A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

  Another shrug, accompanied by a hiccup. “Not really. It’s all so fuzzy. Like right now. Fuzzy and warm around the edges.” She smiles at me and puts her chin in her hand. “I really like this potion. Are you sure you don’t have anymore?”

  “I’m afraid not.” I lean across the table to take her glass. I need to leave. I’ve done enough digging, and gods, if she smiles at me like that one more fucking time . . .

  “Actually, I do have one memory.” Her smile wobbles. “At least I think it’s a memory.”

  “Alice—” Suddenly, I don’t want her to spill any more secrets, not like this, but she isn’t paying attention. Her grey eyes are clouded and far away.

  “It’s a garden. Children playing. I can’t see them, but I hear them. And there’s sunshine, and grass, and a little lake.” Her eyes close. “I think the lake had swans. But I wasn’t looking at the swans, I was reading.” She laughs lightly, but there’s pain under the tinkling sound. “Always reading. There was a girl there, calling my name. She was so pretty and her hair was all in curls. I remember how they bounced when she talked. Alice, come and play. That’s what she said. And she told me to hurry.” Her voice trails off and her eyes open again.

  “She ran away, down to the lake. And I thought, I’ll go in a minute. I just wanted to finish the chapter, you know?” She looks at me, a look so full of guilt and regret that my hands clench.

  “I think she was my sister. There was a man, too. I can’t remember his face, just his voice. Papa. He called me, too. And I didn’t go. I stayed under the tree and ignored them all, but I didn’t get to finish that chapter. Because he came.”

  She looks down at her lap, blinking very fast.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Alice.” I let go of her glass before it shatters in my hand. I can’t heal this, I can’t give her back what he took from her, and that infuriates me. “Tell me you understand that none of it was your fault.”

  “I know.” Her voice is very soft. “But I do wish I could have told them goodbye.” Her lashes flutter again. “Goodness, I’m tired.” She lays her head on the table. “Are you tired?”

  No, I’m furious. My teeth grind together as I watch Alice pull the pins from her hair with a sleepy sigh.

  I’d love to get my hands on this Master, but that’s unlikely to happen unless he shows his face here. Her description is beyond vague. Tall, thin, but she can’t remember his hair color, eye color or anything remarkable. Only that she never saw him without a mask. Even her description of the mask itself is hesitant, unsure. It has to be some sort of magic at play. A confounding spell seems likely, exacerbated by the effect of Niflheim itself.

  “Alice.”

  She blinks up at me from the table. With her dark hair tumbling about her face, she’s a hot, beautiful mess and I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms and—

  “Time for bed,” I say, my tone stern. “You need your sleep.” Not because she needs the reminder, but because I do. “The maids can clear this up in the morning.”

  “Oh.” Pink lips make a little moue of disappointment. “I suppose you’re right.” Then she yawns.

  I rise from my chair and extend a hand. She tries to take it, but rocks back on her heels and starts to fall. Without thinking, I grab the first thing that comes to hand. Her bodice.

  The silky fabric is sturdy enough and holds. But now my fingers are nestled against warm, soft flesh, leaving both of us staring down at her half-exposed breasts. A flush works its way between them.

  I force my fingers to uncurl. Far too slowly, but I give myself points for managing to release her at all. Especially since what I really want to do is rip the damn dress off, throw her over my shoulder and find my chambers at once. To chase the sadness from her big eyes, to bring out that spark that hides within. To see it catch fire and burn free.

  I blow out a long breath as my bear begins to growl, annoyed at my restraint. “Shall we try that again?”

  With a tipsy smile, she reaches out a hand—before proceeding to fall face-first into my arms.

  “Fuck it.” I pick her up with a curse I don’t mean her to hear.

  Her whispered sorry tells me that she did.

  “It’s fine,” I say, trying to ignore the way her silky hair tickles my nose. Or how her breasts are still peeking far too temptingly over that stubborn bodice. Or how she feels in my arms, like she was made for me to hold.

