“Not now, Mussolini.” Blake grinned. “Give us a minute to bask in the glow of our own awesomeness.”
Maeve’s eyes met mine, and understanding flickered between us. She would never tell Corbin the truth about how I felt. Instead, she had given me this chance to show him. He might not notice it, so enraptured was he by her. He might choose not to notice, because Corbin did have a history of choosing not to see things that challenged the way he saw the world.
Or maybe he would finally see what he meant to me, and kick e out of Briarwood, and I’d lose everything I’d ever loved.
Two of those three options I could live with.
I think.
THIRTY-NINE: ARTHUR
It’s no bloody use.
I took my sword into the orchard right to the back of the garden, hoping that hacking an apple tree to pieces might calm me down. But Maeve’s cries of ecstasy soared from the open library window and pounded against my ears.
My dick pressed against my jeans, hard and angry at me for leaving.
Well, damn him. Just because all the others were thinking with their dicks, doesn’t mean I had to.
I should have just brought my phone down, plugged my earbuds in, and drowned out this bollocks with some fucking heavy metal. But I imagined somehow that she’d even cut through the loudest, angriest music.
I tossed the sword onto the ground, balled up my hands, and slammed my fist into the trunk of the apple tree. Usually, hitting shit helped me to cool the aggression that bubbled under the surface of my skin, but this time it wasn’t helping.
I hated them for agreeing to it, for taking away my chance to be with her. I wanted Maeve to be my girlfriend. She was the first girl I’d ever imagined I could have a life with, who could accept me and understand. Being with her was the only thing that seemed to quell the rage inside me.
I admired her strength, her determination. I loved the way she practiced her sword moves again and again and again until she got them right. I loved watching her brain work, seeing her brow furrow and her eyes narrow as she concentrated on a problem. The adorable way her eyes lit up when she formulated a solution. I loved talking to her, found myself telling her things I’d never told anyone else – things about my mum, and about the anger that built up inside me, the inferno that was part of my magic but also part of myself.
I wanted her to be mine.
And she wanted this … gangbang instead.
I hated her for not choosing me, but that hate was different from what I felt for my dad. Maeve’s heart was too big for me – she was doing what she needed to do to heal herself, and that was something I could understand. I’d done far worse things in my life to try and drive out the anger I had for my Dad.
No, the hate I felt was the love I had for her, and the hate I had for myself. The three things were one and the same. I hated my friends because I wanted to be up there with them. But I couldn’t.
The others – they were reacting to the pull of the magic. Even though we made a pact when we found out Maeve was moving to Briarwood, swearing that none of us would make the first move, that we wouldn’t do anything to make the others look bad or to make ourselves look better, that seemed to have gone out the window. Corbin believed that he was the best person to lead the coven – which was probably true – and that being Maeve’s chosen one was the right solution for all of us. Flynn’s competitive streak wouldn’t allow him to lose to any of us, especially me and Corbin. And Rowan … poor Rowan didn’t have the strength the rest of us did. I got the feeling he’d never been with many women. Of course he’d struggle to resist it.
Blake … I didn’t know what his game was, but I could see the lust in his eyes when he looked at her. It made me want to smack him in the face.
I didn’t care about being the magister. I didn’t even care about the coven any more. But I was falling for Maeve. And that’s why I couldn’t participate in what she and the others were doing, even though being pulled into those dreams of hers turned my cock hard, even though I pulled one off every night thinking about it—
“Bloody hell,” I yelled again, as fire sprung up on the grass beside me. I threw the rest of my water bottle on it, watching the flame splutter and sizzle and then die back. As long as resisting Maeve didn’t burn the castle down, it’d be fine.
I leaned against the tree and slid down until my arse hit the damp grass. My hand brushed the hilt of my sword. I stared down at the blade. My elbow itched.
It would be so easy. Press blade to skin and draw it back. Bleed out the pain, let the rush of relief flood my body. Bleed Maeve out of my system so I could be strong and stoic again.
No.
I hadn’t cut myself for two years. My eyes burned with shame that I’d even contemplated it. I’d worked so goddamn hard to not need the blood, the pain. That’s what the swordfighting had been in aid of, to give me a way to vent my frustration and helplessness and need for control, without resorting to scarring myself.
A fire burned in the back of my throat. I grabbed my elbow, running my finger over the raised scars. Remember … remember …
Remember your dad telling you how useless you were, how no woman would ever want someone as ugly as you. Remember your friends at school acting as though you were invisible, as though you could be scrubbed off the face of the earth and no one would even notice. Remember the whispers and the laughter and the taunts no teacher ever heard, remember how they looked at you as though you were no longer a person but a monster instead, and how that gave them license to treat you like one. Remember the relief of that first cut, because when you punished yourself at least you had control, but then you had to keep doing it, again and again, feeding the demon that lived inside you and made you shoot fire and do terrible things, and no matter how much blood you fed it, the demon kept coming back, kept screaming that you were ugly and useless and evil and why hadn’t you died instead of her—
I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck this. Not again. Not now.
