All's Fair in Love and Lion

by Bethany Averie

  “This is so embarrassing!”

  “Does it help I’m enjoying what you have to say?”

  Mortified, I leap to my feet. “No.”

  I hear him shift off the log and take a step toward me. “I’ll remain quiet and let you proceed.”

  Uncomfortable, I keep my back to him. “I’m flattered you think I’m beautiful and your kisses feel wonderful.” Inwardly I groan. Why did I tell him that?

  He turns me around to face him again, and murmurs, “Like this?”

  A tremor goes through me. My eyelids droop shut. Of their own accord, my hands travel up his arms and wrap around his neck. His masculine scent invades my senses. The ocean roars in my ears and my heart races.

  Before I realize it, I’m kissing him back with equal fervor. His heart thumps in sync with mine. Fireworks go off in my head. His tongue tangles with mine. A peppermint flavor scatters over my taste buds, fueling my desire.

  Then a thought jolts into my dazed head. What am I doing? I fight for control and pull back slowly. Reluctantly, he lets me go.

  “Yes,” I gasp out. “Exactly what I meant.”

  His chest heaves and I wonder if he’s shaken the way I am.

  “Sasha, you’re everything I want in a wife. I sense things about you. I want to know more. Do you believe that much?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then, it’s a step.”

  The air begins to shimmer.

  “What’s happening?”

  “You’re waking,” he answers.

  I try reaching for his hand. I grab nothing. “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m never far away. Anytime you want me, call me and I’ll come.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He vanishes. My head a mess, my stomach in knots, I feel like Alice did when she fell down the rabbit hole. What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 7: Monroe

  “The quiz on act one of The Tempest will be next Friday.”

  The students’ groans divert me.

  Sasha remains unmoved. “After we finish reading The Tempest, we’ll have a test on all four acts worth ten percent of your grade. Perhaps these grades will show improvement from the Pride and Prejudice tests. Write your names and class period on the inside cover of your copies of The Tempest and begin reading Act One. No talking.”

  I laugh outright at the severity of her gaze. Her students lower their heads as if to hide.

  “Lively group of young people,” I comment, entering her mind.

  “Not now, Monroe,” she thinks furiously. “I’m working.”

  “Wouldn’t it be entertaining if they heard their teacher moan passionately?”

  “Monroe, I’m warning you.”

  “I won’t embarrass you in front of them, Sasha.”

  “What are you doing in my head now?”

  “Thought you might like some company.”

  “Could you come back later? This is the last class of my day and I really don’t care to appear crazy.”

  “Those minutes will seem endless.”

  “I could throw you out.”

  “I’d rather not feel the full force of your wrath.”

  Exiting her consciousness, I feel a little guilty. It’s the third time today I’ve intruded on her thoughts. Once in the morning, once during lunch when Carl came in to give her extra essay entry forms. However, I’ve found I can hardly control myself.

  “Fifteen minutes shouldn’t be that long to wait,” she mutters.

  Some students look up and she glances pointedly at the books in their hands and they turn back to reading. She goes over the same paper three more times. The students start murmuring. They know she’s not usually flustered. She shoots them a dark look, and they hastily return to their assignment.

  The clock on the wall says five minutes left. Thank the Creator!

  “I realize the bell is about to ring,” Sasha says as the students’ voices fill the air. “However, it hasn’t, so please lower your voices and stay in your seats.”

  The students shift restlessly until a loud ring interrupts their activity. They leap up and head for the door.

  Sasha walks around the empty room and straightens desks, picks up papers, and puts them in the Lost and Found box near her desk.

  “I’m so glad,” I say, as I reenter her head, “you don’t have another class period. Do you realize how difficult it is for me to watch you and not be with you?”

  “You need more patience,” she says aloud.

  “You’re not the first, nor do I think you’ll be the last, to say so.”

  “Perhaps you should take the advice.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You’re impossible,” she says. There’s a hint of merriment in her tone.

  “And you’re adorable.”

  “Will you stop?”

  “Did I embarrass you, again? Ah, yes, I can feel the heat from your cheeks.”

  Exasperation fills her mind. “Monroe, please. What if someone shows up?”

  “If they do, maybe you’ll actually want me to fully appear and escort them out so you can have me all to yourself?”

  “Don’t bet on it.” Her voice reminds me of a lioness’s growl.

  “One can always dream.”

  In spite herself, she laughs.

  “That’s a delightful sound,” I say. “What a pity other men can’t see in you what I do. However, I’d dispose of them before they had the opportunity.”

  “Naturally,” she says out loud, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Did you anticipate less?”

  “Never.” A bit arrogant. Her thought flits by me and I chuckle.

  “Excellent.”

  “Please leave. Some students will be here soon for tutoring.”

  “How awful of them. But, I promise to behave.”

  “I’ll believe that when it happens.”

  “Now you tease. Bravo!”

  “If you don’t mind yourself, I will push you from my mind.”

  “I’ll be a model of good behavior.”

  “Right.”

