The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6)

by Tamsen Parker

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

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  Once, twice, three times it rings, and I have a strong urge to hang up the goddamn phone. With everyone staring at me, though, I can’t possibly chicken out. I would lose every ounce of my credibility, and then where would I be?

  “Hello, Rey.”

  “Kendra. Hi. I’m…I’m honestly surprised you answered the phone.”

  “Well, you’ve done quite a bit for my family, I figured it was the least I could do. Maybe the most too, but I thought I’d see what you wanted before I made that call.”

  Perfectly reasonable. “I’m calling about your brother.”

  “Then you can nope right on out of here. No way.”

  “But—”

  “That’s my brother you’re talking about, and you hurt him. You want to do it again? Not in my lifetime. I’m assuming you’re calling me because he won’t take your calls.”

  “True. But I don’t want to hurt him. I owe him an apology.” It’s bad enough I’m doing this at all, but the back of my neck heats with the weight of my audience’s attention.

  “You owe him more than that. You broke his heart. I’ve never seen him messed up over someone, but you got him good.”

  I knew I’d hurt him. I knew it. Even as I was doing it, I could see how much I was hurting him, and yet I did it anyhow, thinking it would be like the other times I’ve ripped off Band-Aids. It hasn’t been. I haven’t exposed our wounds to heal in the open air; they’ve been festering and refusing to close. I want to fix it. Kiss it and make it better. Kiss him, hold him in my arms and at my mercy, and let us make each other happy, even though it scares the ever-loving hell out of me.

  “I swear to you I will do anything he requires to make it up to him. If that ultimately means he wants me to walk away, that’s what I will do. You have my word.”

  There’s a pause on the other end, and I send out a plea to whatever entity grants wishes for people like me. I don’t know who or what that might be, since I’ve always been that person.

  “Fine,” she grinds out, and I can tell she’s doing this against her better judgment. I will not disappoint her. “He’s with Julian, and they went to some party. At Ellie’s?”

  “Elouisa’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Kendra. I will do anything and everything in my power to make sure you don’t regret this.”

  “You’d better.”

  *

  I knew Elouisa was having a party tonight, and I thought it was likely Julian would bring Allie, so I’d planned to steer clear. It is entirely selfish and horrible of me to have had a vague hope Julian and Allie wouldn’t be together anymore, but of course they are, because I’m really fucking good at this.

  Despite my intervention crew begging otherwise, I’m pulling into Elouisa’s winding drive alone. It’s late, but there are still a lot of cars because most of them will be there overnight. Between the people who pass out somewhere in the middle of the bacchanal and wake up in the morning to drag their hungover selves to a diner for some grease and the people Elouisa’s staff sends home in cabs, her driveway tends to look like a dealership once a month. Lucky for me, an early arrival’s departed, so I slide the Tesla into the vacant spot near the house and barely wave a hand at the girl taking coats as I lope through the doorway. Ashleigh knows me, and though I RSVPed no, there’s no way she’d bar me from entry.

  Tonight’s theme appears to be “Lords and Ladies” or some such, and the staff’s outfits are phenomenal as always. I don’t have time to fully appreciate it because I’m on a mission.

  Room after room, I go through, looking for him. In dark corners of dim-lit spaces with bodies writhing in couples or sometimes more, in the sumptuous halls filled with mouthwatering food and a wine selection to die for. He’s not there. Nor is he one of the figures swaying or grinding on the dance floor to remixed medieval beats. I’ve seen Allie dance so many times it’s burned in my brain. I’d recognize him in a crowd of thousands. He’s not here.

  The dread inside of me starts to build. Where is he? What have I done? Will I be able to fix this?

  On my way down a seemingly endless hallway, I nearly bowl over a woman emerging from the first of the private rooms. My plan had been to knock on every single door, etiquette be damned. If Elouisa never invited me back, so be it. It’d be worth if I could get Allie to give me another shot. A real one this time.

