by Dee Garcia
Another nod, then I’m pulled in for a hug, a warm embrace I willingly melt into. “I don’t approve of it any more than you do, trust me, but he’s your father and I love him with all my heart. Which is why I need to trust you and let you live your life—even if I don’t agree. After all, you are a woman now.”
I freeze up in her arms knowing exactly what she means.
She knows…
But how?
Reluctantly—and ever so anxious—I ease back, wearily lifting my stare to hers. A soft smile touches her lips but it’s the look in her identically-colored eyes that says it all. “How?” is all I’m able to muster.
“A mother just knows.”
“And you’re okay with it?” A silly question, but if I don’t ask it, I’ll drive myself crazy with the details later.
“I wouldn’t say okay, but it’s another inevitable part of life, Tinksley. Had it not been Peter, you would have given that part of you to someone else. You love him, don’t you?”
“I do, yes.”
“And does he love you?”
Silence.
How am I supposed to answer her when I don’t know the answer myself? Had she asked me this question just a few months ago, I would belted a sure “Yes” from the top of my lungs. But now? “I used to think so.” I tear my eyes away from her to then open door leading out the garden.
Mama whips me back in her direction and eyes me with nothing but concern. “What do you mean used to?”
Shrugging, I inhale a deep breath and shake my head ambiguously. “I don’t know, honestly. We’re at a crossroads and I’m not sure how or when we got here. Izzy’s birthday seemed to have been the last straw, though. Since then he’s been distant, strange. I don’t know what to do…”
Knock, knock!
In a flash, we both turn our attention to the door. Given the meal she’s prepared, I’m certain it’s my father, just as I’d feared when I first smelled it outside.
“We’ll talk more about this later, okay, sweetheart?”
Not that I wholeheartedly want to talk about it, but on the other hand, I need to before all these doubts eat me alive. “Okay, sure.”
“I’m sure he’s just being a typical man.” She sets her lips on my cheek. “Now, go on, open the door while I get the table set.”
I don’t argue with her, don’t protest, either. This conversation could’ve been far worse, argument of the century considering the topic, and yet she finally treated me like the woman I am.
Like the woman I’ve been all but begging her to treat me like.
Hand to the knob, I pull open the door and find my beast of a father on the porch, as predicted.
All six feet of him, with that long, pale mane and luminous amber eyes. He smiles warmly, unmoving from his place until I step aside and motion for him to enter. His arms engulf me the moment he strides in, soft lips placing a kiss to the top of my head.
“My darling girl, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.
No answer on my part. I never do. Don’t believe a single word he says, not when he is what he is and does what he does.
Which is why I head to my room rather than joining them for dinner.
My mother may love him unconditionally and without borders, but I don’t, and the chances of me ever loving him again are nonexistent.
Tap, tap!
Tap, tap, tap!
“Tinks, open up!”
Peter. I can just barely hear his voice. It’s so distant and muffled within the depths of my slumber. I’m trying to hold onto it, trying to pull myself into consciousness.
But I’m so tired.
Mentally, physically, emotionally.
Tap, tap!
“T, wake up!”
Tap, tap, tap!
Finally, a breakthrough.
That last tap at my window clashes through the fog, peeling my heavy eyelids open. The book I’d immersed myself in before falling asleep is still open on my chest, lying flat on the page I’d drifted off from. Tossing it aside, I force myself onto my feet, pad over to window, and flip open the lock.
Normally, I’m so thrilled to see Peter, I practically yank him into my room. But something’s different tonight. I don’t know if it’s that I’m simply so upset about everything in general, or what, but I let him make it in on his own, trudging back to my bed without a glance back.
Not like he can’t manage.
He’s pushed that window open more times than I can count.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper in the darkness.
His reply doesn’t come instantaneously, but when it does, I already have the sheets pulled over my legs. “I had to see you,” he whispers back.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just—been a few days since I last saw you. I missed you.”
He’s beside me after that, shifting all his weight onto one hand as he leans into my personal space. That smell, that woodsy, crisp balm he always smells of, hits me. Might have only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity since I last smelled it.
And that hits me even harder.
My eyes well. “I missed you, too,” I admit, hushed voice shaking.
“Ah, T, c’mon—don’t do this to me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Things have just been...hard lately. The nightmares, I haven’t been feeling too hot, either.”
All trials he had no inclination to share with me.
I hate that’s the first place my mind goes to, but...can you blame me?
Peter and I were always fighting an uphill battle, one where reaching the top seemed bleaker than bleak, and then, suddenly, we fell off this unforeseen cliff into nothingness and haven’t stopped falling since.
I wasn’t expecting it. Wasn’t ready for it. And perhaps I should’ve been—you know, bleak and all of that—but I truly wasn’t. I guess a part of me always thought we could make it
More like, hoped we’d make it.
But my subconscious knew the truth.
So what am I supposed to do?
“Why are things so different now, Peter?” I can’t even stop myself from asking it. “Did I do something? Say something? Is it something I didn’t say?”
