by Anya Bast
“I love you, cricket,” her mother whispered. Then she rose and returned to the living room.
Her mother sank down onto the couch with a sigh and sipped the drink her husband had prepared. Once she’d drained it she immediately became confused, slurring her words and becoming shaky in her movements. Charlotte would have said her mother was drunk, but she’d been perfectly fine before her father had mixed the drink he’d given her. Completely sober. It was odd. It had only been one drink, after all. Not enough to make someone this inebriated.
A cold little knot tied itself in Charlotte’s stomach. Had the drink been drugged?
The memory went on. Her mother became frightened and clung to her husband for comfort. Her father gave her a pill, telling her it would help. She swallowed it. Became more confused.
Then she swallowed more pills, all kinds of them . . . all at her father’s gentle coaxing.
Her mother collapsed onto the couch and lay very, very still. The world from her eyes looked hazy, indistinct, all of it growing darker by the second.
Her mother reached out, grabbed the lapel of his jacket, and whispered, “Why?”
Through the memory, Charlotte’s father’s face swam before her mother’s drugged gaze. His eyes looked colder than Charlotte had ever seen them. “It’s either this or Piefferburg. I’m doing you a favor.”
Her mother’s hand tightened on the material of his jacket. “Charlotte.” Her voice came out as a slurred wheeze.
His expression softened. “I would never hurt her, but she’ll never know the truth. She’s young enough that she’ll hardly remember you. That’s a blessing.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, obscuring her vision, and her hand dropped away.
The line of memory went black.
“No!” Charlotte sat up, screaming. “No! It’s not possible. That’s not right. It can’t be!” Risa was there holding her failing arms down. Such an odd mixture of emotion warred inside her. Disbelief that her father was capable of that. Anger that he would do it.
And relief that her mother hadn’t left her willingly. She hadn’t taken her own life.
She’d had it taken from her.
“Take a deep breath, Charlotte,” said Risa, releasing her arms and sitting down beside her on the couch. “Couple deep breaths.”
She breathed in and out several times until she regained enough of a hold on her emotions to calm down and speak clearly. “Is it possible that the memories could be wrong?”
Risa exhaled long and slow. “No.”
Kieran paced in front of her. “What the hell happened?”
She took another deep breath. It was the only thing keeping her from jumping straight out of her skin. “My father told me my mother committed suicide, that she’d swallowed a bunch of pills one night, but that’s not what I just saw.” Swallowing hard, she looked away from him.
“What did you see, Charlotte?” he prompted in a gentle voice that seemed so oddly out of character for him. It made her want to break down sobbing.
“I saw my mother’s memory of her death. It was pills, just as he told me, but it was my father who manipulated her into taking them.” She paused, forcibly gaining a handle of her emotions. “She trusted him. She died trusting him, thinking he was helping her when, really, he was murdering her.” She drew a ragged breath. “He took my mother away from me when I was only six.”
The room went silent. She didn’t blame them for not knowing how to respond. It wasn’t every day someone found out their father was a cold-blooded killer.
“Why would he do it?” she asked, finally. “How could he?”
“She was fae.” Risa reached out and stroked her hair. “I know you saw the memory of your mother telling your father of her genetic heritage. He killed her not long after and then spent his life raising you to hate them.”
Yes, she knew all that. She’d witnessed the same memories that Risa had; she simply didn’t want to acknowledge the truth in them.
Risa stood. “We’re done for now. I’ll give her some time to process this.”
Charlotte was more than ready to be alone so she could work through all these revelations. Risa watched her with a sad face as she left the house.
Once Risa was gone, she rose and went to the window to look out at the forest surrounding the house. Hugging herself, she concentrated on the rich colors of the leaves and flowers, trying to put her attention on something other than the emotional tangle in her gut and the confusion in her head.
Kieran came to stand beside her. “I’m not really good at this, but—”
“It’s okay, you don’t have say anything. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s kind of a shock, but the world’s a bitch and then you die, right?”
“I know you don’t really think that.”
She shook her head. “Honestly, I feel sort of liberated. That memory proves that my father is a Class A bastard. He never deserved the pedestal I put him on and now he’s smashed to smithereens at the base. I can now abandon all sense of duty and responsibility to him. It’s sort of a relief. I feel a lot less . . . heavy.”
Now she had a question to the mystery that had plagued her since she’d been six; why had her mother abandoned her?
Answer: she’d never had a choice.
Grief bubbled up from the depths of her. God, her mother had been so young, so alive. At the time of her death she’d been Charlotte’s age right now—her life stretching out before her.
Kieran’s warm hand closed over her shoulder. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. You must feel betrayed beyond belief.”
“I do.” She hung her head for a moment, breathing in and out through her nose so she wouldn’t pass out. “In actuality, my father was always my sun and stars. This is unbelievable to me. If I hadn’t seen it in my own head, I never would have thought it possible.”
KIERAN stared at Charlotte’s profile, lit by the descending sun. He wished he was better at this. Wished he could even relate. The closest thing he’d had to a parent were the nuns at the abbey where he and his brother had grown up and that had been a long, long time ago.
