Chapter 7
Present
Two months in this town, and I realize with a sense of trepidation that I’ve begun to settle in.
I stare at the bags from Bed, Bath, and Bargains, full from another trip to the store. My fourth since Esme showed me the place. Something keeps drawing me back.
I unpack every item but one, keeping it in the small plastic bag and clutching it tight in my hand as I descend the stairs from my apartment and circle around to the entrance of Fresh Feathers.
This isn’t what I came here to do, I remind myself.
I’m supposed to determine if Esme is happy with the life she has. If the sudden reappearance of a dragon mate would be a bad thing.
If I’m honest, I think I know the answer.
She has a thriving business. Friends all over town. Smiles for everyone.
What about love? Does she have that?
It’s the final question. The one I’m too much of a coward to dig into.
When I push open the shop door, I find she has customers. Not wanting to interrupt, I lean back against the far wall, waiting for my harpy to be free. When I pick up the thread of their conversation, my body stiffens.
“When are you going to make an honest man of me, Esme? You’re doing this town a disservice by letting me stay on the market.” A stocky white guy with a flirtatious smile leans on the counter.
I’m about to step forward, make the asshole back the hell off. But then I spy Esme’s affectionate smile, and my heart and feet freeze.
“A disservice? That sounds terrible. You’re saying I’m putting the entire town in danger by not dating you?” From her playful tone, I can tell Esme is enjoying the exchange.
I want to set the man on fire.
“That’s exactly it. I’m a hot commodity. People are fighting in the streets, dueling for the chance to lock down this rockin’ bod.”
“Gods, Owen.” The man’s companion groans. “Can you stop talking about yourself for a single minute so I can pick up my pants?”
The flirter throws his arms in the air. “Help a guy out! You already have a winged woman of your own. Now, it’s time for you to be a literal wingman and help me get mine.” Owen turns back to a grinning Esme, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Seamus is so selfish sometimes.”
“This is why I don’t take you on errands with me,” the taller man grouses.
Owen and Seamus MacNamara. With their names, I remember the two selkies from my childhood, both a few years younger than me.
We never hung in the same circles. But their parents own Float ’N Dive, the water sports shop, and they’re a certain kind of royalty in Folk Haven. One of the founding families.
I think my parents always resented the families that had that claim.
The Blaythorns are rich, but they didn’t build Folk Haven.
As a teenager, I didn’t pay much attention to the politics, so I have no idea if they were spurned in any way, but I do know they showed up at the Antarctic colony with all the pride they knew our name garnered.
Blaythorns were one of the founding families there.
Nothing to be proud of, as far as I could tell. What did they truly build? Witches established the protective barriers. The buildings are crude caves for the most part.
It is basically preserved land. Good fucking job if all you wanted was to protect animals.
But that’s not what dragons are. At least, it’s something I refuse to be anymore.
“Well, despite the very real and serious danger it might put the population in, I can’t help you. My answer remains the same.” Esme reaches out and taps Owen’s nose with a single finger. “Someone already has dibs on my heart. You’re too late.”
Too late.
The words fling through the space, poisonous, deadly daggers.
The final answer to my question.
My cue to leave.
Not yet. Just a little longer, then I’ll go.
As I deal with the agony of my fracturing heart, I don’t hear the rest of their conversation. With my chin tucked to my chest, I don’t even see them leave.
Suddenly, there’s a set of golden eyes glaring into mine.
“Traitor!” Esme jabs me in the chest with a finger, and I wish she’d keep going, digging past my rib cage and tearing out the ravaged organ.
Then, her accusation registers, and I feel my brow furrowing.
“You went to Bed, Bath, and Bargains without me,” she clarifies, eyes dropping to the bag in my hands. “How did you even get there? Bought yourself a car?”
“Xavier took me.” I force the words out, trying to be whatever version of normal I can manage. “Errands.”
“But I’m your B, B, and B buddy.”
That first time we went, she tricked me. I bought my pillows, and she bought everything else in the cart. Then, she carried all the items up to my apartment. Took me that long to realize she’d been shopping for me.
I tried to pay her back, but she ran away before I could get my cash out.
Need to be smarter to get one over on Esme Sharpwing.
We’ve gone to the store together twice since then, and she keeps pulling the same shit, claiming she enjoys shopping for someone else, but she keeps dodging my cash.
To pacify her, I extend the bag. “Got you this.”
They were just setting up their fall display when I arrived at the store, so I’m pretty sure she doesn’t already own it.
Esme’s attempt at a scowl drops away with an excited gasp. She plunges her hand into the bag and comes out with a set of pumpkin-patterned hand towels.
In an unusual shift of personality, Esme doesn’t say anything. She just stares at the silly item, and then her eyes slowly move to my face.
“Terry cloth,” I say by way of explanation.
Something changes in her stare, almost as if she’s in pain, and I panic at the sight. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I have to fix it.
“Sorry.” I reach to take the towels back.
Esme steps away, moving faster than me. “Mine. They’re mine.” She clutches the gift against her chest, the way I wish she’d hold me.
But she never will.
Too late.
My hand falls to my side.
The harpy shakes her head, eyes on the floor, and when she looks my way again, her normal smile is in place. “I love them. These are so cute and soft.” She rubs the towels against her face, and I’m jealous of the material. “They’re perfect. You get an A-plus for gift giving.”