  She snuggles closer and I stifle a groan, forcing myself to walk faster.

  “I like talking to you.” She’s not whispering now, but looking me full in the face when I glance down.

  “I like talking to you, too, Alice.” And I do. Even our conversation tonight was more of an interrogation.

  She laughs and lays her head back on my chest. “I don’t think it’s at all the same.”

  Her fingers are running over and over one of the buttons on my shirt. The light caress is maddening. Gritting my teeth, I push open the antechamber door with my shoulder, intending to toss her on the bed and go.

  But her next words freeze me in place. “You’re the only friend I’ve ever had. How could you possibly understand?”

  That lopsided, slightly sad smile makes my heart go sideways in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as heart-breakingly beautiful as Alice in that moment. Dark hair, pink lips and those big, soft grey eyes looking at me in a way she doesn’t fully understand the power of yet. It’s that look that seals her fate.

  I know damn well I shouldn’t kiss her. She’s drunk, she won’t remember this, and it’s a very ignoble thing to do.

  But I’ve had enough of fighting instinct. I dip my head. Alice sucks in a breath right before my lips brush hers.

  I tease it out with slow deliberation, learning the contour of her mouth, the curve of those sweet lips. Softly, thoroughly, until her eyes close and her head falls back. Ah, there it is. A breathy little sigh that gives me an opening I don’t even try to resist. Lime and tequila add a bite to the sweetness of her.

  It’s like I’ve never tasted a woman until this moment. I haven’t felt the least bit intoxicated all night, but now I’m drunk, alright. On her. Our tongues slide together, her whimpers driving me to take more.

  Her fingers tangle in my hair and the light tug brings me back to sanity. Her eyes are wide when I pull away. She lifts a hand to touch her swollen mouth once and stares at the tips of her fingers, then back up at me. “Can we do that again?”

  Gods above and below.

  “If we do that again,” my voice cracks. “I won’t be able to stop.”

  She smiles. “Who says I want you to?”

  A noise comes out of my mouth, somewhere between a groan and a growl. Somehow, I manage to stalk across the room and deposit her in the deep blue bed. “You’re not thinking clearly,” I say, trying to untangle her fingers from my shirt. But she only pulls me closer, refusing to let go. With a sigh, I drop to my knees next to the bed. “Alice—"

  “Just tell me one thing, if I were thinking clearly,” she asks, eyes searching my face, “would it make any difference?”

  Fuck yes. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

  She sighs, releasing me at last. “What if I’m too scared to ask in the morning?”

  I laugh, reaching out to brush that dark wave of hair back from one pale cheek. “You, scared?” I scoff. “Don’t be silly.”

  Her lips curve, but her eyes are far away. “I’ve been a prisoner all my life. I haven’t done anything and I’m scared of everything. What’s more pathetic than that?”

  I refuse to address that telling little ‘anything.’ “You aren’t a prisoner anymore.”

  “But what am I?”

  That’s a good question. For both of us. But at least I’m far closer to an answer than when we started this evening.

  I lean over to kiss the tip of her nose. Because it’s safe, she needs it—and so do I. “We’ll figure it out, Alice. I promise.”

  She manages a sleepy smile before he
r eyes flutter closed, only to snap open again when I get to my feet.

  “Don’t leave,” she whispers, hand tightening on the sheet. “I keep having nightmares. Of that other bear…and being back in Niflheim. Please.”

  What the hell I am supposed to do with those big eyes on me?

  I stay.

  I take my boots off and regard the other side of the bed for a long moment. It’s a big bed. I could sleep on top of the covers. Like a gentleman.

  Except I’m also a bruin.

  Which means I sleep on the fucking floor. Though I do a hell of a lot more thinking than sleeping.

  A soft, rhythmic thumping wakes me a few hours later. Someone pounding lightly on the door. There is a muffled curse, then the pounding starts again.

  Konstantin.

  “If you are in there, bruin—” he clears his throat and hisses “—you have an audience with the king in less than half an hour.”

  I open the door with my boots in one hand.