“I’m sorry this trip has changed your life so much.” He stared out the window, seeing nothing, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
She pivoted to face him. “I’m not. Right now I’m happy all this happened. I’m happy you found me, bonded me, forced me to come here.” Her eyes were glittering, hard. The grief was gone, replaced by anger. That was good. In his opinion, rage was an emotion you could use. Sadness was anger turned inward—it did nothing but destroy the person experiencing it. “If I’d never come to Piefferburg I would never have discovered the truth. I would have gone on thinking my father was everything and my mother didn’t love me enough to stick around. Thank you, Kieran.”
His gaze caught hers and held. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
He studied her lips, parted and full. The image of her on the hillside filled his mind. He dipped his head a little, imagining what it would be like to kiss her. What would she taste like in real life?
At the same time, she leaned toward him.
Their lips met. Soft. Warm. Searching.
SIXTEEN
IT was unexpected, but not unwelcome. A shock went through him at the contact, ripples of pleasure radiating through his body.
He should have pushed her aside. He should have walked away from her, spoken terse words and left the room. He definitely should not have pulled her closer and kissed her back with interest. Wrapping his arms around her, he dragged her up against his chest and slanted his mouth over hers hungrily while his hand found the nape of her neck.
He wanted to make her pain go away and there was one surefire way to do it.
That desire to soothe her via any means bothered him, but it was quickly pushed to the side when her kiss became more aggressive, her mouth pressing urgently against his. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and found smooth
, warm skin—skin he wanted to run his fingers and tongue over at length.
She parted her lips and he slid between them, brushing up against her tongue to taste her heat. She found the bottom of his sweater and pushed up. He allowed her to pull it over his head and drop it to the floor. Her hands explored him, running down his back, his arms.
It had been so long since a woman had touched him. It was a little like a drug and soon he couldn’t get enough. Reason evaporated and good sense dissolved. He moved her toward the couch. That would do. Anywhere would do.
They’d strip each other’s clothes slowly, melt onto the couch, and act out everything they’d done together in that dream, but, this time, for real. He wanted to spread her thighs and slip his hand between them. He wanted to press his fingers inside her, hear her moan as he thrust them in and out. He wanted to cover her clit with his mouth, make her come with his lips and tongue. That was just for starters.
Her fingers found the button and zipper of his jeans and undid them. His hands tangled in her hair as he dragged her mouth up to meet his again, using his lips, tongue, and teeth to consume as much of her as possible.
She gently bit his lower lip and it heated his blood. There was a peek of the hellcat he’d seen during the bonding dream, the one he knew was waiting to be released from her soul. The fae glimpse of her.
“I want you,” she murmured against his mouth, stepping up against his body and weaving a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck.
“I want you, too.” His voice came out low and gravelly, pure need. Saying the words made him realize how badly he truly did want her. More than anything.
And his blood went cold.
Reason took form. Good sense returned.
It was like jumping into an ice bath. He eased away from her, his fists clenched. “We can’t do this.”
Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her hair and clothes mussed from his hands. Her desire-heavy eyes widened. She swayed on her feet. “You’re right. Oh, god, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just—”
He pulled her to him and kissed her again. “I want it as much as you,” he whispered meaningfully against her lips. “But because I want it so much, we shouldn’t do it.”
She lingered there for a moment, her lips hovering against his. He could feel her warm breath against his mouth. His hands tightened on her and he fought with himself for one very dangerous and indecisive moment. Sleeping with her didn’t mean they’d fall in love. In fact, it was ridiculous to think they would. Sex was just sex. It didn’t automatically lead to anything more. They could do this and still be safe. . . .
Her breath hissed out of her as though gathering her strength. She backed away from him. “No, you’re right. I totally agree.” She looked as stricken by the cruel interruption of reality as he was. “Too dangerous. Slippery slope. All that stuff.”
“Are you all right?”
She gave a bark of laughter. “I’m fine. Really.” Taking a deep breath she ran her fingers through her hair.
“Are you? I’m not.”
She looked everywhere but at him. “Is it safe for me to take a walk? I need some air and a little time alone.”
“Besides us, only two people in the world know where we are and I trust them both. Go take a walk. Just don’t go too far into the woods.” He paused and smiled at the memory. “You remember the spriggan.”
“There’s no forgetting the spriggan.” She offered him a weak smile and then went for the door.
“Charlotte?”
She halted. “Yes?”
“You need shoes.”
She looked down at her stocking feet. “Shoes. Right.”
He watched her slip her feet into the boots near the door and counted to ten slowly, trying to get his libido under control. There was still time to change the course of this, to pull her back against him, kiss her, drag her to the couch. They weren’t going to fall in love; they were safe.
Then she was gone.
Kieran closed his eyes, tipping his head back, and let out a slow breath of relief.
CHARLOTTE walked through the fae green grass toward the little path that led into the woods. She wouldn’t go very far, just far enough so no one could see her. She desperately needed to be alone.