  “You have the word of a gentleman.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Not at all, my lady.”

  As she double-checks the blackboard, I say, “You know, we don’t have teachers in the Third Realm. At least, not the way things are done in the First Realm.”

  “Really?” she inquires internally. “What do you do for education?”

  “Tutors. And I hated every one of them.”

  “I can imagine how difficult you were.”

  “Master Tomas did not enjoy having me for a pupil.”

  “I sympathize with him.”

  “So did my parents, when they were alive. Master Tomas didn’t last long. Neither did Master Crumpton. When Master Renal came, my parents made it clear they’d make my life miserable if I didn’t behave. I did better under him. I despised every minute.”

  “I don’t envy the task they had. I’m sorry about your parents, though.”

  “Don’t be. I’m grateful they gave me life, however, that’s where my admiration for them ends.”

  “I was close to my parents. They were loving and kind. I miss them.” She shakes her head. “Let’s change the subject.”

  My curiosity piques. She really misses her parents. Why doesn’t she want to talk about them? I reach out with my senses. The door to her memories slams shut.

  “Monroe, no.”

  “Why?”

  “I . . . can’t.”

  What hidden darkness has her so upset?

  “My session begins at three-ten.” She mentally draws back, taking on a professional tone. “It gives the students time to get out of class, go to their lockers, and come here. I’ve four students coming and we end at three forty-five, then I’ll go home.”

  “When you’re at home, perhaps I might appear to you.”

  Her thoughts twist into a tangled heap before she answers me out lo
ud. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Then, we’ll try.”

  She organizes herself as three students arrive. As promised, I remain quiet. To occupy myself, I contemplate the mystery behind Sasha’s emotions. Why is she reluctant to discuss her parents if she was so close to them?

  Chapter 8: Sasha

  I unlock my apartment before Monroe breaks the silence in my mind. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you,” I say aloud and close the door behind me. Kicking off my shoes, I leave my laptop and purse in the kitchen and shuffle into the bedroom. “Do you mind leaving for a moment while I change?”

  He sighs. “Say my name when you’re finished.”

  After I sense he’s left, I yank off my stockings, skirt, and blouse. In their place, I put on a comfy T-shirt, jeans, and jam my feet into slippers. Softly I call, “All right, Monroe, you can come back.” I wander into the living room and sit down on the couch to wait.

  A moment later a shimmering figure takes shape beside me. Slowly Monroe appears.

  “It worked?”

  “Apparently. This is different.” His awestruck tone mirrors how I feel.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “My sentiments, exactly. I wouldn’t question why or how. Let’s make the most of the situation.”

  “Right.”

  He sits next to me. “So, this is what it’s like to be here in the First Realm. I could get used to it.”

  He’s clearer than in my dreams. His eyes appear sharper as he meets my gaze. I quickly turn my attention to his long, silky, dirty-blond hair held back by a black elastic. What would it be like to slide the elastic out and run my fingers through the strands? Nervously, I set the thought aside and finish my perusal of him.

  He wears a white button-down shirt, black pants, and matching dress shoes. A nice combination of casual, yet gentlemanly. Just like a real prince. Silently, I gulp. Did that really cross my mind? Hopefully he didn’t notice.

  To cover my tracks, I let my gaze travels upwards, again. For the first time I notice his firm jaw, the definition clearer in reality. His shoulders are broader than I dreamt. His tanned, muscular hands rest lightly on his knees. My attention returns to his gorgeous face. I doubt I’ll tire of his looks anytime soon. “Wow.”

  He smiles, which nearly makes me faint. “I might say the same thing.”

  Embarrassed, I pick at a fingernail. “Will you stop?”

  “Why? I think you’re beautiful.”

  “Beautiful doesn’t apply to me.”

  “On the contrary.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “It definitely fits.”

  “Now what?”

  “Whatever you want. Your every whim is my command.” He stands and gives a flourishing bow.

  Unsure of what to do next, I rise awkwardly to my feet. “I need a cup of tea. Would you like something?”

  “Tea is fine. I wouldn’t expect you to have any wine or beer.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “No worries. Lead the way.” He follows me into the kitchen and I find it hard to concentrate with him within such close proximity to me.

  Setting the kettle on the stove, I stand on tiptoe and reach for the box of teabags. “How’s this?” I ask, holding up Cinnamon Apple flavor. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  His hands grip the counter on either side of me. Leaning against the edge of the counter, I will my heart to slow down.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  I lick my lips. “I don’t have much experience with men.”

  He moves closer. My heart rams against my chest. “Let me see if I can reassure you.”

  “Um . . .” I search for something to say.

  “Shhh. Just relax.”

  He lowers his head and presses his lips on mine. I lose track of time, where I am, and everything except the thundering in my ears and the feel of Monroe’s strong arms. When he draws me closer, the scent of spring grass and sunshine fills my senses. His groan makes my heart flutter. A soft moan escapes me. His hands plunge through my hair. My legs feel like melted butter. I lean into his arms. His grip tightens and more tingles shoot down my arms and legs.