  Konstantin folds his arms, lifting an eyebrow. “Still not a liaison, eh?”

  I shoulder him aside harder than I mean to, ignoring both the question and the mercenary’s subsequent chuckle.

  Konstantin’s opinion is the least of my worries. I stomp into my boots one at a time, before glancing over my shoulder at the door, thinking of the woman sleeping behind it. Alice’s scent still clings to my hands, like wild rain touched with lilacs. But her smell doesn’t confuse me anymore. Because I get it now. What my bear has known all along.

  Alice is mine.

  My fucking mate.

  9

  What did I do?

  Seriously, what did I do? Because I can’t remember a thing. I could swear the click of the door woke me, but no one is here. Just me and the soft flutter of my dress tossed over the trestle table.

  My dress.

  Tossed over the trestle table.

  I don’t remember taking my dress off, but as I’m only wearing my chemise, obviously I did. Or someone did. A tangled lock of hair falls over my cheek and I push at it, then freeze as a memory surfaces. Georg looking at me from across the bed, his fingers tucking my hair behind my ear.

  I sit up and look around the room. Empty. It’s hard to focus. My throat feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and set on fire. My head aches, my eyes itch, and my tongue tastes like an old furry lime. I fall back on the pile of pillows, throw an arm over my eyes and groan.

  I don’t think I approve of Georg’s potions. The moment his name sounds in my head, I get another flash—just a flicker, really. Georg’s face coming closer, those golden-brown eyes fixed on mine. The prickle of his beard, the warmth of his breath . . .

  Then it’s gone. Try as I might, I can’t remember anything else. Just dinner, which was wonderful, as time usually is with him. We were sitting in the side chamber and he brought out that lovely green potion. The next thing I remember is We can talk about it in the morning.

  Talk about what? My eyes wander to my dress again.

  Oh.

  No. Surely not. I don’t even know how to seduce a man.

  But somehow I think that is exactly what I did. Or tried to do.

  My cheeks flame and a low moan works out of my cotton-lined throat. At that precise moment, Jada strides in. Even her soft tread has the rocks in my head clanking together. Her nostrils flare as she stops in the middle of the room, staring at the fur in front of the fire. The one that has a giant Georg-sized dent right in the middle of it. She sniffs. Looks at me and sniffs again, before spinning on her heel and heading for the door.

  My breath is coming hard and fast now. Is this a panic attack? I think this is a panic attack. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

  She freezes.

  “Not for a lack of trying, apparently.” I scowl at my dress, tears pricking my eyes. “But since I’ve never slept with anyone before, I suspect my attempt was a bit off-putting and awkward. Oh god.” I cover my face with my hands. “He’s going to hate me now. Just like the rest of you.” Misery has it’s claws deep in my aching head. I press my lips together to stifle a sob, waiting for the door to shut so I can have a good cry in peace.

  But the sound never comes. Instead the bed dips and I look up to see Jada sitting gingerly on the edge of my bed. “I doubt that.”

  “Which part?”

  “The hating part.” Her lips twitch as I open my fingers wider. “Bruins don’t look at a female the way he looks at you if they hate them.”

  “He looks at me?” I drop my hands, honestly shocked.

  She rolls her eyes. “When you’re in the same room, you’re all he sees. If I didn’t know better—” Jada shakes her head, the words trailing off.

  “What?”

  She only shakes her head again. Silence falls, growing awkward all too quickly.

  When she moves to get up. I reach out without thinking. “Please don’t run away again. Am I really that awful, or is it just humans in general you hate?”

  “Actually…I’ve never met a human before,” Jada confesses.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t really leave the castle.” She shrugs. “None of us do.”

  “Then why—?”

  Picking at the bedspread, Jada won’t meet my eyes. “Everyone knows humans destroy anything they touch. And bruins are the caretakers of Midgard. Basically, my kind have been cleaning up after your kind for the last couple millennia.” She sighs. “Do you know what this realm was like before humans came along? Before automobiles and plastic and electricity?”

