by Casey Hagen
Harder.
She had fire in her veins, and he wanted to glory in the heat.
He heard the crunch of dirt and gravel before he saw the outline of her form in the moonlight bathing the lane in a faint glow. She stopped at the edge of her driveway, watching her trailer and the lamplight that burned in the living room window.
Turning away from her place, she headed his way.
He leaned back, resting his elbows on the porch behind him and enjoyed the faint sway of her hips in the darkness.
If only it were another kind of darkness, and those hips had been stripped free from the gray and white waitress uniform that seemed to be as much a part of her as the slight cleft in the chin of her heart-shaped face.
He wished he could give her everything so she’d never have to serve hash again to impatient customers just passing through, leaving stingy tips.
She’d never let him.
And if that wasn’t about the sexiest part of her, he didn’t know what was. “How was your shift?” he called out into the night.
Her steps faltered for a moment. “Fine. Quiet, actually,” she said, clasping the arm rail and propping her foot on his bottom step.
“Not a great night for getting the bills paid,” he said.
“No, but then I’ve got a regular who must have a vision issue since he constantly leaves me far more than I earn.”
“You deserve every penny,” he said quietly.
She climbed the two steps and sat next to him. “What are you doing out here?”
He tipped back the bottle and took a satisfying gulp. “Drinking away memories.”
“With just a beer?” she asked, bumping his arm with her shoulder.
“Hey, I never said I was good at it,” he said with a smile.
She eyed the bottle in his hand. Her features were a bit easier to see now that she sat next to him, those green eyes shining. “You mind sharing with a friend?”
“Yes, I do, but I’ll share with you,” he said as he held the bottle out to her.
“And that makes me more than a friend?” she asked, taking it from his hand and tipping the end to her plump lips.
“I’m pretty sure we bonded today. So, why did you head here?”
He exhaled long and slow, watching the way her mouth hugged the glass where his had just moments before.
His cock jumped in his pants.
Jealousy flared.
Envy of a bottle.
A new low.
“I’m avoiding my mother,” she said, rolling her lips inward and sucking the suds off of her top lip.
“You didn’t ask her?” Cleona had always been a straight shooter. A no-nonsense woman. He expected her to take the subject head-on the way she took on customers, coworkers, and him, the one time he’d asked her out.
At the time, he hadn’t felt anything serious about her.
Now, things had shifted and if they crossed the line, he was positive that they had no choice but to get a whole lot serious.
“No. She came home wiped out. I set her up in her chair for my shift. Lucy called me to let me know she stopped by and got her tucked in for the night,” she said, crossing her leg and kicking her foot in a circle as if she simmered with nervous energy she just had to burn.
Impressive after the day she had.
“That’s the nurse, right?”
“Yeah, and she’s a lifesaver. Without her, I wouldn’t be able to take extra shifts, and I need those extra shifts,” she said, nodding at him and handing over the bottle.
He tipped the bottle to his mouth just like he had before, only this time, her gaze drifted to his mouth. Keeping his eyes on hers, he darted his tongue out before taking a sip. “You could always take a job that pays more elsewhere.”
She cleared her throat, her eyes meeting his once again. “I could, but if I’m here, and my mom has an emergency, I can get to her fast.”
“You love her a whole lot,” he said, the words hanging between them in the night.
“Well, yeah, don’t you love your mother?” she asked, tilting her head and watching him with a thousand questions in her inquisitive eyes.
“I do, and I miss her. She died,” he said.
“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the night.
“Don’t clam up, it’s okay. It just makes it hard to get answers. If she had any to begin with,” he said with a shrug.
“And mine is right here, and I’m afraid to ask her,” she said, resting her head in her hands and then smoothing her fingers over her hair and linking her fingers behind her neck.
“Yeah, well, I had years to ask more about my dad and instead I spent the time being pissed off and telling myself I didn’t give a shit. Not my smartest decision,” he pointed out.
She turned to him, her arms falling to her sides. “You never asked at all?”
“Oh, I did as a kid, but by the time I was a teen, I figured fuck him. When she died three years ago, I panicked. Scrambled through everything she owned looking for clues, wishing I had asked.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t just tell you.”
“I’m not. I was one angry fucker as a teen. I wasn’t the easiest person to talk to about much of anything. For a couple years, we passed more notes than spoken words,” he said, offering her the bottle.
“Wow, I can’t picture you like that,” she said before taking a sip.
He sat up straight and pulled his feet up onto the step. “I grew out of it. But now all I have is a box full of report cards and teacups to tell me who my mother was as a woman.”
“Or, maybe you don’t know how to look,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know about your mom, but women are great about hiding stuff in plain sight. Maybe you’re missing something. Mind if I take a look?” she said, handing him back his empty bottle.
He stood and reached out a hand to her. “I don’t see what good it will do, but go ahead. Knock yourself out. You sure this isn’t just you avoiding home?”
