His mother had always told him not to play on that stone, though he never knew why.
He walked on, carefully swatting away cobwebs, as he grew closer to the arched doorway leading to the upper level of the home. Even in the remote location, his mother would keep this door shut and locked when they were inside. As a young boy he had wondered why they needed a locked door when nothing but the jungle surrounded them, but as a man, it had become clear. She was afraid of who—or what—might try to enter.
Clenching his teeth, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.
He’d expected to find something horrific on the other side. Instead he found wooden steps leading him into an open space flooded with natural light. Stone floors, dusty throw rugs rolled up in corners, colorful walls, and furniture covered in sheets.
He was finally home.
Chapter Six
Zanya
Zanya leaned against a tree, enjoying the cool shade as she waited for a signal to follow him inside.
It’d be a lie if she said it didn’t hurt when he left her to wait in the jungle. It was like he’d shut her out of a place in his heart—a place she thought she had full access to. Maybe she overestimated this whole bonding thing. Maybe what she felt wasn’t what he felt at all.
Balam circled her once, twice, three times, and then stopped beside her. The cat raised his stout snout toward the treetops, scanning the branches with round, orange eyes.
Cualli, in her owl form, landed above them and hopped along a textured branch.
“Thanks for getting us here,” Zanya said. “I know it meant a lot to Arwan.” Cualli silently watched her, as if expecting her to say something else. “I, uh…” She glanced at Balam, who was now licking his paw and rubbing it over his face as if no one were around. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know you guys are happy for us and all,” she continued, her attention turned back to Cualli. “In fact, if it weren’t for you, I bet we wouldn’t have bonded at all.” She studied the house and lowered her voice. “But if you don’t mind, can you keep the whole ‘half-breed’ thing down to a minimum? My mom did that to him enough already, and it hurts him. He has a good heart.”
Cualli blinked her big, round owl eyes, gave a soft coo, and then launched off the branch, climbing higher into the sky with each flap of her massive wings.
Balam’s ears perked and he followed close behind his companion, vanishing into the jungle without so much as a goodbye wave of his tail.
A moment later, Arwan walked out of the house and leaned the inside of his forearm on a pillar. His broad chest pushed against the stretchy cotton of his t-shirt, his torso flexed in his stance. He quickly scanned the jungle before speaking. “Where are Balam and Cualli?”
“They took off. I’m sure Balam wanted to dry off.”
He nodded. “You can come in now.”
She huffed and walked toward him. “You sure I’m allowed?” she mumbled under her breath.
“I checked. It’s all clear.”
She sighed, watching him as she grew closer. Those damn super senses of his were going to be hard to get around. He could hear her heartbeat, her whispers, even sense her pheromones rise and fall. It was almost impossible to mask the smallest change in her mood without him focusing on her from across the room. And now that they were bonded, keeping her thoughts private would be even more difficult. If only he were as transparent…
Zanya walked to his side, savoring the cool surface of the stone as she placed her hand on it. “So…” She examined his soft features and relaxed muscles. “How is it?”
“Good, I think.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. If anyone understood being torn about returning home, it was her. When she arrived at Renato’s, she was less than optimistic, to say the least.
“Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go home.”
She froze. Home?
He skimmed his fingers down the length of her arm and hooked them around her wrist. Amusement played across his lips, making his eyes smile. “You don’t have to be nervous.”
She stared down at his fingers over her wrist. “That’s not fair.” She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t take my pulse—like you need to, anyway.”
He paused, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”
She swallowed against a dry throat. “I don’t know.”
“You can tell me.”
“It’s just, when you went inside…” She frowned. “I just—” Her stone buzzed against her wrist, sending a spike of energy up her arm, and her into high alert. She sucked in a breath as light radiated from inside the leather band.
“What is it?”
Zanya unhooked the pouch and slipped her stone into the palm of her hand. Its cool energy saturated every cell of her body, filling her with a burst of power. “Something’s wrong.”
He squared his stance. “What?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” She clenched her stone in her hand and scanned the jungle and cued the light in her chest to flicker to life. Better safe than sorry. “Something’s out here.”
“Balam or Cualli, maybe?”
The jungle could have been hiding anything, and in her world, that could mean just about anything from any realm. “No. Not them.” She secured her stone back in its pouch and narrowed her eyes, still peering into the thick foliage. “It’s something else.”
Arwan took her hand, breaking her focus. “Then we should go.” Any trace of the sweet guy she’d been standing beside had vanished, leaving a cautious worrier in his place. He guided her toward the open door leading up several wooden stairs, into an open living room and kitchen.
A musty scent tickled her nose as she scanned the piles of furniture covered in white sheets. She flipped a light switch on the wall, cuing the ceiling fan to start spinning. “I can’t believe this place has electricity.”
“Hm.” He leaned against the window and squinted down at the river. “Watermill. And…” He shaded his eyes with his hand. “A solar panel. Maybe for a water pump, if it’s not clogged. But the panels don’t look too dirty and the river seems clear.”
