by Holley Trent
“And so you stole it.”
“No,”—you festering ass-boil—“I picked it up because it was out of place and put it in my pocket to figure out what it was. Now I know.”
“I see.” Rubbing his smooth chin, Apollo turned back to the window. “Perhaps your interception of my daughter’s coin works in my favor,” he murmured.
“And how’s that?”
“She would be more likely to swallow fire than to call me voluntarily. You could make her summon me.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
What Blue could see of Apollo’s right cheek twitched. “I am unable to appear before her without her call.”
“Does she know that?”
“No.”
“I take it that hasn’t always been the case.”
“It has not.”
“Whose doing was it?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“And that would be bullshit, Phoebus, because it seems to me like you’re asking for a favor. I think I’ve already established pretty well that I’m not the kind of guy who blindly follows orders.”
Apollo twisted the turn rod of the blinds, letting in more sun.
Blue never bothered opening them. He was never at home to enjoy the view.
“Let us just say,” Apollo began, “that my sister saw fit to subdue me on a matter.”
“A matter concerning Willa.”
“Yes.”
“And so, what? You’re trying to be on your best behavior?”
“And so I cannot move as freely as I desire. Artemis has no interest in altering the curse, so I use whatever loopholes I can exploit.” He turned to Blue and extended the coin to him. “You could give it back to her. You could have her summon me.”
Blue would have rather sipped kerosene than to traumatize Willa that way. He’d seen the way she’d behaved at the mere hint of an unwelcome presence. Facilitating a reunion between the father and daughter would be cruel and unusual punishment for a woman who hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, and Blue had never been that kind of sadist.
“And why would I do that?” he asked, anyway.
“You need no reason.”
“Again, you’re wrong. I’m working hard to get that lady to trust me, and I’m not going to put that shit in her palm knowing what it does. She doesn’t like you.”
“What difference does that make?”
Blue goggled at the man.
Apollo was completely unperturbed by the statement.
There was no love lost between Blue and his father, but at least OG reacted at the insinuation he was disliked.
“You don’t give a damn, do you?” Blue asked. “You don’t care if your own daughter hates your guts.”
“Perhaps you should do a close study of my family tree and decide for yourself if I should be inconvenienced by her disregard of me. Children disliking their parents is hardly a novel occurrence in my family.”
“What did you do to her? Besides not being there, I mean. There had to be something. A lady like that doesn’t form grudges against folks unless they’re utterly irredeemable, which may be why she doesn’t completely trust me. But if she can look past all the bullshit the Coyotes pull on her and still want them to thrive, she’s gotta be a saint. So, what’d you do?”
Apollo twined the coin through his long fingers again and again without looking. His gaze was on Blue, his expression stony.
“I can stare back as long as you can,” Blue said.
The god forced air through his nose and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Her mother was beautiful.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Apollo’s golden eyes narrowed. “Interesting to look at. Always lost in her thoughts.”
“Of course she was. She wasn’t well.”
Apollo shrugged. “Easy to manipulate at first.”
“So, what, you saw someone you wanted and decided to bulldoze her?”
“I fascinated her.”
“I’m sure you think you did.”
“She didn’t believe I was real when I went to her.”
“And I’m sure you took advantage of that.”
Apollo returned to the window and, closing his eyes, raised his chin to the rays. “They were all so vapid, those nuns. Poverty rarely leads to piety. Ynes was as devout as she could be, in spite of her upbringing, but weak in the end. She succumbed to temptation.”
“Just like you knew she would.”
“Safya looks just like her.”
Blue furrowed his brow. That wasn’t what Willa had told him.
“She is hard for me to look upon, but I do what I can to keep others away. She will not be some god’s whore.” He made a noise of disgust, and added in a murmur, “The way they speak of her . . . ”
“I don’t think she needs your help with that. She’s needed help with a lot of other things, and you weren’t there then. Pay attention to what’s important.”
“My reputation is important. I will not have others taunting me for having touched her.”
“This is a game to you, isn’t it? She’s a possession to you, just like her mother was. Why did you give her this pack?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“I am the god of herds and flocks. Others expect my children to reign over beasts.”
“But she has no way to defend herself or any magic to keep them in check.”
“She would have had power if not for her mother,” Apollo spat. When he turned, the flesh around his eyes and mouth had shifted back to their former unnatural gold. He corrected his face quickly, though, and swallowed resonantly. “I warned Ynes. I told her I would take it away. I told her if she refused me, I would have no choice.”
“Are you seriously telling me you took away whatever defenses Willa might have had because her mother came to her senses long enough to tell you no? You are a seriously twisted bastard.”
“You should watch your tongue.”
Blue shrugged. “What the hell for? Am I foolish for mouthing off right now? Probably, but someone needs to tell you about yourself. Whether you listen or not is up to you, but I want that shit on record.” Blue put up his hands. “Want to smite me or turn me into a tree or some such foolishness, go right ahead.”
