by Rebecca Main
Quinn remains quiet for a moment, mulling over my words. I feel the seconds pass by like minutes, my mounting anxiety growing as the silence stretches on.
“I don’t think everything has a reverse,” she says pensively, her sharp crystal blue eyes cutting into mine. “What about soulmarks?”
Well, I didn’t expect that to come out of her mouth. Nor the look of earnestness she wears. “The soulmark is a bit different,” I concede, “but not in the way you're thinking. The ‘curse’ of the soulmark is being split in the first place. It’s the coming together that is the counteract.”
Quinn frowns. “But why did it have to be that way in the first place?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was some vengeful god or spiteful spirit who triggered the soulmark. There are too many legends and too much lore from a whole variety of different supernaturals to know.” I give a fleeting shrug. “Maybe it’s because finding your true soul mate was always meant to come with a price.”
“Do you really think that?” I give another rise of my shoulders in answer. “What about Keenan? You know, the big guy you broke a chair against?”
I flush unwittingly. “What about him?”
Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline as she levels me with a look of exasperation. “Seriously?” I cross my arms over my chest and direct my gaze to the side. “You know, he might be gruff and moody, and he hardly ever breaks a smile, but he’s pretty considerate, all things considered. And loyal. And when he does smile, it has a very swoon-worthy effect.”
I let out a small huff. "If you like him so much, then why don't you date him."
“Don’t get me wrong, Keenan’s great. A total hunk, but he’s not my type. I’ve always leaned more toward the rebellious bad boys, ya know? That reckless behavior gets me all riled up.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask through barely gritted teeth, heart hammering in my chest.
Quinn lets one eyebrow arch delicately this time, her shoulders rolling back as that smug look ventures back onto her features. “We all know, Callie. That look of pure orgasmic bliss on your face when you touched the soulmark on his arm kind of gives the game away. Don’t you think?”
A full flush covers my neck and cheeks at her brazen tone. “I did not have a look of… a look of….” I screw my eyes up momentarily as I sputter on. “There was no look, all right?”
Quinn gives me a pitying glance before pointedly looking at the camera across the room. “Are you sure you want to stick with that answer? Or should we review the footage?”
The color intensifies on my face. I can feel it. “That won’t be necessary,” I tell her tersely.
She stands, the motion made slightly wobbly by her tremendous heels. Her hands are quick to wipe away the small margin of dust and dirt that has collected on her clothing before she returns her full attention to me. “Did I mention you’ll be having dinner tonight with him?”
“Excuse me?” The news startles the color from my cheeks.
Her head bobs along solemnly, even though a grin begins to play at the corner of her lips. Quinn walks toward the cellar door. “Yep! Someone will be down to escort you to a bathroom so you can clean up a bit, and then you’ll be taken to the dining room. Don’t worry, it will just be you and him.”
“I don’t think—”
Quinn’s voice steamrolls over my protests. “All right? Great! They’ll be down in an hour or so. Oh, and you should really try and eat something. It will help with your concussion. Plus, Zoe is cooking, and she’s brilliant in the kitchen. Okay, see you later!” With a dainty wiggle of her fingers, she peels out of the room before I can say anything further, the heavy slam of the door getting the last say in the matter.
Chapter 10
Let’s Make a Deal
The person they send down is—and I admit this quite begrudgingly—charming. Atticus looks like the boy next door all grown up and filled out with muscle. There’s a disarming effect to his smile, one that makes it slightly difficult to keep a stoic atmosphere about my person. He wears it the entire time he escorts me to the guest room and bathroom, as well as to the dining room.
“What the…?” My voice trails off in mild disgust as I survey the simpering glow of the candelabra and spread of food meant for someone with a far more voracious appetite than me. This is the dining room? It looks to hold a party of ten rather than a meal for two. My feet are glued to the floor as I continue to appraise the room.
“This looks like Irina’s work,” Atticus laments, hand scratching at the back of his neck as he passes me a what-can-I-tell-ya type grin. “She’s very enthusiastic about new soulmarks.”
“She can take her enthusiasm and shove it up her ass,” I mutter, taking my seat like a petulant child. “So….” I begin, stretching out my legs beneath the table. I’d been lent a clean set of clothes. Simple black pants and a quarter-length black shirt. Nothing fancy, but highly preferable to my dirt and bloodstained clothes. “Where is he?”
“Right here,” a voice interjects from the other side of the room. My head whips to the side to see Keenan standing in the midst of the doorway, his bulking frame taking up the majority of it. He’s changed too, but not into anything impressive. Unless that is, one considers how flattering the cut of the shirt looks against his sculpted torso. Or the way his dark pants hug his thighs. Keenan eyes the table speculatively, heaving a sigh as he enters fully into the room. “Interesting setup,” he comments, eyes shifting to me.
