by Clara Martin
“You’re fierce,” he said softly. “You’re kind. You’re smart. Name one thing I could find wrong with you.”
I blinked. “Is—that a trick question?”
“You would turn it into one,” Charles muttered, and kissed me again.
We were still kissing when I heard a cough. Gasping, I turned away and saw my mother standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
“Bit early for that,” she said mildly. She pointed at the clock. I peered at it. It was five forty-five.
“I apologize, Mrs. O’Donnell,” Charles said formally, loosening his hands but not releasing them.
My mother nodded and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Good coffee,” she commented. She looked sternly at Charles. “And how did your first date go?”
Charles blinked. “We ... haven’t had it yet.”
“I see.” My mother sounded disapproving. She glanced at me. “Perhaps you two should go out to dinner.”
“Yes ma’am.” Charles said, sounding slightly harassed. “We’re going out tonight for dinner.” The look he shot me made my toes curl.
“I see.” My mother studied him in silence for a moment. “I’d like to speak to my daughter alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, ma’am.” With one last, lingering look, he left the room, taking his coffee cup with him. After he left, my mother set hers down with a clunk.
“Eileen, I like him. But—” she hesitated. “He is acting very possessive and protective, and how long have you two known each other?”
“About two weeks,” I said with a sigh. Her fears echoed mine.
“Just be careful,” my mother said softly.
“I will be,” I assured her. “I’ll be very careful.”
“Good.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Storybook character parade today at school,” she remarked.
We chatted about the storybook parade and her students for the next ten minutes, until she looked up at the clock. “Time to get ready for school,” she remarked. As she left the kitchen, she turned and looked at me. “Remember what I said, Eileen.” I nodded seriously.
Charles was waiting outside the kitchen, leaning casually against the wall, still sipping his coffee. “All right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded casually. “Just fine,” I said, smiling hesitantly. He reached for me, but I stepped back. “I’d better get dressed,” I said, heading upstairs. Charles’s hand fell back to his side, and he watched me with hooded eyes as I made my way up the stairs.
Once in my room, I stripped off my sweatpants and T-shirt, and shivered. Everything was so confusing. I didn’t know what to do.
Moving quickly, I picked out a pair of khakis and a button-up blue flannel shirt. I buttoned it, enjoying its softness, and then went into the bathroom. My hand hovered over my mascara for a moment before I snorted in disgust. I never wore makeup. This was ridiculous. Defiantly, I turned to the mirror and began to forcefully brush out my hair. The voices muttered in my head, too low to be heard.
My hair brushed, I braided it quickly and looped it into a bun. It was a style I’d worn in the army, and I took comfort from its familiarity. The severity emphasized my cheekbones. I made a face at myself in the mirror before turning resolutely and leaving the bathroom, grabbing my brown knee-high boots as I went. I rarely wore them, and they still smelled of new leather.
Look at her, Joe snickered in my head. All dressed up for her date.
“Go away,” I growled, shaking my head fiercely to dislodge the voice. I felt a strand of hair uncurl from my bun and land on my face.
We’ll always be with you, Sheldon chimed in. You can never leave us behind, not really.
“Go away,” I growled, grabbing my purse. I paused outside the door to put on my boots and looked up. Charles was standing there, frowning slightly.
“Ready to go?” he asked, extending his hand.
I looked at it for a moment and then gingerly put my hand in his. “Let’s go,” I said, smiling.
“We can stop for more coffee on the way.”
My smile grew bigger. “Franconi’s?” I asked, naming the coffee shop on the corner. It was expensive, and I rarely went.
Charles’s smile was affectionate. “You’ll splurge on coffee, huh?”
I blinked at him. “Of course,” I said. “I take my coffee seriously.”
“Well, I’m buying.”
“You are not,” I objected. “I wouldn’t have named the most expensive coffee house in town if I thought you were buying.”
He looked at me, eyes heated, and gently brought my hand to his lips, kissing it. “I,” he said, voice just as heated as his eyes, “am buying.” He smiled, a smile full of teeth at odds with his gentle kiss.
I sighed. “I guess I’m not convincing you otherwise, am I?” I asked.
“No, you are not.” He handed me the keys. “I will, however, concede to allowing you to drive.”
“Allowing me?!” I stared at him. “It’s my car!”
He laughed. “Fine, Eileen, but it’s under protest.”
We went downstairs. My mother had gone. Nate wasn’t up yet. I hitched my purse over my shoulder and gestured. “Let’s go, then.”
His hand clasped mine tighter. “One more thing. You need that holster. Today.”
“I’m not licensed to carry concealed.”
He sighed. “Regrettably. What were you thinking, Lieutenant?” His voice stressed the rank. “But you don’t have to carry concealed. It’s legal to just carry.”
I sighed. “If I end up in jail,” I said halfheartedly, “you’re posting bail.”
Charles laughed. “Of course,” he said, caressing my palm with his thumb. “Now. Franconi’s.”
We got in the car. It started smoothly. Charles stared out the window, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.
“What did your mother say?” he asked abruptly.
I glanced at him. “She warned me about your possessiveness, protectiveness, and moving too fast.”