I was weak, so weak. I was falling apart because I couldn’t have what I wanted, like a spoiled child throwing his toys around his room.
We all needed to be strong now, together, to prepare for what was coming. Corbin seemed confident that the way to stop the fae would present itself in his books, but I knew better. Battles like this were won in blood. That’s what our parents had learned. My legacy was to fight.
Blood was the only language I understood.
I have to fight for Maeve, for Mum, for Corbin and Rowan and Flynn and Jane and Connor, because second chances were everything and they all deserved to experience joy and peace. Which meant I couldn’t keep wallowing in this. I had to get it out of myself, the only way I knew how.
I grabbed the sword, held it against my skin, laying it over the crisscrossed scars – a book of my past weaknesses.
I gritted my teeth against the pain that was coming. The healing pain that would give me the strength I needed.
I drew the blade.
FORTY: MAEVE
I had a fivesome.
A fivesome.
I didn’t even know there was a technical term for that.
The five of us collapsed against the Chesterfield sofa, our naked bodies tangled together. As the endorphins wore off and the last tendrils of my magic floated off to join the others, my mind wandered. My eyes counted the gilded leaves that bordered the painted panels on the ceiling, and then I noticed the panels themselves. Painted in a Renaissance style – although I suspected they were 17th century copies – they depicted scenes from the Bible. Angels resplendent in gauzy fabrics bore the righteous up to heaven, while demons boiled the sinners in the hellish scenes below.
And I thought about the Crawfords.
Kind of a buzz killer after amazing sex with four gorgeous guys, but those panels made me remember all the sermons Dad had given during Sunday service, all the times he leaned out from behind his lectern, admonishing us that Hell was real, that it waited for fornicators and sorcerers and people
who did not know the Glory of God. He never said it, but I knew he included ‘Atheists’ amongst those not entering the Kingdom of Heaven.
I loved them with all my heart. I missed them so much my chest ached. I tried my best to run my life according to the example they set. But in the month since they’d been taken from this mortal coil, I’d already broken every hard rule they’d ever tried to drill into me.
Witch, fornicator, atheist, worshipper of false idols. Take your pick. I’d racked up an impressive rap sheet of sins.
I can’t believe I’d thought they’d somehow approve of what I’d done. In their worldview, I’d be going to Hell. I’d be boiled in pitch and separated from my limbs and little demons would be jabbing pitchforks in my butt. I’d be sentenced to pushing a stone up a hill forever.
When I’d been mulling over this choice for the last couple of days, I’d thought of it as following their lead, as thinking for myself and not following what society or religion or whatever told me to do. And now, I’d never felt further from them. Lying in that pile of bodies, I suddenly felt completely, incomprehensibly alone.
I sat up, sliding my legs out from under Corbin. I hunted around on the rug for my clothes. My fingers trembled as I tugged my shirt over my head and zipped up my skirt.
“Maeve?” Rowan’s head popped up from the pile. He lay on Corbin’s chest, his long eyelashes tangled together and his dreadlocks splayed out in all directions.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Are you okay?” Trust Rowan to see the panic in my face.
“Yes. I’m fine. I just need to go.”
I raced out of the room before Rowan could reply, before the tears I’d been holding back could spill over. They did this now, as I fled up the stairs.
At the top of the first flight my mother’s gaze caught my eye. I stumbled in front of the painting, gasping and sobbing as I saw her expression.
Her face was twisted again – not with horror, but with concern. Her wide eyes gazed at me like she wanted to ask me what was wrong.
Why are you crying? A voice inside my head that wasn’t mine cooed.
“No, no, no!” I shoved my hands on my ears. I tore my eyes away from the portrait and raced for the stairs to my bedroom.
I flung myself down on my bed, throwing my pillow over my head, wishing I could block out everything. My aching thighs and core reminded me that I was an awful person, that if my parents were looking down on me from Heaven, they’d be horrified by what they saw. Sinner. Heathen. Witch. I shouldn’t care, since I didn’t even believe in Heaven, but I loved them and I missed them and I cared so goddamn much—
Beside my bed my phone vibrated, creeping its way toward the edge of the table. I was in no state to talk to anyone, but when I picked it up to flick it off, I noticed Kelly’s picture on the screen.
She’d been trying to talk to me for days, and I’d been completely neglecting her. I wiped my face with my wrist, and clicked the phone.
“Maeve?” Hearing Kelly’s voice made my body shake and fresh tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Get a grip, Maeve.
“Hey, Kelly.”