“Have fun you two,” Atticus says. “No knife fights please.”
I roll my eyes, but give the knife snuggled up to my plate a somewhat lustful glance. I can’t afford to waste my energy on another fight, even if my headache from earlier has washed away with the scalding hot shower I took. The last of what remained of the concussion will heal overnight, of this I’m certain, but only if I replenish my body with food.
“You look… clean,” he says, taking the seat next to me at the corner of the table. I scoot my legs back at the action, pulling further into my seat to make my sentiments about the current arrangement clear.
“You look unscathed,” I reply.
He gives me a wry grin. “Lycan healing and witchcraft.”
I turn my attention over to the plates of food displayed on the table. A pot roast with baby carrots and onions. Creamy mashed potatoes. Green beans with what looks to be bits of bacon. A basket full of rolls and a large saucer filled with gravy. “Zoelle cooked,” Keenan explains. “She owns a—”
I give a sharp shake of my head, cutting off his sentence. “I don’t care.” His hands pause midreach for the serving fork and knife placed next to the meat.
“I’ve been told it isn’t laced with anything,” he says carefully, continuing the process of filling his plate. “And even if it were, I’d be consuming whatever you did.”
The food does look good, I think. It smells amazing too. “What about our drinks?” I gesture weakly to the filled glasses of water set before us. “The food might not be laced, but my drink could be.” Keenan sighs and stops what he’s doing to take my glass and drink a gulp of the water.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
I sniff delicately. “Enough, I suppose.” I let Keenan finish filling his plate before placing small scoops onto my own. My stomach might have won the battle, but my pride is in it for the petty war. I can feel his eyes weigh down upon me as I help myself to the food. They linger over my forearms that boast numerous tattoos, each undoubtedly looking for my elusive soulmark.
“I didn’t ask them to do all of this,” he says once I’ve finished and poke at my food with a fork. I give him a blank stare in return. “The dim lighting. The candle thing. The fancy food. We were just supposed to talk.”
I spy a bit of color fuse his cheeks as he explains himself and hold back a smirk. “Just supposed to talk? The dinner wasn’t supposed to be included?”
“No.” He shakes his head, fork stabbing into a carrot. “I mean, it was. You haven’t eaten all day,
but I didn’t mean for it to be so… elaborate.”
“But you did want us to talk over dinner? Privately?” He gives a short nod, the guilty flush building on his face. “Like a date?” The fork drops from his fingers, landing with a clatter on the porcelain plate. “Careful, wouldn’t want to ruin all this finery.” I’m surprised at how teasing the words come out and reel back in my seat. Keenan doesn’t notice, at least I don’t think he does. His eyes are too focused on his dinner plate and cutlery.
“I’m sure I’d be forgiven if I did,” he finally says, eyes returning to me as he subtly straightens. “This wasn’t meant to be a date,” he confides. “It was meant to be a negotiation. My alpha thought it would be best for me to handle the matter, seeing as we’re soulmarks.”
I scowl angrily at the reminder and stab into the mashed potatoes. It’s not nearly as gratifying as I hoped it would be, but the forkful I jam into my mouth is. A tiny whimper escapes at the buttery concoction. Damn. When I dare to meet his gaze, I find him watching my movements with unveiled interest.
No. Not interest. There’s too much intensity behind it. For a long moment, I’m reminded vividly of the way Wyatt used to look at me. The lust-filled glances. The wanting looks. But this is different. There is more to his gaze than just unbridled lust. There's a deeper want searing through it. It’s the difference, I realize, between the way a man looks at you and the way a boy would.
“Good?” His rumbling vibrato rolls over my skin like a summer’s breeze.
“It’s… adequate,” I mumble, scolding myself once again for slipping. My earlier honest conversation with Quinn, combined with my refreshing shower, has left me feeling a little too generous and open. Too vulnerable.
“I always thought the Wardens and their infamous warriors were just some scary bedtime story my mother would tell me to make me behave.”
“A scary bedtime story?”
He nods, chewing his food quickly before responding. “There isn’t too much to be scared of when you're a lycan, but I suppose the same could be said for all supernatural creatures. We’re stronger and faster than humans. We don’t succumb to illnesses easily. Of course, the threat of exposure haunts us, but other than that and the occasional sworn enemy, it’s your kind that’s meant to scare us straight.”
“And do I scare you?”
I should have anticipated the attentive regard I receive for my question, but it still draws the hair on the back of my neck to attention. Our eyes clash in a battle of wills. Neither of us willing to break.