“No, no, baby girl, no.” He cups my face in a flash, slowly climbing over me. “You didn’t do anything. This is all me. I promise you.”
“Then why is everything so different? Why are you so distant?”
A single, gentle push and I’m on my back, his frame nestled between my legs. “It’s all me,” he repeats. “This is all me, my fault. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Tinks. So fucking sorry. I swear to you that wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s fine, I just…” My throat constricts as I swallow the lie. “I just hate the distance. Hate that you’ve stopped talking to me, telling me these things.”
“I know and I’m sorry. All I wanted was to get myself in order without dragging you into it. It’s so much worse this time, T. So. Much. Worse.”
“So let me help you then, Peter. Please… I-I love you. Hate seeing you suffer in silence when I’m right here.”
“There is no helping me, I told you this.” He’s insistent, threading his fingers into my hair. “I have to do it myself.”
“But there has to be—”
“Shhh.” A warm finger touches my lips. “Let’s not talk about this right now. It’s messed with my head enough. I just want to be with you.”
I want to tell him no, that we’re going to talk about this now, right here in this very moment.
But I can’t.
I’m weak when it comes to this man and I know it. He’s been my everything for as long as I can remember, and while I want answers, having him—connecting with him—is more important.
Foolish? Probably.
Self-destructive? Absolutely.
Why give him my body and my heart so freely when everything, including the future, is so uncertain?
Because I love him.
End of story.
Kiss me, I will him from within, and as if he heard me, he does. Tightens his grip on my hair and seals our mouth in a soul-searing kiss. The flame I’d feared had extinguished ignites like a wildfire, sensuously billowing through every limb at lightning speed. Spreading further still as his hand ghosts down my body and slips under my nightie.
Beneath the soft lace of my panties.
The same finger he’d set to my lips teases me, lazily sliding through my flesh. His touch sucks the air straight from my lungs, bursting forth from my lips in an appreciative gasp as my hips roll against him.
“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs, adding his thumb to the tempo. “God, I’ve missed this. So wet already, T. So warm, tight.”
“All for you,” I breathe, desperate to feel him inside me. “Peter, please...stop teasing me.”
“I’m only getting started, baby girl.”
And he was, he really was.
In a slow descent, Peter makes his way down my body, stamping kisses from my neck all the way to down there. He teases me through my panties until I’m trembling, and then in a blink, they’re gone, tossed onto the floor beside my bed without care.
Lips, tongue, his teeth, he keeps on, using every inch of his mouth to set me on fire. It’s working, too, because I’m burning for him.
Burning.
Like I used to.
I could cry in relief, hopeful that this is the beginning of our turnaround.
When his tongue laps furiously between my lips, my swollen, aching core, I can barely contain the sounds of pleasure that leave me. I thrust my hands in his hair, both pulling him closer, egging him on as he eats me, and pushing him away, eager to have him filling me.
“Peter, please, I can’t… I can’t wait,” I plead with him.
“You can”—suck—“And you will.”
Jesus.
Mewling, I strengthen my grip and pull him up, looking him in the eye. “My mom.”
“She’s not going to hear us. Just stay real quiet for me, T—let me make you feel good.” He does that grin, that lopsided, boyish grin that makes me melt and flutter everywhere.
I’m practically aching for him at this point, but I need him to know that we don’t have to do this anymore. We don’t have to hide or sneak around.
“She knows, Peter. About this.” I motion between us. “We don’t to hi—”
With strength I wasn’t anticipating, he breaks free from my hold and continues his feat, dragging his tongue from that part of me I’ve never given him back up to my clit.
“Oh, God…” I fall back, head rolling into my pillow. My eyes hit the back of my head, too, but a part of me is intent on telling him, on getting the words out. “She knows, Peter. We don’t have to hide anymore. We can be free, happy—”
I’m silenced with a kiss, an almost punishing kiss as he shakes his head and rolls into me, filling me to the hilt in one fluid movement. Thank God his mouth is sealed over mine because the moan that breaks free would’ve definitely met my mother’s ears otherwise.
More so when he actually starts moving, thrusting his hips as if he can’t get enough. Idly, I realize he’s never been this rough, but I don’t question it. This feels better than any other time we’ve been together.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” I mumble against his lips, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I lo—”
“Shhh,” he shushes me. “I know, I know you do. And I you, Tinks. Always.”
♫ Blood // Water - grandson ♫
“Remind me again why you need me when you have Puppets of all shapes and sizes running around here?” Tigerlily asks with my fangs deep in her neck.
She’s gotten much better at staying still, at breezily going with the flow while I take my fill. It’s made our arrangement easier and much more enjoyable. I don’t indulge her as I’ve done the others, but she’s requested that much, and that’s the least I can give her—aside from providing her three decadent meals per day and a warm, comfortable place to rest her head at night.
Unlatching with a sated sigh, I lick what remains of her blood on my lips and wipe that delicate, bronze slope with my handkerchief. “Because as I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t share.”
