by Tami Lund
Samuel affected a guilty look. “I—I couldn’t think of any other way to convince her to be alone with me.”
Finn’s hand tightened again. Samuel’s face turned purple. “What did you do to her?” He bit off each word as he said it.
“Finn,” Tanner warned, and Finn reluctantly relaxed his hold again. He had to wait for Samuel to gasp and sputter for breath before he could speak again.
“Nothing. I swear. She has been asleep this entire time. I’ve been waiting for her to wake up so I could talk to her.”
Finn abruptly released his hold, and Samuel collapsed to the floor. He strode to the bed and jerked away the bedcovers. Cecilia lay curled underneath, fully clothed and appearing completely unharmed. He ran his hands over her body, checking for injuries. As soon as he touched her, magic flared, bright, hot, and potent. She stirred, blinking her eyes open and smiling demurely up at him.
“Hey, good morning,” she purred, and he felt himself go instantly hard, which was damned inconvenient at the moment. Then Cecilia’s eyes clouded as she looked around, tried to assess her surroundings.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Samuel’s cottage.”
“What in the world are we doing here? Why am I in this bed?” She looked down at herself, as if seeking the answers there. When she looked up at Finn, her eyes were no less clouded.
“What do you remember?” Finn demanded.
Cecilia furrowed her brow and concentrated. Her gaze lifted and focused on Samuel. “The beach house,” she said. “We were drinking wine. I started to feel strange, fuzzy, like I was drunk, only I’d hardly taken two sips.” Her eyes narrowed. Samuel flushed and cleared his throat as he tugged on his shirt collar.
“I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he said, actually sounding sincere. “I just—I just—” His gaze darted to Finn, and he abruptly stopped talking.
Cecilia tried to sit up, but her limbs flopped like a ragdoll. All semblance of patience gone, Finn reached down and pulled her into his arms. Magic flared again, and Finn’s erection grew even harder. He bit back a groan and turned away from the bed. “We’re out of here,” he said over his shoulder to Tanner, and then he strode from the cottage, holding Cecilia in his arms. At the moment, he never wanted to let her go, not ever. For some reason, he had the distinct impression he’d almost lost her.
Yet she wasn’t even his to lose.
* * * *
“A sleeping draught?”
Olivia nodded. “I’ve been reading up on it. He must have given you a very powerful dose for you to sleep as long as you did.”
Cecilia thought about her cousin’s words. She felt as if she had not really been asleep for all those hours that she was missing, although she couldn’t say why she felt that way. She had no memories between the moment she’d dropped her wine on the carpet and when Finn’s touch pulled her from sleep, and she discovered she was lying in Samuel’s bed.
At Finn’s insistence, Alexa had been summoned to examine her. He stood over the healer’s shoulder while Alexa cupped Cecilia’s cheeks and closed her eyes, to concentrate on what was going on inside Cecilia’s body.
“She is uncompromised,” Alexa announced, and Cecilia felt the distinct shift in the air that she recognized as Finn’s emotions. He’d been worried that Samuel had raped her while she slept. She opened her eyes and tried to catch his gaze, but he turned away and walked over to stand near the window.
“This is very strange, though,” Alexa murmured as she continued to hold Cecilia’s cheeks. When she didn’t elaborate, Cecilia prompted her.
“There is something akin to a black hole in your mind.”
“What?” If the situation were not quite so somber, she imagined Finn would have a field day with such a statement.
Alexa opened her eyes and stepped away from Cecilia. She took a deep breath and said, “I have never encountered something like this before. It is as if—as if—” She glanced around at the various people standing in the room. “—as if she has lost a section of her memories.”
“Lost—or altered?” Tanner suggested.
Alexa shook her head. “Lost—altered—essentially the same thing. They are gone. Whatever happened during that period of time, Cecilia will have no recollection of it. Possibly not ever.”
“I have no recollection of anything for several hours,” Cecilia said.
