Alex reached out a hand to touch her hair. “I might be able to help.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “She’s in a coma already.”
Alex quit trying to convince her. He was more than willing to try to help, but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He needed some sleep first, at the very least. “Be safe. And take the truck since it’s already warmed up.”
She nodded and pecked his lips. “Thank you again.”
He grinned until she left, then wobbled over to the couch and collapsed. Shelly finished the baby’s diaper and wrapped her tight in her blanket. Alex watched the glances she threw Geoffrey. Afraid to believe in the goodness of men, just like her aunt.
Alex had no doubt that Geoffrey wouldn’t let her down. He lived for damsels in distress as much as he died for them. With a grin, he closed his eyes and sank deeper into the couch.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maeve’s chamber showed no trace of her brutality other than the scribe’s head, which now graced a long, thin table against one wall. On either side sat a branch of tapered candles, the flickering flames illuminating the tapestry above.
Maeve sat at her vanity table, Dugan behind her slowly stroking a brush through curls still not quite as red and thick as before. “She was dead, or nearly dead when I left. So I went for the rest of them and that damned ally of Silas’s was there.”
“Do you recognize his ally, yet?”
“No.” She scowled into the mirror. The voice had tugged at her viscerally, but it was lowered, disguised. Maeve shrugged away Dugan’s suddenly irritating touch. He placed the brush on the table and stood behind her, silent. Maeve tilted her head and watched herself in the mirror. She really hated those lines around her lips. “But he had enough power to force me out.”
“Then where did you go?”
“To whisper in ears and wreak havoc, of course.” She shook her head and rose. “By the end of the night, the sickly, pitiful wife, two of Adad’s children, and all of his grandchildren will die. The two remaining brats will be easy to find. And in the midst of that will be the delicious agony of one misguided healer.”
“Will this help you find Kai? Or your emerald?”
Maeve frowned at his reminder and her eyes narrowed, expressing her displeasure clearly. Dugan questioned her? “My vengeance is small compared to what that seditious half-breed deserves. Kai would understand his mother avenging him as he tried so hard to do for me.”
Dugan bowed his head. “Yes of course, Goddess. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Maeve turned to the bed, black silk brushing high on her thighs. Gracefully, she pulled back the covers, her every movement a tease, the curves of her bottom playing peek-a-boo with the man behind her.
Before she could slide inside the bed and farther away from him, Dugan pressed into her from behind, his erection nudging her through his robes. Brushing his lips over her shoulders, he brought his hands up to cradle her breasts and gently pluck the nipples.
Her servant definitely knew how to beg forgiveness. Maeve held still and allowed him to continue.
Dugan traced the thin straps of her nightgown with his tongue, his many limbs rubbing the silk against her skin in slow, tantalizing caresses. Maeve arched her neck, allowing him to continue, but withheld her moans of pleasure.
He knew her needs so well. What would make her shiver, what made her wet. As soon as he stroked her inner thigh, she pulled away, sliding onto the bed in a move that had her on her hands and knees before him.
Looking over her shoulder, she snarled. Dugan withdrew and stood straight, his eyes burning with hunger.
She needed him.
He inhaled deeply and licked his lips, but rigidly obeyed her order to not touch.
She needed his hard shaft, but she also needed his lust to build, to fill their air with heat and sweat and desperation. She needed it to soak into her pores and replenish her strength.
Denial would frustrate him, tighten the coil of tension and desire, raising her power exponentially. Dugan’s eyes glowed the strange yellow-green of his arousal. Maeve smiled wickedly, a reminder of every passionate, lusty, depraved thing they’d ever done together.
His breathing changed, growing shallow and rapid, expanding and contracting his broad chest.
“Remove your clothes.”
Two strong, tanned hands released the clasps at his throat so his cloak fell in folds to the floor, baring the scarred, transformed perfection that was Dugan. She burned, ached for the ride he would give her.
