by Cecy Robson
Yeah. She is and, maybe, more.
When Celia and I walked in from the terrace, we snacked on food from the pantry. I started to get dinner going, but it was clear I didn’t know what I was doing. Sure, I can roast prepared steaks over the fire well enough. But although there was plenty of food, I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Can I cook for you?” she asked.
“Why?” I questioned, though me standing there awkwardly poking at the potatoes was answer enough.
She seemed embarrassed. I stood smiling like a fool. “I just want to do something nice for you,” she said.
For all I knew, she was the world’s worst cook. Still, I wasn’t about to tell her no.
We showered while the roast with basil, potatoes, and carrots she prepared cooked in the oven. I finished my shower first and rushed downstairs. I set the table in front of the fireplace and placed some old Christmas lights I found in the basement along the hearth. I must have fiddled with the lights, and the candles I lit half a dozen times and racked my head with what kind of music to play. I settled on a classic rock station. The music was soft, but not too soft. I don’t remember ever being this picky about anything. But I wanted to do something nice for her, too.
Celia came down in one of my mother’s cotton dresses. This one was white and suited her well. It might have been too big in some spots for her small frame and, yeah, the hem skimmed her ankles instead of lying on her calves like it should. But it didn’t make a difference. At least not to me.
She paused at the top of the stairs, biting her lip again when she caught sight of my widening eyes.
“What’s this?” she asked, motioning around.
“Eh,” was my response.
She averted her gaze and tried again. I tried, too, only I didn’t get very far. “You were making dinner.”
“So, you made me prom?” she offered when nothing else seemed to want to come out of my mouth.
I turned around and looked at my work. I’d covered the table with a white tablecloth and placed those long skinny candles Mom used for special dinners on top. I’d also laid out cloth napkins and arranged the silverware the way I thought it went and poured water into fancy glasses. The music played from the speakers near the hearth and the space between the hearth and the table was big enough to dance in.
“I guess I did,” I answered.
Maybe there was a part of me that worried Celia would leave me before we’d make it to the dance. But I didn’t want to think about it then. I just wanted to be with her.
Her bare feet padded across the wood floor. I smiled, wishing I could tell her how beautiful she is. I didn’t manage, but I did ask her to dance after we finished an incredible meal.
The song was Into the Mystic. Van Morrison, I think. It was late, we were both acting shy, and aside from my mom, I’d never danced with another person.
“I only ever danced with my father,” she admitted. “And that was a long time ago.”
Somehow, we made it work.
My hand found her lower back as hers curved around the top of my shoulder. Our fingers linked, our gazes met, and we danced, her head falling against my chest and my arms encircling her into the next song and the one after that.
I walked her back to my room and said goodnight. This time when she closed the door, she didn’t press furniture against it. She didn’t even lock it.
It made it easy to do what we did next.
Rays of light beat against my closed eyelids, demanding I wake, instead of scrunching my face and turning away from the day. My bare chest slides against Celia’s back.
Celia?
Whoa. I did it again.
I blink my eyes open, my nose twitching when her long hair tickles the tip. My arms are wrapped around her waist and my body is curled securely against hers. She’s not pulling away or trying to hide. Instead, her arms rest over mine, keeping me close.
I’m not sure this is right, and I can’t for the life of me remember how I got here. My conscience tells me I should slip away. I don’t want her to feel scared, or to think I crawled into bed with her on purpose.
Slowly, I inch my arms away from hers, trying to be quiet and not rouse her from sleep. But when she purrs, I stop moving altogether, unable to stop my smile or the chuckle that follows.
“You’re awake,” she says.
Celia doesn’t sound sleepy. She sounds content, her husky voice stirring my senses.
“And you’re purring,” I say, laughing when she does it again. “I thought big cats couldn’t purr.”
“They can’t,” she squeaks, embarrassed. “I told you, I’m weird.”
My smile vanishes. No, you’re perfect.
I adjust my hold, trying to keep it loose so she can scoot away if she’d like. I hope she doesn’t. Her warmth and softness, they’re heaven.
I press my forehead against the back of her head to remind her I’m here and how close our bodies are. It sounds like a stupid thing to do, but this is the first time she doesn’t feel nervous having me so near.
Well, maybe not the first time. Last night, when we danced, that was pretty awesome.
Celia’s presence is reassuring. I’m comfortable around her and want her to feel the same way. But I can’t make her, nor do I want her to do anything she’s not ready for.
“You wandered into my bed again,” she says.
“No,” I say. “I wandered into my bed.”
“Okay. You wandered back into your bed with me in it and . . . fell asleep?”
“That sounds about right,” I agree.
“You don’t remember?” she asks.
“No. Do you?”
Her soft hair brushes against my cheek when she shakes her head. “I only remember waking up with you against me.”
In a way, I wish we could remember. In other ways, this seems better. Innocent, I suppose, making our actions pure and not something we’ll regret.
“Was it okay?” I ask. “Me being next to you like this?”
Her voice quiets. “It was the best thing ever.”
