Veil of Thorns

by Gwen Mitchell

  On every trip to the Arcanum, after her lessons, she would lay down beside Kean’s stone figure and cover his clasped hands with hers. Trace the lines of his face with her fingertips.

  The enchanted roses that grew over him would coil around her wrists and whisper against her skin. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was Kean touching her back. She’d meditated in the hall with a notepad for hours, recording every detail she could recall from those few moments that had since dominated her life. Any clue about what type of curse it had been.

  She never ran into Lucas on any of her visits, which gave the impression he was waiting for permission to approach her. But he didn’t seem like the type to do anything solely for someone else’s benefit. He’d already held her hostage wanting a proclamation of love, and he’d stolen a kiss she never would have given freely.

  He was most likely just waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. So, Bri slinked through the maze of Arcanum hallways constantly on edge.

  Thankfully, today she was far away from all of that. She ran her first few errands in Anacortes, and then headed east. Coming upon a patch of two-lane highway with no traffic, she pushed the old truck to go faster. She rolled down her window and let the wind swirl through the cabin and gulped in deep draughts of crisp mountain air, hand thrust out to savor the invigorating rush.

  Freedom.

  She’d been cloistered all winter, in her house, in her tiny Vancouver recording studio, in the Arcanum library, or otherwise stuck on a small island full of too many memories.

  But now she was on the open road, driving fast, free and alive, through the wild.

  Just as the truck crested the hill, it bucked, coughed out a puff of black exhaust, and stalled.

  “Shit.” Bri shifted to neutral and coasted down the hill. She had just enough momentum to drive the vehicle over the small embankment of the shoulder and park out of the way. “Shit-shit-shit.”

  She pulled her purse into her lap and fished through it for her cell phone. Of course, today of all days, she’d left it sitting on the charger. “Dammit!”

  There were no maps in Kean’s truck. No handy GPS. No phone. She didn’t even know where she was exactly–somewhere east of Hamilton? Which was a good ten miles back, at least.

  She got out of the truck and slammed the door. Stared at the matching rows of pines stretching to the horizon in either direction. She hadn’t packed for Woman vs. Wilderness.

  This never would have happened if she’d stuck to the Interstate.

  But no, Astrid had to have her wine from the Fitzgerald vineyard hand-delivered, insisting it would be good for Bri to see Kean’s family.

  She hadn’t wanted to go. She’d been terrified that Anne Fitzgerald, an Oracle, would see right through her in an instant and know Kean was a Lumere. Or that she would find the same accusation in Anne’s eyes she did in almost everyone else’s. And there was that look—the utter desolation of a mother who’d lost a child. She’d seen it many times on her grandmother’s face after her mother had died. She never wanted to witness that pain again.

  Maybe this is Fate’s backhanded answer to your prayers.

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  An engine roared in the distance, and she spied a motorcycle barreling down the highway like one of the hounds of hell. Definitely not AAA. She got back in the truck and tried to give the impression she was there on purpose.

  The black-clad biker flew right by.

  She relaxed, but then spotted brake lights in her rearview mirror.

  Fan-bloody-tastic.

  The rider slowed, signaled, turned around.

  Bri locked her door and prepared to wave him off. She could wait for a nice, friendly-looking family in a Subaru, on their way to Okanogan for a Girl Scout retreat.

  The rider stopped behind her and dismounted. She watched him in the side mirror, which only gave her a view from waist to knee. It was a nice view. Thick, well-muscled thighs in tight black jeans. An extremely squeezable ass.

  She laughed abruptly. Kean’s predicament had done nothing to quell her libido. It had only built it into an embarrassing frenzy. She’d sunk so low as to check out a man who would probably rob her and leave her in the woods for bear food.

  Gravel crunched under his heavy boots as he strolled along the side of the truck. Bri leaned over and searched through the glove box to make it look like she wasn’t sitting there like a complete idiot, waiting to get car-jacked.