Apollo didn’t say anything for so long that Blue worried the jerk was working up some kind of power to do exactly what Blue had suggested. She’d tried hard, but his mother might not ever be able to claim victory for teaching him when to shut up.
But then Apollo vanished, leaving his voice resonating in the room and the coin on the floor where he’d been standing. “We shall see how long you cling to your higher ground.”
That was a threat. Blue knew threats. They were his father’s favorite form of control, and there had never been any point in Blue’s adult life where he didn’t have a threat hanging over his head. Having called off his engagement for good, the threat was likely larger than he could conceive, but right then, Apollo worried him more than any turmoil Bruno or his father had in store for him.
Blue couldn’t guess, though, if Apollo was delivering a warning of something he knew would happen or if he was merely hopeful Blue would fail in his convictions.
Blue wouldn’t fail. He was going to do everything in his power to keep Willa away from her father.
He wasn’t even going to tell her that the god had been there. He didn’t see any good in upsetting her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What are you doing?” Willa whispered later that evening when Blue scratched at her back door. Pulling her robe closed at the collar, she got out of the way to let him in.
He didn’t respond until he’d planted himself onto the seat of her armchair and pulled off his shoes. She’d never seen him in sneakers before.
Or sweatpants.
Or even a T-shirt, for that matter, and yet he was wearing one that read, “There’s Magic in Maria!” The chamber of commerce sold them. At thirt
y dollars per shirt, they were a bit of a racket.
“Came to see if you had dinner.” He grabbed the remote control from the back of the chair and turned down the television volume.
Raising a brow, she closed and latched the patio door. “And yet you didn’t bring me any?”
“Figured I’d ask first.” He grinned.
She rolled her eyes and then laughed. She suspected he was trying to get a rise out of her. “Yes, I ate. One of the pack ladies invited me and Diana over for dinner.” Chuckling some more, she pulled the curtains closed and then sat on the edge of the bed. “In all the years I’ve been with the pack, that’s never happened.”
“How was the meal?”
“Oddly normal. She even made pie and was chatting about mundane things like the condition of the sidewalks in Maria and whether it was a good idea for her son to try out for the football team. Want some tea? I’d just put the kettle on before King alerted me to your presence.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind some tea.”
“Okay. Give me a minute.”
She’d hoped to see him again since he’d left school at lunchtime, and she’d been surprised by that wishful thinking. He’d started representing comfort to her, which had always been so hard for her to come by. It wasn’t something she was ready to give up so quickly, even if she didn’t yet understand what pitfalls she might have to endure soon from the connection.
Solitude was so exhausting.
She padded around King and into the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “You can’t keep skulking in my yard after dark. People are either going to call the cops or suspect that we’re having some kind of sordid affair.”
He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “I can see where the latter thing would suck for your reputation. Would do wonders for mine, though.”
“I’ve worked hard to keep a pristine reputation. You don’t get to piggyback on mine. Do your own work.”
“I’m trying. I didn’t even throw Darren Cartwright into the basement tonight after I caught him trying to break into my truck.”
“What?” Willa scrambled to snatch up the box of herbal tea she’d been holding before it could fall to the floor.
Grunting, Blue joined her in the kitchen and strode to the counter. “I’d parked around the corner from the dry cleaner’s. Was gone from the vehicle just long enough to find out they’d already closed. Hauled my laundry bags back to the SUV, and there he was trying to slim-jim the damn door open.”
Eek.
She’d hoped Darren had grown out of that juvenile habit of his.
“Maybe he didn’t know it was yours?” she offered.
“That makes it better?”
She shrugged bashfully. “Well, not really, but you can’t naturally assume he was being purposefully malicious toward you.”
“Just generally malicious, then?”
“Ugh. No.” She sighed and dropped tea bags into the mugs. “You think I’m foolish.”
“No, I don’t think you’re foolish. I just think sometimes you give people too many chances. It’s a wonder the kids you teach don’t walk all over you. Middle schoolers are universally known for their callousness. Preteens are awful people.” He snorted. “Trust me. I remember being one.”
“I think they feel sorry for me.”
“Nah, I don’t get that vibe.” He accepted the mug she thrust at him and walked back down the hall.
She turned off the burner and followed, turning off lights as she went. With him there, she didn’t need so many lights on. She could tell herself that nothing bad was going to happen, and that her father wasn’t going to make any surprise visits, and actually believe it.
“What kind of vibe do you get, then?” she asked.
He was back at the armchair, sipping, gaze on the muted television.
She found herself holding her breath and waiting for him to grace her with some words. She’d never before cared so much about what a man was thinking. Her curiosity was overflowing.
Talk to me.
“I think they honestly like you,” he said.
“I find it hard to believe that would be such a rare thing.”
