Greta and the Goblin King

by Chloe Jacobs

  “So who taught him those words in the first place?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Ray.” She laughed in response to Wyatt’s long-suffering look.

  “Yeah. Sloane really looks up to him.”

  They started walking back, but this time the silence was broken more often by comfortable conversation as they questioned each other about little things. Normal things. Things from their past, and also about their time in Mylena.

  Talking with Wyatt brought Greta’s memories closer to the surface and she found herself reminiscing about things she thought she’d forgotten.

  And she only thought about Isaac, oh…every other minute.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Greta and Wyatt got back to the fire, Greta stayed with him until Ray returned to take his turn at watch. He immediately started in on them again. Wyatt still refused to endorse his crazy plans, but Greta had stopped arguing. Either way, she was going after Agramon. If they really insisted on tagging along, who was she to stop them?

  Would they be successful? Could they find the reclusive Lamia and get one of the witches to open a portal? She frowned into the dark of her tent. Who knew? Who knew if they would even survive a day, especially once the eclipse was full?

  So many uncertainties. Luke would have torn her a new one if she’d come to him with such flawed, nothing plans.

  As she lay back and closed her eyes with a sigh—Wyatt having lifted little Jacob from her pallet and carried him to his own tent—Greta turned the situation around and around in her mind, but she just couldn’t find a way to make it work.

  …

  She was in her room, lying in bed with the covers drawn up to her chin. The small lamp on her bedside table cast a weak circle of light. A book lay open on the same table, spine up. Across the room, three posters papered the wall. Different sizes. Vibrant colors.

  The window was open, and the sound of chirping crickets filtered in from outside. She heard the whistle of a train not far away. Once. Twice. And two more long blares to signal it was crossing the intersection on its way through town.

  Isaac. Greta would always know when she was having one of those dreams. He couldn’t trick her anymore because she’d already come to recognize his presence, felt it like a buzzing electrical field that could make her hair stand on end.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she called. She couldn’t see him—not yet—but he would be able to hear her, of that she had no doubt.

  His breath suddenly caressed the side of her neck, warm and soft as if he were lying beside her. Her heartbeat stepped up and her fingers clenched in the crisp cotton sheets that smelled like lemon fabric softener and felt so real.

  “Show yourself,” she demanded, holding her breath.

  I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore. His husky voice was a beguiling whisper.

  The cocky jerk.

  She tossed her head to the side, but couldn’t get away from him, and then she felt his soft touch, a finger tracing the line of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. His undeniable scent filled her lungs, but he was still invisible.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, her back ramrod straight.

  She felt his long sigh, but the pressure eased, then finally lifted.

  “First my school, now my bedroom. Why?” She blinked. “Why here?”

  How else am I supposed to get close to you? Besides, I like seeing you this way. You’re…soft here.

  Angry, she flipped back the blue and orange zigzag patterned comforter and stumbled out of bed to the window where gauzy curtains fluttered lightly in the breeze. She braced her arm against the frame, catching her own flustered reflection in the glass. “You can’t keep doing this to me. Leave me alone.”

  Her voice lacked conviction, and every inch of her body strained for his touch. She should be stronger, but couldn’t help it, she was glad he was here. There was no use denying it, no matter how foolish that made her. She dropped her forehead to the smooth, cool window. Maybe if she closed her eyes and refused to look at anything she would wake up.

  His voice was a tickle in her ear. Is that really what you want?

  Damn him. This had to stop. He couldn’t keep coming to her like this, torturing her with these memories. She couldn’t take it anymore. She spun around. “Of course it’s what I want!”

  Suddenly he was right in front of her, looking down at her.

  She couldn’t speak. Nothing came out. He was dressed only in loose-fitting pants, without a shirt. She wasn’t used to seeing him—in dreams or in person—without the thick, full-length winter cloak. Her jaw dropped to her chest. When she realized it, she snapped her mouth closed so hard her teeth clacked together.

  With effort, she dragged her gaze from all that smooth, sculpted skin to his face. His eyes glowed in the soft light, and his hair was mussed as if he’d really been asleep in that bed with her. A knowing smile played across his lips, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Dangerous. Nobody should look that good.

  He seemed relaxed and comfortable, as if his winter cloak held all the responsibilities he usually carried on his shoulders and without it he could be himself. And just who was Isaac when he was being himself? She’d seen glimpses, but there’d been so many games, so many misunderstandings…

  With a shiver, she crossed her arms, feeling vulnerable in the soft cotton tank and boxers he’d conjured for her to wear out of the memories in her head. She turned toward the window, pushing the curtain aside to look out at the darkened boulevard. She waited for him to start asking questions. How did the lights work on those poles outside? How could that black box beside the bed keep time?

  But he didn’t say anything for once, and she found herself oddly disappointed.

