Cutie and the Beast

by E. J. Russell

  David raised himself on his elbows. “Thank you, aunties, but—”

  “Take the pills and lie down,” Regan ordered.

  He sighed but did as he was told, then accepted the peas and held them against his face.

  Cassie rapped her cane on the floor three times. “I declare our gathering at an end.”

  Regan frowned. “Are you sure, Cassie? With the interrupted ritual, your health—”

  “Enough. I must speak privately with Davey and Lord Cynwrig. We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night.”

  After each woman kissed David’s forehead, they filed out, glaring at Alun on the way. Regan was second to last in line.

  “Don’t look so terrified, Lord Cynwrig. We don’t cut out people’s hearts on stone altars by the light of the full moon anymore.”

  The next woman, with a platinum bob and a double strand of pearls over her robe, snorted. “That was nothing but Roman propaganda.” She slanted a sly glance at Alun on her way out. “The sacrifices took place at twilight. More time for the barbecue that way.”

  He closed the door behind the last one and gave fervent thanks to the Goddess for their absence. The weight of their druid ire notwithstanding, he had no wish for them to witness his imminent transformation. If he had a choice, he’d spare David and Cassie the sight as well, but the chances of hitting early rush hour traffic and being delayed were too great.

  Alun moved to the foot of the sofa where he had an unobstructed view of David. The achubydd glow wasn’t as obvious here in the Outer World, but Alun could no more tear his gaze away than he could cut out his own heart. So beautiful, inside and out—and now permanently beyond my reach. David lifted the peas off his face, and Alun winced at the bruise blooming under his eye. My fault.

  “Since you both obviously know what’s going on—and don’t think I missed that all the girls seemed in on the joke too—I think it’s time to spill the magic beans. I warned you before—no secrets. Screw the supernatural NDA.”

  Cassie sighed and sank into a rocking chair next to the head of the sofa. “Davey—”

  “So what are you? You and the girls? I take it you’re supes too.”

  “We are more . . . meta-supernatural, I suppose.”

  “That doesn’t tell me squat, Auntie.”

  “We’re—we’re druids.”

  “Seriously? What else have I always believed that turns out is a total fricking lie? You’re probably not even my real aunt.” Cassie dropped her gaze to her cane, and David slapped the peas over his eyes. “Oh lord. You’re not. Perfect. Just. Fricking. Perfect.”

  She reached for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re as much my family as if our ties were of blood, not affection. The secrecy was for your own protection.”

  “I hate that excuse. I hate it almost as much as But that’s how we’ve always done it. Ignorance is never positive. Don’t you think I should have the whole story and be allowed to make my own choices?”

  “He’s right. He deserves the whole story—as do I, if I’m to keep him safe.”

  She nodded. “Very well. David’s parents were killed when he was just a child, barely more than a toddler.”

  He peeked out from under the peas. “I was four, Auntie.”

  Alun’s sword hand clenched, his instinct to arm himself and seek out the perpetrators. His gaze flicked to Cassie’s face. “Was it a fae attack?”

  She shook her head, her mouth twisted in a half smile. “Ironically enough, no. A simple car accident—drunk driver, something that would never have occurred if they’d remained in Faerie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. We cast a number of divination spells, although we weren’t able to do it until two years after their deaths.”

  “Two years. Not long. The evidence should have still been relatively fresh.”

  David glared at Alun with his uncovered eye. “Two years in foster care seemed like eternity to me. One-third of my life at the time, bouncing from foster home to foster home, waiting for the place to blow up around me.”

  Alun leaned against the wall, folding his arms so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to hold David. “Did the homes really explode?”

  Cassie cut a glance at her nephew. “Davey exaggerates. No actual pyrotechnics were involved, but I can’t deny that his presence was enlivening to the human families.”

  An achubydd child without a trained caregiver? I should think so. He studied the flat line of David’s lips, the tense muscles in the side of his throat. “Why did it take you so long to find him?”

