by Donya Lynne
Or maybe she was simply attracted to her ability to feel him when she couldn’t feel a damn thing the rest of the time.
If only she could figure out why.
There had to be a logical explanation.
Maybe it had to do with that bizarre power of his? Maybe his energy existed at a different frequency from everyone else’s or some shit, which made him more tactile. Or maybe it was something deeper, more meaningful. She didn’t want to think about that possibility. The last thing she needed to consider was that he might be—however unlikely—her mate.
She just needed to stay away from him as much as possible. Letting him touch her in any way, shape, or form was to be avoided at all costs.
After setting the last dish in the rack and starting the dishwasher, she wiped down the counter then rinsed her hands.
“What now?” Trace said behind her.
She grabbed a kitchen towel and dried her hands. “You can do whatever you want. I’m going to spend time with Aiden and Null before I head out. This is their time.”
Trace’s strong brow wrinkled. “Head out?”
She tossed the towel on the counter. “Yes. I have work to do.”
“But I thought . . .” He almost sounded disappointed.
“Unlike someone I know, I still have my job.” She switched off the light and walked away, toward the large, open living room where Aiden and Null were sitting at the coffee table, coloring.
She assumed Trace would go upstairs to his room, but he surprised her by following her and taking a seat in one of the recliners as she settled on the couch and turned the volume up on the TV, hoping to send Trace the subliminal message that she was done talking.
“Coco, look!” Aiden held up a picture, all smiles. Angelic, blond ringlets made a halo around her face.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, shoving her Trace-induced irritation aside and plastering a smile on her face. “Is that me?” She bent forward and pointed to one of the figures on the page, which was wearing a black shirt with what appeared to be a skull on it.
“Uh-huh.” Aiden hopped up and climbed into her lap. “And that’s Trace, and that’s me, and that’s Null.” Her tiny finger, stained with black marker, pointed to each in turn.
Cordray grinned at the depiction of Trace, tall and hairless, until she saw that Aiden had drawn Trace holding her hand.
The little matchmaker.
“Can I see?” Trace said.
“Uh . . . sure.” Cordray handed the picture back to Aiden. “Go show Trace.”
The little girl took it, jumped down, and darted to him. “See. That’s you and Coco. And this is me and Null.” She shoved the picture at him as she pointed.
Trace’s eyes scanned the drawing as he grinned, and then his gaze dropped to what Cordray imagined was their joined hands, because his grin faltered and his brow ticked. Then he recovered and handed the picture back. “Wow, that’s some drawing, Aiden.”
“Uh-huh!” Aiden spun and flew back into Cordray’s lap.
Ignoring the matchmaking going on by the little girl, Cordray snuggled Aiden against her and, before she could stop herself, said to Trace, “Her gifts are artistic.”
She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, anymore, but sitting in the living room with him, with the TV on and the kids completing the family portrait she’d pondered earlier while watching Trace with the kids as he fixed the fence, felt comfortable. Despite their argument, there was a kind of simplicity and ease she felt around Trace when she wasn’t consciously fending off the physical sensations he stirred to life within her.
Trace glanced from her to Aiden. “You mean . . . from her mixed blood?”
“Yes. She’s already very talented with her hands.” She’d never seen a mixed-blood display their talents at such a young age, but both Aiden and Null were already showing signs of how their gifts would manifest.
Trace bobbed his head in understanding. “I see.” He looked down at Null and leaned toward him. “And what about you, little man? What gifts do you have?”
Null shrugged and set down his crayon. “I like to colow?” He offered his reply in a way that made it clear he had no idea what kind of gifts they were talking about and thought they were simply asking what he liked to do.
“I think his might have something to do with his eyes,” Cordray said quietly. “He might be an empath.”
Trace met her gaze. “Yeah, I was wondering about that.”
“Are you referring to what happened at breakfast?” She had noticed something going on between him and Null this morning. Trace had seemed agitated, but when Null took his hand, it was as if he’d pulled all the anxiety out of Trace’s heart.
A troubled frown furrowed his brow, as if he were remembering the incident. “Yeah. His eyes changed. What was that?”
“I’m not quite sure, but I’ve noticed it before. It’s like he can absorb emotions or something, which is why I think he’s empathic. He has a very calming influence, but I’m not sure exactly how this will manifest as he gets older.”
Trace glanced down at Null. “Yeah, at one point he took my hand, and”—curious wonder fell over his face—“when he did, everything went calm.” He met her gaze. “My heart stopped racing, and I felt like I could breathe again.” He shrugged. “I’d been feeling a bit overwhelmed in front of everyone, and he shut off all that the moment he took my hand.”
“I noticed.”
He paused, eyeing her. “You know, only one other person has that effect on me.”
“Micah?” She looked away and swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“No.”
She turned back toward him and frowned. “No?”
He shook his head, his eyebrows scrunching over his nose as if were confused or in a state of dismay.
“Who then?”
“You.” The single syllable unfurled quietly.
“Me?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.
