by Kate Sparkes
Dammit. Though I hadn’t read many romances, I was fully aware that the big speech was supposed to sound a lot better than this. I skipped ahead to the most important part.
“I thought you had hurt Auphel. Then she explained to me how you helped her by taking her for your army. Saved her, really. All I knew before was that you took a child away from her family to fight, and I thought you were—”
“A monster?” He smiled sadly. “You weren’t wrong. I’ve done more than my share of questionable things in my quest to bring Verelle down and gain my freedom. We have our victory, but the cost has been high for so many. I’m not a hero, Hazel, and I have many regrets.”
“I’m starting to accumulate a few myself. I’m so sorry if I hurt you.”
“I’ve had far worse injuries than this.” He stretched his wings out behind him, and I couldn’t help staring at the way it made the muscles of his torso move. Tough and lean. Carved by war. Not exactly the carefully sculpted human ideal of my world, and far more enticing. “So that’s all? You wanted to apologize?”
“Yes. Well, and ask you to supper. I owe you a good meal.”
He chuckled and stepped closer. “I accept. You’re cooking this time.”
“Fair.” My voice squeaked out. He didn’t say anything else, and the silence between us grew heavy. “I really am sorry.”
“You said that.”
“I know. I’m blabbering because I have no idea what to do.” A smile touched his eyes, which glimmered with their own faint light in the dark cave. My mouth went dry. I looked down, focusing on the scars that crisscrossed his chest. “I do like you. In a lot of ways. And that scares me more than anything else has since the night I got here.”
“I know. It frightens me, too.” He reached out and traced a claw along the line of my jaw. I shivered. There was no threat there, but the strange sensation thrilled me. He cupped my face in his hand, which was so much warmer than the cool tones of his skin hinted at, and tilted my chin up.
“We could skip the meal,” he whispered.
My knees turned liquid, and I pressed harder against the wall so I wouldn’t crumple to the floor. “We could.”
I stepped forward as he leaned in, and our lips met, hard and fast. He pulled back slightly, and I felt his mouth curve into a smile as I put my hand behind his neck to pull him in again. His touch sent thick desire coursing through my body. I’d wanted people before, but never in a way that felt this irrational and wild.
It seemed that monsters did kiss. And quite well, too.
I let my hands wander over his chest and then up to his face, tracing the ridges of the scars on his cheek. When I reached up to brush through his hair, my fingers knocked against one of his twisted horns.
It should have felt strange. It only made me want him more. Something about his monstrous nature had become twice as appealing to me as the beauty of his human parts.
If him wanting me was as warped as Jaid had said, I supposed I was at least as far gone as he was.
His hands roamed over my upper body, surprisingly gentle, until his claws pressed hard against my waist, piercing the fabric of my shirt and tearing it slightly. And still I wasn’t afraid of him. The thought of those claws tracing over my bare skin whipped me into a frenzy.
He nipped my lower lip with a sharp canine tooth, and I gasped.
“Sorry,” he murmured, without pulling back.
“Don’t be.” I pressed my hips against him. He was obviously as excited as I was, and for the first time I let myself wonder whether that part of him was more human or monster.
“Hazel!” Auphel bellowed from below, her voice slowly penetrating the haze that clouded my mind. “Hey!”
Zinian growled deep in his throat and stepped away, but his eyes never left me.
“Um, Hazel?” Auphel called again. “I need you. We’re not alone, here.”
Zinian’s attention snapped to the cave entrance. “See what’s going on,” he said. “I need a minute.”
I needed one, too, but my situation would be less obvious to bystanders. I went to the ledge, knelt, and peered over. Auphel stood at the base of the cliff, joined by the silver-furred form of Jaid and a black horse weighed down with weapons and water sacks.
Jaid looked up. “Did you find him, then?”
Zinian stepped forward and crouched beside me. “She did,” he called down. “So kind of you to follow.” He turned to me. “I’ll come back for you. Don’t try to follow me down.”
He stood and spread his wings, then tipped off the edge. He flew a slow lap over the tops of the trees, wings catching the breeze, and looped down to speak with Jaid and Auphel.
I moved away from the edge and sat in the shadows. Looking down was making me queasy, and I needed a minute to catch my breath.
Zinian returned, landing neatly on the ledge outside, and stalked into the cave. He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. “We have to return to the city.”
I would have been pleased to have him coming back with us if he hadn’t appeared so distressed. “Why? What’s wrong?”
His nostrils flared slightly as he looked toward the forest. “I don’t know. The scholars who’ve been borrowing your books have learned something about Verelle’s whereabouts. They want to see both of us. And they want your key.”
A chill came over me. “Something bad?”
“I don’t know. I doubt they’d have sent for me if it were good news. Come on, I’ll take you down.”
We stood at the edge of the cliff. “Put your arms around me,” he said. “I can’t fly carrying too much extra weight, but we can glide down.”
My chest tightened. “You’re sure?”
“I am. Actually…” He wrapped an arm under my butt and scooped me up. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”
Not exactly how I was hoping to receive that order.
I held on tight as he leaned forward, and we fell.