“Yes, but according to your brain waves, you were awake at some point. The sleeping draught is almost entirely out of your system, indicating that its effects would have begun wearing off a few hours ago. You might not have been one hundred percent, but you would have been awake, and would have begun to slowly develop mobility again. The sleep of the last hour or so was not caused by the sleeping draught you ingested earlier today.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. Not that anyone in the room would argue with Alexa. She was known to quite possibly be the best Lightbearer healer to ever have existed.
Alexa excused herself a short time later, insisting she wanted to do research on whatever she saw—or didn’t—in Cecilia’s mind. She promised that Cecilia was suffering no ill effects from the sleeping draught or from whatever left that black hole in her memories. As soon as she left, Finn rounded on Cecilia.
“You are not to leave my sight, do you understand me?”
Olivia was the one who rolled her eyes. “Oh, Finn, stop it. Acting like that is a sure way to convince her to do exactly what you don’t want her to do.”
But Cecilia wasn’t so sure this time. The idea that she’d lost a chunk of time, had no idea what happened to her during those minutes or even hours, was frightening. Alexa swore that she had not been raped, had not had any sexual involvement at all recently—not that she’d needed the healer to announce that to a roomful of people, especially Finn. Still, there were plenty of other horrible things that could have happened.
At the moment, she couldn’t think of anything, but she knew without looking at him that Finn was thinking the exact same thing. For once, it seemed, they were in agreement.
* * * *
Later that evening, there was another incident that caused alarm in Finnegan. He stayed and joined the royal family for dinner at the beach house. When the king and queen walked into the dining room, there was a definite chill to the air. The queen was clearly unhappy with her mate. She sniffed, thrust out her chin, and sat primly in the seat farthest from the head of the table, where Sander normally sat. The poor king had a bewildered look on his face as he sat in his chair.
“Trouble in paradise?” Tanner murmured, laughter in his voice. It wasn’t often they saw the king and queen at odds, and Tanner seemed to be deriving malicious enjoyment out of the situation.
Sander waved at his mate, whose gaze was shooting daggers at him down the length of the table. “Apparently I stood up my lovely queen, which I cannot seem to recall doing.”
“I recall sitting at a table alone in the pub for two full hours,” Genevieve said with a huff.
Finn’s gaze darted between the two of them. “When was this?” he asked.
“This afternoon,” Genevieve snapped before Sander could even open his mouth.
“I swear,” Sander blustered. “It was two o’clock, and then it was four o’clock. In a blink. I have no idea how I could have lost those two hours. I don’t even recall doing anything.” He fidgeted with his fork and knife.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Finn demanded.
Sander shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I recall talking with Gigi, suggesting we go get a drink at the pub because it would be nice to have a little date, and our subjects like to see us out and about. I had to run an errand, so I agreed to meet her there. Then it was four o’clock,” he ended, sounding mystified.
“What was the errand?”
The king shook his head again. “I—I cannot recall. It’s as if—as if it’s right there, and yet…gone.” He gave Finn a helpless look.
Finn lifted his gaze and caught
Tanner’s eye. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably.”
Whatever happened to Cecilia’s memory, it happened to the king as well. The question was, what was it? And who was responsible?
* * * *
“Are you going to sleep in the hall outside my door?” Cecilia teased when Finn walked her to the bedchamber she used whenever she spent the night at the beach house. He had informed her that she could either sleep at the beach house or at his cottage with him, and she’d been too afraid to say, “Take me to your cottage, strip me naked, and have your wicked way with me.”
“Maybe,” he responded as he opened the door and preceded her into the chamber. “Unless you invite me to stay in here with you.”
She stared at his back as he moved around the room. Ever since they returned to the coterie, they had not been getting along, which wasn’t unusual under normal circumstances, of course. But given what occurred at his sister’s house, Cecilia had expected him to express some sort of sexual interest in her. Unfortunately, he seemed inclined to do nothing but argue with her and protect her from some unknown danger that he was determined existed.
