Arthur’s heavy boots thudded against the rugs as he searched around the room. “I know you’re in here. You’re always in here,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about what’s been going on with Maeve.”
Corbin pressed his finger to my lips. I stifled the urge to giggle.
A few more moments of Arthur’s boots stomping across the carpet. “Fine, fuck you, you wanker.” He stormed out.
My heart hammered against my chest. Adrenaline surged through my body, mixing with the sizzling desire humming in my veins. My back pressed against the side of the compartment, and literally every other inch of me pressed against Corbin, my body firing like an exploring star with every molecule that touched.
“Corbin, where are we?” My breath came out husky, deep in the confined space.
“It’s called a priest hole. They were built into grand houses during Elizabeth I’s reign to hide persecuted Catholic priests. The Lord who owned the castle during that time was a Catholic sympathiser, and he had this built to hide priests escaping through the country into France. His grandson hid Charles I in this very hole during the Civil War.”
“Wow,” I said, although I had no idea who any of those people were. History was never my strongest subject. All the dates and names got kind of boring, unless they were famous scientists. And if my high school didn’t teach about an earth older than 6,000 years, no way would they teach the history of a country that wasn’t Red, White, and Blue.
In the tiny space, our bodies mashed together, no room for breath or grief or regrets. Corbin’s strong arms embraced me, holding me in place. I couldn’t see a thing. His breath fluttered across my forehead.
Corbin’s words from earlier churned inside my head. For the first time, I saw my own grief mirrored in him. And he sees his grief in me – a visual, visceral reminder of the horror of losi.
I remembered what Arthur said to me when he first confided in me about his own grief. You have to give yourself permission to do whatever it takes to get yourself through the pain. And then you have to forgive yourself for all the shit you end up doing because of it. I’d taken that message to heart since I’d arrived at Briarwood, not just by sleeping with my roommates (sorry, my tenants, still not used to that), but by embracing my magic, by agreeing to be the high priestess of an ancient coven, and by entertaining the dark fantasies that would thoroughly horrify my recently-deceased religious parents.
Corbin, I sensed, hadn’t forgiven himself for his grief, for what he saw as his weakness. His need to save others kept him imprisoned in a cell of his own making. Imagine, living in this castle all alone, nothing but the ghosts of the dead for company ...
Corbin’s lips brushed my forehead. So soft. So tender. My brain turned to much. I tilted my head back, my skin alive as he trailed kisses down the bridge of my nose, across my cheek, and then my lips. As soon as his lips touched mine, the softness in his body disappeared. He was all hardness and need, and I opened to him, welcoming his hunger, for it matched my own.
I tore at his shirt, popping the snap buttons with a single tug and forcing it down over his shoulders. Corbin’s fingers scraped at my back, hunting for the zipper of my dress. My skin crawled with power and desire, desperate to fall into him.
Corbin nibbled on my lip, drawing a yelp of delight. He tugged the zip, freeing the dress from my body. I managed to shimmy out of it in the tiny space, taking my panties with it. Corbin already has his boxers off and a condon rustling in his fingers. He lifted me, sliding my body back against the wall. I lifted my legs, planting the soles of my feet on the wall behind him. Corbin bit my neck as he thrust into me, his whole body tensing.
I breathed out as he slid inside me, sheathing himself in my warmth. His fingers dug into my ass as he pounded into me. I ground my hips against him, driving every thrust deeper.
Corbin brutalised my mouth with kisses, all teeth and tongue and power. I responded in kind, meeting his thrusts with my hips and his kisses with power of my own. Hard and fast and desperate. Exactly what we both needed.
In the darkness, Corbin stopped being the protector. He didn’t have to keep up a brave face or solve everyone else’s problems or find the answers no one else could understand. He could be anybody or nobody – just a boy who wanted a girl.
And who was I in the darkness? I was the girl who was wanted the boy, who revelled in the freedom of casting off the mask I’d worn my entire life. I was the one who had the power. That power swelled inside me, rising up through my torso in a cone, filling me with simmering heat. I squeezed my legs against Corbin’s body as an orgasm slammed into me.
My walls squeezed around him. Corbin gasped as he let go of his own tension, his whole body trembling as he knotted and unknotted, his release unwinding him completely.
He dropped my ass and I slid down the wall. Corbin’s chin fell against my shoulder. He didn’t remove his arms from around me.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
My whole body hummed.with power, and the depth of our connection both excited and worried me. “Thank you,” I whispered back.
Something wet hit my forehead. It might have been a bead of sweat, because we’d sure heated things up inside the tiny priest hole. But I wondered if maybe, just maybe, Corbin was crying.
TWENTY-THREE: MAEVE
I tried to get Corbin to talk more about his parents after we crawled out of the priest hole, but he wouldn’t go to that vulnerable place again. Instead, he pulled book after book from the library shelves, his face lighting up as he showed me beautiful lithographs and exquisitely bound volumes and hidden notes and cunning ciphers.