Chapter Twelve
We followed the palace corridors to the meeting room where the leaders had decided my fate.
The journey back had been long and uncomfortable. Auphel had carried me again while Jaid rode and Zinian flew, and I’d felt like the weakest link in the group. It was a wonder that creatures as comparatively frail as humans had risen up to rule this world. The night in the forest had been long and cold, and Jaid’s sharp eyes and sharper tongue kept me and Zinian apart. I’d hardly slept until nearly dawn and had wakened feeling worse than when I’d closed my eyes.
All of that paled now as Jaid pushed the door open.
Three scholars waited for us. I recognized the elderly male centaur, with his pale coat and fluffy white hair, and the female minotaur whose slim human body seemed ill-equipped to hold up her bovine head. The dog that sat between them was a stranger. It watched as we entered, shaggy black-and-white head cocked to one side, ears perked up.
The table was covered with leather-and cloth-bound books that made the room feel only slightly warmer than the last time I’d visited it.
“At last,” the dog said, and rested a forepaw on the table. “We’ve been waiting.”
“My apologies, Tuwina,” Zinian said.
“You have the key?”
I took it from my bag. I was no longer using it as a lucky charm, but never went anywhere without it on the chance that I might find a locked door to try. “I haven’t had any luck so far.”
I handed it to Eriel, the minotaur. “You will,” she said. “All of the information is here, encoded in these books. Tuwina has deciphered enough that we think we have found the door we need. And we believe we know where Verelle is, and how to bring her back to face justice—if that’s what we decide is the proper course of action.”
“Sit,” the dog said. We obeyed. Zinian took the seat next to me and gave my hand a quick squeeze under the table.
“Is there any question that Verelle should be brought back?” he asked. “If we’re ready for her, we can end it quickly.” He didn’t add that he’d final
ly be able to rest once it was done, but I heard it in the tightness of his voice. This was what he had lived for these past years, ever since he’d seen the depths of her cruelty. He would finally be free.
The scholars exchanged glances. “That will be up to the leaders, of course,” Eriel said. “You among them, Zinian. We needed to speak to the human to be certain it would be possible.” She turned her chocolate-brown eyes on me and blinked slowly. “Hazel, we understand you’ve wanted to go home.”
“I have,” I said with less certainty than I would have spoken with a few weeks before.
“Verelle is in your world. It seems that she didn’t call you here, but she did use your arrival to her advantage. She saw an opening, and she made the exchange. We believe that because of that connection, returning you home would bring her here.”
My heart lurched. “She’s there? In my world? My town?”
“Not to worry,” said Daun, the old centaur. “We’re almost certain her magic would be useless there, if she’s still alive.”
“Almost?”
Daun and Eriel exchanged another look over Tuwina’s head. “You said there’s no magic in your world. We’re not concerned,” Tuwina said.
I let out a breath. At least there was that.
“All would be restored to what it was before,” Eriel assured me.
My breath caught in my throat. That was what I’d hoped for, wasn’t it? When I’d arrived in this world, all I’d wanted was to go home. But now… now things were different. If I wasn’t in love with Zinian, I at least thought we were on our way to something that might be amazing, better than anything I’d had at home. I’d be leaving my dear Auphel, and Qinwan. And my library, which was beginning to feel like a real home. I’d be abandoning my work there, which had already turned out to be so helpful. And to return to what? A critical mother and a hen-pecked father, at least until I saved enough money to move to my own shabby little place. A life surrounded by the same people I’d tried to leave behind once before. A world that was familiar and comfortable, but that I could only picture in black and white after the excitement and colour of this one.
I could have been happy here, I realized, and my throat tightened. It would have been so hard, but so worth it. In Elurien I might have learned to let go of my fears, to take chances and be the new person I already felt myself becoming.
But I couldn’t leave my world to suffer under Verelle. Not if the scholars weren’t completely certain that she wasn’t harming my old friends and family. And not if it would keep this world from the resolution it so needed, and Zinian from finishing the task he’d taken up years ago.
I hadn’t realized that everyone was staring at me until I finished thinking and raised my eyes to meet Tuwina’s. “I suppose I should go, then.”
“Wait,” Zinian said. “Are we certain it’s safe? What if Hazel opens a door and it’s to the wrong world? What if something goes wrong, and we don’t know to help her?”
Jaid’s mouth opened in surprise. She had wanted him to give up his obsession with Verelle, but I doubted she’d be pleased by the concerns that had displaced it. They pleased me, though.
“We’ll make sure we have all of the information we need before we do anything,” Eriel said. “Hazel has become a member of our community, and we don’t wish to see her harmed. Besides, accuracy is the only way to be certain that Verelle will be called back.”
Auphel chewed the skin beside her thumbnail, but remained silent.
“We’ll speak to the other leaders and finish our planning tonight,” Daun said, reaching for a heavy book bound in rough hide. “We thank you all. You’re excused.”
I fought down the bile that rose in my throat. This is how it should be, I told myself, and remembered the stories of my childhood. Didn’t people always have to go home at the end of these adventures? Dorothy did. Peter and Susan and what’s-their-names did. Balance was always restored.
