Seven devils, p.3
Seven Devils, page 3
My stomach flipped. “I’d rather be the one in the bed.”
“But you’re not. And right now you’re doing exactly what she needs. You’re here.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to grab some food. I’ll take the night shift.”
He always took the night shift. And the day shift. Any time he possibly could. I swear if Vic could sweep Wils away to a castle in the sky to keep her safe, he would. I envied his certainty. It was like when looked at Wils he saw forever. They barely knew each other, but it didn’t matter.
It was that certainty that helped me know that Vic was a good guy. He was evidence they existed. Maybe they were rare, but I couldn’t deny that at least a few qualified.
I sat with Wils for an hour, reading her a book from the bookshelf. When Vic returned, hair wet and in fresh clothes, I said goodnight.
“Seamus is cooking a feast,” Vic warned. “I hope you like fajitas.”
My stomach growled. “I love fajitas.” I watched as Vic checked over Wils, giving her hand a squeeze. He was gentle. Kind.
Was Seamus? “Hey Vic?”
“Yeah?”
“Seamus. What’s he like?”
Vic’s gaze snapped to mine and he frowned. “He’s my best friend. He always has my back. I trust him more than I trust anyone. Why?”
I shrugged. “I need to make new friends.”
Vic’s gaze softened. “I don’t mind sharing him. He’s a good friend. We could all use good friends right now.”
Wasn’t that the truth? “Good night, Vic.”
“Night, Fig.”
I heard the sizzling at the same time a delicious aroma hit my nose. My mouth instantly watered and my stomach growled again. I was prepared for the food. What I wasn’t prepared for was how good Seamus looked commanding a kitchen. He had a towel slung over one shoulder, a sharp knife in his hands, and fierce concentration as he sliced peppers and onions. Jazz played in the background.
His head popped up and he smiled. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” For the man and the food, apparently. I hadn’t been this attracted to a guy in…maybe ever? Terrifying.
“Margarita?” He pointed to a pitcher on my side of the counter.
“Perfect!” I poured a glass and gulped down half of it. What was wrong with me? I didn’t lust after guys. Flirt? Of course. Feel attraction. Absolutely. But that wasn’t what was happening. This was an all-consuming, head-to-toe need. My body hummed. It wanted his eyes, his hands, his mouth.
I shook my head, trying to get it working again.
“You all right?”
I slid onto a stool and kept sipping, but slower. “No nicknames?”
His eyebrow popped up. “You don’t like my nicknames. We’re starting over, remember?”
“I liked some of them.” My cheeks felt hot. Oh god. Was I blushing?
He set the knife aside and leaned forward. “Which ones?”
Definitely blushing. This was so embarrassing. “Uh, the nice ones?” I’d give anything for a cold pack for my cheeks.
He grinned, his eyes even sparkled. “They were all nice, sweetheart. You just took them the wrong way.”
“Not sweetheart. Sounds weird.”
That only made him grin more. “Okay, angel face. Whatever you want.”
“I do not have the face of an angel.”
His gaze swept over me, then he turned with the cutting board and dumped the vegetables into the sizzling skillet while he hummed something that didn’t go with the music.
Interesting.
He didn’t argue with me. He also didn’t agree. What did that mean? Or was I confusing him because I said I liked the nicknames and then immediately shot down the first two out of his mouth?
Gah! I was confusing! He probably didn’t even like me. I was just so attracted to him that I was making something out of nothing. I needed to change the subject. “Do you cook a lot?”
“Sometimes. When we’re here, Vic and I will split the cooking.” He pointed the tongs at me. “Do not ever eat anything Kirk cooks. It’s not worth it.”
I laughed. “Got it. No Kirk cooking. Where else do you go that you don’t cook?”
“Blood Falls—House of Wren. My cousins love to cook. There’s just no room. Besides, it’s all amazing. Might as well enjoy their hard work and relax.”
“How often are you at House of Wren?” The words still tangled on my tongue. All these Houses and the weird samhain terms tripped me up. It sounded like I was in a Harry Potter movie.
He moved the vegetables around and added another pat of butter. “Not often. But with the Shadow torn up, probably a lot more.”
After Kirk and Wils healed up. “What is the House of Wren like?”
“It’s just up the mountains that way.” He waved, but the direction meant nothing to me in this windowless monstrosity. “It’s quiet. There’s always a breeze. The view is phenomenal. The falls are incredible.”
“Falls? Like waterfalls?”
“Yep. Blood Falls. You’ll never see anything else like it. My cabin catches a bit of a view of the top where it turns blood red.”
“What?” Blood red water?
He chuckled. “It’s a trick of the light and the stone of the mountain. Makes the falls look red most of the day, but at a particular time in the morning and the evening, they’re blood red.”
“Incredible.”
“The House is made of wood. It’s pretty big. No one’s really living in it full time right now, except maybe Bo. He’s the new Head of House. Dray lives up the mountain with Rhysa.”
I knew these names because Vic left us Rhysa’s journal to study while we were alone with nothing but questions. Dray used to be the Head of the House of Wren. Rhysa was his partner. She thought she was human until a few months before the Convergence. Like us. Except she was full-blooded samhain. Wils and I were only a quarter.
