Deception (Facets of Feyrie Book 3) Page 4

  She might also still be annoyed that I told her to leave Jameson to his fate. I almost ask and then decide against it. My opinion has not changed, to me, he is not worth the effort she will put forth to find him because she will find him—one way or another.

  Ruthie and Michael are my next stop. The two of them are always together, lately. I have determined it is because they are in a relationship of some kind. One they have yet to admit to anyone, which is stupid because everyone knows. I am not sure they know what kind of relationship they are in, or why they hide it. There are a lot of hormones, and awkward faces and they constantly smell in discomfort. The room they are in reeks of it all, so much so that I blatantly cover my mouth with my hand.

  After a few, brief questions to them, I conclude there is nothing to worry about—except a possible pregnancy, there is some physical interaction going on between the two. Which is not my concern, because if that happens, Iza will strangle them for their foolishness and make them do the adult thing of raising their child. Something I am sure they are both aware of for their sake.

  Systematically, I spend the night checking all of those that I suspect and then others that I did not suspect but check for the sake of checking. At the end of the mind-numbingly awful task, I realize I am only missing a few. The main one being Nika, who is doing the wailing thing in her room, which I gladly leave her to. I can always check on her later when I do not have to deal with… that mess. Jameson, who is not here and could not be responsible, unless he is the slyest creature I have ever encountered, and that is purely impossible. No one can fake that level of inanity.

  Circling the Sidhe, I find myself outside, alone. Correction, almost alone, the unwanted company is close by. I choose to ignore it and focus on the night around me. The air is cold enough that my breath steams, but I cannot feel the chill against my skin. Finding myself enjoying the silence, I look up at the moon shining like a silver coin, surrounded by pieces of glass in the darkness of the sky. I watch the snowflakes fall haphazardly around me, backlit by the light of the moon in an ethereal moment in time. Even I have to admit that it is rather eye-catching.

  “It’s strange to see you admiring something as simple as falling snow.” I tense, not sure why Life has chosen to show himself to me. I figured he was going to continue to lurk about. “If not for her,” he speaks of Iza, and I do not like it, but say nothing, “I’m not sure you’d feel anything emotionally, ever.” This is the point I silently wish for him to shut up. Of course, being the windbag that he is, he continues, “Don’t get me wrong, you had a certain… curiosity, for the things you made, but never any type of attachment. It’s nice to see you love something as much as you love her.” I lower my gaze from the view I was enjoying as he crosses into my line of vision, his hands clasped behind his back. The persona he is wearing is that of a wizened old man with a long white beard. This form is a favorite one of his and complete fiction.

  “I also have to be honest here, the depth of it scares me a little, too. It will make the things to come even harder on her.” He says it with a genial smile on his face, but he is not everything he proclaims himself to be. In this case, he seems to have a soft spot for Iza, which is strange, to say the least, but beneficial to me as well.

  “The prophet has spoken again, brother, and shortly I will come to you and offer my help. Please—for Iza’s sake—accept it.” In a swirl of snow, he is gone, leaving me standing there full of questions and the strong urge to strangle him.

  Something bad is coming. Which he could have simply told me and let me stop it from happening, or at least be more prepared for. Unless telling me will make things worse, something that is entirely possible. I have seen it happen because that is the biggest downside of knowing the future. Messing with it always changes something, something Life does often but carefully. Reluctantly, I admit that he took a risk telling me this much.

  Instead of cursing him in my head, I mull over the brief conversation. He is right, I love her, but it is more than that simple fleeting emotion. I will feel this way for her to infinity. Nothing can stop me from wanting her, being with her. Nothing WILL stop me. He is not wrong. I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. I will destroy anyone and everything if I must.

  Now, I need to find out who is first.

  I za

  I’M NOT the least bit surprised he ran like a chicken and left me to deal with all this emotional stuff. It does help that he checked in on Knox. Even pissed off, for whatever reason—although, I’m starting to doubt I have a legit one—Phobe’s reassurance about Knox took a weight off me that I didn’t know was quite that heavy. He didn’t say that it was zero concern, but the fact that he said anything at all about it makes me have faith that it’s not Knox. Here’s hoping that my faith isn’t misplaced.

  Honestly, I’m not sure how well I’d handle something happening to the little butthead. I was starting to think he was in danger and that I wouldn’t be able to save him. I can’t protect them from some sneaky, possessor type. I have no idea how to fight one of those. I’m not even sure you can when it wears the face of people you love.

  Now, I know Knox is probably not the one being possessed, but I don’t consider him safe, we’re Feyrie—safe isn’t a way of life we understand. In our world, there is always danger lurking about. safety is a luxury that most creatures never experience. I’ll cross my fingers that it’ll be the kind of danger I can see—the kind I can fight—and if I can’t, Phobe can. Well, if he will, he pretty much does what he wants to. I’m not egotistical enough to think I tamed the beast.

  For me, he might fight anything, my gut tells me so. I would for him, and I’m pretty sure we both feel the same way. My stomach contracts with that fuzzy lovey mush crap feeling, my nose wrinkles and nausea temper the initial freak out about it. God, I’ve turned into a sop, but my lips briefly lift into a smile, and I accept it with a mental shrug. I move on simply because it’s the truth and I’m not ashamed of it. A little disgusted with me perhaps, but not ashamed.

  Speaking of the pain in the ass… Phobe knows a lot more than I do, about everything typically. Sometimes it feels like him being a know-it-all pain in the ass is one of his superpowers. There are times he doesn’t like to share until AFTER something happens, or he goes off and takes care of it himself without talking about it at all. I don’t expect him to suddenly be a conversationalist, but I know I wish he’d stop being so… him and tell me shit. It’s hard to deal with things if you have no idea they’re happening.

  Of course, things like what he did with Knox, being the exception. Doing nice things doesn’t come naturally to him, so I can see why he didn’t say anything. It’s also one of the reasons I didn’t tease him about it. Awkwardly patting Mira, who has a death grip on my shirt, I admit—I’m not big on lying, not even to myself—I’m not that great at ‘sharing’ either, but I’m learning, and I’m a hell of a lot better at it than Phobe is.

  Not that it’s enough to brag about to anyone but myself.

  A quick shake of my head brings me out of my somewhat grouchy thoughts, and back to the situation at hand. There is only so much of this I can take, and whether I’m an asshole or not, I’m at my limit. I pat Mira, after wrangling her into bed, with help, and leave her in the capable hands of the women standing around the room with worried looks on their faces.

  Once outside the door, I take several deep breaths of fresh air that aren’t coated in grief and relax a little. It bothers me to see her in pain, and I want to help her, but I don’t know what to do about it. This part of the “normal” grieving process, is foreign to me. The tears and the emotional pain, I can understand—it’s the wailing that makes me at a loss on what to say or how to act, so I let her cry all over me until she wore herself out. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say a single word to her.

  What can I say? Other than, ‘Oh, hey I’ll find those responsible and make a belt for you out of their intestines.’ Picturing it in my head I smile. Yes, I might, in fact, do just that. This is a way I can help. I’ll find out who did this and kill them.

  I don’t feel guilty about being glad that I, finally, get to escape. I did my duty to the best of my ability for her. Now it’s time for me to move forward with other things. Val’s body has been moved, by the Sidhe, to what I’m calling the ‘funeral chamber.’ It sounded a bit less morbid than the morgue, so I went with it. There are ceremonies that some Feyrie practice for their dead, imps are no exception. This will allow her the time to do so. She has a room full of imp women ready to meet her every need, so she can gather her composure and complete the traditions. She’s beside herself, and I get it—mostly, because if I lost the kids or… Phobe—I’m not sure I wouldn’t sound like a dying whale afterward, too, but I tend to handle things a tad different than that. Typically, I go looking for something to kill because that makes me feel better.

  Thinking about killing someone makes my thoughts move, unerringly, onto Jameson. Now that the ridiculous anger banked itself, compliments of a brew that Arista subtly handed me when I asked about dragon heat, I can think more clearly. I completely understand why Phobe doesn’t think that putting any effort into finding Jameson is worth it. A few months ago, I’d have agreed with him, but that was before I came here, because Jameson helps with everything in the Sidhe. The shit-head goes out of his way to help others, too. He’s surprisingly quiet about it, but he does it. This is the only part of his life where he isn’t yelling, ‘hey look at me.’ He’s self-conscious about being helpful, the idiot. It’s applaudable and helps me work on forgiving him, a little anyhow, for tattling to the magistrate like a scared schoolboy.

  I can’t say good things about the rest of the shit he does.

  I mean, come on, he did go chasing some unknown woman’s boobs lik
e a moron. On top of that, he managed to get captured and is being used as bait for in a lame ass trap. When it comes down to it, because of what he does to help those here, he deserves for me to try and find him. Even if I end up choking the life out of his ass for being that dense.

  Phobe appears out of nowhere right in front of me. The only reason I don’t punch him in the face is that he does it so often that I’m used to it.

  Sneaky bastard.

  “You think very loudly when you are upset.”

  “Well, you’re part of the reason I’m upset, so you deserve my loud thoughts.” I start walking, and we fall into step together while passing through the hallways that form, taking us away from the others. The Sidhe is giving us space to talk or argue because my gut is telling me that an argument is coming. Maybe it’s the puckered look of his mouth, the one that says his thoughts are distasteful, or maybe it’s the static aura around him. When he pauses and puts his hands on my upper arms, my stomach churns.

  Fuck.

  “Life stopped by,” he says. Do what? “The Life,” he elaborates. Oh, now I get it.

  “And?” I ask, in an absolute shitty tone. For a split second his eyes brighten, he isn’t happy with it either. I grab hold of the connection between us and watch it, feel it with everything I can.

  Phobe is reluctant to tell me something.

  “He said that we’re going to need his help in the future.” As he speaks his tone warms up.

  “Needing his help is never good.” And it’s not comforting either. Life has a pocket prophet and likes to meddle. Look what he did in my life. “Can’t it change things or whatnot if you fiddle with it?” That’d be just fucking great. We try to stop it and make it worse, whatever it is. Which makes me ask even though I shouldn’t and had managed to avoid asking for the first minute. “What did he say?”

  Phobe’s head twists unnaturally to the side. A peek at how nonhuman his form is, as he studies me in the predatory way he has about him. I’m learning that it usually means he’s gauging my reactions to something, or that he wants to do me. It can go either way. Although right now I’d prefer the do me part.

  “I like that thought,” he comments, stepping closer to me.

  The warmth of him encompasses me like a comfortable blanket, banking the chaos inside of me that’s tearing me apart. Like a greedy bee always in the honey, the familiar smell of him draws me closer to his body. Only he can give me that feeling of safety that all creatures crave but don’t admit to wanting. The softness of his shirt under my cheek is a brief relief as my eyes drift shut. I exhale long and deep, and for this second in time, with his heartbeat a steady drum of comfort in my ear, I completely relax.

  Phobe’s planet-sized presence serves as the world’s greatest dampener. The mess with Jameson and the random deaths are pushed back, but just far enough to give me some breathing room. Leave it to him to know what I need when I don’t even know what I need sometimes. I kind of like it.

  Like most good things in life, the moment of peace is short and sweet. The question that sent me off the mental cliff resurfaces. Why did Life tell us something bad is coming, but not what that bad thing is? Exactly how bad is this supposed future going to be?

  “I am not sure it is something we can change without making it worse.” Phobe’s hand slides up my back to press me more fully against him. “It is a sound assumption that he did not tell me specifically what it is. Because of this fact, I shall be more vigilant, because I think it is all we can do right now.”