“How many languages do you know?” I asked, remembering that Rowan had told me Corbin had never gone to college.
“Fifteen, to varying degrees of fluency, and several common ancient ciphers. I’m thinking of adding Manx to the list.” He touched a book on the shelf. “This book is a history of witchcraft on The Isle of Mann, and its secrets have so far eluded me.”
The way his voice tilted with glee, his eyes danced over the pages, he looked like … well, he looked like me when I watched videos from NASA or the International Space Station. I touched Corbin’s arm, and something passed between us, a connection deeper than the one our bodies had just shared. Tears pricked behind my eyes.
Corbin and I – we’re the same. He’s just as big a nerd as I am.
“This is amazing,” I breathed, listening to Corbin translate a poem from Classical Greek, the lyrical sounds rolling off his tongue as though they were perfectly natural. “Corbin, you’re wasting your talent here. You should be at a university, boring students to death with endless lectures about Socrates and verb tenses.”
“I took some history classes at your community college.”
“That is not the same thing, and you know it. You were probably bored to death in those classes. You should be at some Ivy League or … whatever the English equivalent is. Earl Grey League, or something.”
Corbin shook his head and replaced the slim volume back on the shelf. A flicker of something dark passed over his face, but it was gone in a moment. “I don’t want to go to university,” he said. “My parents both read at Oxford and now Dad teaches there. According to them, all the faculty care about is uni politics and puddings. They puff out their chests and get all up riled up about what some wanker said in 1242, or organise protests if the college kitchen doesn’t serve Spotted Dick at least once during the term. No one does anything important. Here, I get to see my work make a difference. What about you, anyway?”
I blinked. “What about me?”
“When are you going to leave us for MIT?”
His question spun my insides around. I fiddled with the spine of a Latin spellbook. “I don’t know.”
“Maeve, you can’t not go.”
My mouth hung open. I couldn’t think of what to say. In all the excitement of discovering I was a witch and travelling to the fae realm and hooking up wi
th the guys, the real reason for my visit to Briarwood had been sort of forgotten. Now it all flooded back to me. The place at MIT waiting for me when I returned to America. Learning from the top physicists in my field. Experiments and equations and dorm rooms and one night stands and frat parties and an astronomy club that conducted actual deep sky research. And at the end of it all, an application to apply for a place at the NASA astronaut program.
All that stood in the way of my dream was Briarwood.
And yet … the idea of selling the castle turned my stomach. Briarwood was the only thing in my life that connected me to my mother and our history. And now that I knew just how important that history was to the entire world, I couldn’t just abandon the castle to some rich eccentric or hotel chain. What about the guys? What would they do without Briarwood? Especially Corbin, who stood beside me with an expression on his face that was nothing but concern that I might give up on MIT, all the while we were discussing the dissolution of everything he’d worked for his entire life.
I laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I don’t know anymore, okay? I’ve been waiting for college since the eighth grade. Thinking about being there was the only thing that got me through four years at Coopersville High. I know that there will be jocks and bimbos and stupid people at college, too. But I feel like all the kids like me – the science freaks at every school – are going to converge there and thrive.” I cleared my throat. “I was so alone.”
“You’re not alone here.” Corbin wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck.
“No, I’m not,” I smiled. “I’m lucky. You guys are more than I could ever imagine. Not that I’ve ever had much of an imagination, really. But we don’t ever talk about what’s going to happen after we stop the fae. Are we just supposed to live here for the rest of our lives?”
To me, Briarwood was freedom. But it only just occurred to me that for the rest of these guys, especially Corbin, it was a kind of prison. Corbin was bound to this castle by his sense of duty. He’d never get the chance at a real life as long as the fae were still a threat.
Would that be me, too? Was that the destiny of the Briarwood High Priestess?
Well, this is depressing.
There was another knock on the door. Corbin and I froze. A moment later, the handle turned and Rowan’s face peeked in, his dreads swinging.
“Supper in the Great Hall,” he whispered, his eyes on the floor. He disappeared again before I could even say thank you.
“Did something happen with you and Rowan on this trip?” I asked.
Corbin shook his head, but he dropped his grip on me. Great, so I guess we’re not talking about that, either.
Guys were so frustrating. If this were Kelly, she would’ve spilled her guts to me the moment she stepped back through the courtyard—
On, no, Kelly. I still hadn’t called her back. I glanced at my watch. 8PM. It would be noon in Arizona. She’d still be at church. I’ll call after supper.
Down in the Great Hall, Rowan had set out a plate of weird-looking bread rolls covered in pink icing, as well as a pot of bubbling hot chocolate and several pots of tea. I noticed he’d set aside a pot of the raspberry and vanilla herbal tea for me. “What is this?” I asked, picking up the roll and sniffing it. It sure smelled good, but why ice a bread roll?
