“You talked about Mano’s need to return to the water like someone who knows what it’s like to lose something. Something important. Your house is full of herbs and texts on healing.”
“So?” she breathed. She swallowed hard and her gaze darted away from his.
Careful, Brec, he told himself. Don’t scare her off.
He walked closer to her, moving slowly so as not to startle her. His heart leapt into his throat. If this didn’t work, he’d have no alternative but to keep searching. How long could he hold Ana prisoner in her own home? How long before he exhausted the easy hiding places and had to decide whether to start tearing her home apart? Was he ready to do that?
Ana stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes widening even further when he raised his hands to grip her shoulders.
“Ana,” he whispered. The world narrowed down to her two ice blue eyes. “Let me help you.”
Chapter 19
Ana couldn’t breathe. Her life, everything she’d worked for, everything she’d thought was true seemed to waver before her eyes. For two years she’d been possessed. She’d felt nothing but pain and the bitter rise and fall of hope. She’d done things that turned her stomach, inflicted unbearable pain on innocent people. None of it had mattered before, nothing had mattered but her search for the skin or the spell that would end her suffering and return her fur to her.
Now the selkie holding her shoulders in a vice-like grip had changed all that. He’d broken into her safehouse, discovered her sins. Everywhere she looked, he waited, ready to throw her crimes in her face until she couldn’t ignore them anymore. Even worse than the guilt he inflicted upon her was the awakening.
He’d made her laugh. Not once in two years had she laughed, not even a giggle. How could she laugh when her skin lay broken and burnt under the dirt floor of her basement? And yet she had. Standing amidst a pile of her underwear, staring at a selkie bent on detecting a seduction scheme in every move she made, she’d laughed.
And his kiss. Ana’s mind drifted to the shower, reminding her of how his hand had felt as he held the back of her neck, tilting her head so he could slant his mouth over hers. Remembered pleasure warmed her muscles, reigniting her desire as she remembered the way their tongues had danced together, gliding against one another until the erotic heat between her legs was almost too much to bear.
The sense of purpose had shocked her too. For the first time in the two years she’d pored over healing texts, Ana had used those skills to help someone else. And it had felt amazing.
Laughter, pleasure, and purpose—emotions she’d never expected to feel again. All because of the selkie standing before her. He thought she was a good person. Knowing what she’d done, seeing her temper, he still believed he could reach her, still believed that deep down inside she was a decent woman. And now he wanted to help her.
Part of her tried to smother the idea before it could leave her lips. Once she asked, she couldn’t take it back. Once she put it out there, he would know and there would be no more hiding. It would be the second time a man had known about her skin, and the first man had destroyed it. If Brec wasn’t the man he seemed to be—if he still bore her ill-will after she returned the skins, he could easily take his revenge on her. He could destroy what was left of her skin, destroy the tiniest scrap of hope she had left. What choice would she have but to wither and die as he’d said?
Baby steps she whispered to herself. Just ask him if a burnt fur can be healed. He doesn’t need to know it’s your own fur you’re talking about. She tried to straighten her spine, drawing every scrap of her courage to her. He’d said he was the best healer the selkies had seen in over three centuries. If anyone could help her, if anyone would know how to help her, it was him. She forced the words out, barely speaking past the lump of fear in her throat.
“Can you heal a skin that’s been badly burned?”
She held her breath as she turned her gaze up to meet his—and then she froze.
Anger like she’d never seen before burned like hot coals in his eyes and his hands tightened painfully on shoulders. The muscle in his jaw twitched as if he were clenching his teeth and the lump of fear in her throat swelled until she choked for breath. He looked . . . enraged.
“No!” he practically shouted, shaking her so hard she though her neck would snap. “No, once you burn a skin, it’s just a pile of ashes. The skinwalker will never be able to wear it again, it would be like it no longer existed.”
His fingers nearly crushed her bone and she barely smothered a whimper of pain. Shock turned her blood to ice water in her veins and tears sprang to her eyes. Her shoulders ached in his grasp, the first real physical pain he’d inflicted on her since he arrived. Horror blossomed inside her. I was wrong.
“I—I just thought—”
“No, it’s not possible,” he shook his head, his anger gaining an edge of desperation. “Ana, once you burn those skins there’s no going back. The people you stole them from would eventually die or go insane. This isn’t a case of a man or woman taking the skin to get a husband, a story about love making the skinwalker ‘happy’ for awhile. This is about half of that person dying and that person feeling that loss every day like a hole in his soul.” He shook her again, so hard her teeth rattled. “Tell me you didn’t burn them!”