  “We had no idea that his family existed. His parents had managed to stay off the grid for their entire lives. We only discovered them by accident, after they were already dead, because of some anomalies in the ley lines. We didn’t know of the existence of a child until later, and it took time to locate him inside the foster system, and longer to fabricate the credentials to allow me to take custody of him.”

  “Why did you want me though? I mean, am I supernatural too, like you and Alun?”

  “Yes, cariad.”

  “Really?” David sat up, letting the peas fall into his lap. “What’s my superpower? Is it something cool? Can I turn invisible? Fly? Read minds?” He scrunched his nose. “I don’t have to drink blood or anything, do I?”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “None of those. You are able to comfort the sick, aid in healing.”

  “So what you’re saying is . . . I’m a nurse.”

  “And sometimes,” she said, “if you encounter a being motivated by greed and self-aggrandizement, your superpower is to die.”

  David fell back into the nest of pillows. “Well, that sucks.”

  David scowled, barely listening as Alun and his aunt continued the conversation as if he weren’t there—And that’s different from all the rest of my life how?

  “We realized that his parents must have had a good reason for remaining hidden, so we put protective spells in place.”

  “I didn’t realize it was possible to hide an achubydd in plain sight.”

  David blinked at Alun. “Bless you.”

  “It’s not, really. The power can’t be concealed completely. What we did was put charms in place to . . .” She held out one hand, palm up, and flipped it over. “Invert them.”

  “You turned him into an anti-achubydd?”

  Crap—achu-whatsis? Isn’t that what Owain was, Alun’s great lost love? Jeez, why couldn’t I have been a vampire after all?

  “More or less. However, lately the charms have lost potency. Some of that latent . . . interference . . . has started to bleed through.”

  David sat bolt upright. “Wait—what do you mean ‘interference’? Is that why I could never hold on to a boyfriend without him starting fights with everyone around us? Why all those riots broke out in every office I tried to work in? It was all me?”

  “Not you, cariad. A human reaction to your nature, skewed by the charms, which are negations, reversals. An achubydd’s nature is one of comfort and serenity. So the charms had to counteract that.”

  “Charms? You mean the worry stone, the earring, the one-of-a-kind personal care products? All of that was to hide me?” Jeez, they’d put him in a supernatural closet, and not the fun kind with copiers and office sex. “Don’t you think your instructions and spells and what-the-heck-ever would have been more effective if I knew why they were so important?”

  “I did my best, Davey, but the more I lost control of them, the more they started to project distress and agitation. I tried to hold them. Goddess knows, I poured as much into them as I could, but you’re strong. You took more than I had.”

  David’s belly clenched. “What do you mean, took more than you had? You mean because you were ill?”

  “Not precisely.”

  Alun, who had been leaning stone-faced against the wall, stood up straight. “You heard him before—he hates not knowing the truth. You owe him the entire truth, including the cost of your actions, because, knowing
David, he’ll discover it eventually anyway. Do you imagine he’ll be able to live with himself knowing that he killed you? Trust me when I tell you that’s not something he’ll take lightly.”

  “I’m killing—” All the blood rushed from David’s head. “Do you mean what you’re doing for me—the charms, the spells, the whatever—that’s what’s wrong with you?”

  Aunt Cassie scowled and pulled her shawl closer around her. “Not all of it. I’m still old. We all die, Davey. Even druids. Even the Sidhe. I wanted it to be on my terms, leaving a legacy of my choice.”

  Screw this—everyone deciding what he could deal with, what prices he was willing to pay. “What about my choice, Auntie? My choice to have you with me as long as possible? My choice to be a man and fight my own battles?”

  Her face crumpled, but she didn’t cry. She never cried. Hell, for all he knew, druids couldn’t cry—and that was the point. He didn’t know. That crap ended right now.

  “Maybe if I wasn’t swaddled in all this Celtic hocus-pocus, I wouldn’t be so awkward. Is this hiding me from myself too?”

