Chapter 4 #3
“Well, the good news tonight is that we still have pie. I think we could all use a slice right about now,” I drawl to break the tension.
My chair scrapes noisily as I scoot back from the table, drawing their attention to me again.
I suppose it’s practice for tomorrow when I’ll be Exhibit A, dissected and analyzed.
Just the thought frays my nerves, so I hustle to the kitchen.
I lean against the counter, just breathing, enjoying these precious seconds alone.
It’s all I can do to pull myself together to get through the rest of the evening.
This may be one of the lowest points in my life, but they don’t need to see it.
As I open a drawer to dig out a pie server and knife, I sense eyes on my back.
Whirling around, my heart drops. Norrell stands in the doorway, taking up most of its space.
Fire and ashes, this male is dogging my footsteps something fierce.
He walks toward the other end of the counter and places a stack of dirty plates next to the sink.
“Much appreciated,” I respond automatically, sounding more stressed than intended. Hoping he’ll go away if I ignore him, I get to work slicing the pie, working carefully on the first piece since it’s always difficult to cut and lift cleanly.
“May we speak for a moment?” he asks in a soft rumble.
“We’ve been speaking all night. Why don’t you take this back to the table with you?” I insist, as I lay the pie slice on a small plate.
“No, Ada, we have not,” he keeps on.
“Well, then I guess there isn’t much to say,” I deflect, though my voice sounds thin as I slide the plate toward him.
“I disagree. There is much that should be said. That should have been said a long time ago,” he persists.
I consciously, carefully, set down the knife as I turn toward him.
I’m trying not to choose violence today.
“Well, you can’t have your pie and eat it too.
So please, take your plate and leave the kitchen.
You may have access to my house, but that doesn’t give you access to me,” I hiss with bared teeth.
My glare should be angrier, but it’s shaped by too much grief.
His body betrays a faint wince, as I’m finally pushed far enough to lash out.
Sadness reflects back at me in his widened eyes. As if he has the right to be.
I sniffle, my emotions coming to the fore. Swiftly turning back to the pie, I continue slicing it in silence as he stands there. Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t dare acknowledge them. Slice by slice, I work my way through the pie until finally he sighs, sounding resigned.
“Mayhap tonight is too soon for the discussion that we need to have. But it is necessary. I know I have made mistakes. I treated you unfairly. But I am not your enemy, Ada,” he attempts to pressure me, still without an apology in those empty words.
“No, I’m not interested. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to deliver these to the rest of my guests,” I answer, voice only wavering a little. I take two plates and walk away.
As I set the plates in front of Cyrinda and Tallie, they both have questions in their eyes, but don’t say anything about Norrell. When I return to the kitchen for the rest of the plates, he’s gone, presumably to his bedroom. Finally. Good riddance.
After everyone has their slice, we dig into our dessert.
“Delicious! Did you make this?” Tallie asks enthusiastically around a bite.
“I’m no expert pie baker. It came from Pearlhouse Pastries. You’ll love it. I’ll take you there this week,” I offer.
She hums her enthusiasm while chewing a bite.
As the five of us eat and talk, Norrell’s absence is the elephant in the room.
But everyone’s tactful enough not to bring it up to me right now.
It’s a welcome reprieve. Tallie, Niven, and I clean up the dining room table and the kitchen after we’re finished.
I run the full dishwasher and leave the remaining dishes soaking in the sink.
My guests aren’t ready to turn in yet, so I suggest that the living room or the back garden would be good places for a nightcap if they’re interested.
While they discuss the merits of each, I drag myself up the stairs.
I’m bone tired, physically and mentally.
It makes me consider whether hosting anyone in my house, Norrell or not, was a terrible idea.
I should have listened to Clancy and Walt.
But as a Mayweather and a town councilwoman, it’s my duty.
Still, I could have left it to someone else who isn’t already an organizer as well as an exhibition wrapped up in one messy, overworked package.
The witch I used to be would have taken it all in stride.
The not-quite-witch I am now can’t keep up with burning the candle at both ends.
Barely mustering the energy to change into pajamas and wipe the makeup off my face, I finally fall into bed, nearly delirious with exhaustion. My last swirling thoughts are of those ice blue eyes, seeing too much. Wanting more than I have to give.
Eighteen Years Ago
In the weeks Norrell and I met in secret at the library, we’ve gradually drawn closer from the opposite ends of the long study table where we started without ever acknowledging it.
Tonight, like usual, he arrives after me.
He likes to challenge me to focus on my own awareness of sound, so much duller than his, so I listen for anything out of the ordinary.
His footsteps aim toward the stacks, far back it seems, to select a very old book, mayhap from the archives, which he was granted special access to support his study of old magick.
They draw closer, louder, swifter, like he’s impatient as he approaches our table.
Tonight, he takes the chair right next to me.
Our shoulders nearly touch. A first. His body heat radiates into mine.
Hot enough to keep him comfortable in Arctic weather.
Every so often he feeds me a tidbit of information like this about himself.
He usually focuses on me, instead. Despite my attempts to draw more out of him, he keeps me at arm’s length, in every sense.
This sudden closeness is an intimacy with him I haven’t yet enjoyed.
Without saying a word, he delicately opens an impressively old tome with a fine touch and flips to a page within.
It’s too dark for me to see the text, and we’re not near enough to a lamp for it to be useful, so I whisper, “Hang a light that’s cozy but bright so all that’s written is in sight.
” A small golden orb appears and floats above us.
Its soft glow gently illuminates us. I didn’t intend for the lighting to add to the romance, but I’m not upset about it.
