by Clara Martin
“I’ll drive you home, Eileen.” Charles held his hand out for my keys. I stared at him.
“Why on earth would you do that?” My head pounded in time with my words.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re exhausted—I can tell. It’s not safe for you to drive.”
“I can drive myself,” I muttered, embarrassed. He sighed.
“Eileen, you can barely keep your eyes open.” He swallowed. “Please,” he said with some difficulty. “Let me drive you home.”
I sighed. “Fine,” I muttered, dumping my keys in his hand. “If you insist.”
“Thank you,” Charles said gravely. “I truly appreciate it.” He put his hand at my back again, guiding me out the door. I stumbled, barely able to walk. He caught me and slung his arm around my shoulders. “Do I need to carry you?” he asked.
I laughed, then realized he was entirely serious. “No,” I said. “No, I’m capable of walking.”
“If you’re sure,” he murmured. He guided me through the conference room, out into the parking lot. Nate and my mother were still parked there, but the tail car had taken off.
“You forgot this.” He handed me my pistol. “You really need a holster.”
“Yes, sir,” I said demurely.
“You’re mocking me,” Charles muttered.
“Damn straight I am.”
He laughed. “Good to know you still have your spirit.” He guided me to the car and opened the passenger door, holding my arm as I leveraged myself into it. He closed the door behind me and headed around to the driver’s side of the car. He lowered himself in, locking the doors. “Now tell me,” Charles said casually, “what you think of this latest proposal to end the sanctuary law.”
I snorted. “Corey Hamilton is a Class A douche.” I leaned back in my seat. “That proposal is a disaster.”
We talked about the sanctuary law as we pulled out of the parking lot, Nate and my mother tailing us. Charles was telling me a story about Corey Hamilton when he stiffened.
“Hello, there,” he murmured. “We’re being followed.”
I frowned. “What? By who?” I checked the window. A dark green car with tinted windows was following my mother’s car.
“Who do you think?” Charles shrugged. “Faolain must really not want you to feel safe.” He sighed. “We might as well drive straight back to your place. He knows where you live. This is him, testing the boundaries, seeing how we’ll respond—he knows that a full-scale attack on you would be a disaster.”
“But,” I said slowly, “Faolain can’t kill me. The other fae said it, at McConnell Consultants—if Faolain kills me, he dies too.”
Charles looked at me sharply. “That’s true,” he agreed, voice neutral. “It also doesn’t make much sense that he’d guarantee your safety, let you walk into the embassy, and let you walk out again if he wanted to hold you captive.” His nostrils flared. “Unlike Anna and Garrett, I don’t hold a high opinion of that particular fae’s sense of honor.” He frowned. “What do you think?”
I sighed. “Maybe it’s not Faolain. Didn’t you say earlier that he had enemies?”
“I did,” Charles agreed. “Some of them almost as powerful as Faolain.” He stared at the mirror again, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s drive back to your house,” he murmured. “Let’s see what they do.”
We drove back to my house, the tinted green car still following. But as we pulled into the housing development, the green car sped away. Charles watched it go with a frown.
“That’s strange,” he said. His eyes cut to me. “I’m staying with you tonight.”
“Oh, you are?” I felt my ire rise. “If you think we’re sleeping together—”
“No, no,” he interrupted hastily, “I wouldn’t dare presume.” He looked over at me, eyes dancing. “I might find myself missing a pair of balls.” I laughed in spite of myself.
“No,” Charles continued seriously. “There may be a new, unknown player in the game. I want you to be safe.” His breath caught. “Will you—let me—stay tonight?”
I frowned. “We only have the couch—”
“No problem,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’ll be fine.”
I sighed. “Fine,” I said grudgingly. I sighed again. I had to give credit where credit was due. “I—appreciate—all your help.”
He went dead silent, staring out the windshield. One hand covered mine. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Thank you for letting me.”
He parked the car and got out, looking around. Nate and my mother pulled in behind us. “So this is where you live?” Charles asked with curiosity. “Who lives here?”
“My brother. My mother. My father. I have another brother, but he works on an oil platform in the Gulf Sea.”
Charles frowned. “In the Kingdom of Texas?”
“Yes, on one of the contracted platforms.”
“I see.” He went silent as my mother and Nate got out of the car.
“Mrs. O’Donnell,” Charles said, extending his hand. “I’m Charles Talbot.”
My mother shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said. Nate came up next to her.
“My younger brother, Nate,” I said, waving at him. Charles shook his hand.
“I’m staying the night—with your permission, of course, Mrs. O’Donnell—for protection,” Charles said, lowering his hand. “May I ask, ma’am, where your husband is?”
“My husband is on a trip to Finland,” my mother said. “But why do you ask?”
“Well—it would provide extra protection—”
My mother’s eyes narrowed. “Charles,” she said politely, “I’m former law enforcement. I know how to shoot a gun, and I was the one who helped Eileen review her battle magic. I assure you I’m more than capable of protecting the house.”
“Yes ma’am,” Charles said, sounding awkward, “but I hope you have no objection to me staying as well?”