  The level of detail in her dream’s setting, just like last time when he’d conjured up her middle school, was actually pretty amazing. The quiet neighborhood was lit in even sections by the tall streetlights. The old royal blue Honda sitting in her parents’ driveway had a dent in the side where she’d run into it with her bike when she was nine, and across the street, the neighbor’s drooping basketball net looked like it would fall from its place above the garage any day now.

  He came up beside her and looked out. Her body practically hummed in response to his nearness, and when his arm touched hers, tingles ran all the way down her body.

  “Where are the forests? The lakes?” He looked at the long line of row houses, each much like the other. “Everything looks so hard and gray. How did you stand to be so disconnected from the Great Mother? From what I can see, this world is close to dying.”

  “It is… was… I mean—” She shook her head. He almost had her thinking of this as the real thing. “It wasn’t all like this. The city is just…a city. As dull and gray as Rhazua. There’s plenty of green in the parks.” But, who knew. Maybe the home Isaac pulled up out of her head wasn’t even there anymore. Maybe it had been turned into a shopping mall or a turnpike, like Wyatt had suggested. Or maybe her family had moved on.

  “Why would you want to go back to this, Greta? What could possibly be there for you?” He took her hand. She glanced down in surprise, but didn’t pull away. “Why can’t you let it go?”

  “Who says I haven’t let it go?” she said defensively. “Until you started moonlighting in my dreams, I hadn’t given this place a second thought in years.”

  She could tell from the look in his face that he didn’t believe her.

  She didn’t believe herself.

  It was suddenly all too much. The memories, the house, him there in the middle of it all. The comforting setting of her childhood home was a trap. It shimmered around her like a glistening, wet soap bubble that might pop at any moment.

  “I want out of here,” she demanded, throat closing. Her heart pounded and she felt cold. “Out, Isaac. Get me out now!”

  “It’s all right,” he said, following his words with a soft shush of reassurance. She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively.
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  “You can open your eyes again.”

  When she did, she was relieved to see that the bedroom was gone, like washing away a layer of paint on a canvas only to reveal another painting beneath. Now they stood outside, beneath a canopy of heavy-limbed evergreens covered in snow. It was still a dream, though, because she still wore her human clothing.

  “What are we doing here? This isn’t what I wanted,” she protested.

  “Then what do you want? What do you really want? Tell me,” he pushed. “Let me grant your wish.”

  No. No. No.

  What did he want from her? If she asked for a pair of decent boots, would that get rid of him, or only bind him to her more tightly?

  “I don’t want anything. Just leave me alone.”

  “It seems to me that if you really wanted to be free of me, you could have fought harder.”

  “Believe me, I’m trying,” she insisted. But now she wasn’t so sure. Her confidence sounded shaky.

  “You want me to let you go?” he repeated, his voice low and deep. “You are already the freest soul in Mylena. You have no emotional ties. You aren’t bound to the land or its people, and you aren’t subject to the moons and their pull.”

  Was that jealousy turning his tone sharp? “You make it sound as if I have everything, when in fact, I’ve got nothing.”

  “If there were trust between us…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “You could have me.”

  She gasped. You could have me. Every muscle in her body trembled. Hope. Anticipation. Dread. The four words caused a ripple effect of conflicting emotions that she just couldn’t deal with now. She’d spent so much time isolating herself from others, protecting herself…she wasn’t equipped for anything else.

  Coward. That’s what she was. Too much of a coward to open herself up and take a chance.

  “T-trust?” Her fingers fluttered at her throat. She told herself she was being smart. It was too hard to know what Isaac’s end-game was. So hard to know when he was being sincere, and when he was acting in his own best interests. When he was manipulating her, and when he was actually letting her see a genuine emotion.

  In reality, she didn’t trust herself or her instincts anymore. She’d made so many mistakes already. If she hadn’t let Isaac into her head, no one would have discovered her secret and Luke might still be alive. If she hadn’t left Siona in the tavern, the pretty goblin wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If she’d thought of someone other than herself…oh, ever…she might have been able to help the boys before now, when it was probably too late to save them.

  “You think I’m going to trust you when you keep digging into my head? When you torment me with memories of the life I’ll never get back?” She lifted her chin. “You’re only proving that I’ve been right all along not to trust you.”

  He frowned. It was obvious he’d seen her avoidance for exactly what it was. “After everything I’ve told you, you should know that I’m not trying to hurt you.” He pressed forward once more. He wasn’t going to let it go.

  She refused to meet his gaze, staring instead at the line of his collarbone, broad shoulders, and the length of his defined torso. She held her breath to keep from moaning. Why did he have to be practically naked on top of it all?

  “I only want to show you your past so that you can finally leave it behind and embrace the future, accept the life you’ve been given, embrace the world you now belong to.”

  He actually made it sound tempting, but Greta didn’t belong in Mylena. Just like she didn’t belong in that little-girl room, or back at her old school. She didn’t belong anywhere. Especially not with him.

  You could have me.