“What about witch hazel, slippery elm, and kukui nut oil?” she babbled, desperation sending a fine tremble over her entire body. Too much was happening too fast. She didn’t understand. “Wouldn’t that—”
“No,” Brec shouted, his own eyes wild with horror. “No, nothing will heal a burnt fur. Nothing! Ana, what have you done? Is that why you wouldn’t return the skins? Did you burn them?”
Hysteria bubbled up inside her from somewhere beyond her soul. The part of her that remembered being a fox, remembered what it was like to feel whole, cried out in a long mournful howl that reverberated up her spine until her body shook like a tuning fork. Tears welled in her eyes until the whole world blurred and she was alone with the one shaking conviction that she would never be okay again.
“. . . once you burn those skins there’s no going back . . . . die or go insane . . . . feeling that loss every day like a whole in his soul . . . nothing will heal a burnt fur. Nothing!”
He was right. Her skin was gone, she would never get it back. He was a healer, the best, and he’d just told her plain as day she was doomed to be trapped in this human skin forever. Forever.
“Ana?”
She heard her name, but it sounded far away. Everything was far away, everything was falling. Strange sounds assaulted her ears, but she could barely hear them through the fog that had settled around her. It sounded like sobbing. Farther and farther away . . .
“Fuck, Ana, can you hear me? Ana!”
The bubble around her popped and the world exploded back into sound. The sobbing she thought she heard was real, and it was coming from her. Pain worse than anything she’d ever felt crushed her body beneath a giant invisible weight and she collapsed against Brec’s chest. He tensed for a split second and then his hand was stroking her back.
“Ana . . . Ana, shhhh, it’s okay. Ana, what’s wrong?”
His voice was a strange mixture of shock, confusion, and lingering anger and panic. As angry as he was, as terrified that she’d burned those other furs, he still stroked her back. He still asked her what was wrong. He was a true healer. But it didn’t matter anymore. “Nothing will heal a burnt fur. Nothing!”
She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. In a way this was better though. Now that she knew it was impossible—now that one of the greatest healers the selkies had ever known had confirmed it for her, she knew she could let go. “. . . die or go insane.” She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes as the sobs began to subside. In a way, she should be glad. Soon she would be free again.
Chapter 20
Brec held onto Ana as she sobbed and a feeling of dread settled heavily in his stomach. He slowly lowered them bot
h to the floor and began to rock her back and forth, murmuring nonsense words of comfort as he struggled to figure out what had just happened.
One minute he felt like they were connecting and the next—BOOM she was talking about burning skins and if they could be healed. His stomach lurched. What if she had burned the skins? What if that’s why she wouldn’t tell him where they were?
He stared down at the delicate female crying in his lap. But why would she cry about it? Did she feel guilty? Why would she burn the skins? Why had she stolen them in the first place?
A thousand questions flared in his brain and he didn’t have an answer to any of them. And what was worse, he couldn’t quite smother the feeling of protectiveness he felt for this woman when she cried. All her bravado just melted away on her tears and she sobbed like her heart was breaking. It made him want to pull her into his lap and promise that everything would be all right.
He stroked her hair and laid his cheek on top of her head. What a dramatic change from the arrogant woman who had glared at him like a goddess surveying a penitent that first night. She was as unpredictable as the tides and he was helpless to do anything but ride it out to the end. Over and over again he rocked her, letting his questions rest unanswered. She couldn’t answer them now anyway.
Finally, the tears stopped. She sat there on the floor for a minute, her body tucked into his as he offered her what comfort he could without knowing the source of her pain. He looked down to see her eyes were open and she was just staring off into space.
When she finally pulled away, part of him screamed at him to hold on. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling about what was going to happen next.
Ana stood and walked out of the room. He rose and followed her, careful to keep his movements slow and cautious. The air in the room crackled with the energy that comes before a storm and all the hairs on his neck stood up.
She made her way to the kitchen and started going through cupboards. He breathed a little easier when she took out a teapot and a cup.
“Feeling well enough to have some tea?”
She smiled, a sad little twitching of the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, I’m gonna have some tea.”
Her tone plucked at his nerves and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I will be.” Without looking up she added, “Tell Nu I release him from his promise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? What promise?”
Ana didn’t answer. She filled the teapot with water and then set it on the stove. The burner clicked as the flames leapt to life and she left it to boil. He watched her grab a spoon from a drawer. She moved slowly, with a calm grace. There was a peace inside her that he hadn’t seen the entire short time he’d known her. It worried him. When she sat at the small dining table, he sat down with her.
“Ana, did you—”
“I didn’t burn the furs,” she said quietly.
Relief eased some of the tension from his muscles. “Oh. Good.”
She stared at the tabletop, her eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. The sight of her blue eyes glittering with sadness tugged at his heart and he reached for her hands across the table.
“Ana, I’m sorry I overreacted. I just kept thinking of those skinwalkers, and when I thought you burned the furs, I lost my temper. Please forgive me.”
