Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
I sit in a comfortable chair positioned so my back is against the wall.
The café is unusual and one of my favourite places to visit.
They sell the most amazing selection of cakes.
I tilt my head to study the ceiling, where a pink-blossomed tree branch spans the space with dangling fairy lights.
The clatter of dishes and clink of spoons is a gentle background hum.
I’ve shifted into Christine, a human with some fae DNA. Christine is in her early sixties. With a blonde bob, bright-blue eyes, and curvy, she is the quintessential elegant English lady. Pretty, but forgettable. Safe.
I pour more tea into my cup and take a sip.
When I set my cup back down with a clink on the matching saucer, my hand drifts across the table to trace the upside-down indentation of a name…
Liz has been gouged into the table. I shake my head at the vandalism.
I curl my hands back around my cup, enjoying the warmth of the porcelain, and I lean forward so the steam that rises from my tea warms my face.
At first I feel him. His energy drifts into my consciousness and tickles against my senses. Instantly it warms me and makes me feel safe.
I lift my head and watch out the window as he approaches. He steps lightly, his strides sure and unhurried, an apex predator on the prowl. Predatory yet irresistible.
He is hunting me.
People on the street shy away from him. Wow, he’d be great at a concert or out shopping. He parts the hordes of people faster than…well, people can’t get away from him fast enough. He screams danger.
His dark suit fits him like a glove, from broad shoulders and powerful chest to flat stomach and long legs.
Breathtaking. I have to force myself to breathe.
Huh, a visit from the hellhound—a suited and booted hellhound, no less. I sit up as I watch him, happy and kind of smug with the knowledge that, like everyone else, he won’t recognise me. He opens the door to the café and the bell above it jingles.
I blink when his green gaze immediately locks onto me.
Me. Elegant, Christine-lady me.
John’s gaze flicks up to my eyes, down again, then back up. Not good. He grins, and my heart stops for a beat.
He is almost embarrassingly handsome. Beautiful.
I greet him with a low groan when he prowls to my table.
“No matter what face you wear, I will always know it’s you,” he says.
My heart misses another beat. “You can change everything about yourself but you can’t change your soul, and mine will always recognise yours in an instant.
” There is a hint of sweetness in his eyes.
Wow. I wiggle in my chair.
“May I sit?” I nod and he pulls out the chair opposite me and folds his bulk into it, dwarfing the table.
The people around us have gone quiet—they know that there is a predator in the room.
I flick my eyes to the closest table, and a red-haired witch has a cup halfway to her mouth.
Her cheeks go pink and she looks away when she realises I’ve noticed her watching.
I can’t help but grin as she fans her face.
I look back at John. “How are you feeling? Back to normal, I hope?” I rescued him, healed him, made sure he was safe, and then I ran.
I mean, bloody hell; they had pinned the guy to a wall with silver. I figured he needed to get his head around his near-death experience, and he didn’t need me throwing myself at him and declaring my undying love. I have to be honest with myself: I’ve not been the easiest woman to deal with.
My eyes take in every inch of skin that I can see.
Shifters’ wounds made from silver never fully heal, even after they shift.
Silver scars shifters…it scars them horribly.
But I’m happy to see there are no visible marks on John’s skin.
My magic must have destroyed the silver down to its very molecules.
I can’t help my smug grin, and I give my magic a mental pat on the head.
“I am fine, thanks to you. That was my first experience of being rescued.” John runs his hand through his short hair and gives me a rueful grin.
I can’t help but grin back at him. I lean across the table and pat his big hand. “You did so good, you didn’t cry once. You were very brave.” I nod my head condescendingly.
I feel safe in John’s company, and silly keeping my Christine persona, so I shift back into myself with a bright smile.
John’s rueful grin fades as he fixates on my mouth and eyes. I guess I don’t smile at him often. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve smiled at the hellhound very much at all.
He looks shell-shocked.
I duck my head and look at my hand, which is still resting on top of his.
“I had you in my arms and I lost you. I was so angry, for years. I’ve blamed myself, blamed you. I never took the time to go deeper,” he says. I lift my head and he shrugs his massive shoulders and regards me with solemn green eyes.
“I’m just a man…I know war. Every day is a battle, and any softness I possessed was beaten out of me a long time ago.
I came from a time when men didn’t show their feelings, and that’s something that I’ve never attempted to change, until now.
The mistakes I’ve made…I can’t change them.
Shit, how I want to go back and change them.
“From the moment we first met, I should have taken you and my sister and run. I should have done my job as a brother…and as a mate.” He swallows and his beautiful eyes shine with pain.
“I can’t take back those moments, and the decisions I made haunt me.
But I can try my best to never let you down, to never frighten you.
I can do better. I know what you’ve been doing: helping others, saving people from evil bastards like me.
I don’t want to be the monster under your bed, Emma.
My soul is lost without you. You are everything good and right and beautiful in my world.
I don’t exist without you. I’m half a man without you.
Emma, give me a chance—one chance is all I’m asking.
You help others; save me…save me from myself, I’m begging you.
Bring the softness back into my life. I’m asking for one chance to let me prove myself to you. I love you.”
Fire flares in his eyes and they burn, lighting up our corner of the room. Chairs scrape on the floor and utensils and cups clatter around us as the surrounding tables’ occupants suddenly find that they have somewhere else to be.
I barely notice—I’m sure I will be mortified later. But at the moment, I can’t take my eyes away from his. The fire in his eyes, it isn’t rage or lust. It is more than lust, more than need. Nobody has ever looked at me like that.
Love.
He loves me.
I rise from my chair, step around the table, and reach over. My hand hits his chest. His skin underneath his suit is burning hot; his muscles tense underneath my fingertips. I grab his tie and pull him towards me.
I slam my lips against his.
I gasp as his mouth seals mine, stealing my breath.
John stands and pulls me towards him, my breasts mashing against his sculptured chest. The heat of his powerful body burns me.
He moves both of my hands into one of his and wraps my hair around his fist and claims my mouth.
The taste of him floods me and my senses go haywire—it’s almost overwhelming.
I want to run my hands across his skin, but he holds them tight, trapped behind my back.
When some brave soul whistles, we slowly pull apart.
I lick my swollen lips and drown in his now-beautiful green eyes.
“I love you too,” I tell him.
Gosh, I have so much to tell him. We have so much to sort out, so much to make up for. But I know, I know deep inside, soul-deep, that we are going to be okay. Together.
I grab hold of John’s hand and lead him towards the nearest doorway. I’m taking my hellhound home.