Eight thin limbs extended from his back and bent forward around his arms and sides until they ended in sharp, obsidian points. In the middle of his chest was the spider’s face, nearly the size of a human head.
Other than the spider, Dugan was as perfect as a man could be. Sandy brown-blond hair fell to just beneath his shoulders, long and silky. A single braid fell from one temple, entwined with the symbols of his tribe.
Yes, Dugan was exactly what she needed.
She’d forbidden him to move, but the spider obeyed no such rules. One by one, each limb slipped under her negligee and rubbed against the bare skin of her back, her stomach, coiling around her waist.
She purred as Dugan pressed his fists against his hips, his teeth gritted against the temptation to touch her. Maeve closed her eyes and bowed her forehead to the bed. Heat swamped the air around her, stirring her blood until she was flushed and aching.
His thoughts, his fantasies, flooded into her mind.
She wanted them all, and she would have them. As soon as she destroyed the Raineses and the healer who loved them.
Maeve looked at the cavern wall alongside her bed, willing the rock into smooth grey glass that mirrored her and Dugan so well.
Her nightgown slid to her shoulders and she could see the spider’s legs undulating against her skin. She licked her lips, scraping her teeth against the full bottom lip until it pouted more red and tempting than any forbidden fruit.
She smiled at Dugan, releasing him from her command. With a low growl, he mounted the bed, then her. With his hands cupping her breasts, he raised her up, her back pressed to his chest, her gown drifting to her hips again.
Dugan ducked his head to kiss her shoulder, his right hand switching between her breasts, plucking at the nipples until they were engorged and tight. He thrust, rocking into her in a steady rhythm, building the energy between them.
Maeve gasped, tingling with small chills that heralded the climax to come. They rocked and rubbed, friction tightening her skin until she reached the pinnacle and stopped, muscles straining, breathless with a painful need that made her want to beg. Oh, she loved when it was good enough to beg.
As one, eight spidery limbs bent, their sharp tips stabbing into her with just enough pressure to send her screaming over the edge. Power soaked into her from the air, from his semen, from his devotion. Her body sucked in every last drop, then exploded with light.
They collapsed against the pillows, spooned together. Maeve was already drifting, a pleased exhaustion weighing her limbs.
“Is your plan to fight her in her dreams, Goddess? Do you desire my presence?” He whispered the questions gently into her ear as he piled the blankets around them both.
“Of course I’ll need you, pet. But I’ve no wish to enter her world. Instead, I plan to bring them all to mine.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and slowly pushed open the door to her mother’s room. Light from the streetlamps outside the rain-splashed windows glowed in the darkness, the brightest of them coming from the cathedral at the top of the hill. St. John’s, hovering over the town, protective and watchful.
Mary Beth lay with her head to the right, next to the monitors and machines. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and stepped tentatively into the room. Tonight was different from any other time she’d been in her mother’s presence. When she left this room, she’d never see Mary Beth alive again.
The room felt hushed, expectant. Like she only had these few moments of qu
iet left. Elizabeth slid her foot against the door, making it swing closed so it latched with only a soft click. Mary Beth didn’t move. Seeing her lying so silent and still while the monitor beeped in time with her heart didn’t make any kind of sense. Elizabeth’s breath hitched in her chest as her mind whispered words she didn’t want to acknowledge. She wiped at her nose and forced herself forward. Her shoes squeaked against the laminate, but still Mary Beth didn’t move.
Elizabeth rounded the foot of the bed and stared at her mother’s peaceful face. Even in sleep, Mary Beth had never before appeared so relaxed. Her face was completely clean and free of makeup and her hair had begun to grow again. Without hair dyes and bleaches to dry it out and change it, it was left looking soft and blond. For once, Mary Beth looked real.
Her body was frail compared to how she’d always looked. Now she was as slim as she’d always wanted to be, but she would die before she could have fun with it.
“Those jeans will probably fit you now. They’ve been hanging on the closet door all these years, just waiting for you.” Elizabeth sighed.