“Ever?” I ask. I don’t think she’s crying, but I do hear the tears in her voice.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I nuzzle her neck, wondering why my eyes sting the way that they do. “I feel the same.”
The wind picks up outside, pushing the darkening clouds to cover what remains of the sunlight. A few birds skitter past the window and a few chirp further away. But the sound that takes up the room is our quiet breathing.
Our chests rise and fall in unison in the minutes that follow.
“Can I tell you something?” Celia asks. “Something that no one else knows?”
“You can tell me anything.”
I mean what I say, and she seems to want to tell me. Still, it takes her a moment to answer. “I get scared a lot.”
Her admission gives me pause. I think I know why, but I try to make sure. “Being here? With all this dark magic?”
“No. Being anywhere.” She sighs. “So much has happened to me and to my sisters, Aric. We’ve helped each other through it and I’ve tried to be strong and make things right. But sometimes, it’s so hard. And some days, I don’t think I’ll ever be enough.”
“Celia.” I want to offer words of comfort except they don’t come.
“I don’t know what’s coming, Aric. I just know something is. Something bad. When it arrives, I may not be strong enough to stop it, or have what it takes to protect my family.”
“You’re not alone, Celia. We can protect your family together.”
“You’re sweet. But your life is here. Mine isn’t. I have to go back, and it has to be soon. Regardless of what Mimi says, the only way to make sure my family is safe is for me to return.”
I close my eyes, thankful that she can’t see the grief plaguing my features. How can I make her understand that my life isn’t anything without her in it? Two days. That’s all I’ve known
Celia. No time at all to fall as hard as I have, but here I am, falling further.
A wolf is only as good as his word. It’s one of the first things Dad taught me. I promised to get Celia back to her home, but I no longer think it’s a promise I can keep. Each moment that passes between us makes me think her home is here with me.
My thumb sweeps back and forth across her stomach, tracing invisible lines and swirls. I need Celia. I only wish she needed me, too.
She curls her spine, settling her body closer to me. She slept in that brown dress Mom wears when she tends to her herbs. It smells of sage and spearmint. Mostly it smells of Celia, kindness, beauty, and plenty of smarts. Someone who deserves happiness and maybe someone who can give it to her.
I sigh, pushing my selfish desires aside and focusing on what’s right. “You’ll get back to your family.”
“When?” she asks.
I press a kiss against her shoulder and give her a squeeze. “Whenever we can manage it.”
“Thank you,” she says, her voice softening with what I interpret as hope. Hope that she makes it back to her family . . . or maybe hope for us.
I focus on the latter as silence overcomes the room. The outdoors isn’t as quiet. The increasing sound of the wind beats against the pane, drowning out the caw of crows urgent to seek shelter.
My body relaxes from the feel of Celia so close, my immediate fear of losing her lessening. For now, she’s here. For now, she’s mine. So, for now, that’s all I’ll focus on.
“I’m not sure how this keeps happening,” I say after a while. “Me showing up here, I mean.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I laugh. “You don’t believe me?”
“Not even a little bit,” she says.
“You should.” We snuggle deeper beneath the blankets when the wind beats harder against the window.
“Why?” she asks.
I grin. She’s all sorts of cute. “Because I don’t want you afraid of me.”
Her small nails skim across my forearms, delicately teasing the skin. Mini-bolts of energy surge along the pathways, causing my body to heat.
I shake off the feelings her touch causes, worried my desire will scare her like it scares me.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things,” she reminds me, the heaviness in her tone reflecting the kind of life she’s had. “But you’re not one of them.”
Relief floods me in languid ripples. “Good.”
“So,” she begins after a moment. “You have no idea how you got here?”
“I have some idea.”
“You do?” she asks.
“Yeah. You see, it started off when my mother and father fell in love and got married. After a while they thought, hey, we need a really cool kid to complete our family. So, one night—”
She nudges me playfully in the stomach, both of us laughing. “That’s enough out of you.” I can’t see her face, but I feel her smile like a ray of sunshine straight into my heart. “You’re doing this on purpose and blaming your actions on your poor wolf.”
“I swear I’m not.” I wonder if I should come clean about how I feel or if I’m better off shutting my trap. Ultimately, I swing open the trap and let it all come out. “If I was coming in here on purpose, would you mind?”
Celia stills in my arms. For a second, I’m sure I’ve gone too far. “Mind waking up next to you?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer almost silently.
The comforter and sheets rustle as she turns to face me. Her expression gives away her fear and, in her scent, I sense her apprehension. But her large eyes, the same eyes that shimmer when she laughs, reflect what I’m feeling. “No,” Celia whispers. “I wouldn’t mind.”
I cup her face and kiss her. There’s nothing slow about it. Not like in the movies. There’s no soft music to set the mood, or a buildup of sound to mirror the fear and excitement I feel. There’s just me capturing her mouth with mine.
My lips slide against hers while my fingertips graze down her cheek. I almost expect her to pull away and insist I’m doing it all wrong. I’m no expert. Instead, she welcomes my mouth, seeking as much of me as she can take.