With her back still pressed to my front, I feel rather than see her roll her eyes. “Ooooh, lucky me,” she quips.
And luckily for her, I’ve learned to ignore her sarcasm.
“You are, actually.” Stepping around the Chief’s daughter, I stride over to the alcohol cabinet and retrieve a clean glass from its polished wood top. “The others aren’t as gentle.”
“But you are?”
“Considering I’ve not heard you scream in quite some time, yes, I’m going to say I am.” I flash her an equally sarcastic smirk as I saunter back over to where she stands and hand her the glass. “Here, you know what to do.”
Tigerlily rolls her eyes a second time, but takes the proffered glass without protest, those deep, chocolatey irises watch me intently.
From my pocket, I whip out my granddad’s golden pocket knife and deftly drag the very tip of the blade down my palm, then squeeze my fist above the glass. “Drink up,” I demand.
As always, she hesitates only a moment, readying herself for a taste the human palate isn’t accustomed to, before tossing back the finger-worth of my blood.
“I don’t know how you drink that crap.” She gags a bit as she passes back the glass.
“Because you’re not of my kind. If you were, it would taste—”
“I’ll pass. I have absolutely no intention or desire to live forever.”
“Fair enough, but for the record, I didn’t choose immortality. In fact, the choice was never mine to make.”
The girl ponders my statement as both her flesh and mine cinch back together in tandem, healing perfectly as though nothing ever happened.
Essentially, that’s exactly the case.
But that’s not important right now.
That’s something I won’t realize that I’ve taken for granted during my two centuries of life for a while more.
“If it wasn’t your choice, how did you become this?” Tigerlily asks.
I follow the subtle movement of her hands, how they wave me up and down. “My mother.”
The girl’s face scrunches up in disbelief. “Your mom?”
I’m nodding, about to give her a more elaborate answer, when I can just make out what sounds like Beatrix and her husband’s voices out in the hall.
“Sh, sh, sh.” I lift a finger, channeling all my focus to my hearing. Zeroing in on their conversation, it amplifies in a clear yet warbled echo, as if they’re within feet of me.
“Don’t you dare.” That’s Phillipe.
“I have to. They need to know. I don’t feel right sitting in this room once a month otherwise.”
“They’re not going to take that well! You’ve seen how they react when I speak,” he whisper-hisses.
They’ve stopped, too, right outside the drawing room. He must’ve grabbed her at some point as well because the rustle of clothing resounds.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” she mutters back. “How am I supposed to teach our daughter to own up to her mistakes if I can’t be an example?”
“Captain?” Tigerlily’s voice breaks through their debate.
A shake of my head and I turn back to the girl, now thoroughly interested to see what’s about to unfold at this meeting. “I have to go. Dinner’s at six. I believe Violet told me salmon was on the table.”
I’m out the door so fast, not a word of her reply—if there was one—meets my ears as I evanesce down the dimly lit corridor in a flash.
Phillipe silences his wife with a fiery look when I appear in their wing, righting my vest, my gaze trained on their forms. “You’re here early.”
Beatrix smiles, a friendly gesture that’s far too much like her daughter’s for comfort, and snaps her gaze up to her husband. “Violet said we were right on time actually. I belie
ve everyone else is here.”
Probably so.
I was just too preoccupied to notice.
Smiling in return, I set a hand on her shoulder and motion toward the door. “I stand corrected then. Shall we?”
Both the fairy and her husband nod, one of his hands falling to the small of her back as he directs her before him. She follows his lead and shuffles ahead, her wings flowing elegantly behind her. The Fae Lord, however, stays back beside me.
“She’s still processing. Please forgive whatever comes out of her mouth.” He sounds oddly anxious; remorseful, too.
Chuckling, I clap him on the back and guide him toward the doors his wife just passed through. “Not to worry. I can imagine she’s upset.”
The question I really want to ask is how much did he actually share with her, but they’re here together, meaning it’s unlikely he divulged it all. Either that or, Tinksley’s mother has one hell of a poker face.
Only time will tell, I guess.
The council sits in hushed conversation as Phillipe and I approach the table. Beatrix has already made it to her usual seat, though she’s not participating in whatever is being discussed around her. She sits there, dazed, her face far more pale than usual.
My stare remains firmly fixated on her form as I lower myself in my seat, her husband following suit beside her at the opposite end of the table.
“I trust you all haven’t been waiting long,” I greet.
“Not long, no,” Persia speaks, a small smile highlighting her pretty face. Her tone isn’t haughty or bothered, either.
She’s good, this one.
I’ve come to like her more than I thought I would ever like, or trust for that matter, a witch.
“How’s the little one? What did she think about her party?” I question.
“She loved it and wanted me to pass along the message that she thanks you for making her dream castle party come true.”
Everyone laughs, myself included.
“I should mention she’s a little ticked I wouldn’t let her show off what she’s been learning, but that was her punishment for getting into Bea’s head at the dress shop.”
More laughter as Beatrix waves the witch off. “Didn’t even feel it, to be honest. She has a gift.”