“Are you okay? You sound a little choked up.”
“I—” my voice caught. So much for getting a grip. “I’m not really. I was just thinking about Mum and Dad.”
“Oh.” Silence on the other end.
“I just …” I sucked in a breath. “Do you believe they’re up there, in Heaven, watching down on us?”
“You know I do.” Kelly’s voice was guarded. She was still a Christian, and we’d never been able to see eye-to-eye on that.
“Do they see everything? What if they see something that upset them? Do angels even get upset? What if they discovered something that made them realise they were wrong to love you?”
“Maeve, where’s this coming from? You don’t even believe in angels, so what—” Her voice rose a pitch. “Don’t tell me, you did something Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve of. Omigod, did you sleep with one of your gorgeous tenants?”
One of them? Try four of them, all at the same time. But no way in hell could I even begin to tell Kelly that. I couldn’t even form the words. “Yeah.”
“Omigod, I knew it! What was it like? Who was it with? No, let me guess – the blond Aragon?”
No. Not Arthur. Arthur knows I’m broken, I was tainted by evil. He doesn’t want to touch me.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I sniffed.
“Okay, fine. But what are you worried about? You had sex before and you never got upset.”
“Mum and Dad weren’t dead, then.” And I didn’t know I was a witch and paintings didn’t talk to me and my father the evil fae wasn’t trying to destroy the world.
“That’s right. They’re dead. And you’re over there living it up with hot guys and a big house.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to be dong, Maeve. You deserve that. You were always the one who was going to be an astronaut and do amazing things. Everything you did was perfect – your perfect report cards, your perfect artwork, your perfect abstinence. If they’re looking down on you, they’re just going to think everything you do is as perfect as before. You don’t have anything do worry about.”
“They never thought I was perfect.” I thought back to all the fights we’d had over my pursuit of science, over that time I protested against the school board teaching creationism, when they found that Richard Dawkins book under my bed and grounded me for a week.
“They did. I heard them praying for you all the time, that you’d turn your passion toward the Lord. But at least they prayed for you.” Her voice hitched.
“Kelly, no. Don’t think that. You were their real daughter. They loved you. They didn’t pit us against each other.” In fact, I’d always thought she was the favourite. After all, she was the biological daughter, the one who never caused any trouble or said blasphemous things, the perfect little Christian girl.
“It’s okay.” Her voice sounded flat. “I know that it’s true. I was the disappointment to them – their own flesh and blood who could never measure up to the miracle baby they saved from the orphanage. And then they died and I never ever got the chance to make them proud of me. Well, maybe I’ll be able to do that now.”
“Kelly, they were always proud of you—”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Kelly, I really need to talk to you about this.” The idea of sitting in silence in my room with all these horrible thoughts terrified me.
“I’m sorry, Maeve. You’ll figure it out. You always do. You’re so strong and clever and brave. Not like me.”
“Kelly—”
“Goodbye Maeve. I love you so much.”
I listened to the dial tone in my ear, tears streaming down my face. I thought we were sisters. I thought we’d be there for each other, no matter what. When had everything between us gone so horribly wrong?
FORTY-ONE: ROWAN
I knocked on Maeve’s closed door, a tray of scones and raspberry and vanilla tea balanced on my arm.
“No thanks,” she whispered back.
Her voice cracked with pain, and my whole body stiffened. I wanted nothing more than to fling open that door and wrap her in my arms and kiss away the guilt and pain she was feeling.
But that was Corbin, or Flynn, or Arthur. And I hadn’t seen Arthur all day and I’d told the others not to go after her, because I could also see when someone needed time alone.
I slunk back down the stairs. Jane was waiting at the bottom, staring up at me with accusatory eyes. I shook my head, not even sure where to begin telling her what had happened while she was gone.
Corbin. I have to talk to Corbin.
The thought of it made my guts twist, and my anxiety claw at me worse than ever. I rushed to the edge of the covered walkway and glanced down, focusing on the large cobbles below. I started counting from the top left corner, nearest the visitor entr
ance for the castle tours. One… two… three…
You can ignore it all you want, Rowan, but it’s just going to eat away at you. Your cocks practically touched inside Maeve. Corbin’s not gay, so he has to be freaked out by that. And he’s going to be even more freaked out when he finds out how into it you were. You’d better commit those cobbles to memory, because this is probably the last time you’ll see them—
Footsteps thundered across the courtyard, jolting me out of my approaching panic. “Guys,” Corbin yelled up from the ground as he jogged across the courtyard, sweat sticking his t-shirt to his taut muscles. “You won’t believe this. I just checked the wards around the gateway and they’re stronger than ever. There’s no way Daigh could get through there now.”
The Castle of Water and Woe (Briarwood Reverse Harem Book 3) Page 25