  She nodded unhappily. “Achubyddion . . . they want to give too much, risk their own lives for those they care for. It can be dangerous if they’re not cautious, and you had no one to train you, to show you the ways of your kind.”

  “You mean I’m the last one?”

  She nodded.

  “Perhaps not.” Alun’s perfect face was solemn, his arms crossed and feet planted like the fricking Colossus of Portland. “My brother told me of the discovery of an achubydd enclave they’d never suspected.”

  Aunt Cassie sat forward, hands gripping her cane. “Alive?”

  Alun frowned, and with that face, even his frown was beautiful. “Not all. But they believe some escaped.”

  She slumped, shoulders rising with a deep breath. “So they’re still in the wind. No chance for Davey to find them, for them to take him away.”

  “Hey!” David tossed aside the stupid bag of peas. “Stop making decisions for me. Who says I’d want to leave? I like my life the way it is. Well, except for causing riots everywhere I go.”

  “Doesn’t that prove that you’re not prepared for this world and that the world is most definitely not prepared for you?” Alun asked. “You should continue to use your aunt’s protections.”

  “Screw that!” David’s inner bitch stamped a petulant foot when Alun and Aunt Cassie shared an indulgent glance. He was not a child, damn it. “Didn’t you hear her? It’s killing her. I’m not signing on for that.”

  “Dafydd—”

  “I don’t believe that one person is inherently more valuable than another, not in the grand scheme. We can all accept help and affection, but when it comes to trading life for life? I get to decide whether I think my life is worth ending someone else’s.” He faced his aunt. “Don’t you get it? To me, your life is more important than mine.”

  “Davey, all good parents sacrifice their lives for their children. It may not be as evident as a physical death to prolong the child’s life, but no parent’s life is the same after a child’s birth. Everything you do is bounded by the needs of the child.”

  David laid his hands atop hers. “But I’m not a child anymore, Auntie. I’m a man. And I get to choose from now on.”

  She sighed deeply, but nodded. “Very well. You always were a stubborn one, Davey bach.”

  “Good.” He patted her hands. “Hey, without all the counteractive spells, does it mean I’ll be able to dance now?”

  Alun chuckled. “I doubt there’s enough magic in the world for that.” Then a shaft of sunlight pierced the drapes, and he stiffened, his face contorting in a rictus of pain.

  “Oh no. It’s the potion. It’s wearing off.”

  “Potion?”

  “He drank something, some spell or whatever, to abate his curse for one night so he could go do his Faerie duty.”

  Aunt Cassie’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with one fragile hand. “Goddess. Tell me it wasn’t a druid potion?”

  “His brother said it was.”

  “You fools, don’t you realize the danger?”

  “I—” Alun’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, sprawling on the sunburst area rug like a broken marionette.

  David scrambled off the sofa and rushed to his side, pressing a hand to Alun’s chest. His heart is practically galloping. That can’t be good. Alun’s fingers twitched, and David quickly laced them with his own.

  “Davey. You must leave him be.”

  Alun’s back arched, and his lips pulled back in grimace.

  “But I saw what it did to him before. The transformation.”

  “It is his struggle, and ill-advised or no, it was his choice, not yours.”

  “Can’t I at least hold him?”

  “You cannot. He is too large, too strong, and the pain will be too great for him to temper any blows. We can only wait until it is over.”

  David released Alun’s hand and crawled backward until his knees hit the hardwood floor. He sat there tailor-fashion at the edge of the rug while the stubborn, taciturn, annoying, wonderful man he loved convulsed in front of him and turned back into a beast.

  Oak and thorn, has all my skin been scoured off? The rug under his cheek was like a bed of nettles, the soft linen of his shirt like woven barbwire.

  Alun pushed himself onto his hands and knees as he tried to find the strength to hold up a head half again as heavy as it had been less than an hour ago.

  “Alun.” David’s low voice was balm to his soul. But when David rested his palm on Alun’s shoulder, Alun gritted his teeth, expecting the pressure to set off a firestorm of agony in his over-sensitized skin, his wracked spine. Instead, the pain eased under the gentle touch.