“Maybe Cualli had something to do with that.”
Arwan nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“We’ll have to thank her for that later. Running water is always good.” She walked through the room, examining the vaulted ceilings with dingy skylights and colorfully painted stucco walls bare of any art or decor. “How long has it been since anyone has lived here?”
Arwan peeked under one of the sheets covering some furniture, then dropped it, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “I’m guessing after she left me at Renato’s when I was a boy, she never made it back.”
Zanya frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“You can’t change the past. What happened—happened. That’s all there is to it.” He continued through the space, stopping beside the fireplace. He placed his hand on the thick wooden mantel, vacant of any family photos or cute little trinkets normally found on display. “She obviously prepared to not come back.”
Zanya walked behind him, lightly skimming her fingers along his back as she passed. If her touch was as comforting to him as his was to her, she’d offer it.
She walked toward the kitchen, which was open to the living space. The black stone countertops looked like slabs of slate, unfinished and uneven around the edges. But they were beautiful, in a rustic sort of way. The wooden cabinets surrounded sleek, black appliances—a few modern amenities in a house built in the middle of the jungle.
Several area rugs were rolled up and leaned against the wall, cobwebs hanging in every corner. She turned to face Arwan, who still stood by the mantel, his gaze set nowhere in particular. She cleared her throat, causing Arwan to blink, as if he’d returned from some distant place in his mind.
“What do you think?” he asked, leaving the fireplace behind him as he walked across the living room, to
ward a broad hallway.
“It needs some work, but it’s…” She nodded. “It’s beautiful.” She followed him through the house and down the hall, past two closed doors, to the last door that hung wide open.
Another arrangement of floor to ceiling windows made the far wall, displaying a view of the jungle. A large bed sat in the center of the room with a mahogany frame, matching a large dresser and two night stands.
Zanya leaned against the doorframe as he walked inside. “Was this your mom’s room?”
He nodded, his features somber and his eyes a little sad. “She never slept here. It was almost unused. She always slept…” He dropped his gaze, and then glanced up at her. “She slept on the floor in my room beside my bed. Every single night.”
He believed his mother hated him. Abandoned him, and then chose to die over watching her son grow into something she hated. Even though he believed those things, it didn’t make sense. Why would she take him to live with Renato—to a safe place—if she detested him? Why would she sleep beside his bed, as if she were there to protect him? “That’s nice.” She forced a faint smile. “Maybe she wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“I highly doubt that.” He tightened his jaw. “But I guess I’ll never know.” He walked past her into the hall, where he paused beside a closed door.
Zanya followed and lingered beside him. She noticed his narrowed eyes. “Was that your room?”
The absence of a response was enough.
She took his hand. “Listen to me.” She brushed strands of hair away from his eyes and then rested her palm against his chest. “I’m sure it’s all a little scary, but this was—is your home.” She gripped the aged brass handle. “Whatever we find, we’ll face it together.”
Chapter Seven
Arwan
Arwan squeezed her hand a little tighter as the door to his childhood room swung open, revealing a space he’d nearly forgotten.
A twin bed was pushed against the far wall, stripped of any linens or pillows. Above the headboard hung a wooden mask. His mother had hung it there. She said it would chase away evil. Just like the facade of safety she’d held up so well, that, too, was a lie.
It was all so strange, standing in the threshold of the room he’d spent thousands of nights in, believing he was loved, and having no idea of what his future would hold.
His gaze fell to the floor beside his bed. That was where she had slept, every night, as long as he could remember. On top of a round throw rug that was no longer there.
“It’s almost empty,” Zanya said, bringing him back to the moment. “I guess she packed up this room too.”
He grabbed the handle and pulled it shut. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
She was quiet, which somehow comforted him. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Hey. I have an idea.” Zanya bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet with a beaming smile. “Let’s check out what’s in the kitchen. We need food, and maybe there’s something left in the cabinets.”
“Nothing not expired,” he said, staring down the hall toward the slate countertops. “But you’re right, we do need food.”
“Okay. So you go look for food, and I’ll uncover the furniture and see what we have to work with. Sound good?”
She was obviously trying to take his mind off of things—keep him busy, for the moment. The gesture was appreciated. He nodded. “It does sound good, but I don’t have any tools to hunt.”
She shrugged. “So we’ll eat clean.” She quoted the words with her fingers. “It’s the new trend, anyway.”
“Right.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She tilted up her chin, searching his eyes, saying everything words couldn’t.
No matter what happened in the past, they were bonded. Nothing would ever come between that, and neither of them would ever be alone again.
He leaned down and kissed her, savoring the taste of her lips and the heat radiating from her skin. Her heartbeat spiked, and then slowed until the familiar drumming in her chest was back to normal.
When he pulled back, Zanya’s eyes fluttered open, studying him from behind a thick curtain of lashes. Her wolf gray eyes were entrancing, like looking into a sea of opals.