Placing her hand in his, she laughed. “Of course it’s me avoiding home.”
“At least you’re honest,” he said, lifting the back of her hand and pressing his lips to her soft skin.
Her gaze skittered away from him, telling him that she hid something.
Something important.
One thing at a time; first, he planned on taking full advantage of her offer.
“I guess she didn’t make it easy and name him on your birth certificate, huh?”
“I’m not that lucky,” he said with a chuckle.
She smiled. “Okay, so point me to the first box.”
He led her into his living room and the mess he left scattered about there. “Might as well start with this one,” he said, dragging the box to the floor in front of the recliner.
She took a seat, pressing her knees together, and off to the side, with her ankles crossed, the epitome of manners. She sifted through the books, his mother’s recipe box jammed full with all of her favorite family recipes, and her collection of shot glasses from the states she’d gone to when traveling across country with her college friends.
Something stirred inside him as her narrow fingers, so strong at the diner, yet so delicate and respectful, picked through the remains of his family.
“I think I would have liked your mother,” she said, sliding the box off to the side and dragging the box with his report cards toward her.
“Why’s that?” he asked, cringing at the thought of her reading a few of those. Those asshole years had come out in harsh, red ink.
“She formed quirky attachments to things of no monetary value, just sentimental. I like that. I’d bet she was the kind of woman I would invite over without a second thought as to the threadbare sections of the couch cushions or the fact that the dishes don’t match.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that shit anyway. You have dishes to eat on, that’s all that matters.”
Her hand fell to her lap,
the envelope in her hand crinkling when it did. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. You have money, enough to buy the trailer park. You’re kind of a mystery with your wealth, but lack of pretentiousness. I never know what to make of you.”
“I made a lot of money fixing bikes. I charged a lot and lived in small apartment above my shop. I saved a nice nest egg, most of which is sunk into this place,” he said, forcing himself to not flinch when she slid out a sheath of papers.
“Does this make you nervous?” she said with a smirk.
“Don’t judge me on my grades, that’s all I ask,” he said.
Her fingers shook a fraction, and her eyes narrowed on the papers. “Bingo,” she murmured, glancing up at him.
“What?” he asked, standing over her.
She handed him a paper. “This is your report card.”
“Okay,” he said, taking a glance at the paper, but not seeing anything of importance.
“And this,” she said, handing him another sheet of paper, her sharp gaze on him, “looks like your real birth certificate. The one naming your father.”
Chapter 4
Leander blinked down at the name on his birth certificate. “Mylas Braden,” he said quietly, the unfamiliar name rolling around on his tongue.
“Yeah, there’s a weird thing going on with the names, don’t you think?” Cleona asked.
His gaze flicked to hers. “What do you mean?”
She stood and glanced at the paper he held. “Leander and Mylas, they’re all names from Greek mythology.”
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “It was my favorite subject. Gods and goddesses with the power to tip the balance of power on a whim. I envied them that.”
“Like a warlock can,” he murmured.
“I guess.” She tapped her lip and narrowed her eyes. “Now that I think about it, Orion is Greek, too.”
He sighed and scratched his chin. “I think it’s time we admit that there might just be something to all of this.”
“For all I know, I’m just Cleona Rowan, average, blue-collar slinger of Sam’s Gut Busting Breakfast, guaranteed to keep you full till dinner,” she said.
“You’re so much more than that,” he said quietly.
She let out a laugh totally devoid of humor. “I’m an average woman. The fanciest thing about me is my name.”
“And what about that? Cleona Rowan? Maeve Brennan? Aren’t those Irish? Isn’t it weird that you both have Irish names?” he asked.
She rubbed her eyes, the signs of exhaustion settling in on her in the slump of her shoulders. She needed rest.
But he needed answers.
Seeing his father’s name in black and white sparked a whole new reality for him. He had something to go on now, whether through Orion or a PI, he’d find answers.
“It has to be coincidence,” Cleona said, rubbing her forehead. “If what Maeve said is true, we were all adopted by different people. It’s not like our names were orchestrated like yours could have been.”
He set the birth certificate on his coffee table. “You mind if I get that number from you?”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to see if the name rings any bells with Orion while I do some digging of my own. In the meantime, you need to have a talk with your mom.”
“You say it like it’s as simple as ordering a pizza,” she said with a smirk.
“I think she’ll be honest with you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She has this no-nonsense way about her. Tells it like it is. And she loves you,” he said by way of reminder.
No matter what was happening, he didn’t want this to cost them their bond. Not when her mother needed so much care and when Cleona had never mentioned any other family.
Besides her mother, they were both loners. There was a certain irony in that.
“She’s my mother, she has to love me,” Cleona said with a smile.
“Hey, it’s not just that. You’re her biggest accomplishment. Before you moved here, she said you were meant to be something. Something special. A force to be reckoned with.”
“That’s code for stubborn.”