  He rapped on the window with his knuckles.

  Even though she’d been expecting it, she flinched.

  “I’m okay, thanks. I called a tow truck. They should be here soon.” She turned with a hunky-dory smile pasted on her face and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming at the pure injustice of life.

  Lucas Moncrieffe stood on the other side of her window, grinning like the wolf he was. “You seem to be in need of rescue, my lady.”

  Chapter Two

  Bri scowled as she rolled down the window.

  Her would-be rescuer took that as an invitation to brace his forearms on the door and lean in.

  She stiffened but didn’t move away. So much for giving her space.

  A hint of cinnamon and cherry brushed her nostrils, and his stormy grey eyes, inches away, were laughing at her.

  Her cheeks heated. “Were you following me?”

  Lucas stepped back, lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, and nodded to his bike. “Looks like we were heading in opposite directions. But if you want a ride, I’ll be sure to make it one you’ll never forget.”

  Her lashes fluttered in annoyance, even as her cheeks flushed harder. She snatched her purse from the seat, rolled up the window, and hopped out. Not in the mood to dignify his comment with a response, she said, “How far west are you going?”

  He tamed down the grin until it crossed into smirk territory. “All the way.”

  Bri nodded. She may as well go back to the island. Leaving any more room in her day for chance to intervene seemed like a risky move. She’d call for a tow when she got home and have the truck back on island by tomorrow afternoon. Astrid’s wine delivery would have to wait. “Then, I would appreciate a ride home. Please.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Briana.” Lucas lifted her hand and gently brushed his mouth against her knuckles, inhaling deeply. His lips were warm and soft. Something deep inside of her sighed with pleasure at the brief contact, but she stamped it down and yanked her hand away.

  “Thanks.” She said curtly, marching to his motorcycle with as much dignity as a hitchhiker is allowed.

  Lucas popped a silver latch on one of the side compartments of his black leather and chrome steed. She tucked her purse inside and turned around to find him bursting her personal bubble again.

  “The coat too.” He spun her around to strip it off.

  “What? Why?” Bri hugged her arms around herself as he folded her coat into a compact ball and tucked it in the storage bin. She wore only a flimsy sweater underneath.

  “It’s too long. You can’t sit on the bike with it. Here.” He unsnapped his black leather jacket and shrugged it off.

  “No. No.” She waved him back. “I’ll be fine.”

  Warm, heavy leather, smelling of some exotic dark spice designed to ignite a fire in her bloodstream, settled over her shoulders.

  “I insist.”

  Not wanting to prolong their off-road adventure any longer, Bri went mute. She even put on the helmet without comment. When she slid onto the contoured seat behind him and put her heels on the foot rests, their jean-clad thighs pressed tight together.

  Lucas froze for a moment, wide back gone rigid, chin tilted to his chest.

  Bri braced for the next volley of innuendo. By some grace of the stars, he spared her and started the bike.

  The engine rumbled on a frequency that made her toes tingle and her teeth vibrate in their sockets, but once they got up to speed, she couldn’t help enjoying the ride. Despite b
eing stuck in intimate proximity with a man–wolf? demon?–she’d spent four months avoiding and the whole broken-down truck fiasco, it was still a gorgeous day.

  The sky was the color of periwinkle velvet, the pines swaying softly, dancing in celebration of the return of the sun. Crisp spring air slowly peeled away the layers of stress and worry coating her like thick cobwebs, leaving her feeling polished and new. Invigorated. She wasn’t cold, with Lucas’s jacket at her back and the natural furnace of his body pressed to her front. Okay, so it was her pressing against him, but he was warm. And solid. And she had to hold on to something or she’d fly off the back. How could she help noticing the solidness of him under her hands, or the ridges on his stomach and the way they flexed each time he leaned into a turn?

  They made record time back to Anacortes, and since they were on a motorcycle, they got on the first boat without having to wait in line. Which also gave her a perfectly reasonable excuse to cut the pleasantries short.