We rose to leave. All except Auphel. “You’re sure it has to be this way?” she asked.
“We are,” Daun said, not unkindly. “We are terribly sorry.”
Zinian leaned over Auphel’s shoulder. “I’ll see that you stay on to work in the library,” he said. His voice held a rough edge, and he spoke quietly.
Auphel nodded and stood. “Thank you. That wasn’t what I was worried about, though.”
We stepped into the hallway, and Jaid cleared her throat. “This is a good thing you’re doing, Hazel.” She offered a hand, and I shook it. “If I don’t see you again, I wish you well.”
I smiled uncertainly. “Thanks.”
She turned and left.
“I’ll see you at the library?” Auphel asked.
“Sure.”
Everything was crumbling around me already. My heart fluttered like a caged bird as I watched her shamble away. I closed my eyes.
Zinian placed a hand on my arm, and I leaned against the solid reality of his body. He rested his chin on top of my head and held me close.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said. “Much as I want to see Verelle’s head roll, it’s not worth losing you. You can change your mind.”
“No,” I said, and sniffled. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “I want to stay here with you. But my people might be in danger. My whole world. I have to know.”
“I understand.” He let go, and I stepped away from him.
“So,” I said, and made myself smile. “You still want to come by for supper? Last chance.”
He didn’t smile back. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Chapter Thirteen
Auphel grew restless that day, and decided to spend the night outside of the city, roaming the woods and sleeping under the stars as she’d done before my arrival. I understood the impulse. I couldn’t stay still, myself, and wanted nothing more than to run from the inevitable goodbyes. She left early, and I spent the afternoon tidying the library, cleaning my apartment, and bathing and grooming myself as well as I could with nothing but a bar of soap and a hairbrush.
In a spare moment I tried to write a letter to Zinian explaining how I felt. I knew I wouldn’t be able to say it out loud. The ink was lovely, the paper smooth, my penmanship perfect, and yet the words wouldn’t come. I’d known kind and generous people before. I’d known attractive people before, and brave ones. I had cared for people and loved them. But it had never added up to this. This strange feeling that I wanted to protect him even as I wanted to let him do the same for me, that I wanted to feel his soul—his spark, maybe—as much as I wanted to feel his body, that losing him would hurt more than losing my entire old life had. I’d never so regretted needlessly losing time with someone, or felt so shattered at the thought of separation.
I wrote that and more, but my attempts came out sounding melodramatic and not at all like what I truly felt. I balled up the paper and put the ink away.
I should have been excited about going home, but everything around me was a reminder of what I was leaving behind. The cool quiet of the library, filled with the miraculously warm and living scent of books… the heavy woven blankets I’d found for my bed, patterned in a riot of pink and red roses, and the cool sheets beneath… even the cantankerous wood stove in my apartment nearly made me weep when I realized that I’d never enjoy its warmth on a winter evening while I snuggled in with a cup of sinsl, the fresh, sweet herbal tea blend Qinwan had introduced to me.
When I left to visit the butcher—on my own for the first time—I noticed that the monsters in the street no longer glared at me. They ignored me or gave curt but polite nods. They would have accepted me in time, I decided. Perhaps I could have helped them record their stories and history and kept all of it safe in the library. It would have been a massive undertaking, but fascinating. Tales of monsters and magic seemed quite appealing now that they were reality, and I could have collected them for barter. Memories for meat, stories for soap. A valuable service to offer.
But I only had one night, and I wasn’t planning to spe
nd it with paper and ink. I’d considered the fact that it would be easier to keep my distance now, and decided I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make the most of every moment I had left with Zinian.
I dressed in a long skirt and a loose peasant-style blouse. Nothing underneath. Monsters didn’t care much for undergarments, and I was getting used to it. Still, this fabric was thin enough that I felt half-naked in spite of the shirt’s otherwise modest coverage.
I prepared two servings of meat in the cast-iron pan that the apartment’s last inhabitant had left behind. I’d just set the meat out to rest and started on a plain salad of wild greens when the door opened.
“Smells good.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at his voice. “Not bad, right? I hope I didn’t overcook it.”
Zinian looked around the apartment, taking in the softly glowing candles, the framed prints of purple wildflowers on the wall, the huge window, and the wide bed with its single pillow and neatly folded blankets that I’d left turned down at the foot. “It’s still exceedingly human,” he said, running his fingers over a shelf that displayed a small collection of wooden toys I’d found in the library, “but I like it far better than the palace.”
“So do I. That place is pretty, but so cold.”
He hadn’t bothered with a shirt this time. I supposed that was a formality that we’d moved beyond. I was glad. The less he was trapped by human things, the more comfortable he became. I watched as he moved with raw, powerful grace through my home, seeming to fill it with his presence even as he kept his wings tucked in close to avoid knocking into the furniture. His long talons clicked over the floor. I remembered how terrified I’d been when we’d met.
I couldn’t say I wasn’t scared now, but it was a far more pleasant feeling tonight. My skin tingled, and I became aware of every soft brush of my clothing against it.
He stopped near the overstuffed loveseat, but didn’t sit. “It feels like you in here.”
“It’s getting there.”