Mary Beth didn’t stir. Elizabeth moved to Mary Beth’s side and reached for her hand. It was thin and fragile, the veins showing through the pale, yellowish skin. Rain ran in steady rivulets against the windows, causing the colorful city lights to dance over her face. An occasional voice sounded outside the room as people walked by.
Elizabeth hooked the chair with her foot and pulled it closer to the bed. She used her free hand to lower the bed rail then scooted even closer.
Elizabeth trailed one finger gently down her mother’s cheek, looking for signs of life. Her throat clogged and she fought the sting in her eyes. “I was so focused on everyone else needing to say good-bye that I didn’t realize I would need that, too.”
Elizabeth squeezed her hand, hating the lack of response. “Wake up, Mom. I need to talk to you.”
When there was no response, Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “Please.”
There was still so much left to say. So much to ask. Even though she’d known this was coming, it suddenly felt so real.
Elizabeth laid her head beside Mary Beth’s, her hand gripping her mother’s chilled fingers. Only the red light of the oxygen monitor on Mary Beth’s left hand proved that there was still life inside her. Elizabeth settled her head against her mother’s shoulder and listened to her soft, shallow breaths. She hadn’t felt this scared and uncertain since she was a child. Receiving her mother’s comfort had never felt so essential, so imperative.
“I really need you, Mama.” She wouldn’t get a response, but she had to speak anyway. “Dallas won’t come home. Felicia nearly died. I don’t know she’ll ever kick drugs. There’s only me.”
Her voice broke. Was this how her mother had felt all these years? Abandoned by the four people who should have loved her most? Always before, Elizabeth had viewed her exodus as an escape. But what if she was just as guilty of abandonment as Dallas? She pictured all those little faces pressed against the window, hoping she’d stay but not daring to ask for fear of rejection.
Suddenly it wasn’t just their faces she imagined.
There was Alex, standing on her porch with his arms crossed.
“What do I do?” Elizabeth sniffed and watched her mother’s delicate profile. “Oh come on, you’ve never shied away from pointing out my mistakes and how I should fix them before. Wake up and tell me.”
She held her breath and waited. “You gotta tell me, Mama. I actually asked you for advice. Is it snowing in hell?”
Elizabeth choked out a small laugh, knowing her mother would have appreciated the joke. If she’d heard it. But Mary Beth was obviously someplace far away from this dark room.
It was impossible to lie in dreams, but what would Elizabeth discover if she brought her mother into one of hers? Would it be better if she could go to Mary Beth, wherever she was, and talk to her there?
“Mama, please. Let me find you.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, her hand tight around her mother’s fingers. She took a deep breath, then let her mind drift, searching for a connection between them. Colors, images, and random thoughts from the day whirled past. The newly painted hallway. A place that was theirs. Shelly, already suffering so many teenage emotions, darker than most. Dallas refusing to come home, selfish to the end. Alex as he kissed her hand and said, “I love you.”
The spinning stopped and she was left standing outside a familiar dark entrance. Her caves. She didn’t want to go there. Not this time. She wanted Mary Beth’s dream, not hers. Elizabeth took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned around.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She didn’t see her mother at first, just a large field of smooth-cut grass as far as she could see. Along the horizon was one long row of black granite with 58,249 names engraved in light grey letters.
It was a breathtaking, heartrending sight. There was no doubt the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial was her mother’s own Room of Sorrows.
Had her mother spent the last twenty-five or so years searching for Charles Astor Raines among the thousands of names?
It wasn’t until Elizabeth’s hands touched the cool granite and her fingers traced the letters of an overwhelming number of names that she realized she’d crossed the field. It wasn’t until the heavy granite towered over her that she understood the true meaning of “overwhelming”.
“No one asked the little old lady in the shoe what happened to her husband.” Mary Beth spoke quietly behind her.
Elizabeth turned to where she sat on a bench and before she could halt the bitter words, said, “Would you have preferred to be the little old widow so that people would feel sorry for you?”
