by Stacia Kane
“I’m Diane Chase,” she said finally. Her expression wasn’t a smile, but it was almost the ghost of one.
Greyson nodded. “So I understand.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“No.”
Megan pressed her lips together as tightly as she could while Diane’s face reddened.
“Greyson! I wondered if you’d be here. Great to see you again.”
The crowd turned as one; the inner office door had opened and a tall, heavyset blond man with a ruddy face emerged, his curious expression turning into a smile as he walked toward Megan and Greyson with his hand out.
“You too, Tucker.” The men shook hands. Greyson knew her father’s lawyer?
That was surely who this man was, because he turned to Diane next and gave her a peck on the cheek. Come to think of it, hadn’t she glimpsed him at her father’s funeral too? The profile looked vaguely familiar.
“Okay then.” Tucker clasped his hands together. “Shall we get started? I’ve set up the conference room.”
Megan and Greyson hung back for a moment while the others trooped past. “You know him?” she whispered.
“He’s Caedes Fuiltean. The blood demons.”
“But—”
“No, no. I don’t think he was involved with anything last night. Tucker’s a good guy; we worked together on a project a few years ago. He’s a friend.”
“He’s a friend” meant just that; Greyson never called anyone his friend unless they’d proved themselves in some way. She relaxed a little.
“My father has a demon lawyer? I mean, obviously he was involved with them, but his lawyer too?”
He nodded. “Part of the exchange for the favors your father did for Orion? This isn’t Tucker’s office either, or I’d have known.”
“So why do this here?”
“Maybe he just needed a bigger space. Maybe he always handles non-Meegra clients outside his own office. A lot of us do that.”
“You?”
“I never had a regular practice. I only handled Meegra legal business.”
She wanted to ask more about it, but they were late. Everyone else was already seated; a few people leaned against the walls, but two empty chairs beckoned.
As did Tucker. “Greyson, Dr. Chase. Please, sit down.”
Christians entering an arena full of lions couldn’t have been more exposed than Megan felt as they threaded their way past everyone to sit.
“Okay. Let’s get started.” Tucker sat at the head of the table and picked up a sheaf of papers. “It’s not a very complex will, but David did request a reading, so…”
Megan’s mind wandered as Tucker read the necessary jargon at the beginning in his slow, calm voice. A few times Greyson tipped his head, as if considering something, but she thought whispering while the will was being read would be akin to giggling at the funeral—which she’d already done—so she didn’t ask about it. They’d discuss it later.
“…with the exception of one tenth interest, which will be given to my daughter Megan Alison Chase. Also bequeathed to Megan Alison Chase is one third interest, my entire holdings, in the lot at 1477 Pike Street, currently occupied by the Trubank Mental Health Center, which is now closed, and all documents pertaining thereto, which are currently housed in the front bedroom at number twelve Hampton Road.”
Tucker glanced up, inspecting the stir this bit of news had created. Gasps and murmurs broke out around the room.
“That can’t be right,” Diane snapped, all decorum apparently forgotten in her fury. “Check that again.”
“I wrote this myself, five weeks ago,” Tucker replied. “It’s all in order.”
Her mother continued to argue, with Dave joining in, but Megan barely heard them over the roaring in her ears, the pounding of her heart. Why would he do that? Wasn’t it bad enough not to love her, did he have to actively hate her?
He’d left her the land on which the mental hospital sat. The mental hospital where she’d been a patient for nearly six months, sixteen years ago.
Chapter 16
I don’t want it,” she said, but no one seemed to hear her over the argument. She tried again, louder. “I don’t—”
“Meg. Shush.”
“I don’t want it,” she whispered furiously. “I don’t want any of it.”
“You don’t know that.” Greyson leaned closer, but didn’t look at her, watching the reddening faces of her mother and brother instead.
“I think I do.”
“No. You don’t. Not until you know why, and what he gave Maldon in exchange for everything he got.”
It made sense, just like most of his suggestions, which was probably why it pissed her off so much. She pulled her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest.
“They’ll contest the will,” he went on, as if she hadn’t just distanced herself from both him and the conversation. “And when they do, you can make a decision and I’ll handle the legal stuff. But for now don’t make any comments on the record.”
“There’s no record. This is a will reading, not a trial.”
“You think that viper and her spawn won’t remember everything you say and try to introduce it?”
“That’s assuming I change my mind and fight them. I won’t.”
“You might.”
“You! What did you do to him?”
Megan looked up. Diane stood at the end of the table, her red-rimmed eyes blazing. “As if being a disgrace to our family wasn’t enough, you—what did you do? Blackmail him? Drug him? We always knew something was wrong with you, always thought—”
“Mrs. Chase!” Tucker’s voice cut through the diatribe, hoarse with shock. “Please, sit down! There’s no need for—”
“Don’t you tell me what there’s a need for! That little witch—”
“Mom, Mom.” Dave stood up and tried to grasp his mother’s arm. “Calm down. We can do this later. We can fight this. Right, Tucker? We can fight this?”