  She slid out of Lucas’s jacket and draped it over the seat as he shoved wooden wedges against both tires.

  He glanced up but said nothing when she popped open the storage bin to retrieve her things. By the time she shut it, he was standing there–back in his jacket, somehow–staring at her from behind his Bad Boy shades.

  “Well, thanks,” she said. “I’ve got it from here.”

  Though she was trying not to look at him, she caught the faint flexing of the muscles around in his cheek, like he was trying not to laugh.

  The ferry’s recorded announcement came over the intercom and the engine rumbled to life, water churning in a white froth as the ship pulled away from the dock.

  Lucas still stood there, waiting.

  “So…I guess I’ll owe you for the gas.” Bri shuffled towards the stairs.

  “Good.” The deep rumble of his voice made her jump. “Buy me coffee and we’ll call it even.”

  When she turned back, Lucas had removed his sunglasses. The gold flecks in his too-striking-to-be-human eyes caught the light and sparkled, momentarily captivating her.

  He lifted his eyebrows in question, a cocky grin curling one side of his mouth.

  “Fine,” she replied, and stalked off. She didn’t ask him what he wanted to drink, just ordered two black coffees and led him to a table by the window.

  Just get this over with.

  She had to actively avoid staring at him. The tiniest details kept snagging her attention and holding it hostage, a part of her deep inside thirsty for the sight, wanting to reconcile it with the man haunting her dreams. No, not dreams. Memories.

  She blew across her coffee and stared out over the steely water as she took a sip and let the silence stretch on.

  Lucas studied her openly and with an intensity that made her foot tap a nervous staccato under the table.

  Bri cleared her throat. “So, what brought you to the mainland?”

  One side of his mouth curled in a wry way that could mean a million different things. “Personal business.”

  She nodded vaguely. She didn’t really care–she was just making small talk. Mostly to delay the conversation taking a detour she wasn’t ready for, despite the months she’d had to contemplate it.

  “At least, that’s what I thought. But now I suspect it was destiny.”

  Her gaze snapped to his stormy eyes. They captured so much light on a bright day like this, it reminded her of the silver smoke left in the air when a Kinde changed forms.

  Mesmerizing.

  She yanked her attention away and scowled at the table. “Maybe it was, actually. I have a letter for you. I meant to post it today.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the small envelope.

  Lucas watched her hand intently as she slid it across the table to him, his smile breaking into a full-on grin, complete with dimples.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end at the familiarity of that grin, and the mysterious flutter it incited in her belly.

  This was a bad idea.

  “It doesn’t say anything important,” she mumbled as he rubbed his thumb over the seal, then sniffed it. “Just my phone number.”

  He opened it anyway and read the few measly lines she’d agonized so much over, a quizzical arch to one brow.

  “I wasn’t sure if you knew how to use a telephone.”

  He leveled a flat look at her as he pulled the newest model iPhone out of his jeans pocket. With a few deft finger clicks, he added her number.

  Well, that answers that.

  “How convenient that you said we should talk, and here we find ourselves with an hour to kill.” There was a light note of teasing in his voice.

  Convenient wasn’t the word she would choose, but she nodded. “I’m sorry I never thanked you.”

  Her gratitude tasted bitter, since her life came at such a high cost, but she’d been raised with manners. With effort, she met his eyes again. “Thank you. For saving my life.”

  His smile slid to a frown. “You shouldn’t thank me. If I had listened to you in the first place…” He huffed out a sigh of frustration. “You nearly died. I failed you. Twice.”

  They had only met once before the fateful night she’d lost Kean, but she knew the other time he was referring to. The day—over four hundred years ago—when Vivianne had burned at the stake with his name on her lips. Neither of those incidents were his fault. And she was not Vivianne.

  Bri shook her head.

  Lucas reached across the table, his hand upturned halfway between them, eyes silently directing her to take it.