  A high-pitched whistle from the kettle causes us to break apart.

  “Noisy thing,” Monroe addresses the kettle. Hazily I take kettle off the burner. He stands behind me, his arms around my waist. Burying his face in my hair, he lets out an appreciative murmur. “Mmm, your hair smells of sunflowers.”

  “Do you want tea?” Popping a teabag into the cup, I pour the water and hand it to him.

  “I hardly ever drink tea.”

  “It’s got a calming effect on me.”

  “Shall we find a more comfortable setting, or do you prefer to stand?”

  “We can sit in the living room.” I lead the way and plop down on my old tan suede couch. He sits beside me and takes a sip from his cup.

  “Well?”

  “Not bad, but I still prefer wine or beer.” He winks at me. “No matter.” He sets our mugs aside. “Are you all right?”

  I clasp and unclasp my hands. “I’m not used to you being real.”

  His gaze holds mine. “I told you I was.”

  “It never seemed possible.”

  “Dreams can come true,” he says. “Despite how silly that sounds.”

  I bite my lip. “Like a fairy-tale?”

  “Unlike the fairy-tales, though, I’m as real as you.”

  “I’m realizing that,” I whisper.

  Monroe asks what books are my favorites, the things he saw in my mind, and my dreams for the future.

  “I want a family,” I confess, as he strokes his thumb over my hand. I meet his gaze. “You know, children. My family life was so distant after my parents died. I reminded my aunt too much of her brother, my dad. Plus, she has her own children.” I swallow. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Having a family with you would be a gift.”

  “What if you’re wrong about us?”

  He brings my hand to his lips. “I have faith we’re meant to be, or I wouldn’t pursue you.” He winks again. “Besides, I don’t want anyone else. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I barely know you.”

  “Get to know me. Ask me anything you want. Besides, I’m hoping you’ll marry me one day.”

  “Marry you?”

  He cocks his head to one side, his eyebrows knit together. “Don’t you Firstlings have marriage?”

  “Well . . . yes. But, don’t you think it’s rather soon?”

  “Nonsense!”

  For a minute I’m speechless. “I’m serious. We hardly know each other.”

  When he answers, his voice has a note of impatience. “Sasha, you’ve dreamt of me for many nights. Haven’t you learned anything about me during that time?”

  “I know you’re good, kind, and honorable. How is that enough?”

  “Let’s get to know each other and revisit this topic another time, all right?”

  “But . . .”

  “Trust me.”

  “I told you in my dreams I wasn’t looking for a husband. I mean, I want one someday . . . but, you know how shy I am!”

  Ever since Monroe entered my life I’ve felt a little different. Especially since the thought of being Monroe’s wife has crossed my mind. But, how do I tell him? I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve always felt my only place was my job. Now it’s changing. If my friend Mel knew, would she wonder what’s come over me? And what would I say, when I can’t figure it out?

  “All the more reason for me to convince you otherwise.”

  “Monroe—”

  He cuts off the rest with his mouth and—heaven help me, in spite of everything—I can’t stop from losing myself in his embrace.

  Yet, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I can’t shake the feeling the way we met isn’t the only unbelievable thing I’ll
experience with Monroe.

  Chapter 9: Monroe

  “I prefer being with you in your world. There, I can discover your thoughts from your own lips, rather than sensing them.”

  “Must you go? My dreams won’t be the same without you.”

  My heart clenches at her crestfallen expression. “I’ll be with you when you’re awake.” I let her go and find myself back in the Third Realm.

  Passing the tapestry covered corridors, I throw open the doors of my bedchamber. I frown. “Ayres, I think I can manage to change my clothes for bed without your assistance.”

  He taps his foot, emitting disapproval. “You haven’t slept in two days, sir. I’m not certain you’re capable of much at this point.” His usually neat white hair sticks out around him like a cloud. “You must be exhausted. Let me help you.”

  “Good heavens, man, I’m not incapacitated. Go to bed. I can change my own clothes.”

  Ayres clucks his tongue while I struggle with pulling off my boots.

  “Oh, get out of here, Ayres. You sound like a mother hen.”

  He bows. Backing out of the room, he shuts the door behind him.

  A brief twinge of guilt pricks me. The old man has been with my family long before I was born. The guilt disappears when I remember his bossiness. He doesn’t need my sympathy.

  The next morning Ayres draws back the curtains and sunlight streams into the room.

  “What are you doing?” I shield my eyes.

  “It’s nearly half-past noon, sir. I thought you might want sustenance.” He indicates my nightstand where a tray rests. “I’ll return to help you dress.”

  “I’ll dress myself today. You go on with other duties.”

  He pauses at the door. “If you are certain?”

  “Quite. Now leave.”

  He lifts an eyebrow when I glare at him. He vanishes into vapor, then the vapor disappears.

  I pick at the smoked ham and swallow the coffee in one long, scalding gulp.

  After a quick shower, I yank on pants, shirt, and shoes.