swallowed tightly and slipped her little hand into that of a god.

  “I am willing,” she breathed.

  “Then I gladly accept you as my wife.” He bowed low to kiss her, and his strong arms coiled around her, lifting her from her feet. “And I will be proud to be your husband.”

  Sara dared to lay her arms around the neck of Herne the Hunter and let him carry her to his horse.

  Laurence jerked awake in the dark. The memory of his arms — of Sara’s arms — around a god’s body as he took her away to make love had felt so real, so solid, that he wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming being a man in a different world, far from home.

  His erection poked at the bedsheets, and he sat up slowly. The dream didn’t fade. Not like other dreams. It was vivid, real. Less a dream, and more like a memory.

  He groaned and rubbed his eyes, then eased from the bed and padded to his bathroom. He’d had the most amazing day with Quentin. They’d got a new TV, gone for lunch at a place which served the best seafood he’d ever tasted while overlooking the ocean, then come back and he’d introduced Quentin to the horrors of daytime television.

  And then he’d gone to bed, and absolutely no weird shit should have happened.

  He rubbed a hand over his stubble and squinted as he turned the bathroom light on, then felt his way to the sink to splash cool water over his face and clean away some of the night’s sweat. That done, he grabbed a towel and patted his face dry, then raised up and gazed at his reflection.

  Dark, earthy eyes gazed back at him. His golden brown curls were flattened by sleep. The stubble was nowhere close to a beard, and he definitely lacked antlers.

  But the resemblance otherwise?

  Laurence stared into his own eyes and felt as though the stars were shifting.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he breathed.

  Frederick blinked slowly and regarded Laurence. The man wasn’t aware that Frederick had dredged up anything, of course, and he remained blissfully gazing out at the ocean.

&n
bsp; How Laurence could be so certain that it was anything other than a dream, Frederick wasn’t sure. There had to be more to it than that. But here, now, in the warm mid-morning light, one thing was very clear to him.

  Laurence was the spitting image of Herne.

  22

  FREDERICK

  He sifted quickly through more of Laurence’s memories, turning over stones and digging up bones until he understood Laurence’s conviction.

  Myriam was descended from Herne too, it seemed. She had forewarned Laurence of “the dream,” and then confirmed afterward that his dream was indeed the one she had referred to and shared herself. And that meant that Myriam too had certain abilities.

  It all appeared to tie neatly together. If Myriam shared some of Laurence’s skill with plants, then her work as a florist made perfect sense. And if she could see the future, perhaps that was the cause of her concern when she first met Frederick in her shop.

  No. That wasn’t quite it.

  The more of Laurence’s knowledge he pieced together, the more he realized that Myriam’s gifts did not quite work like her son’s. Her oracular skills were more focused along lines of intuition and happenstance.

  Did this mean that she perceived that Frederick would become a threat in the future?

  Frederick maintained an expression as vacant as Laurence’s. He would have to pick over Myriam’s mind if he wanted that particular answer, but that was not a high priority.

  No. He had come to San Diego with one primary goal in mind, and despite all the secondary goals which had attached themselves to his itinerary, the main goal remained the same. Just because he couldn’t get the information from Icky didn’t mean it was unavailable.

  But did he want to risk pushing Laurence into a vision at this precise juncture? There was no telling what the florist might see, and if he cried out at any point they may wake Icky and harm Icky’s recovery. The only way to avoid that was to take full control of Laurence’s consciousness the way he had with Michael yesterday.