Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
MOIRA
Afull twenty-four hours had passed, and I was bored out of my gourd. I’d brought snacks, a couple of puzzle books, and my e-reader, but I hadn’t been this alone in years, and the silence was starting to weigh on me.
I wasn’t like Evie. That chick could get buried under twenty thousand pounds of dirt for months, and I don’t think she’d bat an eye.
I liked noise, bustle, music, action. No one had shown up at the Keep.
Thorvin was the type of Lord who preferred solitude, so no one was overly worried about his absence yet.
The screams underground had gone from horror to the occasional shout, to a deep, soul shaking cry. I almost felt bad for the guy. My friend wasn’t vindictive, but if you pushed her past the point of anger into straight outrage, she would find a way to pay your ass back in spades.
When Thorvin came out of this, he would not be the same man. Whether it was for better or worse…only time would tell.
I paced around the clearing, careful to keep clear of the mound Evie had buried herself under and ate a handful of nuts.
I’d rather it was cake, but cake was hard to transport.
I’d brought the necessities—nuts, dried fruits, cookies, and water.
If this went much longer than tomorrow, I’d have to risk breaking into Thorvin’s house to raid his fridge, but the Lord should be out tomorrow, anyway.
He might not be in a sharing mood once Danu was done with him, but I could be very persuasive when necessary.
A branch cracked behind me. I spun, nuts spilling from my fingers.
No one was there. I knew the sound of an animal moving versus the sound of a human. This was no animal.
“I know you’re there. Reveal yourself,” I said, putting as much menace in my tone as I could.
“Or what?” A cultured male voice touched with amusement responded. “Will you throw nuts at me until I beg for mercy?”
I looked at the handful of almonds in my palm and frowned. The voice was familiar and yet…not. Not Caelan or Rowan, definitely not Soren. Thorvin was in the ground, and Ben…no, it wasn’t him either. He had no sense of humor.
“Ethan?”
The Lord appeared from nowhere, making me jerk in surprise. He should not have been able to do that.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you on Thorvin’s land?”
Ethan was one of the Lords I couldn’t get a read on. To everyone else, he was rigid, unfeeling, and too formal. If I hadn’t broken into his Keep and spied on him, I might have thought the same. Standing before me was a carefully crafted persona.
He was handsome as all the Lords were, but Ethan held himself tightly leashed. Violence lurked just underneath the surface. I would know. I saw myself in him.
He was older than the others, though not old.
Shifters were blessed with immortality. Silver edged Ethan’s temples, either as a result of age or a deep trauma his DNA had not healed, something that had permanently altered him.
I suspected the latter. No fine lines or wrinkles marred his handsome features, though the edges of his eyes held the faintest of shadows, as if he used to smile frequently and his skin hadn’t forgotten the memory of his happiness.
Against my better judgment, I wondered what life had done to Ethan to erase his joy.
He was shorter than Caelan and Rowan, but he still hit right at six feet, maybe a touch taller, forcing me to tilt my face up when I looked at him.
Compared to the other Lords, Ethan was smaller, leaner, built for speed rather than brute violence.
His eyes were dark, though I knew they were not brown, more of a midnight blue, reminiscent of a starless night sky.
I found him breathlessly beautiful, and if Evie knew, she would laugh her ass off and beg me not to pursue this madness. Not that I could pursue anything. Ethan stared at me with barely concealed distaste.
To be fair, he looked at most things the way he was looking at me, but I couldn’t fathom how I, a woman who hated just about everything and everyone, could find someone so profoundly stunning only for that person I secretly admired to stare at me like I was moldy leftovers forgotten in the back of the fridge.
He was not the kind of man you slept with and walked away from.
He was the kind who’d burn an image in your mind, one that you saw every time you closed your eyes, whether you wanted to or not.
I’d cursed myself over and over for trespassing on his property and getting a glimpse at his private life. Doing so had made me want things, unattainable things I knew I’d never have. I wasn’t Evie. I was no secret goddess, and my powers weren’t the blessing of life Evie had.
My powers were haunting and varied, and almost always ended in death. And now, thanks to the exposure to fae magic on Caelan’s property, they were even more fucked up than usual.
“A better question,” Ethan drawled after a drawn-out and uncomfortably long silence, “is why you’re here.”