“No,” he finally says. The word comes out harsher than I expect. My eyes dive toward my plate of food, already almost half gone due to my small portion sizes.
“Well,” I begin, “maybe you should be. The Wardens are everything your mother told you about and more. So much more,” I trail off in a whisper.
The room grows to a stout silence as we continue to eat, neither of us willing to end the hushed interim. Too soon my food is gone, my stomach aching for a few helpings more—
“Eat,” Keenan grunts, eyeing me over a forkful of pot roast.
“I’m full.” The look he spares me expresses his thoughts on the matter. I let out an impatient sigh. “Are we going to negotiate anytime soon, or were you waiting for us to talk over a shared dessert?” I mean for it to sound more sarcastic, but the passive hostility falls flat. It makes it sound more… wistful. Keenan stops once more, the look he passes me this time more considerate, pensive. He sets down his fork and knife and places his hands in his lap.
“We can talk now,” he answers, face and tone solemn. “The safest place for the ring is here, Callie. Our pack is aligned with a powerful coven, and because of a magical barrier they’ve erected, no supernatural being with malicious intent can cross into our territory. Meaning Vrana and the Wselfwulf’s can’t get to us. Granted, the high amount of concentrated magic they’re using to keep up the barrier does have the unwanted effect of drawing other supernatural creatures’ attention.” He frowns at the last bit, and so do I, my reserves drawing up.
“That hardly seems like a good reason to keep it. If anything, it will only make more trouble for you. Case in point, the Wardens and these other supernatural creatures,” I argue.
“Tell me more about the blade we took off you,” he requests.
“Excuse me?”
He shifts in his seat, one foot stretching out and bumping into mine. He doesn’t pull it back. Nor do I. “The blade. It’s old. That much is easy to tell. Why would you want to fight with it?” I temper my heartbeat and let my gaze flicker over the food once more. The strangest temptation runs through me to speak the truth, but I easily snuff it out.
“I thought we were negotiating the return of the ring, not making idle chitchat about my choice of weaponry. And for the record, I stand by my previous point and would further like to note that the Wardens are a global force. We could hide the ring anywhere in the world.”
“I’m surprised the thing is still usable, to be honest,” he continues, ignoring my commentary. “I saw you using it on those creatures and thought maybe it was some magical dagger meant to inflict a heavier wound. But then I saw you cut yourself with it.”
I rein in my annoyance at his persistence and take a deep breath, forcing a stiff smile on my lips. “It’s an old family heirloom. My favorite, actually. I can show you how I like to use it if you’re interested?”
Keenan holds back a smile. “I think I’ll pass on that offer,” he says, the right side of his lips defiantly curling upward. He ducks his head quickly to hide it and clears his throat before looking back to me. I’m surprised at how the simple action draws a strange flutter to my stomach. “The ring then.”
“Yes, the ring.”
He pauses, clearly searching for the words to begin what I’m assuming to be a scripted negotiation. “Having spoken with my alpha earlier, I’m confident that the ring can be delivered back to your people,” he says, “as long as you agree to a few conditions.”
I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Go on then,” I say. This is bound to be interesting.
“The ring will be sent back with a small guard of wolves and Eldritch Witches to the Banks Facility. Terms will be—”
“Absolutely not,” I snarl.
“Why?” he asks calmly.
“A small guard? The Wardens won’t stand for it. The Banks has been hit twice with wolf attacks in recent weeks, and you want to bring combat witches into the mix? They’d destroy every last one of you then use your blood as a message to any others who would dare try something similar. We don’t forgive and forget,” I tell him savagely, feeling my hostility grow.
Keenan looks fit to spit, his hands balling into fists as a quiet rage settles across his features. It’s a glimpse of the hardened warrior I know he must be, one unwilling to submit to a person they deem inconsequential.
“Fine. Then the ring will be sent back with a few of ours to a select group of your people, after which, the envoy will return unharmed.” My righteous anger dies down at the modified terms, but his hardened features still set me on edge. “Of course,” he murmurs, “during this transaction, you would be required to stay behind as an act of good faith. As the pack’s ward, of sorts. After all, you did say your kind kills mine. I’m not sure how much we can actually trust your people with not killing us.”
I bite my tongue to quell my retort. Of course, they expect me to stay behind… but is it really as an act of good faith? Or does Keenan have more selfish reasons coming into play? My stomach gives an upsetting grumble, distracting me from my immediate thought.
“There’s plenty of food,” Keenan continues in that soft murmur, his eyes compelling me to sate my obvious hunger. I avert my gaze as I snag another roll, tearing it into a few bite-size pieces before indulging. There is a strange stirring in my blood as his gaze remains on me, one I’m not wholly comfortable with.