“That’s because you didn’t grow up like they did. You didn’t go to a public school like that.” He leaned back and propped his foot up on the edge of the bed. “Who taught you, by the way?”
“My mother, mostly, until I was around ten or eleven. She’d taught me everything the nuns had taught her plus some things her father had. My grandfather was good with numbers, but bad with luck. Could never seem to get ahead.” She shrugged again. “Beyond that, I didn’t have any formal education until after I left Spain.”
“How old were you when you left?”
“Oh, I knew eventually we’d get back there,” she said with a giggle. “That’s a dangerous territory to get into with a lady like me.”
“You want to swap numbers?”
She gave her head a vigorous shake. As curious as she was about his age, he didn’t need to know that exact number. It didn’t mean the same thing as it did to mortals. Some days she felt old. Other days, not.
“Younger than I am now?” he asked.
She wrung her hands, wondering if the number meant more to her than it did to him, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone. She knew that. Giving up some secrets would be healing.
“Younger. Yes. I . . . was twenty.”
“Twenty. Damn.” He sat up straighter and set his mug on the nightstand. “That’s a hell of a thing to go through at any age, but that’s practically a baby.”
“People lived half their lives by twenty back then. My mother had been dead for two years. When I was going through the worst of the torturing, I kept telling myself that at least she wasn’t alive to endure it. And at least they didn’t dig her up and burn her for being a heretic like they did to so many others.” Willa had been more or less on her own then. She fidgeted her shirt hem, wondering if she still had family on her mother’s side. They’d be cousins far removed, but they’d be something.
Blue put his foot down from the bed and reached forward to loosen her grip on her shirt. “Shit, you just carry this stuff around in your head every day? How do you do it?”
“How?” She shrugged and turned away from him before he could catch her blush, but it didn’t really matter. He could probably smell the tendrils of anxiety starting to coil through her.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, and then more until the tightness in her chest abated. “It’s not like I have a choice. I do it because I have to. The problem is that I don’t do it very well.”
• • •
“Come here, sweetheart,” Blue told her.
She could try to hide her face all she wanted to, but when her mood went south, he got tugged down right along with her. She may have started to think of him as her rock, but she was his anchor. She was the reason he was committed to making a stand against his father in Maria, the reason he finally had a place he wanted to make a home—and a home with someone.
Making her feel safe wouldn’t be the worst chore he’d ever had. In fact, he looked forward to every one of her frustrated sighs and under-her-breath disparagements about domineering dogs. No one got her raving the way he did, and he was glad she’d saved all that passion for him.
Padding across the room, she proved that she could actually be docile, when she wanted to be. Or perhaps when she trusted. She set her cup atop the lace doily on the dresser and joined him on the chair, taking up the tiny sliver to the left of his outstretched legs.
“What was she like?” he asked her.
“Who? My mother?”
“Yeah.”
She fidgeted with the cuticle of her thumbnail, staring ahead at nothing in particular.
He took her hand and laced her fingers through his. Redirecting her nervousness in a way that would benefit him as much as her. He loved touching her. Loved the barrage of her honeyed scent. Even loved the way the wild animal in him steered and nudged Blu
e toward something he’d never wanted. He hadn’t wanted that domestic life. Hadn’t wanted to be pinned down and bound into the same suffocating Coyote expectations that had made his mother flee.
But leaving Willa on her own would be a mistake. She needed to belong to someone, and he needed that someone to be him. No one else would understand her. No one else could love her without demands the way he could.
Getting her to love him back was going to require some strategizing, though.
“She was . . . always singing,” Willa said. “Mostly when she thought no one was listening. She’d make up songs. She had a lovely voice. I loved hearing her sing. I think she did it to self-soothe. Maybe making art requires us to use a part of the brain that demands others be shut off.”
“Was she attentive?”
“Oh, yes. I think I was her favorite distraction. An unplanned one, for sure.” She scoffed. “Given the circumstances, she had to believe she’d never have children, but you know what they say about making assumptions.”
“Was that really her only choice? Becoming a nun?”
“She may have thought it was at the time, and she never wanted to feel like a burden to anyone. She confided in me when I was fourteen or so that she’d felt like the worst kind of fraud the day she went to the sisters. She worried she’d be rooted out as a liar or that God would strike her down the second she crossed the threshold.”
“Why?”
“I don’t remember anymore how long my family had been in Spain. Many hundreds of years by the time I was born, but they had only converted to Catholicism in the fourteenth century. The thing about converting is that you may accept a code and adopt a new rulebook, but you don’t shed your culture. Sometimes, culture is as genetic as . . . eye color and . . . ” Swallowing, she pressed her other hand around their joined two. It shook a little, but stopped when he picked it up and kissed the back of it. “Illnesses.”
“Where did they come from?” He stroked the uneven wisps of hair over her ear.
“You’re asking me, but I think you already know.”
“I don’t want to assume. I want to know all the bits and pieces that went into you so I can understand you.”