  As much as she wanted it to be true…

  She shook her head. Sure, Isaac made her feel something. But it wasn’t “belonging”. If anything, it was curiosity, the thrill of a challenge. Yeah, that was it. Nothing more. Except maybe a greater than average amount of frustration and annoyance.

  And fear. Now she felt fear as well. Not only for herself, but for Wyatt and the boys.

  She clamped down on everything. Shoved her feelings deep down and prayed like hell he couldn’t read what she consciously kept from him. She didn’t know what Isaac would do if he learned about Wyatt. Although he may have tried to help her, he’d already admitted he had no problem hunting down other humans, and she didn’t know how close he was to finding her.

  Where is he? At this moment while his mind was entwined with hers, could he be at their very door? Did he have to be asleep to be with her like this, or could he torment her and hunt her at the same time?

  “Did you know about the humans Agramon is holding captive—the slaves being worked to death in his fortress?”

  He swore.

  “You did? You knew?”

  His brows scrunched together. He shook his head, but she didn’t believe him. “I didn’t know anything until Siona told me just this afternoon. She tortured the information out of two gnomes who were apprehended in the goblin forest.”

  Where in the forest? She didn’t ask, afraid he would only lie to her.

  “Greta, you must tell me where you are.”

  “Where are you?” She threw back at him. “Right now in this moment, where are you?”

  “My physical body lies in sleep, as you are asleep.”

  That’s not what she’d asked. “Where?”

  He paused, and Greta knew. Maybe not his exact location, but she knew he was closing in on her.

  “Don’t doubt that I’ll find you.” His contorted expression betrayed his fierce determination. The lines around his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly, examining her, searching for the information that would damn her.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  His focused gaze was like a rushing tide over all of her senses. “No matter who you are or where you come from, we’re the same. We were meant to be together.” He said it with such certainty and finality. “It has been decreed in the stars, and in our blood.”

  She spun away and clenched her eyes shut, disregarding the answering sigh of her soul to his words. “Tell me something real,” she whispered. “Something that isn’t a bunch of insane, poetic crap.”

  “Then how about because you challenge me?” he said. “You provoke me, excite me. Make me think about things I shouldn’t think about, want things I thought would be impossible once I became the king.”

  She glanced back up at him. The low ache in her belly sharpened and twisted. “And how is that a good thing?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “But you feel it, too. You know what’s between us is undeniable and powerful.”

  “So you’re saying you want to be friends?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Isaac would never be her friend. The two of them could easily spend forever fighting tooth and nail. They might eventually find opportunities for laughter, and maybe even come to a certain level of understanding and trust. But it still wouldn’t make them friends. He was right about one thing; what they had was too strong, too volatile, for something as simple as friendship.

  He closed the distance between them until she had to look up to maintain eye contact. “No.” He gave her that devastating smile, the one she couldn’t resist. The one that made her melt. “Friendship isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “That’s pretty much what I thought.”

  Her breathing quickened as he reached for her, his fist curling into her hair at the nape of her neck. Her hands spread flat over his chest before she even realized she’d touched him. It was like connecting with a live wire and she didn’t want to pull back.

  There was still too much left unresolved between them. Too little trust, too few certainties. Right now, none of that mattered because he’d dipped his head. Only inches away and she could feel his breathing hitch against her cheek. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and the tang of anticipation was sharp on her tongue.

  She knew it was coming. Her mouth parted
on a gasp as his lips finally pressed against hers. Lighter, and softer than she would have expected given the intensity in his eyes. He hesitated as if he half-expected her to knee him in the groin or bite him.

  Instead, her body curved closer. She tilted her head just a little and he took that as permission, spiraling them both deeper. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She groaned as their bodies came into contact, all hard angles meeting soft curves as his lips slanted across hers.

  Is this the way it would feel when she was wide-awake?

  A sliver of unease wedged its way between them at the thought. She pushed him back.

  “Greta,” he murmured, leaving little biting kisses across her jaw.

  She shook her head and stepped away, taking several deep breaths as she thought of some way to guide them both back into less explosive territory. His breathing was just as unsteady, hands trembling slightly before he jammed them into his pockets. “You’re not going to lose control and start to turn again, are you?”

  His lips curled, the sharp points of his teeth flashing at her. “Would that frighten you?”

  She made a show of looking him over carefully as she fought to regain control. “Since you’re not really here, I’m not going to worry unless it looks like a problem.” And since this wasn’t really happening, it probably didn’t matter whether his physical self was or wasn’t on the verge of transforming with the moons into a wild creature that could rip her to pieces without even trying.

  She refused to look into his eyes. Instead, she focused on his square chin, and the telling muscle tapping hard in his jaw. The way each long breath in and out fed his entire body. She ran her gaze over his arms, shoulders, and down, comparing the Isaac in front of her to the goblin she knew from the real world.

  “Nothing about this feels like a dream,” she mused. “You look so real. The small scar above your eye. The maddening way you tilt your head when you look at me. That…kiss.” She realized she was touching her fingers to her lips and quickly dropped her hand.