“I want to thank you, Brec,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and raised her eyes to his. “You’ve been kinder to me than anyone has in a long time. I know I don’t deserve it.”
“You mean threatening you with a knife and tying you to your own bed? Damn, if that’s the most kindness anyone has ever shown you then the bar wasn’t set very high was it?” he joked.
She smiled softly and looked down at her tea.
He shook his head, confused and starting to panic. This wasn’t the woman who’d ripped a drawer out of a dresser because an errant comment from him had pissed her off. This wasn’t the woman who glared at him without a stitch of clothing on her body and made him feel like the vulnerable one. Something had happened, something big enough to completely change the woman he’d thought he was starting to understand.
“Ana, I don’t understand. You have the power to change your life if that’s what you want. Give the skins back, I know a clairvoyant who can use them to track their owners. Everything will be made right.”
A sob escaped her lips and she quickly cleared her throat and lowered her gaze back to the tabletop. Emotions danced over her face, tightening the skin around her eyes and tugging at the corners of her mouth. She obviously had something on her mind, something she needed to share. Brec gripped the table, trying not to push her.
Seconds ticked by and still she didn’t say anything. His nerves wound tighter and tighter. What would he do if she retreated into herself? Whatever was bothering her was obviously powerful and she seemed on the brink of a complete breakdown. He had to keep her calm, had to keep her in a healthy frame of mind. If she let go, if she gave up completely, those people would lose any hope they had of getting their skins back.
Suddenly Ana raised her eyes to his face. Brec held his breath, his heart pounding as he waited to hear what she had to say. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the tea kettle began to whistle. She gave him a small smile and stood to retrieve the kettle.
Brec just barely stifled a shout of frustration. Frazzled and getting close to his own breaking point, he stood and went to the cupboard. Grabbing himself a small ceramic cup, he tried to remember where the tea bags were. Finally he located them in a small bowl in the next cupboard. There was only one left and he took it after only a moment’s hesitation. Surely he’d earned a lousy cup of tea?
He sat down at the table and plunked one of the tea bags into his cup. Just as he reached for the tea kettle, he realized Ana was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.
“What?” he asked, his panic rising another notch.
She reached for his tea cup. “You wouldn’t like this tea.”
He frowned and put a hand over hers, pulling the cup back in front of him. “You are freaking me out. I need the tea.”
He poured hot water over his tea bag as she raised her own cup to her lips. Her gaze stayed riveted on his cup, a strange tension singing in her hands. With every passing second her strange behavior wound him a little tighter. He closed his eyes and raised the cup to his lips.
“NO!”
The cup jerked out of his hand and his eyes flew open in time to see her stretched across the table, her own tea spilled across the surface and her hand still extended from where she’d smacked his tea out of his grasp. Once he was certain he hadn’t in fact had a heart attack, he took a deep breath. For a long second he just stared at her, convinced she’d gone mad.
Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing and her gaze remained on his teacup where it had shattered on the floor several feet away. He lowered his hands to his lap, staring at her. Not wanting to make her any crazier than she already was, he just waited.
Very slowly, she backed into her chair. Like a victim in a horror movie, she slowly turned her gaze to his face.
“Hemlock,” she whispered.
It was just one word. One word forced between dry lips with a voice still hoarse from crying. Yet that once word may as well have been a shout. Nausea floated in his stomach as the smell of the tea spilled on the table reached his nostrils. A rank odor not unlike parsnips confirmed Ana’s whispered confession. The tea bags sitting in the cupboard, the tea bag she’d put in her cup and he’d put in his, were made from poisonous hemlock. He stared at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Hemlock?” he repeated. He leaned forward, trying to look into her face. “You were going to . . .” It was almost too horrible to say. “Kill yourself?” he finished quietly.
She covered her face with her hands. He waited, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to speak. She sat there, quiet, defeated, and seemingly ashame
d.
Very slowly, he slid to his knees and moved forward so that he knelt in front of her. The thought that this woman who had raged against him at every turn would find anything so overwhelming that death was the only solution she could see, frightened him. Strong people shouldn’t be this fragile. She shouldn’t be this fragile.
“Ana, why?”
She kept her hands over her face and shook her head.
“Ana, tell me what is so bad that you would . . . take your own life?” He could barely force the words out. Somewhere between the first time she’d glared at him with that blazing fury and when they’d stood there fighting about a toos, he’d started to care about this woman. He didn’t know if it was her obvious interest in the healing arts, or if it was the way she so clearly thought healers were better than warriors, or even if it was just your run-of-the-mill physical attraction, but somehow somewhere Ana had stopped being his prisoner and started being . . . something else.
Under His Skin Page 16