But at least now she knew the bizarre metaphysical relationship they had with one another wasn’t just one-sided. She affected him as much as he affected her, only differently. While she calmed him, he awakened her sensory response.
She would have been lying if she said this revelation didn’t please her.
He scowled and shifted his gaze toward hers without quite meeting it. “Don’t go getting all excited that you have all this influence over me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She forced a tight smile at Aiden, who was absently tracing the tip of her finger around her drawing. “What about Brak?” She spoke gently so she didn’t upset the kids. “I’ve seen inside your mind. I’ve seen what he is to you.”
“He hasn’t been around, though, has he?”
“No, but—”
“And even when we were kids, he wasn’t around much.” He sighed and turned away. “Nobody was.”
This quiet resentment, tainted with what smacked of self-pity, didn’t fit either the magnanimous male she’d come to know or what she’d seen inside his thoughts. Trace loved his brother, and he loved his parents. They’d been a tight family, even if an unconventional one.
Maybe his brooding contempt had more to do with the guilt he carried over what had happened to his mother. He did seem to shoulder a lot of blame where she was concerned, even though, from what she’d seen, he wasn’t at fault for her death.
Whatever his reasons for saying what he had, she needed to tread softly so she didn’t set him off. Maybe offering a lifeline could go a long way toward easing his mind and showing they weren’t so different.
She offered a shallow smile and spoke softly. “You know, I know a thing or two about being alone.” Understatement. Of. The. Millennium.
He frowned and snorted as he glanced at the kids then flicked his gaze in the direction of the dorm, where Brenna, Mya, and the other children were. “Doubtful.”
“You might be surprised.”
His frown deepened, but she saw the barest hint of understanding in his eyes. St
ill, he wasn’t ready to let down his guard. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you know me.”
She sighed. This constant bickering, while entertaining at times, was exhausting. “Come on, Trace, how about a truce?” She needed a break from the constant mental vigilance.
His head swiveled toward her, his expression wary.
His dark eyebrows cut toward his nose as he seemed to take a moment to consider her suggestion, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he issued a shallow bob of his head, as if he, too, were weary of the fighting. He broke his gaze away from hers and peered over Null’s shoulder at his crayon drawing, but when he spoke, it was to Cordray. “I simply can’t understand how you could possibly feel alone here, C. You have all these kids. Mya. Brenna. The king.”
Memories of Gideon filtered back into her mind. “I know more about being alone than you think I do, Trace. Trust me, I haven’t always been surrounded by people I love who love me back.”
His gaze flicked quickly to hers, and then he looked away as he nodded shallowly in understanding.
Given what she’d seen of Trace’s past, he probably did understand. At least he would if she had the balls to fully share her own past with him. To tell him about Gideon. How Gideon had destroyed her, as well as how Trace was mending her.
Wait . . . what?
Mend her? Where had that thought come from? Trace wasn’t mending her. Or was he?
Maybe her subconscious self was on to something her conscious self hadn’t even considered, because Trace had awakened her sense of touch. He had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in eight hundred years. Perhaps Trace really was repairing what Gideon had destroyed. And if he was, what did that mean?
Bewildered, she couldn’t find the words to express how this new possibility affected her. All she could do was stare at him, study him, see him through a new filter the way a photographer did when changing lenses on his camera. Some of the mental mist she had programmed her mind’s eye to see when she looked at Trace cleared, and for the first time since she laid eyes on him in Bain’s court, she allowed herself to see him clearly. He was like a giant starburst of light, more awe inspiring than ever.
He bent forward and eyed Null’s artwork and cleared the emotional turmoil from his throat. “What did you draw there, little man?”
Null’s tiny finger pointed to a figure of a bald male with a gun. “That’s you.” Then he pointed to the blond male standing next to him, also holding a gun. “And that’s me.”
Trace picked up the picture. “You’re all grown up,” he said, examining the crayon and marker drawing.
Null nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“And what are we doing in this picture?” Trace said.
Null got up off the floor and climbed onto Trace’s lap as he sat back in the chair again, still looking at the picture.
“We’we killing bad guys.” Null pointed briefly at the picture, and then settled against Trace’s body.
“Bad guys?”
“Uh-huh.” Null nodded and yawned. “I’m an enforcer like you.” Enforcer came out sounding like enfowcew. Poor little Null. Someday his R’s would sound like R’s, but until they did, she would delight in how his little-boy voice mangled them into W’s.
“You are, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
Trace wrapped a thick arm around Null’s waist, holding his tiny body against his bigger, stronger one.
Cordray’s heart melted just a little bit at the picture they created. So much like a father and son. Like a parent spending time with his child.
Normal.
Peaceful.
Simple.
All of which Cordray’s life had never been.
Maybe Trace wasn’t such a bad guy. After all, he was terrific with kids, which was something she never would have imagined two days ago. If someone had asked her then if she thought Trace would make a good father, she would have laughed in their face. Trace? A father? But now, seeing how he was with Null and Aiden, but especially Null, Cordray had to admit that she would have lost any bets where Trace’s paternal instincts were concerned. The guy was big-time daddy material.