My mother narrowed her eyes, studying him. “None,” she said after a moment, “provided you sleep on the couch.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Charles rushed to reassure her, “not a problem at all.”
My mother nodded decisively. “That’s fine, then,” she said, sweeping into the house. Nate followed, looking thoughtful.
Charles and I were left standing outside in the driveway, looking at each other. “Eileen,” he said after a moment, “can I ask why you live with your family?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked, feeling defensive.
“No reason,” he said calmly. “I just wondered if it had something to do with your disabilities.”
I sighed. “You’re right,” I said after a moment. “I love my family, but I live here partly because of my disabilities.” I paused. “I had a breakdown,” I said, voice tight. “Got fired from my job, since I had it at work. I started hallucinating, thinking people were following me. I heard voices, saw images. It was terrible.”
Charles nodded thoughtfully and took my hand. It was strangely comforting. “Do they think it’s from your injury?”
“Nobody knows,” I said, shaking my head. “I never had any problems before my injury, but schizophrenia is supposed to be genetic.”
He sighed. “I heard about how your injury happened.” He paused. “Eileen—do you think it’s possible you were cursed with schizophrenia?”
I frowned. “Cursed? Who would curse me?”
“Eileen, you broke up a fight between one of your soldiers and someone else.” Charles looked at me carefully. “Was there more to it than that?”
I sighed. “Let’s go inside,” I said, waving at the door. Charles and I walked there together, his eyes alert. He was still holding my hand. I opened the door with my key and led him to the sofa. My mother was in the kitchen, making tea. Nate was probably in his room.
&nb
sp; “I was the officer in charge of a training mission,” I began, throat tight, “when a soldier approached me. She told me she was being sexually harassed by an officer, one of my friends, back at post.” I paused. “I immediately filed a report, but there wasn’t enough to go on. She refused to participate in the investigation—she told me she was scared. But when we got back to post, she changed. She acted terrified, like someone was out to get her.” I stopped again and cleared my throat. “One night,” I said slowly, “I got a call from this soldier. She asked me to come to her house. She said she was scared. So I went.” I sighed. “I got there, and the officer—Lieutenant Daniels—was there. He was outside her house, shouting at her. It was like he’d completely lost it. The soldier saw me and came out. She thought I’d protect her. But he saw her and threw himself at her—went straight for her throat. I tried to pull him off and he hit me, really hard, on the head. I went unconscious.” I cleared my throat again. “I woke up to find Daniels gone, my soldier dead, and my head aching.”
Charles nodded. “I read the police report,” he said quietly. “They found him two counties over.”
I nodded. “They did. I testified at his trial. He’s in prison now, serving life.”
Charles leaned forward. “Thank you,” he said, voice rough, “for talking to me.”
I nodded quietly. We sat there together for a moment, until I sighed.
“That wasn’t the only time I intervened,” I said quietly. “Just the most physical. It was part of the reason I wanted to become an advocate when I got out—I’d seen so much anger and violence in the army.”
Charles nodded silently. We sat there quietly for a few more moments before he pulled back and sighed. “You should go to bed,” he said gently. “We did hard work today.”
I nodded and laughed. “We certainly did.” I ran my hand over my forehead. “Let me get you a pillow and a blanket.”
I grabbed them both from an upstairs closet and turned around to find him right behind me. He gently grabbed my shoulders and pulled me toward him, giving me a long, gentle kiss. I sighed, feeling myself sag. The kiss turned deeper, more passionate. His tongue nudged at my lips; I opened them, feeling his tongue slide into my mouth. I wasn’t about to be a passive recipient. I matched his tongue with mine, daring him to give me more. He moaned softly, holding me tighter, as our tongues danced.
At last, he drew away. “Good night,” he rumbled, eyes dark, holding mine in a gaze almost as intimate as our kiss.
“Good night,” I murmured, leaning forward and gently kissing him on the cheek. He started. I smiled, opening the door to my room. “This, you don’t get to see,” I said. “Sleep well.” I left him standing in the hall, gaze drilling into my back, as I closed the door to my room.
I shivered, as though his gaze was still on me. I quickly undressed and flipped off the lights, stumbling my way to my bed until I could pull the covers over my head. I thought of him downstairs, lying on the couch, and shivered again. For a moment I’d forgotten about Faolain, our meeting today, and the strange car following me.
It’s not going anywhere, I reminded myself. I have a lot to overcome. I sighed. At least I could dream.
As I drifted off to sleep, my last thoughts were memories of that kiss we’d shared—the passion, the intensity. I smiled, touching my lips, and let sleep claim me.
Chapter 6
I had strange dreams all night—dreams where I was chased, where I fell out of a plane, where a strange man grabbed me and held me. But in each dream there was Charles—always there, always a comforting presence. I woke smiling slightly. In the last dream Charles and I had been kissing, slowly, passionately.
He’s not for you, Sheldon whispered in my mind. You’ll never have him.
“I know,” I said out loud, sighing softly. Dreams were fine, but I could not deny reality. I got up and padded to my mirror. My long brown hair was in disarray, my brown eyes wide and still faintly starstruck. My skin, usually pale, was flushed. I took a long look at myself, pulling on my shirt. It was an old university T-shirt, from when I’d been a student at the University of Fair Isle. Considered one of the best universities in the thirteen states, it also had a stellar Reserve Officer Training Corps program. It was were I’d earned my commission. It seemed so long ago, now. A completely different lifetime.