“It’s a Chelsea bun, luv,” Flynn explained, biting into one. “Iff a deliffifoooommeeee.”
“It is at that.” Blake elbowed in between us and stole three off the plate. Flynn jabbed him in the arm, Blake lobbed a bun at Flynn’s face, but Flynn caught it midair and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Hey, that was mine,” Blake complained.
“What are you going to do, cut my hand off?” Flynn shot back.
“Wow, too soon, mate.” Jane shuddered at the memory of the severed hand. My stomach churned. I was glad that Arthur had already dug a hole under the garden wall to dispose of it.
Severed hands and talking paintings and sex in a priest hole, just another typical day at Briarwood castle.
Arthur sat beside the fire, a cup of tea beside him. He had a small wooden tray balanced on his thick legs. On top of the wood was a square stone, almost like a brick, its surface glimmering with clear oil. As I watched, he dragged the edge of his sword across the stone in slow, even strokes on a 30-degree angle, almost as if he were trying to cut slices out of the stone. Each time he drew the blade across, a faint blue light shimmered on the edge.
“What are you doing?” I asked, plopping down across from him and biting into my Chelsea bun. Omigod. The pink icing hid a delicious moist sweet bun, lightly spiced and filled with tiny currants.
“Sharpening my sword,” Arthur answered, not looking up. “It was looking a little blunt after all the action yesterday.”
“Why does it glow like that?” I asked, watching the blue shimmer dance along the edge of the blade.
“I don’t know,” he frowned. “It’s been doing that ever since we came back from the fae realm. Yet another thing around here that’s completely bollocksed up.”
“Arthur—” Corbin stepped forward.
“I’m knackered.” Arthur got to his feet, sliding the sword back into his scabbard. Beneath his beard, his expression was impossible to read. “I think I’ll head up. You coming?” he raised an eyebrow at me.
My stomach fluttered. I shoved the rest of my bun into my mouth and set down my tea. “Yes, I am. Goodnight, everyone!”
Everyone took turns to hug me goodnight. Jane was first, brief but genuine. Corbin’s was warm, sending hot echoes of our evening together. Rowan held me tight, his arm trembling, the other hanging awkwardly at his side like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Flynn held on for too long and pinched my ass. Blake went in for one of his kisses that stole my breath until Arthur’s grunt tore me away.
Stomach fluttering with nerves, I followed Arthur out of the room. I hoped like hell the tension in his shoulders was just from the strain of the task ahead of us, but I had a sinking feeling that wasn’t it at all. At the foot of the stairs, he turned.
“You want me to carry you?” he asked gruffly.
The fact that he was asking instead of just swooping me up meant something had changed between us. But still, at least he was asking. He regarded our time alone together with as much reverence as I did. “Take me to the tower, my prince.” I grinned. Arthur’s grumpy expression cooled slightly. He scooped me up and started up the stairs.
I snuggled into his t-shirt, relishing the hot, spicy smell of him. The magic Corbin had awakened glowed hot under my skin. Maybe tonight was the night Arthur and I could finally shag (such a great word). My skin pulsed in anticipation of his bulk around me, his tight muscles holding me with such ease as he plowed into me—
My hope was shattered when Arthur crossed the threshold of my room, dropped me on the bed, and went to stand by the window, his back to me and his impressive bulk silhouetted by the moonlight.
“Is everything okay?” My hand poised on the zipper of my dress, wondering if nakedness was the way to go here. My body hummed, begging for his touch.
Arthur grunted. He didn’t look around.
“That sounded convincing.” I slid off the bed and stood behind him, sliding my hands around his waist. He was like a tree trunk, strong and tall and proud. And impossible to bloody read.
I reached up to stroke his cheek, but Arthur turned his head away, so all I did was graze my fingers against his scraggly beard.
“They told me today about you and Corbin and Rowan and … and Flynn,” he muttered. “The things you’ve been doing with them.”
“I’ve not made any secret out of it, Arthur.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I thought you knew about all that, but I forget guys don’t talk about that sort of things like girls do.”
“I thought …” Arthur sighed, his huge body sagging. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t give me that macho bullshit. If you’re going to be all mopey about this, then you’d better te
ll me what’s going on. There are enough bloody secrets and fables in this house as it is.”
Arthur stared out into the vastness of space. The constellation of Scorpio danced behind his cheek.
“Fine, so I have to guess.” I tapped my chin. The sizzling under my skin dissipated a little. “Guess 1: This is a bullshit double standard about girls having to be all pure and not sleeping around.”
“No.” Arthur muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “You haven’t even slept with me.”
“Wow, that’s not bitter at all.” Anger flared inside me. This was veering dangerously close to a conversation I did not want to have with any of the guys. “I don’t owe you anything, Arthur, sexual or otherwise.”
The Castle of Water and Woe (Briarwood Reverse Harem Book 3) Page 16