Her journal was pretty much our only insight into our new lives until now. With the Convergence at an end we could finally come out of the Shadow.
Where would we live? We couldn’t go back to our old lives.
“What’s wrong?” He leaned on the counter again, a frown pulling his whole face down. Seamus looked like he was ready to punch whoever upset me.
Only there was no one to punch. “It’s nothing. It just sank in that Wils and I are homeless.”
The frown vanished. “You have a home. You just don’t know where it is yet.”
“I guess we’ll stay here for a while.”
“No you won’t. As soon as Wils is up and running we’ll head back to Blood Falls. You can stay there as long as you like. Or go to House of Gatlin. Meet your samhain family.” By the look on his face, Seamus didn’t like the second option. “You have a home, Fig. I promise.” Then he pushed away, stirred the skillet and declared dinner ready.
He set the skillet on the coffee table. We arranged a little picnic around it, trading tortillas, guacamole, and toppings. It was easy to laugh with Seamus. He didn’t guard his thoughts or feelings. Maybe that was what threw me so much at first. His bald honesty was a lot to handle.
But I was starting to see the benefits of it. Was it raw? Yeah. Could some of it be delivered better? For sure. But he said what he thought. He didn’t lie or try to say what he thought I wanted to hear. What he said was what he felt.
We were good and drunk—or at least I was—and oh, so full of delicious food. I lazed against the couch. “What do you want, Seamus?”
“That’s a broad question. What do I want right now? Tomorrow? For breakfast?”
I giggled. The sound was bizarre but definitely mine. “Everybody has a dream,” I sighed. “Something that they want, but think maybe it’s not in the cards. What’s yours?”
“That’s a pretty personal question, Ms. Figueroa. Can I trust you?” He nudged me with his giant foot.
There was that look again. “You don’t like my name.”
He blinked, his head slowly dropping to one side. “No. I like your name.”
“Everytime you say Fig you get this look. Just now you used my last name and you still got that look.”
His eyes unfocused. “I like your name just fine. I just…I don’t think it fits you.” His gaze cleared, boring into me.
I gulped. “What fits me?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze lingered, held, swept inside me like a fire. Then he blinked and shook his head. “We should probably clean up dinner.”
Seamus liked me. I was sure of it. That look was too intense, too heated to be anything else. And that made my heart skip several beats.
The room tilted a little as I brought dishes to the sink.
Then two big hands grabbed my waist and set me on the counter. “Why don’t you let me do the cleaning, princess? Can’t have you getting hurt next.”
He lifted me like I was nothing, moving with unusual grace for such a large man. But he seemed quite comfortable in his body, knew exactly how it worked. He wasn’t clumsy or bulky. If ballerinas came in six-foot-giant size Seamus would be in the running.
The dishes were cleaned, the skillet left to soak, and then he turned to me. “A family.”
My head was still buzzing. Maybe I misheard him. “Excuse me?”
He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You asked me what I want. It’s a family.”
Where were his parents? What happened to them? Why did Seamus end up with Kirk in this bizarre mountain home?
His chin rose, almost defiantly, but more like armor. “My family is shit, Fig. But I know families can be great. I’ve seen it. I want that. Life didn’t give it to me, so I’ll make it for myself.”
I pictured Seamus with a miniature version of himself and almost swooned. He would be such a hot dad. “Then I know you’ll get it.”
His shoulders relaxed, like my support mattered to him. “What’s yours?”
There were some obvious, big ones. I wanted to matter, to make a difference. “That’s a very personal question, Mr. Tall Beard.” I teased instead.
That brought out the slightest of smiles. Could we do this? Tease without drawing blood. Joke without being cruel. I hoped we could because this was nice. Better than nice. It felt real. Special.
Could I tell this virtual stranger something I hadn’t even told my best friend? My mouth opened, ready to confess, and then froze as a different voice echoed down the hallway.
“Help!” The strangled cry came from Kirk.
Seamus’ eyes bulged and then he sprang into action, my answer left hanging unspoken in the air. I slid off the counter and hurried after him. If Kirk needed help then Seamus would need another set of hands.
CHAPTER 4
Seamus
The Underground
Now
The door opened and Rever walked out. “Seamus.” He nodded once.
“Rever.” I nodded back, my gaze searching the room behind him. Florence was there, thank fuck. It would be just like her to vanish, to put as much space between us as possible. But she hadn’t. It was a lifeline.
And that scared the fuck out of me. Something was very, very wrong if she was playing nice.
She shot me a glare. “You’re still here.” She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“Of course I’m still here. You’re in the Underground.” Like I would leave her alone in this place.
“Yes, I’m in the Underground.” She yanked her hands out of her pockets and waved them through the air. “And no one has tried to murder me.”
“Yet.”
Another glare. “I’m serious, Florence. This place is hell. You are in danger just being here.”
“I’m in danger everywhere,” she snapped.
I jerked back, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” She tried to dart around me. Which was laughable. I was over a foot taller than her and at least twice as wide. There was no getting around me.
“Move Seamus!”