My heart brutalizes my chest in the best way possible. I’m out of breath when we finally part and I’m not sure I remember my name. Like I said, I used to be cool. Now, all I am is head over heels for Celia.
The smile she greets me with makes the kiss and every moment we’ve shared alone that much sweeter.
My thumb passes across her jaw. “Was that all right?” I ask. I zero in on her full lips, wanting more than anything to return to them. “I’ve never done that before.”
“Never?” she asks.
My gaze travels over her face, taking in her thick lashes, her glistening eyes, and the almost invisible freckle on her cheek. That confidence I’m known for never seems to make an appearance around Celia in moments like this. I play with the strands of her hair, trying to disguise my nervousness and doing a lousy job. I didn’t feel us move much when we kissed, but the way her head of curls fans around us, I suppose we did.
“I was never really interested in females.” I meet her eyes. “Until now.”
Celia blinks several times. For a second, I’m sure she’s going to cry. I glance away, unable to bear it. “What about you? Have you kissed a lot of males?”
Why did I ask? Based on how good it was, Celia has experience and knows what she’s doing.
Celia’s cheeks flush with embarrassment and with what, God help me, resembles longing. “There’s only one boy I’ve ever kissed.”
I press my jaw tight. I suppose it was too much to hope for. “Oh,” I mutter. “Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.”
Her hand slides over mine when I try to pull away. “Do you want to know his name?”
So I can hunt him down and break his legs? Sure. I shrug. “You can tell me if you want.”
“Are you sure?” She taps her chin, appearing to give it some thought. “You look a little mad there, wolf.”
“Positive,” I grumble. It’s one of those moments where I’m glad Celia can’t sniff a lie.
Her features soften, erasing her playful nature, and her voice is nothing more than a gentle stream of words. “His name is Aric and . . . I think I love him.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t . . . “What?”
She laughs, since I’m obviously not embarrassed enough. “You’re incredible,” she says, the flush in her cheeks spreading across her face and beyond. “I’ve never met anyone so perfect.”
My wolf leaps inside me, running around in circles. This is the moment to be romantic and to say something that will blow her away. Instead, I kiss her, showing her with my lips everything I can’t say with my mouth.
Celia falls onto her back, her fingers dragging through my hair as my arms band around her waist. This is greatest moment of my life.
“Aric!”
Until Mom’s voice from the doorway tells me it’s over.
I jump up into a sitting position, my eyes wild when I see Mom and Dad standing in the doorway.
“I thought you weren’t coming home until Friday?”
Dad takes my comment as well as you might think. “Is that all you have to say right now?”
“Uh.”
Mom gasps, covering her mouth, her gaze travelling between me and Celia. “Oh, my God,” she says.
Dad stands frozen. That doesn’t mean I can’t sense the underlying rage surging to the surface. He takes a step forward. “Didn’t you tell me, just the other day, that you didn’t even notice girls?” he asks, his tone clipped.
I slide out of bed, wearing only the basketball shorts I slept in. I glance at Celia as she slithers out of the bed and toward the window, her face flaming as red as mine feels.
I clear my throat. “This probably looks bad—”
“You think?”
Dad is raging. I can count on one hand how many times Da
d has growled at me in my life. This is one of them. Trust me when I say, it makes up for the rest.
He storms forward, his face reddening. “We leave you alone for two days only to find you bedding a young female you should know better than to disrespect.”
“Dad, it’s not like that—”
“What’s it like, Aric?” he snaps. “She’s young. Impressionable. You had no right taking advantage of her innocence.”
Dad has written Celia off as one of those naive girls only interested in me for my family’s status. It makes me angry. Not because he thinks I somehow used my clout, but because of what he thinks I did to her.
“I would never take advantage of Celia!”
My growls only further enrage Dad’s wolf. “Then what do you call this?” he asks, his deep voice booming. “This isn’t her first time in your room. I sensed her in here yesterday, but I had no idea this was happening.”
“There is no ‘this’,” I insist. “Not in the way that you’re thinking.”
“We found you in bed with a female, Aric. Do you have any idea how insolent your actions are? This is our home. A sacred place. You’ve barely stepped into adulthood and this is the activity you’re engaged in?” He points at Mom. “Your mother saw you like this.”
His voice cuts off and his hand slowly lowers when he sees Mom standing in front of Celia.
Celia practically has her foot out the window. She probably meant to make her big escape. Mom held her in place. Not with her hands. Mom wouldn’t threaten an innocent like Celia, but with the way she responds to Celia.
Mom’s eyes brim with tears as her hands fall away from her mouth. “Celia,” she says, inching forward. Very carefully, she reaches out, smoothing Celia’s long hair around her shoulder.
Celia’s gaze follows Mom’s every motion. Her breath hitches as Mom shows her affection only a real mother can demonstrate. I don’t have to guess it reminds Celia of her own mother. I can see it in her stance. She’s remembering the feel of those long-forgotten touches.
Mom sniffs, turning around to face Dad as the first of her tears fall. “Her name is Celia, Aidan.”
There’s nothing left of Dad’s rage. The shock he initially demonstrated returns ten-fold.