Mary Beth met her gaze without rancor or disapproval.
It was as if she’d expected nothing different from her second child. Elizabeth winced. “I’m sorry.”
Mary Beth raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her flawlessly made-up eyes widening. “It must be snowing in hell. Asking for advice and apologizing in the same night.” Mary Beth shook her head, her shoulder-length hair bouncing around her shoulders. “Wow.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and sat on the grass at her mother’s feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were searching for him?”
“What good would it do? It was bad enough he left us.”
“What would you do if you found him? What if he’s dead?”
Her mother gestured furiously. “But he’s not on the wall, Bethy! Over fifty-eight thousand names and not one is his!”
Elizabeth frowned. Hadn’t her father’s body been found and identified? Even vets who hadn’t died in the war were added later, when they did pass. “Are you sure? Could they have misspelled his name?”
“I know how to use a computer, Beth Ann. I’ve looked at every single name on this wall. He’s not there.” Mary Beth’s hand fell to her side. “He just decided he couldn’t face the responsibility of a wife and four kids and disappeared.”
“Was he really like that?” All these years she’d hurt her mom, taking from her the love she was meant to have. There’d been no closure for her mother with his death. Elizabeth could have located missing person records, found his grave, something to relieve her mother’s mind.
“He didn’t used to be. The man I married never would have abandoned his family.” Mary Beth paused and her voice came out low. “But something in him changed. War changes men, Bethy.”
“Maybe it didn’t change him that much.”
Mary Beth grinned and tugged at a lock of Elizabeth’s hair. “I named you Elizabeth because of him. He always called me Bethy. Said it was his favorite name. No one else used it.”
Elizabeth smiled, hugging her legs to her chest. “Why didn’t you ever talk about him, Mom?”
Mary Beth sighed and started finger-combing the tangles out of Elizabeth’s hair. Elizabeth scooted closer to make it easier, enjoying the closeness, the bonding they’d never allowed time for when she was younger.
“It hurt unbearab
ly. Especially since I could never stop hoping that he would return.” She parted the smooth side of Elizabeth’s hair and started working on another section. “I didn’t want you four to suffer that same hope and disappointment. Do you remember Earl?”
“Yeah.” He was the one her mother had cried over when he’d left.
“He wanted to marry me. He understood for a while that I didn’t want to declare your father dead or divorce him. For a couple of years, anyway. But the more time piled up, the less he understood.”
“I remember you fighting. He made you cry a lot.”
“He burned all your father’s pictures. I had our wedding picture because it had been packed away with my mother’s things. But the rest … Charlie and me … Charlie and you kids … they were all gone. Then Earl was gone.” Mary Beth’s voice lowered. “I had no one.”
“You had us.” Elizabeth briefly felt the flare of old resentment, but it fizzled and died. Now wasn’t the time for anger.
“Much as I loved you kids, you couldn’t pay the bills and put food on the table.” She tugged Elizabeth’s face toward hers. “Nor could you hold me in strong arms at night and make me feel safe.”
Elizabeth looked into Mary Beth’s eyes, seeing an honest acknowledgement of her own needs. The same needs Elizabeth was so torn about. But sometimes complete independence was not the most desirable state of being. Elizabeth nodded.
Mary Beth started combing again and Elizabeth stared at the wall. She and her mother were mirrored in the shiny granite.
“After Earl left, I went a bit wild. Drinking, partying. Men.” Mary Beth shook her head. “Do you understand now?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Men always leave.”
“I taught you well,” Mary Beth admitted sadly. “I should have worked harder. Given you stability. Kept my family together mentally and emotionally, instead of just physically. I could have prevented so much pain.”
“I’ll take care of the kids, Mom. Don’t worry.” Elizabeth looked into her eyes. “I’ll fix it.”
Mary Beth smiled gently and ran a hand over Elizabeth’s cheek. “First love is so powerful. It never quite leaves you, even if you move on and find someone new.”
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