He snorted. “She’s not wrong.” His finger tapped another tattoo on the dashboard. It sounded like the army’s “Reveille.” “You were stationed at Fort Irwin, were you not? California.”
I blinked. “I was,” I said slowly.
He nodded. “It was in your record,” he said by way of explanation. “You were stationed there with Rangers.”
“I was,” I agreed. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. This was dangerous territory.
“Your name,” he said slowly, “pops up as a complainant on a sexual harassment complaint. Along with two other lieutenants, both female. You accused a master sergeant. Master Sergeant Milagros.”
“We did,” I said, resigned. “Nothing came of it but no-contact orders.”
“I don’t know about that,” Charles said. He tapped out “Reveille” again. “His career ended a year later.”
I glanced at him. “Did it?”
“Yes, it did.” He glanced at me. “I knew him, before he was reassigned.” He paused. “Was it really just sexual harassment?” he asked delicately.
“Why do you ask?” I gripped the steering wheel.
“You’re a little afraid of me,” Charles said, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re passionate about sexual harassment and abuse. Your history proves that.”
“I don’t need to be a victim to intervene, Charles. It’s just the right thing to do.”
He nodded. “What happened?” he asked bluntly.
I sighed. “I can’t talk about it without telling the stories of the other two lieutenants, and I don’t want to do that.”
“Master Sergeant Milagros was a piece of shit. It wasn’t the first investigation into him, and it probably wouldn’t have been the last, if you three hadn’t stood up.” Charles paused. “Hell of a way to begin your army car
eer.”
“It was,” I agreed. “But we got through it.” I frowned. “It was just harassment,” I said quietly. “There was nothing worse than that.”
Charles looked at me, then leaned back. “If you say so.”
I gripped the steering wheel. “You already know all my secrets,” I said harshly. “Why don’t you tell me one of yours.”
He smiled, eyes half-closed. “I wondered when you’d ask.” He paused for a moment. “My first deployment was in the Northern Wild. I ran into one of the wild fae—just me and my battle buddy, Santos.” He smirked. “It didn’t end the way I thought it would for the big, bad Ranger.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, curious.
“I wet my pants,” he said complacently. “The wild fae threw me against a tree—almost through it, truth be told. I was knocked out.” He glanced at me. “I came to and found the wild fae crouched over Santos, eating his leg. Santos was still alive. I wet my pants.”
I blinked. “Did you two—escape?”
“Well I did, obviously.” Charles’s eyes were still half-closed. “Santos—well. I fought the wild fae. It was hand-to-hand combat, and I was so damn scared. But Santos had died of blood loss by the time I killed the fae.”
“You killed a wild fae?” I asked, incredulous. “Those are some of the strongest fae in the world!”
“I cheated. I had salt in my pocket. The wild fae are like slugs—they hate salt.” He shifted. “I threw it in his eyes, and he screamed. Then I choked him to death.”
“So you escaped,” I said slowly.
“I did,” Charles said, sitting up straight. “And now you know one of the stories that only my commanding officer knows. We prettied it up for Santos’s widow.” He fell silent, staring out the window. “It’s probably a good thing you never deployed,” he said harshly. “You never want to see the things I did.”
“I always felt guilty,” I said, turning the wheel. “Like I wasn’t a complete soldier.”
He glanced at me. “You served,” Charles said. He tapped out “Reveille” again. “You were willing to go. That’s what matters.”
I laughed. “There was a time when I wanted to be a female Ranger.” I pulled into the parking lot of Franconi’s. “We’re here.”
I started to get out, but Charles’s hand caught mine. “Eileen,” he said, voice serious. “You served. That’s what matters.” His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he released me. “Stay there,” he ordered. I frowned, confused. Charles got out of the car and walked around, opening the driver’s side door. “You,” he said, “are a lady. And I am endeavoring to treat you as such.”
I laughed. “A lady?” I said incredulously. “I am no such thing.”
“I don’t mean delicate and weak,” Charles said. He struggled for a moment. “This means more to me than a fling,” he said carefully. “I want to do this right.”
I blinked. “Thank you,” I said, touched.
“I meant what I said,” Charles said, holding out his hand. I put my hand in his and smiled tremulously. His eyes lightened.
“I’m paying,” he insisted as we walked into Franconi’s. I just nodded with a sigh.
I had a large, black coffee with scone. Charles insisted on more coffee. As he insisted, he paid—but he didn’t see the five-dollar bill I slipped into his briefcase. We sat in comfortable silence. I inhaled the scent of the coffee and bit into the crumbly scone. Heaven.
“Don’t forget, we have another lesson tonight. And dinner.”
I nodded, leaning back in my chair. “Of course,” I said, flicking my fingers to get rid of crumbs. “And we still don’t know who followed me last night.”
Charles’s eyes darkened. “We don’t,” he agreed. “I need to ask some people some questions.” He brooded for a moment. “And, of course, you need your holster.” I sighed. I’d left the pistol in the car.
“We’d better leave now,” I said, standing, “or we won’t make it to work on time.” I checked my cell phone. It was eight thirty.
Charles stood fluidly and pressed something into my hand. I peered down at it. It was the five-dollar bill I’d slipped in his briefcase.