“Nope. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Look, I did you the courtesy of not sliding home before Rever opened the door. I hate you but I’m not cruel. You can see that I’m alive and well. Now let me go home.”
I jerked back like she slapped me. I hate you. For fucks sake. When did we go from frustration to hate? She wouldn’t like it, but I put my hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, mostly to keep me from hitting the damn floor.
I hate you. Once upon a time I thought we’d be together forever. Her kisses were burned permanently into my memory. The way her body fit against mine still fueled my fantasies. I knew from the first time she set her jaw and glared at me that she was the one.
No one bothered to fight me. They let me have my way or they avoided me.
Not Florence. She always stood toe-to-toe with me, all fire and passion. It was sexy as hell.
But now she hated me?
“Are you all right?” Her glare softened to concern as she stared up at me.
“You hate me?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Did I say that?”
“I hate you but I’m not cruel. That’s what you said.”
Her cheeks pinkened a little. “I want to strangle you. I don’t want to see you. But I don’t hate you. Not really.”
The red began to clear, and I took a full breath. It wasn’t too late. We could still fix this. Fix us. “Why are you here, Florence?”
Her lips pinched.
“You could meet Rever anywhere. You arrived separately, but so you were seen, who do you want to know you’re meeting with Rever?” It certainly wasn’t me.
She didn’t shrink out of my grasp or push me away. Instead she chewed on her lower lip while she debated something. I fucking hated that. No matter what she thought of me as a partner, she should always know I was trustworthy. Especially with her safety. I’d been her goddamned bodyguard for fuck’s sake. “Florence, you’re killing me.” She sighed and glanced past me at the open door. I kicked it closed without looking back. “Talk.”
Her eyes flared with that all too familiar frustration. “You are such an ass.”
“And you’re the most stubborn person alive.” We were fire and more fire. Some people might think that was a terrible combination, but I knew for a fact that it was perfect. Maybe couples should balance each other out. Maybe relationships should be calm and smooth.
That sounded fucking boring to me. I wanted—no, needed—passion. Florence had it in spades.
“Your hero complex leaves little room for me to be anything but stubborn.”
As usual, we fed off each other. One insult led to another until we were both lashing out. Fine. I let her go and paced to the corner of the room, running my hand through my hair so I didn’t let another insult fly. “One last time, pixie. I do not have a hero complex. And I swear to the Plane itself if you say it one more time—”
She put up a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “Fine. You don’t have a hero complex. You have an inability to let me do anything without you.”
On that, she was finally correct. No one else could be trusted. Not even Rever. Fuck, not even Vic, but he was the only acceptable second. As much as everyone desperately wanted the world to be a safe place, it wasn’t. Not even close. “What the hell is going on?”
Taking my cue, she paced to the other side of the room, arms crossed, still chewing on that delicate lip of hers. If she wasn’t careful she’d draw blood.
And then we’d both be fucked.
Her dark hair swished down her back, her jeans clung to her hips like they’d been molded there, and her shirt wasn’t much different. I was hanging by a thread as it was. I could rip that shirt in two and then slide my hands…
She turned and faced me, looking me straight in the eye. “We have a problem.” That was all she said. No details.
The word problem was all I needed to bring my focus back. If there was a problem, I would fix it. But I needed details. “Okay…”
She blanched, then whispered so quietly I barely heard her. “The House of Gatlin has a problem.”
Her House. The one she’d moved to after our epic fight two years ago. The one that should have ended in bed but instead blew us so far apart we hadn’t spoken in two years. Not without a lot of witnesses.
She could have stayed at the House of Wren. It was where her best friend and cousin lived. Wils missed her as much as I did. The guilt I felt for driving her away when all I’d wanted was to close the gap was immense. “I don’t follow.”
Her eyes darted to the door then back to me. “We have a problem at the House of Gatlin,” she repeated like she couldn’t believe it. Like saying more would somehow change it.
I hadn’t heard shit about trouble at House of Gatlin, not that the Houses aired their dirty laundry for the other Houses to see, but I hadn’t heard a whisper of a problem, let alone at any other House. I took a tentative step closer. When she didn’t scream I took another and another until I was within touching distance. Florence responded to touch more than words. “What kind of problem?”
She blinked a dozen times, the muscles of her neck twitching as she tried to hold back a wall of emotions. I had purposely blocked her off because knowing what she was feeling usually led to me crossing a line Florence found unforgivable, but since she was struggling to explain, I let the block down.
Her emotions slammed into me.
Fuck me. She was terrified. Jumpy wasn’t half of it. She was on full alert, expecting danger from every damned corner. I wanted to fold my body around hers, hold her tight and tell her I wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt her, but she wouldn’t let me. Hell, she’d run the minute she realized I knew what she was feeling.
So I played dumb. “Florence? If something is happening, you need to tell me. House politics be damned. They don’t belong in the Underground.” Hell, the only thing that belonged in the Underground was desire. There were no House boundaries, no political affiliations, no rules, really.
Her lower lip trembled. “Don’t I know it. Seamus, this is so fucked up.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead, trying—and failing—to get a grip on herself. Then her hand dropped, and she looked up into my eyes, giving me her trust again.