Her cheeks flushed with color, and she set her hand on his chest, sending a wave of heat through his veins. “Better get going if you don’t want to be caught picking fruit in the dark.”
“I’m not scared of the dark.” He arched a brow. “Especially with you here to protect me.”
She snorted. “Like you need me.”
He slid his hand around the back of her neck and skimmed his thumb over the curve of her jaw. “That’s where you’re wrong.” The blush in her cheeks intensified, satisfying him—for the moment. He placed a kiss on her forehead and stepped back. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
He walked through the living room, out the front door, and outside, where the humid air immediately clung to his skin. The sun was low in the sky, making the heat index more bearable than earlier that day. There was just enough sunlight for him to explore the area around the home and search for fruit-bearing bushes and trees.
He moved around the perimeter of the home, walking the tree line while peering into the foliage. A few small squirrels scurried through the branches overhead. The birds fell silent. The forest grew still.
He frowned. Even in the solitude of the jungle he couldn’t escape his inner identity. The dark beast inside him lay in wait for the moment he would unleash it again. First Cualli reminded him of his heritage, and now the animals that sensed the darker half.
He pushed aside branches, winding deeper into the jungle. He scanned the sea of green for splashes of color, and caught a flash of orange overhead. As he walked toward the citrus tree, leaves crunched beneath his feet. He paused and looked down at brown, withered leaves.
It was the wet season. In the tropical rainforest, that meant an abundance of water for green, lush plants, blooming flowers, and animals to welcome their young.
He rammed the toe of his boot into a rotted lump of root, splintering it into dozens of pieces. He followed the trail of flaky bark, the tree dusky and bare of leaves.
Thick, green vines wound around the trunk, strangling the life out of it.
He disregarded the scene and continued to the ripe orange hanging on a nearby branch. He jumped and yanked the fruit from where it hung. The sweet, citrus scent teased his senses, making his stomach rumble. Besides some water and a few protein bars, he and Zanya hadn’t had much to eat that day. These fruits would be the perfect supplement for calories and sugar. Though Zanya was capable of taking care of herself, it was his responsibility now to provide for her. It was his job to keep her happy and safe, and nothing would stop him from doing just that.
***
Zanya
Zanya paced the living room, examining the mounds of furniture she’d uncovered. There were two royal blue sofas with raspberry red foot rests, an oval coffee table made of some kind of cherry wood, two side tables, a reading lamp that stood on brass feet with an adjustable neck, and a small dining table with four chairs.
She walked to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. The pipes groaned, and a moment later brown water sputtered from the faucet. She crinkled her nose and waited for the water to run clear, then found an old rag in one of the kitchen drawers and wet it just enough to wipe layers of dust from the furniture.
Over the next hour she slid each chair, table, and sofa into position, rearranging them sometimes two or three times before she was satisfied. The reading lamp she set on the opposite side of the fireplace near the double sofa, and tucked the four chairs under the dining table near the kitchen.
She moved into the master bedroom and scoured the room for linens, finding a sheet and pillowcase set neatly folded, hidden in the bottom drawer of the dresser. A thin blanket filled the drawer beside it. She pulled it out, shaking off what smelled like s
ome kind of herbs—maybe to keep bugs and rodents at bay. But the scent was pleasant, and after dusting them clean, she used them to make the king sized bed in the master bedroom.
She cringed at the screeching hinges as the front door swung open. “Did you find anything?” She’d finished tucking the sheet, just like she did at the orphanage. Not the most pleasant memory, but at least the skill came in handy. “I’m guessing that’s a no.” She grinned.
A gentle humming carried from the family room.
Zanya froze.
The sweet melody filled the space, like an ancient Celtic lullaby.
Zanya turned and walked into the hall, heading toward the living space. As the voice grew louder, a metallic scent tickled the back of her throat. She knew that smell. It coated her tongue more times than she cared to recall.
“Cualli?”
Zanya stepped into the room to see the goddess sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace, her bare feet pressed onto the floor, rocking as she hummed the sweet tune. Her presence filled the home with a bright, clean energy.
Cualli stopped rocking and looked at Zanya. The goddess’s gaze drifted down to her neck. “I noticed you do not wear the necklace I gave you any longer. You used to reach for it for comfort.”
“Oh.” She placed her fingers over the place the wicker emblem would have sat. “I…I don’t mean to be offensive. It’s just that I didn’t want it to break or—”
“No need to apologize, young guardian.” Cualli began to rock again with a pleasant smile. She scanned the room and drew in a deep breath, as if drawing the atmosphere into her lungs. “I have always loved this room. It seems different now.”
Zanya parted her lips. “You’ve been here before?”
“Many times.” She skimmed her hands over the polished wooden armrests. “I watched her sit in this very spot when she carried the half-breed.”
Zanya drew her eyebrows together, both out of anger and confusion. “Her?”
Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) Page 4