His eyes flicked to the mound I stood by. Realization made him flinch. “Where is Thorvin?”
I crossed my arms and said nothing.
“Moira.”
The way he said my name made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“This does not have to come to violence.” His voice was cajoling, but his dark eyes were flat.
“You suck at charm,” I drawled. “And I am immune. Try another tactic. Let’s see what you got.”
His lips thinned. “If we brawl, you will lose.”
“Ah. So you went for arrogance. A way better performance than when you tried charm.”
He let out a sharp breath of annoyance. “Spending so much time with Evie has sharpened your tongue.”
I laughed. “Other way around, though I have to give you Lords credit. Your shenanigans helped her hone her devastating sarcasm into an art.” I smiled. “Her magic, too. She’s way better at things than she used to be.”
His eyes flickered with annoyance. “Why is she in the ground?”
I gestured. “Have you not seen what your precious Lord allowed to happen to his land?”
Ethan stared at me with those flat eyes. I wondered what would happen if I touched him?
He would kill you.
That voice in my head that never steered me wrong whispered through my mind.
The few times I’d failed to listen to that voice, I’d come close to dying.
Sometimes I thought the voice was mine alone, but there were times in the deep of night when I wondered if something else lived inside my head, something separate from me.
Those nights I got little sleep.
To my surprise, Ethan grunted. “Fool.” He sighed and came closer. “Got any more of those nuts left?”
I blinked at him. “Err. Yes. I have fruit and cookies, too.”
Ethan had not noticed the other mound yet. When he did, I expected our truce to be shattered in a flurry of tooth and claws.
“Cookies?” he questioned.
Did the handsome Lord have a sweet tooth? “Scottish shortbread. I’ve been out here for twenty-four hours and needed something that would hold up.”
“Any preservatives?”
I studied Ethan, biting down a smile. Interesting. “No. I made it. Grass-fed butter, Italian sourced flour, and raw sugar.”
He blinked in surprise. “Then yes, I would be honored if you shared your sustenance with me.”
Good gods. He spoke like an old-timey gentleman sometimes. I fucking knew he’d hold the door open for me if we went on a date.
Shaking my thoughts free of that ridiculous thought—Ethan would never take me out on a date—I opened the cooler and pulled out the vintage metal tin filled with the homemade shortbread and passed it over.
A flash of something burned in Ethan’s eyes as he took the container and opened it. The sweet, buttery smell of shortbread filled the air. A faint tug at the side of Ethan’s mouth made my breath catch.
Note to self. Carry shortbread and homemade, no-preservative cookies everywhere you went, just in case you ran into Ethan.
Be still my beating heart. This dude was a stone-cold fox.
He didn’t even complete the smile, and my lady parts were standing up singing God Bless America at the top of their tiny lungs.
Snap out of it, you stupid bitch, the voice said. Ethan is not the type of man to settle down.
I should know. I’d stalked him relentlessly after returning to Joy Springs.
The handsome bastard had no record of ever having a girlfriend, never been seen on a date, was rarely spotted out anywhere, not even for dinner, had never been married or linked to anyone and was, essentially, a social media and internet ghost.
Maddening, I tell you. It made me itchy and far more curious than I should be.
Ethan reached in and hesitated.
“Take as many as you want,” I said, my voice a little huskier than it should be.
Ethan, even with my permission, showed great restraint, and took three cookies out, carefully replacing the lid after he did. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” I opened the tin back up and took two out. “This is Hazel’s recipe,” I said, wanting to fill the silence. “True Scottish shortbread.” A thought tugged me. “I asked her about adding vanilla, and she smacked me with a wooden spoon.” My lips curved at the memory.
Spending time in Hazel’s cottage had been a breath of fresh air. The woman was a lot of things, but she knew how to make a damned good shortbread.
Ethan said nothing, only put the cookie to his mouth and took a small bite. The flash of his teeth and the crumble of the shortbread into his mouth made me swallow and look away.
Good gods. I needed to find that silent penis sooner rather than later.
But I couldn’t help myself. I looked at him again and saw he’d closed his eyes as he chewed. His throat worked as he swallowed.
Alright. Shit. That made it worse.
Cookies were not supposed to be erotic.
I shoved the entire cookie into my mouth so I couldn’t say anything stupid like, “Take me now, you big handsome powerful beast.”
Seriously. I needed to get a grip.