Cordray became faintly aware of Aiden quietly braiding her hair, her little fingers dancing with the sureness of an adult’s as she absently and swiftly twisted strands of her hair into tiny braids.
If Aiden didn’t grow up to be the world’s most famous hairdresser, she would be surprised.
Null snuggled against Trace’s body, his chubby cheeks rosy, his blue eyes twinkling.
“So, you like my pictuwe, Twace?”
Trace handed it back to him. “I think it’s awesome.”
Null’s smile widened to show his perfect baby teeth. “I’m gonna be just like you when I gwow up. Big and stwong and cool . . .”
Trace chuckled. “I’m sure you will, little man.” He met Cordray’s gaze again. “Did you hear that? I’m cool.”
“Poor kid just doesn’t know you, yet.” She couldn’t keep from smiling, but she didn’t care. Trace had earned a little kindness.
He smiled back at her, and for the moment, she and Trace found a middle ground . . . a field of grey between the black and white where they usually existed with one another.
“Oh, I think Null’s assessment is pretty accurate.” He hugged the little boy more tightly, squeezing the side of his tummy. “Isn’t it, little man?”
Null giggled and nodded.
“See?” Trace said to her. “It’s final. I’m cool.”
She sighed and lost herself for several long moments in the idea that Trace might actually be a good guy. A great guy. The perfect guy.
“Thank you,” she mouthed at him.
One of his eyebrows arched as a soft smile touched his lips, and he lifted his hand to his chest, gently jerked back, and made an expression as if she’d shot him.
With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she grinned and shook her head as she grabbed the remote off the coffee table and clicked through the channels, stopping when she found The Lord of the Rings.
Aiden and Null loved The Lord of the Rings, and they settled in, fascinated with the quest for the one true ring.
Aiden’s fingers still worked through Cordray’s hair, building a nice collection of braids, but before long, her hands grew limp and fell to Cordray’s chest.
When Cordray looked down, Aiden’s eyes were closed, her pink lips open, her body draped against the curves of Cordray’s. She looked over to find Null passed out on Trace, face up, arms hanging at his sides. Trace had one arm still wrapped around Null’s waist, and he was looking at the picture Null had drawn.
“He sees you as a father figure,” Cordray said softly.
Trace looked up at her. “Huh?”
She gestured gently toward Null. “He never knew his father, so he sees you as a father figure.”
Trace set the drawing on the table and glanced down at Null. “Oh.” After a short hesitation, he said, “What happened to their parents?”
Cordray smoothed her palm over Aiden’s golden, silky hair. “Their father was a full-blood who worked on the wrong side of the law more often than not. He was killed in a deal gone bad before they were born. Their mother was a human. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when they were only a few months old. She died six months later. I found them in an orphanage within a month of her death.”
“Their father didn’t turn their mother?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know why, but he never made her his davala. Probably because of his illegal activities. My bet is that he didn’t want to petition Bain for permission. That would have put him on Bain’s radar.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I would have just done it without getting permission, especially if I was already a criminal, anyway. Then again, this is all just speculation since I don’t really know what his reasons were for not changing her.”
Trace looked back down at Null. “He’s a tough little guy.”
“Yes, he is. They both are.” She paused then added, “So are
you.” She nibbled the inside of her lip. “And I’m sorry for what I said to you in the kitchen. I was angry and out of line. I didn’t mean it.” As much as she hated having to apologize, something about apologizing to him was easier.
His face shaded red, and he lowered his head. “Yeah, me, too. What I said to you . . .”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. You didn’t deserve that. I never should have done what I did this afternoon, and I never should have insulted you. I’m sorry, okay?”
They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment, and then she looked away and nodded tightly. “Okay.”
For the next few minutes, they watched the movie in awkward silence. Then Trace cleared his throat as if putting the period at the end of one chapter and preparing to start a new one.
“So, what about the other kids?” he asked. “Where did they come from?”
She gently brushed her palm down Aiden’s hair. “Various places. I find most of them lost inside the human foster care system.”
Trace turned his attention back to the picture Null had drawn then set it down. He took a deep breath, blew it out, and fidgeted. “You, um . . .” He kept his gaze averted. “You’re, uh . . . you’re good with them.” He coughed quietly and cleared his throat.
“Gee, Trace, you sound a little sick.” She grinned. “That must have been hard for you to say.”
His eyes met hers then instantly broke contact. “You have no idea.”
She almost laughed but stopped herself so she didn’t wake up Aiden. “I don’t know, lice boy. I might have some idea.”
He scowled at her. “I don’t have lice.”
This time she did laugh but abruptly caught herself as Aiden shifted against her. “I should pay Null for giving me that little nugget this morning.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Coco.” But his tone wasn’t nearly as antagonistic as it had been earlier. Dare she say, he actually sounded playful, as if he were enjoying himself.
“Then I suppose I shouldn’t dig for more information about Brak, huh?”
Trace bristled. “No. Definitely not.”
“Okay.” She held up her free hand. “You’ve earned a reprieve. No Brak talk tonight. I was only kidding, anyway.”