“You can contest the will, yes.” Tucker glanced at Megan and Greyson. “But we’ll discuss that another time. Please, Mrs. Chase, take your seat.”
Megan’s mother looked around, seeming to recall for the first time where she was and how many people were watching. Their gazes flipped from her to Megan and back again, as if they expected a slapfight to break out any second.
Diane subsided, then wiped at her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief. The move, Megan knew, was a calculated one, to remind the rest of the room of her bereavement and bring home the stress she, the loyal wife, was under.
Almost without realizing it, Megan lowered her shields a tad and reached out. She’d probably never see this woman again after today, at least she hoped she wouldn’t. Weren’t there things she deserved to know, things she was curious about?
There she was as a child, a pretty little blond girl in a pink dress. Megan remembered that dress. She’d hated it, with its itchy lace trim…
“Mommy! Why does Mr. Grubman hate Daddy?”
“Don’t be silly, Megan. Mr. Grubman is our friend.”
“No, he’s not. He thinks Daddy’s an idiot and he wants to see you without your pants on.”
The slap had been so sharp and unexpected Megan’s eyes teared up just seeing it all these years later, but all her mother had felt was rage. Rage and a queasy kind of fear.
More images, more memories. Megan at six predicting her grandmother’s death. Grandma…she’d liked Grandma, and Grandma had liked her. Funny, Megan didn’t realize until now that Grandma had had her abilities too, not as strong as Megan’s but there nonetheless. She’d died when Megan was still too young to understand, or to realize what she could do was unusual.
Megan at twelve, wearing the baggy gray sweater she’d thought hid her embarrassing lack of development, while her mother tsked and pulled at it and finally gave up, upset Megan couldn’t even achieve puberty properly. Megan at fourteen, and Orion Maldon coming to their house to talk to David about s
omething…
Oh my God.
She stood up, so fast she almost toppled forward over the table, interrupting again poor friendly Tucker’s attempt to finish the reading. “I need to leave.”
She didn’t care that they were all staring at her. She didn’t care what they thought. She knew it now, knew what she’d failed to ask Maldon, knew why all of this had happened to her, and she had to get out of that room before she did something she would really regret. The second heart in her chest pounded, furious, sending heat rushing through her body.
“I want to see those documents,” she told Tucker. “Can I see them now?”
“They’re in the house, but probate—”
“She’s not going into that house by herself,” Diane snapped. “I want the police there.”
Megan sighed. “Mother, you are such a miserable bitch, do you know that?” It wasn’t original or clever, but it was the best her stunned and weary mind could come up with at the moment. “I’m not a thief. I just want to look at what’s mine, and I want to do it now so I can get the hell out of this shitty little town.”
“Grey, you’ll be with her?” Tucker half-whispered in their direction, while the rest of the room stared at Megan in silence. Her mother’s eyes narrowed, hatred burning in their icy depths, but she said nothing.
Greyson must have nodded, because Tucker cleared his throat and spoke again. “Mrs. Chase, Mr. Dante is a highly respected attorney. He’ll be with Dr. Chase in the house. I trust him—and Megan.”
Dave stood up, holding out a set of keys. “Here, Megan.”
He didn’t look at her, but for some absurd reason tears threatened behind her eyes just the same. “The house is part yours anyway, right?”
Two hours. They figured they had about that long before everyone came back, and Megan had never in her life wanted anything as badly as she wanted to be out of the house before they did.
The will reading wouldn’t take that long, but the discussion they knew Diane and Dave would have with Tucker afterward just might.
Megan pulled boxes out from under the desk, lifting the lids, rifling through loose papers. The documents had to be in here somewhere. She needed to know who her father’s partners were in that land deal. She had one-third interest. Who were the other two? She thought she knew.
The blank walls in what used to be her bedroom stared at her as she worked, while Greyson set another box on the neatly made bed and started flipping through its contents. He’d barely said a word since they’d left the reading, but his silence wasn’t cold any more than his body was.
Her back started to ache from crouching by the time she found what she sought, by the time the names leaped out at her from the page. Every letter taunted her, answering questions she didn’t know she had but leaving more in their wake.
“Greyson. Come look.” Her voice sounded stronger than she thought it would.
He took the sheaf of papers from her and thumbed through it. “Title deed…documents of incorporation…here we go. Blah blah blah, board members—” He looked up.
“Board members, yes.”
“David Chase, Orion Maldon, and…Templeton Black.” He lowered the papers and stared at her. “I didn’t know, Meg. I swear I didn’t.”
So he’d come to the same conclusion she had. The same knowledge. “Look at the date.”
“I don’t need to.” But he glanced just the same. “Temp never told me he—”
“That he’d essentially bought me from my father? That in exchange for me, he and Orion Maldon would give my father part ownership in valuable property, they’d build his practice, they’d—” She stopped, unable to go on. Her hands shook as she raised them to her head.
Sixteen years ago she’d sat in this room and had her first conversation with the Accuser, right before he’d entered her body and changed her life forever.
And that was what David Chase had wanted. In exchange for power and wealth he’d sacrificed his only daughter.