  Lucky for me, the woman is Elouisa, her cheeks in full blush and her eyes glossy with fulfilled desires. Her expression quickly turns to one of concern when she looks me over. “What’s wrong, Rey?”

  “Hart, the man I brought a month ago, who probably left with Julian Davies, have you seen him?”

  She nods at the same time as she gives me a suspicious glance. “Why do you ask?”

  Because I want him, I need him, and I’ve made a terrible mistake in handing him over to someone else.

  “I—I have a matter to discuss with him.”

  Elouisa’s not quite buying my story, probably because it reeks of complete and utter bullshit, but she lets me off the hook. “You might have to wait until tomorrow then. He left in a cab with Julian about half an hour ago. You could check with Ashleigh—”

  “Thank you,” I say with a quick buss to her cheek and call over my shoulder as I head toward the door. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Wish I could stay for longer, it looks like a fabulous party, as always.”

  I have to hold myself back from grabbing Ashleigh by the shoulders and shaking her. “Ashleigh, could you tell me where Mr. Davies and his guest were headed?”

  She purses her lips oh-so-briefly, and the violent urge to shake her creeps up on me again. Though that approach might work with some, I’m familiar enough with Ashleigh to know charm’s a better tack than threats.

  “You know me, Ash. I’m not going to use the information for nefarious purposes. Scout’s honor.”

  God love my reputation, because instead of refusing, she smiles conspiratorially and leans in, probably hoping Elouisa isn’t watching. “They were going to Mr. Davies’s home. Do you know where that is?”

  “I do. Thank you so much for your help.”

  Without another word, I’m bounding down the elegant stairs and out into the night.

  *

  A fully dressed and thoroughly annoyed Julian answers the door. I don’t blame him. I’d be irritated if someone were banging loudly and mercilessly at my door at one o’clock in the morning too, especially if he’d already started tormenting Allie. Which I damn well would have. He’s a fucking moron if he hasn’t.

  Julian’s head rocks back on the spindle of his neck when he recognizes me. “Walter, what are you doing here?”

  “I—” Here we go again. Get it together. “Might I speak with Hart for a moment?”

  “Allie?” A mixture of sweet satisfaction and pungent bile mix in the back of my throat. I’ve succeeded in making Allie so comfortable in his skin he’s willing to let his new partner call him as his friends do. A privilege I was never afforded and that Julian clearly doesn’t see as remarkable. Oblivious man, who I want to take by his perfectly starched collar and shake hard, make him understand what a lucky fucking bastard he is. “Of course, he’s right here.”

  It’s only a minute and some soft words and shuffling before Allie is at the threshold, fully dressed and wary as hell.

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you. Please.”

  “I thought there was nothing more to say. That we were done. You’ve broken me in and handed me off. That’s what I got when you ditched me in public three weeks ago. What else is there to discuss?”

  Though he’s trying to hide it by flattening his affect, I can still see it. The same Allie I always see no matter what context we’re in, no matter what role he’s shrugged on like a second skin. I’ve hurt him, and he doesn’t want me to know.

  “I was wrong.” Those words don’t often escape my mouth. Hardly ever. They do now, because
I was. “And I’m sorry to have done it in a public place. I thought it would make things easier. Or maybe harder, and then you’d hate me, which would in turn make it easier and…never mind. That was a dick move, and I am so, so sorry. I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want you to be with Julian, even if he’s a good match for you. For the first time in…” Not quite ever, but when’s the last time I allowed myself to want something and to admit it? “…a long time, I want something. Someone, to be more specific. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I want you.”

  He frowns, pain and confusion creasing his features. “So this was a test? To hand me off to a friend of yours? To see what I’d do? If I’d do whatever you told me to? Make me wait weeks before you let me in on your game? Because I’ve got to tell you, that is fucked up.”