Kieran had almost offered her a blessed oblivion from her thoughts and she would have taken it, even though it would have been temporary. He’d been correct to put a stop to it, though, curse or no curse. It hadn’t been right and it wasn’t her way—she didn’t just sleep with men like that.
All the same, her body hummed with the state the encounter had left her in. It had been a very long time since she’d been with a man and Kieran, despite everything, was highly attractive to her. But she’d been confused, vulnerable. Kieran was a true gentleman for not taking advantage of that. Especially considering how very badly she’d wanted to trace that black tribal tattoo along his side with her tongue—then drop to her knees and worship other areas of his body with her lips and mouth.
As she walked, she touched the limbs of trees and the leaves of bushes. The sprae lighted on her hands and arms here and there, as though greeting an old friend. Stopping for a moment, she looked into the canopy of trees overhead. It was so beautiful here. She’d never expected the majesty and dignity of this place. It was a shame, really, that the humans couldn’t experience it.
She jerked. For a moment there, she’d thought of herself as a fae. That was ridiculous. She had some fae blood, but it was a drop in the bucket of her genetic makeup. Just enough to draw the sprae. Not enough to give her any magick. No magick meant she was no real fae. Basically, she was caught between worlds, as her mother had been.
If her mother had been alive perhaps she would be able to help Charlotte deal with that reality, but her father had taken that possibility away.
Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms she nearly drew blood.
In a small clearing where the tops of the huge trees provided a canopy, she found a large rock and sat down on it. She felt numb. This was something that might happen to someone else, not her. Folding her arms over her chest because it had grown chilly, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.
Now what to do with this knowledge?
She wouldn’t be in Piefferburg forever. Eventually she’d return to her old life. Her immediate desire was to tell the police what her father had done, but she had no evidence to back up her claim. It wasn’t like they were going to believe that she’d discovered the crime through faery magick. Even if they did believe her, that sort of evidence wasn’t admissible in court.
And wasn’t there a statute of limitations? If so, did the statute of limitations apply to a crime as serious as murder?
Another option was to let it go, knowing that nothing could bring her mother back. She mulled that possibility like something she’d bitten into, exploring its flavors. It was bitter, hard, unpalatable.
No, she couldn’t let this go.
Either way, her father was out of her life forever. She would see him one more time—to tell him she knew. After that, he was dead to her.
A wave of grief rose up from the depths of her, swamping her emotions with utter darkness. She put her hands to her mouth to stop from sobbing. She wasn’t going to cry for him. Not one tear. She would cry for her mother instead and find a way to punish her father.
“Are you all right?”
She jerked her head up and looked in the direction the voice had come from. The goblin caretaker stood there. With the too-long sleeves of her sweatshirt, she wiped at her eyes. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay, and on your honeymoon, too.” He tsked as he walked toward her. “Everything all right with your man?”
Her man? Oh, he meant Kieran.
“Yes, he’s great, actually.” No sense giving anyone a reason to look in on them too often.
Leson nodded and sat down beside her. Her first inclination was to move away. She realized with a jolt how horrible that was and s
tayed put. This man had done nothing but be polite and concerned for her. Anyway, at this point she was happy to have something to distract her from her thoughts. Maybe alone time wasn’t the thing she needed, even if her company was goblin.
“Seems like a nice guy, but you never know.”
“Nice.” She rolled the word around in her mouth trying to fit it with Kieran. “I wouldn’t call him nice, really. He’s Unseelie.” She glanced at him. “I mean, not that the Unseelie can’t be nice. He’s not nice, exactly, but he’s . . . honorable. At least most of the time.”
“Honorable some of the time.” The goblin nodded. “That’s better than honorable none of the time.”
She smiled. “He’s protective and doesn’t take any guff from anyone. He’s intelligent and very interesting. He’d probably the most fascinating man I’ve ever met. Complex. Mysterious. Maybe even a little dangerous, but I feel safe with him.” She laughed. “He’s not always very good with women, but I find that sort of charming.”
The goblin covered her hand with his for a moment. His words stole her surprise at the contact. “I can tell you love him very much.”
She blinked and looked up at him. Love him? She barely kept from blurting out I don’t love him, but caught herself just in time.
“I can feel it.” He touched his chest with one long gray finger. “Most goblins can sense emotion.”
“You can . . . feel that I love Kieran?”
He nodded. “Just as I can feel you’re mostly not fae and that you’re afraid of me. Just a little.”
She let out a breath. “Wow. You’re really perceptive.” But that love thing was a mistake. She didn’t love Kieran; she’d only come to appreciate him.
“You are mostly human, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I have a bit of fae through my maternal line, but it doesn’t show up very much in me. It was very prevalent and noticeable in my mother, apparently.” She looked down at the grass. “I never knew her, so I don’t know for sure.”
The goblin stood and seemed ready to leave. Before he walked back down the path, he said, “It’s in you, too. It’s right there under the surface. All you have to do is let it free. If you do, I think you’ll truly find yourself.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry you’re afraid of me.”