I sighed, smoothing down my sweatpants. Not bothering to fix my hair, I walked out of my room and into the hallway. I glanced down at the sofa. Charles was awake, sitting there with a steaming cup of coffee, flipping through his phone.
“Any news?” I asked, coming down the stairs. He looked up at me and smiled—tenderly, I realized with a jolt.
“Good morning to you too.” Getting up from the sofa, he walked up to me and traced my face. He bent down for a kiss—I stopped him with a hand to his chest.
“Not while I have morning breath,” I said with a slight laugh. He nodded, eyes grave.
“As you wish,” Charles said. He waved his hand toward the kitchen. “I made coffee.”
I felt myself smile at him, a gentle, tender smile. “You know the way to my heart,” I said with a slight laugh. He gazed back, mouth slightly open. I stepped back and laughed uncomfortably. “Thank you.”
Charles shook himself visibly and gave me a soft smile back. “Of course, Eileen,” he murmured. My name sounded like a caress, coming from his mouth.
It was my turn to shake myself. I turned and went into the kitchen, filling up my favorite mug—a mug from a vacation to Chincoteague, home of the wild horses—with the coffee steaming in the pot. I loaded it down with creamer and took an appreciative sip. Tingles shot down to my toes.
“That’s quite a reaction,” Charles observed from the door. I smiled into the cup.
“Back in the army, I drank six cups a day,” I said with a laugh. “One of my soldiers gave me a bag of coffee for a birthday present.”
“Oh?” Charles asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes,” I said, still smiling. “She was originally from Guatemala, and she went on a trip to visit her family there. When she came back, she brought me this giant”—I laughed, holding my hands wide for emphasis—“bag of coffee. She said it’d be enough to keep me busy for at least a week.”
Charles laughed, eyes thoughtful. “Usually soldiers only give gifts to leaders they like and trust,” he observed.
I sighed. “When I left my company, my soldiers gave me a hand-carved award thanking me for my compassion and dedication.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know about leadership, but I gave a damn.” I lifted my coffee to my lips and took another sip. Charles watched me for a moment.
“I was an officer, as well,” he said. “In the seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment.” He paused. “I deployed five times—twice to the Northern Wild, once to Afghanistan, and twice to Iraq.” He smiled. “The first time I was platoon leader. Then I was promoted to XO. Then I was a commander.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You were a commander in the seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment?”
He nodded. “I was.” He paused again. “I did a lot of shit, Eileen.” He gave me a challenging look. “Also, I outrank you.”
I laughed at him. “Just try to pull that card—see how far it gets you.” I sipped my coffee again.
“We’ll see.” Charles drummed his fingers on the side of his coffee cup. “So you were an ordnance officer. What did you do?”
I smiled. “I was a platoon leader—which I loved. Then a maintenance control officer—which I hated. Then I had my accident.” I sighed. “I was pretty much useless after that.”
“I highly doubt that.” Charles took another sip of coffee. “Why didn’t you get promoted past lieutenant?”
I shrugged. “I was in a medical board—they were looking over my files to see if I’d even stay in the army. My accident.” I took another sip of coffee, to fortify myself. “It took a
year to finally leave the army. And only a month before my regular discharge date.”
Charles nodded, eying me. “Did you go through explosive ordnance disposal school?” he asked mildly.
I froze. “I did,” I said, staring at him. “I also failed out.”
“That school has a high attrition rate,” he said. “I think around 80 percent of its students fail.”
I shrugged. “I just wasn’t suited for disposing of explosives.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You’re good with people. Analysis. You’d have made a good operations officer.” Charles squinted at me. “You’re in a good spot now, Eileen,” he said with conviction. “The NVRA will make full use of your talents.” He gave me a wolfish smile, one that made me shiver.
“I’m enjoying it so far,” I said quickly, walking back to the coffee pot. I heard a sound behind me and twisted. Charles had prowled up behind me.
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked softly. “It’s—challenging. And you’re ambitious. Any fool can see that.” His eyes traced my face, and he lifted his hand to my neck, pulling me close.
“Morning breath,” I reminded him, my pulse quickening.
Charles smiled wolfishly again. “I’ll risk it,” he murmured, lowering his face slowly to mine.
I strained up to meet him. “This can only end in disaster,” I murmured against his mouth.
“Hasn’t anyone told you?” he laughed. “I’m an expert at managing disasters.” Charles moved his hands so his thumb was cradling my face, and he kissed me.
Just like the previous night, the kiss was passionate. This time, though, it felt different—full of fury. I gasped, breaking away. Charles smirked and let me, still cradling my face. “Charles,” I said, breath coming in gasps. “You’ve got to remember. I’m disabled. Everyone says you’re a hound dog. There’s no way this can work.”
“Why don’t you let me show you just how much of a hound dog I can be?” He nipped my ear. I gasped, arching back. He caught my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace.