Entangled secrets, p.14
Entangled Secrets, page 14
Chandler got up from her stool and looked each of them in the eyes, one at a time. “I owe all of you an enormous apology. Sometimes secrets become so ingrained that telling the truth feels impossible. Lies become easier.”
Concern filled Chloe’s eyes. “What is it?”
She swallowed hard. “Aidan does have a brother. Peregrine.”
Devlin gawked at her in disbelief. Through her pregnancy and for the last eight years, Devlin had never once questioned who Peregrine’s father was. But no doubt he’d wondered. “I should have guessed. Evan. The sight.”
“For the love of Hecate.” Chloe shook her head.
Em gasped. “No way.”
“I’m with you there,” Midas said. “How did you and the Vice-Chancellor ever hook up?”
Brooklyn laughed. “I can’t believe it. Evan Lewis is such a fucking snob.”
“We went to Greylock at the same time. A bunch of alumni got together for Beltane. I was a stand-in for the May Queen.”
Brooklyn snorted. “Don’t tell me. He was the Greenwood Lord, of course.”
“Does he know?” Em asked, clearly meaning the Vice-Chancellor, not Peregrine.
“No.” Chandler’s breath came easier now, the weight beginning to lift from her chest as they asked questions and she revealed the story of her and Evan’s night together. How she tried to tell him. How he’d told her to go away and breezed into a sudden marriage. How she told Athena the truth and chose to raise Peregrine as a single mom. She paused, glancing toward where Peregrine slept. Her sleepy little monkey. Her sweetheart.
“So, where do we go from here?” Devlin asked the question she was certain everyone had on their minds.
She pressed a hand over her chest, gathering strength from her dragon’s warmth. “I’m not sure. I want to help Aidan, truly I do—but I can’t put Peregrine at risk.”
“I don’t want to see Peregrine hurt either,” Chloe said. “But this is his brother we’re talking about.”
Chandler met Chloe’s gaze. She hardened her voice. “Tell me you’d risk your own child.”
Chloe’s face went red. She closed her eyes. “I want to say yes. But… Dear Goddess, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure of one thing,” Midas said. “I’d be pissed if some woman had my child and didn’t tell me. Pissed as hell.”
Heat flared up Chandler’s arms. “I tried to tell him. I was young. I was scared… I didn’t want Evan to reject Peregrine. A child’s better off with one loving parent than going through something like that.”
Tension sang in the air. Everyone fell silent.
Then the pad of small footsteps came from the other side of the room divider.
“Mama?” Peregrine walked into the room, and to her horror she realized he hadn’t been asleep the whole time. “Mama, I have a brother?”
She looked down at his upturned face, now only a few feet away from her. Innocent, sweet eyes. “Oh, Peregrine. I—I.”
“I wondered if I had a brother or sister. Lots of fathers have other families. I hoped… We have to help my brother, Mommy.”
She crouched down to his height, eyes dampening as she looked into his. “It’s too dangerous. You could get hurt. I can’t risk it.”
“His name is Aidan?”
“Yes. Aidan.” Tears flooded from her eyes. Aidan. It was so much easier when she didn’t say his name aloud. Just like when she didn’t use or even think his father’s name. Evan Lewis. The May King. The Greenwood Lord. The Vice-Chancellor of the High Council. Special Envoy to the Good Courts. The father of two little boys—one wasting away and another burning with faery sight just like his dad.
“I’m not afraid,” Peregrine said. “I wanna help my brother. I’d like to have a witch-boy for a friend.”
Chapter 17
Pregnant; the word was magic to my ears.
My wife was pregnant with a boy,
a witch-child to carry on my name and blood.
A man can have no greater joy.
—Evan Aidan Lewis
The serenity of the moonlit garden eased the tension from Chandler’s body as she wandered toward the teahouse, ostensibly to check on Lionel. That was her reason to a degree, but mostly she needed time away from the coven to put herself back together.
Careful to not make a sound, she slid the teahouse door open and tiptoed inside. Lionel slept on his side, head bowed and knees slightly bent. She set the bottle of juice and wrapped snacks she’d brought on the floor next to him. Satisfied that he was asleep and not faking it like Peregrine had done, she sat down cross-legged with her back to him, so she could look out at the view of the gardens and meditate on what had happened.
She smiled, wondering if the black dog was looking back at her. She hadn’t heard anything or seen the glow of eyes on her walk from the house. But then again, most likely she wouldn’t have.
Chandler took a deep breath, holding it, before releasing it slowly. Down in the gardens, the moonlight shimmered on the stream and the tips of the cattails that clumped along its edge, sparkling like the bark they’d released for the full moon ritual.
Whichever God or Goddess—or perhaps the Great Fire Salamander himself—who’d been listening that night hadn’t wasted time in calling her out about the word she hadn’t shared or truly released. Guilt. Guilt over not telling her coven family about Evan Lewis. A secret she’d justified keeping even when her soul and heart knew the choice was wrong. Now, she had finally let go of it. That was both freeing and imprisoning.
She closed her eyes. Blocking out the view, she brought to mind the sound of Peregrine’s voice and the words he’d said on their way to perform the full moon ritual. He’d turned around in the pathway, walking backward with a sly grin on his face. “I wouldn’t mind being homeschooled if it was with some other witch-kids. Like boys my age that are getting their powers. We’d have fun doin’ stuff. It would be like going to the Council’s summer camp. They have one, right?”
He’d said a very similar thing in the lounge, when she’d expected him to lash out in anger over her withholding his father’s identity. If the tables had been turned, she wasn’t sure she’d have reacted as selflessly.
“Is that you, Chandler?” Lionel’s voice murmured. It was heavy from sleep, but distinctly more intelligible than when she’d left to go into the house. He wormed out from under the blanket and scooted over to sit beside her. “I thought you’d be home in bed by now.”
His hair was as crazy as ever, pressed flat on one side of his head and poufy on the other. At some point, he must have gotten up long enough to take off his jeans. Now all he wore was a T-shirt and long-underwear bottoms with a small orange design on them.
She blinked and gave the underwear bottoms another look. She bit back a smile. “Are those carrots?”
He grinned proudly. “They certainly are. My mom gave them to me for Easter. That is, my adoptive mom. But you know what I mean.”
“She’s Christian?” Chandler asked. She immediately felt embarrassed. It was an oddly personal question to start a conversation with. Still, she really didn’t have any idea what path Lionel or his family followed. All she knew was that he wasn’t a heritage witch. And that the woman who had adopted him had prayed and left offerings to the Lady of the Lake, Nimue.
“More like my mom loves holidays. Easter. May Day. Memorial Day. Fourth of July. Halloween. Thanksgiving, she’s big on food holidays. December is a month-long celebration—Christmas, Hanukkah, National Cookie Day, Festivus. Gazpacho Day.”
“So, lots of food and gifts?”
“Exactly.”
Chandler lowered her gaze, studying his long hands and fingers as she worked her way past her apprehension. He wasn’t a witch, but he came from a background that was more like hers, in some ways, than any of the coven members’. She steadied her voice. “Now that you’ve had time to think, how do you feel about your mom keeping secrets from you? About her praying to Nimue and you appearing?”
He moved closer to her and draped a comforting arm over her shoulder. His voice hushed. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”
She sighed. “Peregrine just found out who his father is, everyone did. Evan Lewis. The Vice-Chancellor of the High Council…” She told him the entire situation, including about Aiden and the healing spell’s requirement. “Peregrine didn’t react the way I expected. He wasn’t upset with me.”
Lionel massaged her shoulders, slow, supportive strokes. “You think you deserve his anger?”
“It wasn’t fair to keep Peregrine’s father from him. I kept telling myself it was my choice to raise him on my own—and it was.” Despair overwhelmed her. She slumped forward, covering her face with her hands. “I could have tried harder to tell Evan. I should have.”
Lionel bent forward, his voice gentle. “First, you need to stop punishing yourself. The past isn’t the issue right now. The question is, are you going to let Peregrine help his brother? What is your heart saying, is it the right thing to do?”
Yes, it was. In her heart and soul, she was certain of that. “But if anything happened to Peregrine, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
“Then we’ll make sure nothing does.” Lionel took his arm off her shoulder and straightened, sitting up taller. “You asked how I felt about my mom keeping secrets from me. I’m not angry. But I can’t get the other kids out of my mind—the children I was raised with in the fae realm—the dancing children—and the changeling my biological mother raised.” He paused for a moment, quietness settling before he went on. “My adoptive mom loved me. Right or wrong, she would never have hurt me. But those other children—the children tangled up with the fae like I was—I want to know them, help them if I can.”
Chandler took her hands from her face, fisting them until her blunt fingernails pressed into her palms. Who was she to think Lionel and Peregrine’s lack of anger at their mothers was wrong? Who was she to think they should want to punish the offenders, when what they wanted was to help the other victims of the lies? What was wrong with her? You’re a mother, a voice deep inside her heart answered.
“There’s no guarantee the spell will heal Aidan,” she argued weakly. “Plus, we’re hoping no one outside the coven will ever know what we’ve done, including Evan and his wife. That means Peregrine won’t suddenly have a new brother and best friend.”
“Those are things you do need to tell Peregrine.” Lionel touched her chin, turning her face toward him. “You did an amazing job raising Peregrine. He’s smart. He’s happy. He’s not going to suddenly choose his father over you.”
She nodded, admitting to him that was one of her fears, and more importantly, to herself.
His voice hushed even more. “But what about you?”
She sat back, confused. “What do you mean? About me?”
“Are you ready to move into a new future? To let Peregrine make some of the difficult choices himself, and to maybe quit trying so hard to not let anyone else into your heart?”
“Ah—” She blinked at him. And, in the back of her mind the Great Salamander’s words from the night of the vision whispered: “Listen to the quiver of your heart and the shiver of your soul…”
He shifted closer. His hands cupped her face. “You, me—this will be gone in a couple of days, even the memory of it. But you’re a special woman. Don’t close yourself off from me.”
His lips brushed hers, warm and as tender as they had been a few hours ago. She skated her fingertips down his arms, long and lanky, roped with muscle. The kiss deepened, lips opening. He didn’t taste like breath mints, mouthwash, or the last thing he’d drank. He didn’t taste like anything other than himself. A normal man. No pretenses. No secrets or lies.
Heat flushed her skin, enlivening every inch of her. He kissed the pulse point behind her ear, and her nipples and stomach grew taut, aching for more. She wanted him. Wanted him with every ounce of her shivering being.
His lips moved lower, nibbling her neck.
She slid her hands under his T-shirt, exploring his body as his lips returned to hers. She caressed where the triskelion lay against his skin, then followed the runway of curly hair down his chest to his belly. He groaned as her fingers swept his hip bones and started toward his stiffening erection.
Lionel stopped her hand with his. “I wasn’t expecting this. Um—I haven’t been involved with anyone for a while, but I did get tested recently. HIV… the whole nine yards. I want you to feel safe.”
She touched his lip with her finger, silencing him. “Thank you. Same here: clean bill of health.”
“Condoms?” He kissed her finger.
She grimaced. “Not on me.”
His hand teased her wrap pants, feather-stroking along the fabric that hugged her inner thigh. She quivered as his fingertips massaged the sweet spot between her legs. “If you want, we could work around that.”
She wriggled upward against his chest, bringing her mouth back to his.
“I’ll take that as a yes?” he murmured.
She shifted aside. “Yes, if I can use my magic on you. Safe sex, witch style.” As a rule, she hid her magic from normal men, even when she hungered to let go.
“Please,” he moaned. His cock pressed hard against her thigh, more than a little ready. “Chandler, I can’t believe any spell will ever make me forget you.”
She ignored that and stroked her hand down his underwear bottoms. “Maybe we could lose the carrots?”
He wriggled free from them. “Better?”
“Much.” She cupped her hands over his butt, tight and perfect. Little dimples on each cheek.
“Fair is fair.” He undid the ties on her pants and helped her out of them. His hands went to her shirt. “This needs to go.”
He slid her shirt off over her head. She did the same to his. In a second her panties and bra lay on top of the other clothing. Goose bumps rushed across her skin. She took his hand and pulled him laughing and giggling back to his makeshift bed and under the blanket.
She cuddled against him, her toes stroking his shins as they kissed, long and leisurely. Slowly, she drew up her magic. Then she strummed her fingers up his rib cage, releasing a soft wave of energy across his skin.
He sighed. “Dear God, that’s… beyond wonderful.”
She increased the level of magic, circling his pecs with her fingers until the energy whirled, blue and bright against his dark skin. He collapsed onto his back, eyes closing. A moan escaped his lips. She brought her magic up again, this time into her breath as she kissed the same trail her fingers had just traveled.
He rolled over on top of her, caging her body with his. One hand moved down, fingers working their own brand of magic between her legs, arousing and weakening her until she gasped. His mouth found hers, taking in the hot magic of her breath.
Withdrawing quickly from her mouth, he slid down her body. Before she realized what he was doing, she felt the moist warmth of his breath between her legs—and the rush of her own magic, surging across her vulva. Spasms of pleasure rippled, thrusting her unimaginably fast toward a peak, closer and higher… but not quite there, not quite. This was something she’d always wanted to try with her non-witch lovers, letting them use her magic as a tool of pleasure, but she’d never dared reveal her powers. Still, Lionel—crazy, awkward, beautiful Lionel—had thought to do it without prompting.
“What I wouldn’t give for a condom,” he murmured.
She laughed and pulled him back up to her mouth. He took another mouthful of her magic-infused breath. But instead of traveling downward to use it on her body, he exhaled onto his fingers, coating them with ripples of energy. Dear Goddess, just the thought of what he had in mind sent the pulse between her legs spiraling. His thumb massaged her clit. His fingers moved in unison. And she came, unabashedly and more powerfully than she ever had. Still lost in the sensation, she drew her magic into her tattoo sleeves, then released it into her fingers and pleasured him, long and torturously slow until he came in waves equal to her own.
Exhausted, she curled up with her head on his chest.
He stroked his hands down her arms. “You’re so beautiful.”
Beautiful. She smiled, the word settling warm and comfortable inside her like a kitten curling up in front of a fire. He wasn’t saying that to flatter her or because it was expected. He meant it, she knew that down to the very depths of her soul. She closed her eyes, too tired to say anything or to even think as sleep overcame her. A profoundly deep sleep, that led into a dream.
They rise, the dragons from her vision.
One is red. The other gleams white against the backdrop of the fiery dawn.
She pushes Peregrine behind her, hiding him as she backs toward the forest. They’ll be safe there. It was where he was conceived. A special place.
She reaches the edge of the forest, but a wall of magic bars their retreat.
The trees murmur, “No going back, no going back.”
Overhead, lightning explodes. The dragons entangle, fangs sinking into flesh as they battle. Scales fall like rain. Wings rip. Screams echo.
She finds Peregrine’s hand and runs for the shelter of a rowan tree that stands alone out in the open. Not a berry or leaf hangs on its branches. But there is no other refuge.
Peregrine trembles as they crouch. He holds her hand so tight that the ring she wears on her middle finger bites into her flesh. It isn’t one of her moonstone rings. It’s not any ring she’s worn before. But she knows it without looking. It’s the ring Athena wore. The Northern Circle’s signet ring, stolen by Rhianna. It’s on her finger. . . and they’re no longer alone under the rowan tree. All the Circle members are there with them. Everyone ducked down, hands over their heads. Lionel and Gar are there too.