“You aren’t really shocked by my suggestion, are you?” he asked as he hooked his arm around her waist.
“Oh,” was the best she could reply, when he dipped his head and nibbled on her neck. She canted her head to give him better access to that sensitive part of her body and closed her eyes as the cacophony of sensations washed over her. It was like a waterfall of magic, and they were standing underneath it. She squirmed, and Finn tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her more firmly to him.
“Fates, I need this right now, Cici,” he whispered right before he bit her earlobe.
She made a strangled cry of pleasure as she fisted her hands into his hair and turned her head so she could devour his lips. She loved his lips and his tongue. She was certain she would never get enough of them.
Pulling his shirt over his head, she tossed it away, and he reciprocated by grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling it over her head, leaving her standing there in nothing at all but a flesh-colored bra and panties.
“So beautiful,” he murmured as he cupped her breasts and dipped his head to lick at the exposed flesh above her bra.
“Now I wish we had gone to your cottage,” she said on a sigh. “I would so love for you to use that feather on me.”
The cascading waterfall of magic suddenly turned icy cold as Finnegan flung himself away from her, staggered backward for several feet before stopping and staring at her. “You went through my things?” he asked incredulously.
He’d caught her looking at his sister’s photo album, but that had been lying on a shelf in the living room, within easy view. He couldn’t exactly accuse her of snooping there, and besides, didn’t most people make photo albums for the express purpose of other people looking at them?
But apparently checking out the drawer in his bedside table was off-limits for the private shifter, which of course Cecilia had suspected at the time. It was the exact reason she’d done it. Now, however, she wished she hadn’t been quite so impulsive.
“My private life is none of your fucking business, Lightbearer,” he snarled, and then he turned and stalked out of the room.
Chapter 13
Cecilia woke alone the next morning. She was in her own bed, in the guest chamber she used any time she spent the night at the beach house. She had no idea where Finn slept or if he even stayed there. He had been so angry last night, and she had felt so guilty, she hadn’t gone after him. He must have assumed she was safe enough in her chamber, because he had not returned, and eventually she had fallen asleep.
She’d slept poorly, though, haunted by foggy dreams of ideas and things that didn’t quite make sense and felt just beyond her grasp, and guilty dreams of the look on Finn’s face when she’d suggested they could use the feather during sex.
Damn it, why had she opened her mouth? If she hadn’t, Finn would probably be in the bed, lying next to her, and she would undoubtedly feel sated, not overtired and cranky.
Glancing at the French doors leading out to a patio, she noted the light outside was gray and dim, meaning the sun was only just trying to climb above the horizon. It was too early, but she was awake now, so she threw off the bedcovers and climbed out of bed.
Finn wasn’t out in the hallway, liked she’d teased last night. She contemplated checking the nearest guest chambers to see if he occupied one of them, maybe slipping inside and offering him an apology in a very intimate manner—without bringing up the damn feather.
What was it with the feather anyway? Was it a memento from a past liaison? Was that why he was so touchy about it? Sure, she should not have snooped into his things, but his reaction was a tad over the top.
Turning away from the guest chambers, she made her way downstairs to the kitchens. It was so early that not even Carley or one of the underchefs had come into work yet, so Cecilia was alone in the vast, open space. She made her way over to the coffeemaker, and after much fumbling and spilling of coffee beans, she finally had a pot brewing.
While she waited for the caffeinated liquid to fill the carafe, she thought back over the events of the day before, and as usual, felt a strange void when she tried specifically to recall what happened between shortly after noon and four o’clock. She knew Finn thought the king’s insistence that he’d lost two hours of his day was somehow connected to her own memory loss, although Cecilia could not imagine how.
“Don’t try so hard; it’ll give you a headache.”
She whipped around at the sound of Finn’s voice, nearly knocking her coffee cup off the counter as her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She watched as he strode over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a mug, and then sipped at it, grimacing as he swallowed.