  “I feel like there’s a big, fucking conspiracy going on all around me, and I have no idea what the fuck it is or who’s doing it.” My voice is muffled against his shoulder and sounds a bit whiny. I’m completely annoyed with myself for it but can’t seem to stop it from creeping in.

  “There will always be conspiracies when it comes to people of power. That is something you need to accept and get over.” He sounds so fucking matter-of-fact, the jerk. I bite his shoulder and laugh when he tenses in that familiar way that pulls at my gut. Biting isn’t a punishment for my dear Phobe, he loves being bitten or vice versa. Fact is, I like it too… when he does it.

  Instead of giving him the reaction he wants, I say, “You’re always so blunt.” Which I happen to like about him, most of the time. I pause and then say, “you know communication is the key to a good relationship? The magazines and talk shows say so.”

  “Then it is fortunate we are so good at… communicating.” Laughing, I wrap my arms around his waist. Although, he means that in a completely sexual way, it’s the truth in other ways as well. We are good at communicating, too good sometimes.

  “Does this mean you will stop looking for the imp?” At his question, a fresh wave of anger shoots through me all over again. The potion has worn off already. Great, just great. Gritting my teeth, I fight through the almost overwhelming feeling of it, careful to keep my mouth shut. I need to find out why it’s doing this shit.

  “Why?” I get out between my teeth, looking up into his face—seeing dark amusement. He’s completely serious, but he also knew what my reaction would be too.

  “We need to discover the reason for your current issue, Iza because it puts you in danger. That is more important than worrying about an imp who was stupid enough to get himself captured.” He says it so reasonably that it makes me automatically want to agree, but I don’t because he’s wrong. Jameson matters. He might not be someone I love or someone I think about very often, but he matters, and because of that I’ll keep looking.

  “I’m still going to find Jameson,” I say, stepping out of his embrace. “I know you don’t care about anyone, but I do. I have to fucking care because it’s built into my goddamn brain!” Biting down on the stupid words that would’ve followed and been nothing but worthless, mean shit, I grit out, “The problem that’s wrong with me, is my heat cycle.” Turning away from him, I say, “I think you need to stay away from me for a while.” Fighting the temptation to punch him in the face, I stomp off. I know I’m overreacting, but no matter how loudly I yell at myself in my head… I’m still irrationally pissed off at him and the world in general.

  I want to scream, and break things and the Magiks inside of me is damn near encouraging it. I’m acting like a moody teenager. My goal is to find Arista and ask some more questions, maybe get some more of that potion. This is the absolute worst time for this to happen to me! While we were in the room with Mira, Arista calmly told me she smelled it on me and as a female dragon she’d know. It explains all the symptoms. The moodiness, the sudden bursts of anger, and the increase in my already substantial appetite are all warning signs that I should’ve picked up on right away. With everything going on it didn’t enter my foggy brain, and it’s been a while since I had one, years in fact, so I had almost forgotten what it was like.

  My heat times tends to lead to violence, however—the one good thing for everyone around me—it’s short-lived. Five days at the most, but it’s not painless, especially for other people. I don’t bleed like the humans do, I never have, instead I go into a hormonal cycle that’s all dragon. My libido multiplies by two million, and I get a lot more aggressive. Something that would’ve been nice to know about growing up, but the whole suppressed memories thing kept me from knowing what my mother told me as a child.

  I’m incredibly violent when I have it, all female dragons are violent, but I’m more so. My mother told me that when in heat, dragons put out pheromones, to draw members of the opposite sex to them—like any creature that has similar physiology—but they’ll only mate with the one they deem strong enough. Unless they love someone, then there’s no issue about choice, the lover always wins. Mom said you must be the strongest to win the love of a dragon.

  Secretly, I think the being strong bit is for no other reason than to survive the heat cycles, ha. If a female dragon doesn’t want to mate with you, no matter how strong you are—yeah, she’ll kill you. As far as mine goes, I don’t think I put off the pheromones because I’ve never had creatures lining up to mate with me when I hit my heat. They run from me, sure, but running to me? Never.