  She wiped her suddenly sweaty palm on her jeans and tentatively reached out. A warm, tickling coil of magic arced where their skin touched, languorously sweeping up her arm. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Quite the contrary. It was as addictive as a fur pelt. She wanted to roll in it, rub her face in it, wrap it around her in a soft, fuzzy cocoon.

  “I ask for your forgiveness and the opportunity to earn back my honor. I swear I will never let you down again. I will protect you from this day forward, at any and all cost.”

  Those words, spoken so factually, made her heartbeat kick up. The magic strengthened, tightening around her, though not uncomfortably. The uncomfortable part was resisting the magnetic force of it, choking back the protest in her throat as she drew her hand back.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Lucas sipped his coffee. “Accept my apology.”

  “I do.” She nodded, glad he wasn’t going to press the soul-fated-magic-bound-lovers angle any more. “But–”

  “And my oath.”

  He took his oaths so seriously, she remembered. He’d sworn to Vivianne to keep her daughter Marguerite safe, and he had. Even though that meant leaving Vivianne herself in the hands of her executioners. He’d gotten Marguerite to Scotland. She was Brianna’s great-great-great times ten aunt, or something. Their family’s piece of the Legacy had survived with her and been passed down through the centuries. Until it had come into Bri’s unwilling possession.

  Both she and Vivianne had been prepared to die to protect their family’s relic from the Soul Eater. Without Lucas, they both would have failed.

  When she finally found her voice, it was barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t fail her. Or me. You protected the Legacy.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the Legacy,” he answered in a half growl. “Your life is all that matters to me.”

  She blinked, searching his face for the truth. That and so much more was written there. The weight of it made her squirm. She could remember that look, and she could remember how it used to make her feel. Now it made her feel like an imposter in her own body.

  “Well,” she forced a bitter smile and a happy little wave of her fingers, “I’m still alive.”

  He apparently didn’t find that funny. His eyes darkened. Or maybe it was a cloud passing overhead. “You still grieve. For the Ward.”

  Bri sucked in a quick breath as if she’d been punched in the gut. No, not this. She couldn
’t talk to him about this. A slow panic stirred in her chest, a beehive that had been hit with a rock. She swallowed it down, but it formed a solid lump in her throat she could barely speak past. “Of course.”

  Lucas’s brows drew together at the center as he exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. “I’m sorry for your pain.”

  She wasn’t too upset to notice he said he was sorry for the pain, not the loss. It was an odd expression, but a brutally honest one. To Lucas, Kean was a rival. He wasn’t sorry his rival was gone.

  Only, he’s not gone.

  She stood abruptly.

  A look of calculation crossed Lucas’s features, but he kept his posture casual and relaxed.

  “I need to use the restroom.” She spun away before he could answer.

  Do not cry. Do. Not. Cry.

  How could such an innocent conversation, a simple touch, undo all of her carefully laid defenses? She was supposed to be doing better than this. She was doing better. But the hole in her chest ached doubly hard in Lucas’s presence. And on the other side of that ache lurked the yawning chasm of everything she’d spent her whole life hiding from. She’d shut out her pain, stuffed down her magic, walling them both in together. The two were virtually indistinguishable at this point, and Lucas called both to the fore.

  After wasting as much time as possible in front of the mirror, Bri went the long way around, avoiding the booth where she had left Lucas. She didn’t care that it was immature, or that it was pointless to try and dodge an immortal with preternatural senses on a ship. She needed space and time to rein in all the volatile emotions the day had wrought. She slipped out to the observation deck and spent the rest of the ferry ride sulking and shivering in a corner, hiding from her past and trying to think of ways to keep it from tangling with her future.

  By the time the ferry docked at Evergreen Cove, the weather had turned. Thick, foreboding clouds blanketed the sky, and the air felt heavy with the rain that would soon shroud North Wake and the surrounding islands. Bri emerged onto the main deck to find Lucas waiting with his jacket in one hand and helmet in the other.