Strolling behind the counter, she tucks them away and comes up with one of her sketchbooks. “How’s your day going? I was working on some designs before the MacNamaras stopped by. Want to see?”
I nod, joining her at the counter. As she flips through the pages and talks about her sketched ideas, I push away the knowledge that I need to leave and try to enjoy this simple moment of just being with her.
The scent of hot flowers fills my lungs, Esme’s sweet voice caresses my ears, and I’m the happiest I’ve been since I was eighteen years old.
“The sirens in particular love this style because the racerback shows off their wing marks. And allows them to fly at a moment’s notice.”
She tilts her sketch pad my way. We stand side by side now, elbows on the counter.
Esme has evolved from the teen with a garage-sale sewing machine to a full-scale designer. Turns out, the dry cleaning is just the storefront and a small part of the business.
“Harpies too?” I ask.
“I mean, it technically works for us.” She fiddles with the corner of the page as she contemplates the drawing. “But wearing a top when we shift is uncomfortable. Because of the feathers. Best to be topless. Or completely naked.”
I must make a noise because her head whips up and a delicious blush infuses her cheeks.
“Sorry! Too much info.” Esme straightens, running an agitated hand through her hair. “If you saw me in my other form, you’d get it.”
I have, and I do. Thinking back on the time when she changed for me, I have to bite my lip to stifle a grunt. Her heather-colored feathers created a soft coat over her skin, covering her nipples but provocative in the way they shaped perfectly to her body.
“Oh goddess, that sounded suggestive.” Esme’s voice is tight. “I-I swear I didn’t mean to, like, proposition you just now.”
Her words have my eyes narrowing, studying her closer. I note again how oddly Esme is acting. Normally, she’s bubbly confidence. But there’s an air of anxiety in her words and jerky movements as she shuffles farther behind the counter and adjusts small items that don’t need to be rearranged.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She freezes in the act of arranging pencils in a cup on the counter.
“Wrong?” she repeats, then covers her face with her hands and groans. “Yes. Something is wrong.”
“What?” Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Maybe that can be my role. I’ll solve all the problems Esme faces. Then, I’ll go when she has no more problems and her life is entirely perfect. “Tell me.”
She drops her hands and stares hard, studying me and no doubt seeing a husk of a man.
With a quick step, she’s next to me, her palms settling overtop one of mine.
It’s all I can do not to drop my head and press my forehead against the back of her hand.
Try to imprint the shape of her bones on my skin.
“The problem is,” she sighs, “I like you, Lee. A lot.”
Her words are lightning, infusing my body with a painful explosion of energy.
“But,” she continues, “I’ve devoted my life to someone else. And I don’t want to betray them. Not that I’m sure I would be. Not by liking you. But I also might … as time goes by … well, anyway, I’m sorry. Just know you’re not doing anything wrong.”
Who are they? I long to growl. Can I kill them?
With the hand that’s not under hers, I rub the bridge of my nose—hard—trying to dispel the fury and lethal rage that someone else has her heart.
“Lee?”
The sudden press of her palm on my chest makes me flinch, causing my thumb to bump my glasses. They slip off my face.
“Oh shoot,” Esme says as the thick spectacles clatter to the floor. “Let me grab those.”
“No. Wait.” I lunge forward the same time Esme bends over, but she’s too fast for me, her strong fingers plucking the lenses up from where they fell.
When she straightens, her body is too close, brushing against mine.
Through my flannel, I feel the soft curves of her breasts, the gentle press of her hip, and the steadying pressure of her hand.
Rage bleeds to desperate wanting. She smells like warmth on the wind, and my throat aches, holding back the groan of longing.
Curse The Winged One’s tricks. I’ve missed you, Esme.
She offers a rueful smile as her eyes meet mine, but the expression falters, as if disconcerted by our proximity.
“Your eyes,” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on mine. “That blue …”
And that’s when I notice the glow on her skin. A reflection from my gaze, shining bright with passion for her. With want and need and love. No spelled lenses to mute the vibrant color and block out the mystical reaction I have in her proximity.
Without the shield of magic-infused glass, I reveal more than my feelings.
With the Blaythorn blue, I’ve revealed myself.
“Lee?” Esme’s golden brows twist with confusion. “Lee …” Understanding dawns in her wide sunshine eyes. “Su-LEE-en? Sulien?”
She remembers.
I knew I wanted to hear my name—my true name—on her lips at least once more. But I didn’t know how much until my entire body shudders with the simple pleasure.
She remembers me.
That single gift, my name spoken in her sweet voice, is more than I let myself hope for. Now—maybe—I can leave Folk Haven. Let her live a happy life with her new love.
“You’re here?” She pants the question, and my brief spike of triumph morphs into concern when I spy the wildness in her gaze.
“Essie—” The nickname slips out.
“You’re here?” Her features sharpen in a flicker, taking on the beautiful angles of a hawk, as she digs her fingers into my beard, searching for the shape of my face. “YOU’RE HERE!”
A harpy’s scream.
The words pierce my skull like needles shoved into my eardrums. Painful. Powerful.
The last thing I hear before the world goes black.