“It was more than that,” he said, sliding a hand in his jeans pocket. “Go home, get some rest, and talk to her in the morning.”
“The first thing I’m going to do is soak in the tub. I’m pretty sure every muscle I have has stayed coiled tight since this morning. If I don’t relax them, I might just snap,” she said, picking up her purse from where she had set it next to her and sliding the strap over her shoulder.
“Before you go, one more thing,” he said.
“Hmmm?”
If it was all true, his hang-ups didn’t matter. Her reasons, whatever they were that kept her at arm’s length, they were all moot.
Their road was predestined.
He hooked his hand around her neck and pulled her to him. Her eyes widened, her gaze locked on his. He leaned in, a smile on his lips as her eyelids slid closed and her rough exhale fanned over his seeking mouth.
He captured her lips with his, delving into her mouth, eager to feel the glide of her hot tongue against his. One smooth stroke and he groaned at the taste of his beer still lingering on her.
She shuddered under his hand, as though she might just burst apart as she wrapped her arms around his waist, her warm hands sliding up under his T-shirt, meeting his fevered skin.
Just seconds before he wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and taste her, but with her curious, exploratory touch, her skin claiming his, his desire shifted to the way her hands set off a forest fire of need as they roamed over his flesh. He wanted to tear his shirt off and guide her over the landscape of his body.
He wanted to revel in the way she explored his curves and ridges. and memorize the way she explored his flesh.
Even if he never buried himself inside her, he could die a happy man at the touch of her hands as they danced over him.
He wrapped his hand around her hair and dragged his fist to the center of her back, the force pulling her mouth from his.
A light flashed in his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut with the force of it. The sliver of light slashing through the night illuminated a field of moss under a blanket of stars.
He shook with the vision, his lips going to Cleona’s neck, sucking the soft flesh there into his mouth.
A scream pierced his brain and his fingers fisted, yanking her hair tighter as he scraped against the edge of her jaw with his teeth.
A river of blood seeping into the damp earth cut through him and he let her go, stumbling back from her where he caught the wall to stabilize himself.
“What the hell just happened?” Cleona asked, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.
“Kiss,” he grunted out, trying to get air of his own.
“I got that part. But what happened to you?” she asked, her slim hands going to the red marks he left on her delicate skin.
“I don’t know. It’s like another time, another place tried to suck me back.”
“I need to talk to my mother,” she said, weaving through the boxes toward the door.
“Cleona,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall and straightening his shoulders. “Text me that number when you get home.”
“Uh huh, yeah, umm sure. Yup. I’ll just let myself—”
He grabbed her hand and yanked her back for one more hard kiss on her lips, making her squeak.
“This is just the beginning, Cleona. No matter what you find out, this isn’t over,” he said, dropping her hand and letting her go.
***
Ten minutes later Leander waited as the phone rang on the other end. After the third ring, Maeve’s sleepy voice came over the line.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Maeve? It’s Leander. From at Cleona’s,” he
reminded her.
“I remember,” she said with new energy infused in her voice. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Actually, I need to talk to Orion. Is he there?”
“Uh, sure, yeah. Hang on just a minute,” she said.
He listened to the sound of muffled voices on the other end of the line followed by some shuffling.
“Orion,” Orion said, his voice laced with the same tension from earlier that day.
Leander checked his anger in the interest of finding the truth. “I have a name. I’m wondering if it’s familiar.”
“What is it?” Orion said, his voice low.
“Mylas Braden.”
He exhaled audibly over the line. “It’s not familiar, but it’s a Greek name.”
“Yeah, that’s what Cleona pointed out.”
“Who is it?” Orion asked.
“My father,” Leander said, the words strange coming from his lips so many times in one day. This situation had him popping open veins all over the place, and it was going to take some serious getting used to.
“You couldn’t have just said that earlier?” Orion said.
“I didn’t know his name. I only just found out,” Leander said, a wave of self-consciousness sweeping through him which was ridiculous. Lots of kids had single parents and maybe didn’t know much about the absent parent, it’s not like there was shame in that.
“What prompted you to look?”
“Your questions about the cuff at first, then Cleona’s,” Leander stopped. The possibility she speed-healed wasn’t his story to tell.
“What about Cleona?”
“Nothing. She’s going to talk to her mother is all. Listen, do you have people you can ask about Mylas?” Leander asked.
“I do. I may not have answers until the morning. Either my dad will know, or I’ll cast a revelation spell and find out on my own,” Orion said as casual as though it was no different than walking about to get the mail.
“Wouldn’t the spell just be quicker?” The words sounded absurd coming out of his mouth.
“It would, but every spell I cast takes precious energy, and Belen is waiting to exploit every weakness. If I can get the info from my dad, that’s best. Especially if you are what I think you are. If it turns out you’re one of us, you’re more vulnerable because you have no training and that vulnerability puts Cleona at further risk.”