“Nice try,” he said, smiling. He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”
I sighed, slipping my hand into his. “You let me buy dinner,” I bargained.
“No way,” he said. We walked to the car together, debating it.
Charles stopped dead. I looked up. A beautiful woman, clearly fae, was leaning against the car.
“Stay here, Eileen,” Charles said, dropping my hand and starting forward.
“Not a chance,” I said, walking along with him. “I punched Prince Faolain in the nose. I can do the same thing to her.”
Charles glared at me, then focused again on the fae. “Don’t—put too much stock in what she says,” he said, voice tight. I frowned. Together, we walked up to the fae.
She was tall, with long black hair tossed carelessly over one shoulder. She wore a chic black dress, black leggings, and tall stiletto boots, emphasizing her slender frame. She was built, I noted with some envy, like a Parisian model. She watched us as we approached, preternaturally still.
“Charles,” she said once we’d gotten into earshot. “And Ms. O’Donnell, of course.” Her eyes flicked to me dismissively.
“Lady,” Charles replied, bowing shallowly at the waist.
“Now, Charles,” she scolded, “once you did better than that.” Her eyes flashed. “Call me by my name.”
“We no longer have that type of relationship, my lady.” Charles refused to look at me, but his hand squeezed mine. I fought to keep the surprise off my face. A relationship? Between a human and a fae? What was going on?
“You mean,” the fae murmured softly, dangerously, “you chose to no longer have that type of relationship with me.” Her eyes flashed again, and she looked to me, a small sneer marring her perfect face. “He’ll treat you like a princess,” she warned me, “have your legs over your head, and then dump you like yesterday’s trash.”
I kept my head high. “I beg your pardon,” I said frigidly, “but I don’t know you.”
The fae laughed bitterly. “I am Severine de Bough, of Western Wind.” She smiled at me, taunting. “Don’t let the face fool you. I’m only part fae; my father, the king, in his goodwill, raised me as part of his kingdom.”
“My lady,” Charles cut in, “he uses you most abominably.”
Her eyes cut to him, going hard. “Like you’d know,” she snapped. “Don’t project your own—failures—onto me, Charles.” She smirked at me. “From the look on your face, I take it he hasn’t told you.”
“Like I said, I don’t know you,” I said, feeling the grip on my hand harden. “Why should I trust anything you say?”
Severine threw her head back and laughed, a sparkling sound that could’ve brought the birds from the trees. “Oh, you’re good,” she taunted. “You’d last at court, absolutely, no question.” She smiled brittlely. “It’d be far crueler to let you find out for yourself,” she said, eyeing me with satisfaction. She gracefully stood, patting my car as she did. “You’re slipping, Charles,” Severine said, pointing at him.
Charles made no reply but narrowed his eyes, staring at her stonily. Severine smiled seraphically. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” She snapped her fingers. I blinked, and she was gone.
“Let’s go,” Charles said, grip still tight on my hand. “We need to leave.”
“Did you know her?” I asked, as he walked me to the car.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said grimly. He looked at me and sighed, then held open the car door for me as I unlocked it.
“Severine is half-human, half-fae,” he explained. “She’s the daughter of the king of Western Wind by one of his slaves.” He paused. “She looks more fae than human, which saved her from the
fate of her sisters and brothers. She was brought up in the king’s home, as his daughter.”
I frowned. “But how do you know her?”
He shut the car door and walked around to the passenger door, opening it and sliding in. “Severine left the court for a short time,” he said shortly. “I met her at a bar where she was slumming. She was attracted to me for the rebellion. I was attracted to her for the forbidden.” Charles shrugged.
“She still sounds pretty bitter,” I said, pulling out of the parking lot and carefully steering into the street.
“She may be,” Charles said, “because I left her, and she didn’t leave me.”
I kept quiet. It had seemed to be more than that.
“You know this is different, right?” His voice was low, earnest. “She was nothing to me.”
I nodded noncommittally.
“I’m dead serious, Eileen,” Charles insisted. “You’re special.”
“I don’t understand a few things,” I admitted.
He looked at me cautiously. “And what are those?”
I held a finger up. “First,” I said, “why she was there in the first place. Second,” I held a second finger up, “why you’re interested in me at all. And third,” I held up a third finger, “Charles, you’re a hound dog. Everybody says so. Why should this time be any different?”
Charles went quiet for a moment. “In order of importance,” he said, voice a growl, “First, it was probably Western Wind following us last night. And Severine could never control herself; she just gave us a warning and a clue.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “Second, you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re strong. Why shouldn’t I be interested?” The pressure on my hand increased. “And third,” he said, voice dropping even lower, “this time is different. I’ve never felt this way before.”
I shrugged helplessly. “Charles,” I said, “We’ve known each other for three weeks. Most of that’s been through work. How in the name of the Lady of the Lake do you know how you feel?”
“I know how I feel,” he said obstinately. “And I’d like to point out I’ve talked more about my emotions in the past twenty-four hours than I have in my entire thirty-three years on earth.” He frowned. “It’s not natural.” I glanced at him. “Eyes on the road,” Charles snapped.