“You make lousy coffee.”
She tore her gaze away from the sight of him in nothing but a pair of jeans. Nothing at all. Probably not even undergarments. She swallowed hard and willed her body to stop giving away the fact that she was so attracted to him.
“I don’t make it very often,” she managed to get out. “I still cannot recall what happened yesterday.”
“Not surprising,” Finn replied as he pulled the carafe out of the coffeemaker and dumped the contents into the sink before proceeded to make a fresh pot.
“You were drugged. And someone fucked with your memory. There was a reason for it, I’m sure.”
“What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know. Yet. But you can be damn sure I’ll find out.” He poured a fresh cup of coffee, offered it to her, and then poured a second for himself before striding over to stare out the window at the far end of the room. “It snowed last night,” he commented after a while.
“About last night…” She trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.
“Forget it, Cecilia. Just forget it. I know I overreacted, but I don’t like people snooping in my things.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” she said quietly. “I do understand that you are a very private person, Finn, but it was more than that. It was about the feather.” She gripped her coffee mug and waited for him to speak. She was so afraid of his response, afraid that he would tell her it was a reminder of a past lover, someone he’d cared about and had lost, or worse, someone he loved and still pined after, that she had the ridiculous urge to turn and flee, so she couldn’t hear whatever he planned to say.
“It was from my pappy,” he said, startling her from her frightened reverie.
“Huh?”
Finn glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wry look. “Were you expecting something else?”
She flushed. He shook his head.
“No, I do not have a propensity for using feathers when I’m in bed with a woman,” he said, his tone exasperated. He spotted Carley heading toward the door, and he opened it and held it for her. Then he fell into easy conversation with her while she set about preparing the kitchens to fee
d the inhabitants of the beach house.
Cecilia turned away and left the room, relieved, although she couldn’t help but wonder… Would he be interested in trying new things?
* * * *
Finn kept his distance, at least emotionally. He still hovered, still refused to let her out of his sight, but he rarely engaged her in conversation and most definitely avoided any physical contact at almost all costs.
“Okay, fine. So I went snooping through his stuff. And yes, at the time, I did it purely to annoy him. But come on, how many times does a girl have to say she’s sorry?” Cecilia complained to Olivia on the third day.
They were walking along the top of the cliff, because Cecilia claimed she felt suffocated inside the beach house. Snow crunched under their feet, and the wind whipped at their coats. A storm was charging over the lake, heading in their direction, the clouds dark and ominous. Both women felt the absence of the sun in their weakened magic.
Olivia slipped on a bit of ice hidden underneath the snow, and Cecilia grabbed her arm to steady her.
“Thanks,” Olivia said as they resumed walking. “Unfortunately, my balance is off because of this pregnancy. Are you sure Finn is upset over the snooping? Maybe it’s something else. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would hold a grudge over something like that.”
“What else could it be? I didn’t drug myself that day. Alexa says nothing horrible happened, but it feels as though he’s blaming me for whatever did happen. I wish I could remember.” She ended on a sigh.
“I suspect he’s frightened,” Olivia offered.
Cecilia barked out a laugh. “Finn? Frightened? What a ridiculous thing to say. He killed his own pack master, for the love of light. I doubt he’s frightened of anything at all.”
“I think you would be surprised. Men are frightened of the strangest things. Like losing the one they love. Or admitting that they care about that person in the first place.”
“What are you suggesting?”
They’d reached the border of the snow-covered lawn. Ahead was a thick stand of trees. To the left was the edge of the cliff, the village below, and the lake beyond. The house was behind them, slightly to the right. The only sounds were of their boots crunching on snow, and the wind whistling in their ears. The rest of the inhabitants of the coterie were shut up tightly in their warm homes. The smell of burning wood was pungent in the air, indicative of roaring fireplaces in hearths all over the village.