Anger rose in her breast, filling her, making both her hearts beat faster. She wanted to hit someone. She wanted to hit her father. She should have laughed at him in that casket yesterday. She should have scratched his dead eyeballs out of his head and stomped them into goo under her feet.
“That bastard, that unbelievable bastard.” This time she didn’t try to stop her tears. Rage, not sadness, brought them to her eyes, but it didn’t matter. She stood next to her childhood bed and cried, and after a second Greyson gathered her in his arms and held her tight, and for once it didn’t feel like she was being humored.
It didn’t last long. The initial wave passed, and she was left simply raging, wanting to strike out at someone, anyone.
“I hate this room. I hate even being in this house.”
“I know.”
She turned around to look at the bed, at the window by which the Accuser had rested sixteen years before. Light poured through it, taunting her. “He stood right there,” she said. Her palms ached from her fingernails digging into them. “I was in bed and that’s where he was. Like…like he was my buddy or something. I wondered why no one was home that day. My mother usually was…”
She jumped when his warm hands touched her shoulders and rubbed gently. “Maybe it’s a good thing,” he said. “Now you know.”
Her head fell forward as he massaged her, easing some of the tension in her neck but doing nothing for the howling fury gripping the rest of her body. Her muscles ached from trying to still her trembling.
“I always knew. I mean, I didn’t know know, but it doesn’t change anything, does it? I’m still what I am, no matter the reason. They never liked me. They never wanted me around. It must have been like winning the lottery.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice as she uttered the last line. Her blood still raced, her heart pumped furiously. She wanted to go run a mile, she wanted to throw things and attack things and tear them apart. All that excess energy buzzed around in her mind, in her veins, until she thought she might explode from it.
A cold breeze caressed her, like a ghost passing by. “Forget them.”
“I can’t forget them. I’m too…God, Greyson, I’m just so fucking mad at them, I can hardly see straight.”
The zipper of her dress lowered a bit. His lips tickled between her shoulder blades. “Maybe it’s time to let it all go. Exorcise your demons once and for all.”
She smiled, surprised it was still possible to do so. “Exorcise or exercise?”
“It’s so efficient when you can accomplish two goals with one…act, isn’t it?” Heat seeped through her dress from his palms as he slid his hands around her, gliding down over her hips and thighs, then back up. His fingers curved around her waist and pulled her back so she could feel his erection.
Her breath caught in her chest. “Do you ever think about anything but sex?”
“Money. Power.” His soft laugh warmed her throat as he scraped his teeth over her skin there. “I think about you, bryaela.”
She refused to say, “You do?” like some innocent heroine in a novel, but the temptation was too much to resist. “Oh?”
“Yes.” His right hand sneaked under the neckline of her dress and down into her bra, finding her left nipple and rolling it gently. Her eyelids fluttered shut. The raging demon inside her changed its tune, finding another route to forgetfulness, seeking a different kind of release. “I wonder how your day is going, what you’re doing…when I’ll see you again…don’t you think about me? Don’t you, sheshissma?”
“What does that mean?”
He paused, nibbling her earlobe. “It doesn’t translate well. My desire.”
“I think your desire translates pretty well.” It came out as a gasp; he’d started tugging up her skirt with his left hand while his right still played beneath her top, and the feel of his skin on her bare thighs above her stockings sent a violent shiver through her body.
“That’s what it means. My desire.” His foot nudged hers, punctuating his words,
urging her legs apart. His fingers stroked over her panties. “The thing I want.”
Her head fell back, resting on his shoulder as he rubbed the damp silk against her. All that energy inside her, that fierce need…she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Every gasp of air was scented with him, tasted like him.
“So what do you say, sheshissma?” The teasing tone didn’t fool her; his voice behind it was hoarse. “What do you want? To work off some of that anger?”
He edged the panties aside so he could slide his fingers along the bare, slick folds of her skin. His own rough breath drowned out the moan she couldn’t stop. “You want to take it out on me, my bryaela? Use me? Hurt me?”
Fear slid down her spine, meeting the heat pooling in her pelvis and sending a shiver through her body. This was dangerous. She should pull away, put a stop to it, because his words were edging her far too close to a chasm she wasn’t sure she could emerge safely from.
But oh God, she wanted to jump.
“Do you? Is that what you want? I’m here. Just tell me. Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”
He unzipped her dress and slid it from her shoulders, stopping just at the point where the fabric trapped her arms at her waist. Her bra was next; cool air swirled over her aching nipples as the scrap of lace and wire fell from them. She still couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, so she floated weightless in perfect darkness, with only his warmth and hands keeping her in the world.
Those hands sculpted her body from the air, creating every line and curve as they traced them. It should have been as soothing as it was arousing. Normally his touch made her purr like an extremely contented lion. Now…like the flames of his energy burning in her chest, between her legs, so her restlessness grew, her need to do something, anything, to move. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he forcing her to be still, to not let it go, to not run through the darkness and scream in bloody triumph?
“Jesus, Meg…you make me ache. How do you do that…” More teeth now, harder, nipping at her shoulders. He filled his hands with her breasts, lifting them, and the heat of his skin radiated out.