  “No. I had every intention of watching you and Julian walk off into the sunset together. I’m sorry if you thought this was a trick or hurdle to jump through. I swear on my mother’s life it wasn’t. I’m not used to…wanting. It’s made me a bit—” Disconcerted? Flustered? Uneasy? “—of a disaster.”

  My admission seems to break something inside of him, and he looks more willing to listen, not as poised to run at the earliest opportunity.

  “These past eight months I’ve been with you have been some of the best and worst of my life. Best because, well, I genuinely enjoy spending time with you, even when you have your clothes on, but also you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had. Not to mention, the way you submit to me is a dream. The worst because wanting is an unfamiliar feeling. I’ve never felt as though that was something I was allowed.

  “As much as my parents loved me, and my mom continues to, they still made me feel like a freak. Like I wasn’t quite human. Do you know what it’s like to have people you love tell you you’re not human and to believe it?”

  His face is locked in a compassionate grimace, probably trying to imagine what it was like for me as a kid, what it’s still like for me now.

  “I’ve always been aware I’m not like everyone else. My mother treated me as though I was delicate and fragile. My father convinced me I was a superhero with all the detachment and responsibility that entails. Everyone else treated me as if I was an aberration and I didn’t belong. You get told these things enough and…” I shrug helplessly. If I met someone today who’s like me? I’d try to correct all the mistakes anyone ever made with me. You are human. You are loved. You need to do things others don’t to keep yourself safe, but above that, you have no responsibilities, no allegiances. You are perfect precisely the way you are. I’d believe it with every bit of me. About them. Myself? Those insidious voices—some cruel, some well-meaning but ultimately misguided—still echo loud in my head. “It was a choice I could make. Monster or god, troll or deity. Is it any wonder I wanted to be on top of a mountain instead of under a bridge?”

  Considering how young I was when I made it, I’m not sure how much of a choice it really was. Maybe some people would criticize my parents, tell them they should’ve done better. They had no information to work with, though, so they did the best they could, protected and nurtured me in the best way they knew how. I’m intensely grateful to people who make me feel exceptional for reasons that have nothing to do with my superpower.

  Maybe that’s why I’m so devoted to the kink community. Not only do they not value me for it, it’s actively of no use to them whatsoever. It can’t be what they want me for, so I’ve had to prove my worth some other way. I have. I’d like to say beyond my wildest imagination, but frankly my imagination is damn good and I’m too cocky to imagine I’d fail. Creature comforts and success have always been a given, not a possibility.

  Perhaps that’s part of why I have such a fondness for India, as well. She’s never given a shit I can’t feel pain. Has always treated me the same as anyone else. I had to earn her hard-fought regard by other means. As I hope I have with Allie. Though I’d like to think that, if it came down to it, he’d let me fight in his place because he’s my responsibility and I’d do anything for him, including give my life. It’s not as though it would hurt; it wouldn’t be that kind of sacrifice. I’d like to think I’d make it even if it were.

  Waiting for his response is the longest minute of my life, and while I can’t claim to compare it accurately to pain, this…discomposure has got to be close. It’s certainly unpleasant. Will he understand the choice I felt I had to make?

  Finally, he speaks, and the soft sound of his voice eases some of my distress. “No. In your shoes, I’d like to think I would’ve done the same thing. You understand the world is more complicated than that, though, right?”

  There’s a note of almost pleading in his voice, and it makes me want to reach out and comfort him, take him in my arms and assure him everything’s all right. It’s not that big of a deal, and I’m used to it. Have moved on. The truth is, I’ve spent my whole life building up this levy, holding back the crushing waves of dread that I’m a monster, that I’m unnatural and unworthy because that’s what all those children with their schoolyard taunts told me. Even adults…they couldn’t fathom me and they weren’t good at hiding it.

  Allie’s given me all of his worries and concerns, allowed me to help soothe some of them, and though it scares the ever-loving hell out of me, I want to share that kind of intimacy with him. So I give the man I love, who is standing before me, all of my suffering, the only kind of hurt I’m allowed to feel. I let him see my genuine expression of anguish. Not the ones I practiced in mirrors when I was a kid, but this heartfelt, wrenching twist of my features. I don’t give him comfort because that’s how I’ve covered my own terror and doubts for my entire life. I am petrified.