  He took a shuddering breath. Goddess, no one truly appreciates the absence of pain. But the spot under David’s hand was a blessed island of comfort in a sea of torment.

  Wait. There and only there, under David’s touch?

  Achubydd.

  “No!” He knocked David’s hand away, forced himself to his haunches, and lumbered to his feet, head reeling.

  On the floor at Alun’s feet, worry clouded David’s beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “You can’t touch me.” Didn’t David realize how dangerous it was? If he’d touched Alun during the transformation, he could have been killed, drained to an empty husk by Alun’s own need for relief. The idea of David lying lifeless before him like Owain— No!

  “I didn’t realize . . .” David hugged his knees. “I mean, when you changed before, you could touch me afterwards and it didn’t bother you.”

  “You weren’t achubydd then.”

  David’s eyebrows snapped down over his nose, and he shot Alun a dirty look. “I was too. You just didn’t know it, and before you go off on me about that, remember that I didn’t know it either.”

  Alun sighed. “It’s not that I’m angry with you, but you have no idea how to command your abilities. Just now, I could have drained you without knowing.”

  “Drain me? Um . . .” David glanced at his aunt, who was watching them both with a look of pity.

  Goddess, anything but that. Hatred, contempt, revulsion—he could handle all of those, but not pity.

  “Achubyddion,” she said in a carefully neutral tone, “heal through their own life essence, their own energy. Energy is finite, and so must be replenished.”

  “You mean I could run out of juice, like a cell phone battery, and have to recharge?”

  She smiled. “A bit. While an achubydd’s resources are limited by their own constitution, the needs of the other are not necessarily so. If the recipient requires too much, the achubydd’s battery dies for good.”

  David frowned, hugging his knees tighter, his gaze darting between Alun and his aunt. “I still don’t see why—” His eyes widened, brows lifting, as he stared at the base of Alun’s throat, where the collar of his shirt gaped open over his chest. “Alun. Your
scar.”

  “My scar?” Alun touched the spot between his collarbones where his scar began, but the skin was smooth, unmarred. He ran his hand down his torso. No thick ridge bisected his chest and belly. He ripped the tail of his shirt out of his pants and lifted it with shaking hands.

  His scar was gone—his skin as smooth as when he and David had made love in the glen.

  He backed away. “Did you touch me?”

  “You know I did. Just now.”

  “No. When I was transforming. Did you touch me?”

  “Just once. At the beginning.”

  “Where?”

  David hunched his shoulders. “I . . . held your hand. I touched your chest.”

  Alun rounded on Cassie. “How could you allow him anywhere near me? He could have been—”

  “You forget yourself, Lord Cynwrig,” she said in her druid’s power voice. “I pulled him back before the change took full hold.”

  “Then how do you explain this?” Alun thumped his fist against his sternum.

  “I need explain nothing to you.”

  “Hello?” David said testily. “If you two are done playing chicken, could you please tell me what the heck you’re talking about?”

  “You must have healed me. I’ve drained you. Goddess, I—”

  “Relax.” He rose in his usual way that made even simple moves look complicated. “I don’t feel drained. I feel fine. Other than my butt is numb from sitting on this damned floor. My face doesn’t even hurt anymore. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

  Cassie tilted her head, her brow wrinkled. “Davey may have a point, although it’s not something I’d considered before. Aid given freely is always less costly than when it is forced, achubydd or no.”

  “Well, duh. That’s true for anything. Who wants to be forced to help? We all feel better when it’s our own idea.”

  Cassie leaned forward with both hands on the head of her cane. “Perhaps, but then, achubyddion kept knowledge of their abilities secret even from the druids, which is a formidable feat in itself.”

  “I don’t care.” Alun paced the path the sunlight laid on the oak floor. “Without knowing more, we can’t risk it. If I’d had any idea of this that first day, or anytime since, I’d never have taken him into Faerie.” David blocked his path, and Alun sidestepped so quickly he nearly fell. “Stop that.”