  I’m confused, and not just because I have no idea what plastic is. “But I saw electricity here—in the library? Why would you use it if it’s evil?”

  She turns faintly pink and gets to her feet, shaking out her skirts. “Our people have accepted some technology as unavoidable, but humans have no regard for balance. Everything they do, they do to excess.”

  When I press her for details, Jada gives me a quick lesson on deforestation in the Amazon, trash islands floating in the Pacific and the melting of polar ice caps. I’m stunned…and sickened.

  Apparently, humans haven’t been kind to the planet since I left it.

  “And you’re saying none of them care to fix things?”

  Jada, who has been working as she talks, sweeps the ash on the hearth into the banked fire before turning to face me. “A fair few do. But not nearly enough. Even their learned people, the ones they call scientists, can’t seem to stop the rest.”

  “Why not work together then, with these scientists, and the humans that are trying to change?”

  She cocks her head. “I hear they do such things in the New World—" Where Georg is from.

  “—but here…well. Most bruins consider the idea of trying to befriend humans as sound as trying to pet a rabid dog.”

  “Do I look rabid to you?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

  Jada fights a smile. “I haven’t seen you foaming at the mouth yet.” Then her amusement fades. “But even if you don’t show signs of the disease, it’s there. Humans can’t be trusted.” She whispers, looking pensive. “They’re poison.”

  With a short nod, Jada excuses herself from the room, leaving me to contemplate the sun falling through a crack in the drapes. The light doesn’t hurt as much now and I study the patterns it makes on the floor.

  It shakes me, this deep divide between these people and myself. But strangely enough, knowing the source of their anger also gives me hope. This isn’t personal. Racist, certainly, but not personal. I frown and get to my feet, wincing as the room does a little shimmy around me.

  If only I had the power to influence their opinions.

  Maybe I do.

  I make my way to the window and risk a peek outside. There is a garden below, and it reminds me of the one in my dream-memories. I can close my eyes and hear the soft ticking as Papa draws his watch from my hand.

  I loved to play with it. I can feel the heavy crystal smooth and cool in my chubby palm as his words echo in my head
.

  “Time is a funny thing, Alice lass. Most people waste it shamefully. There is nothing that cannot be accomplished with enough time, willpower and knowledge.” A tap on the tip of my nose before he tucks the watch back into his waistcoat. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  Try again tomorrow? Try what?

  But as quickly as it appeared the memory vanishes.

  Letting the curtain close I wander back to the bedside table and the books there. Between the table and the bed is my poor blood-spattered satchel. I reach inside and pull out Papa’s watch. It’s still smooth and cool, but my hand is bigger now and the crystal is clouded with age. That faint, soothing tick-tock has long been silenced. I can still hear Papa’s words though, and they sound like an admonishment.

  But what do I know of the way things work here? What do I know of anything? Like mist seeping under the door, a tendril of hopelessness winds its way up my body, slippery, cool and familiar.

  Irritated, I push it away, setting the watch next to the books on the nightstand. Like Georg said, I’m no longer a prisoner, no longer a captive kept in the dark, without the means to take action. I can ask questions, and I can find answers.

  In fact, I have an entire library at my disposal.

  10

  The king is not in his counting house, or the throne room. He’s in bed.

  I kneel at the foot of that bed and rise when Samuel waves a hand, but I can feel a familiar weight settling on my shoulders. The king looks older than he did just a few short days ago.

  A tired, old man where I only ever saw a hale and powerful mentor.

  An ocean separated Samuel and I for a good portion of my life. But when I was a cub, most every summer was spent here at Hearthstone. It made my father both resentful and proud that my mother’s people wanted me around, but as resentful and proud were his default emotions with me, I didn’t take it to heart. He was a hard man, difficult to please. I loved my father, but it wasn’t easy to be his son.

  Samuel was different. He was kind, gregarious, and we were of a like mind on most things. The only serious argument we ever had was when I decided to join the Council, a governing body composed of FTCs, or fairytale creatures of various races.