  He doesn’t reach for me either, and I want, more than anything, to feel his skin against mine again, to avail myself of his strength and passion, his raw intellect and, fuck yes, his lovely submission.

  “Sometimes you get to be a little selfish. This isn’t some superhero movie where the villain is going to destroy everyone you love. It’s real life, and you’re allowed to ask for the things you want. And I want to apologize for what I said. It just… You. You hurt me, and I wanted to hurt you back the only way I knew how. I knew how badly it would hurt you because you do feel so much. I didn’t mean it, and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.”

  I let the unfamiliar tears pool at the corners of my eyes, though I can’t stomach letting them spill over. Such a gift—this simple admission from someone I admire, trust, and respect that I am, in fact, human. Worthy of having desires and allowed to make the mundane attempt to fulfill them. It takes all of those other unkind and lying voices that have told me otherwise over the years, and maybe doesn’t silence them—not yet—but overrides them.

  I let the riot of emotion coursing through me make my voice hoarse and desperate so when I say these next words, he’ll know I mean it. With everything I am, with everything I have.

  “Then I’m asking. I’m asking for you, Allie. Don’t go with him please. Stay with me. I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. You make me feel things that not only have I never felt, but I never thought I had the right to feel. That scared the living daylights out of me. I should’ve told you, talked to you. I didn’t know how. I still feel as though I’m making a royal hash of this, but I’m doing my best. You…you make me feel mortal, and I don’t know that there’s a higher compliment I can give. So, please. I’ll get on my knees and beg if you need me to, but say you’ll be mine.”

  He’s regarding me with this maddeningly impersonal expression, and it makes me want to split his head open and drag out his thoughts—say yes, damn you—but of course that wouldn’t work even if I tried. So I take every ounce of patience I’ve developed over the years and weigh down my desperate need to know what the hell is going through that head of his.

  After what feels like years but is likely only seconds, he holds up a finger.

  “Hang on.”

  Hang on? I’m d
angling by my fingernails over the edge of doubt into the pit of despair and he asks me to hang on? Who says I’m the only sadist standing on this godforsaken porch.

  He enters the house, and I hope he’s not going to leave me out here, mooning over him on the porch, perhaps calling everyone I know to point and stare at the mighty Rey Walter, reduced to pining for a man on a stoop. Jesus. I try to swallow it, because though it makes my blood run cold at the thought of my reputation being tarnished, the fact is when I told Allie I’d beg, I wasn’t lying. Waiting for a minute in return for the three weeks of suffering I’ve imposed on us both seems the least I can do.

  It isn’t more than a couple of minutes later he’s hustling out the door, swiveling his head until he finds me, waiting.

  His smile breaks across his face, and he strides toward me, all proud and powerful. He’s a mouthwatering sight to behold. My desire for him grows stronger still when he reaches me, stands toe-to-toe, and takes my face in his hands and tips it oh-so-slightly up so my lips meet his.

  It’s strange, this reversal of roles, and I won’t lie—I don’t care for it. I understand what he’s trying to do, though, so I let him take what he needs. Assurance. I’m still here and I want you. That’s what I try to tell him with my lips, my teeth, my tongue, my hands that have started roaming his body brazenly. God, I want you.

  He breaks the kiss and lets his hands drop to his side, his eyes bright and wild with lust. “You looked worried. Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

  “I didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” I say, cupping his jaw, stroking his cheek with my thumb and leaning into him so I can lay my forehead against his. This is my favorite—to feel our breath mingling, to share even the air we inhale and exhale.

  “I was telling Julian I couldn’t stay and offering my apologies. He’s been a good friend to me, but I think he knew it wasn’t going to last forever. But still, manners right?”