Norrell turns to me and smiles coyly, a short tusk catching his upper lip. It makes him look incredibly sexy. Butterflies seem to have taken up residence in my stomach, my chest, my head. Everywhere. “Does it have to rhyme?”
Blushing, I pretend there’s something I need to erase in my notebook to give myself an excuse to look away. “No, but I like it. It feels right for my magick.”
“All of your spells are little poems?” he asks quietly, undemanding but curious.
“Speaking them helps set the intention of the magick. The words focus me. Some can just imagine the spell in their head, but I’m not good at that.
Each witch finds their own way to a spell.
That’s just how I find mine,” I answer with a bashful smile, my gaze meeting his bright, watchful eyes again.
He’s shifted in his seat to better face me.
“I never witnessed magick like this until I arrived here. The Malefic Folk are… different. Their magick is unruly and destructive. Meant to harm. Yours… is beautiful. Full of life. Something to be treasured. You are too, Ada. That is how I see you.” His voice is unusually coarse.
My stuttering pulse beats loud in my ears. After so long, building it up in my head, I can hardly believe this is happening. The thrill of the moment almost blanks my mind. “I… I felt connected to you since that first night, and it’s only grown deeper,” I stammer.
He takes my hand from the table, our first physical contact, and brings it to his lips, brushing kisses along my palm and wrist with surprisingly soft lips.
I must be head over heels because I’ve never been so aroused as I am now with this chaste touch.
Warmth pools low in my belly. I exhale, slow and shivery.
Norrell smirks at my reaction, though affection brims in his eyes.
He lifts my hand to place it on his shoulder and then takes my other one and does the same, gently twisting me so I’m also facing him in my seat, embracing him as he leans in closer.
I don’t waste the opportunity to stroke my hands along his arms and up to his shoulders again, running my fingers through the pelt that covers both.
A growl burns in his throat as I grab onto his shoulders, drawing him into me.
His large hands gently hold my face, the pads of his fingers a rougher texture than the rest. My skin tingles beneath as he brushes my hair aside with his claws, runs his thumb along my lips, traces the contours of my face.
A low moan of anticipation escapes me as his palms then settle on my jawline, tilting my head up toward him.
“These nights have come to mean a great deal to me. I have never felt more at peace than I do with you. And you remain in my heart when we are separated, an ember always burning bright. I need more of you, Ada. I need all of you. Open yourself to me,” he purrs as he closes the distance between us.
His lips crush mine, firm and in control.
He nips at my bottom lip with a ticklish scrape of sharp teeth, sending a fresh zing of arousal through me.
As my pleasure hums, his tongue sweeps through to caress mine in alternating shallow and deep strokes, like a hypnotizing dance between us.
His short tusks frame our lips, and he lets out a hungry groan as I glide my tongue along his bottom lip and lick up one of them, making sure to avoid the pointed edge.
It’s like he instinctively knows when my need for him becomes nearly too intense.
He breaks the kiss for only an instant as he drags both of our chairs away from the table.
Lifting me out of my seat, he lays me across his lap with my legs dangling off one arm of the chair.
I wind my arms around his neck to better touch and explore.
His burly body heats me up like a furnace.
The long outline of his arousal, hard and ready, bulges beneath me.
Stars above, he’s big. But he doesn’t pay it any mind.
Instead, he rubs and kneads along my hips, butt, and thighs over my clothes, learning me as he molds me to him tightly.
No part of him I can reach goes untouched or unkissed by me.
His stubbled cheeks, pointed ears, strong jaw.
His chest rumbles as I discover the spots that arouse him most, so I return to them frequently, purposely drawing out those fervid growls that vibrate through me deliciously, heightening my own pleasure.
He’s intrigued by the sensitive skin of my neck behind my ears, where he licks and softly drags his tusks, driving me to gasps and moans.
Our hungry urgency never wanes during our first night as lovers.
Long hours of kissing and caressing, savoring each other, but only that.
He doesn’t take it further, and the way he keeps me on his lap prevents me from doing so either.
Clearly, he is a male who takes his time with everything he does.
It’s still undoubtedly the most erotic night of my life.
Jolting awake, the real world comes rushing back while I still hear Norrell’s deep, sexy rumbling in my ears. I can’t escape him now, not in my house, not even in my dreams. It’s an unwanted reminder that being with him almost felt like a dream. Until it didn’t.
Unable to fall back asleep, I lay in bed until the sky lightens, mulling over how differently my life turned out than I thought it would.
After such a restless night, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in summer I’ll remain composed today as I talk about the fae and my faded magick.
The big group of strangers will expect me to relive every sordid second of that night.
It’s their job, since any tiny detail could be important.
I’ve made peace that rehashing it will be a death by a thousand cuts.
I’ll be bled dry by the time they’re done.
Finally, I peel myself out of bed. While I shower and get ready for the long day ahead, my spirit feels smaller, like a piece of me was left behind yesterday.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror doesn’t show me any clue of what could be wrong.
It’s troubling, but there’s not enough time to dwell on it this morning.
I may as well be dolled up while I have a come-apart in front of the safety council.
I dry my hair, smoothing a cream-based potion through it that adds gentle waves, and then apply makeup, including a spelled mascara that tears won’t run.
I slip on a simple, dark green A-line dress with a fitted bodice that flares at the waist. I pair it with a cream-colored cardigan, pinning one of my mom’s brooches to it.
I want to keep a piece of her with me today.
When I walk into the kitchen, my jaw drops as I see the sink, now empty of dirty dishes.
Checking the cabinets, it seems that someone already washed, dried, and put them away.
The dishwasher is emptied as well. Huh. Someone must have woken up terribly early to do this.
It was incredibly thoughtful. I find myself smiling a little as I start brewing the first batch of coffee for my houseful of guests.