Chapter Six: Melody

 

 

She couldn't sleep.

It wasn't the bed, although given the crowding, she'd had to make do with a cot on the floor of the baby's room. Her twin bed back in her apartment was almost as small. No, this was a different problem, a problem with blue eyes and short, scruffy blond hair; a problem with cheekbones to die for and pecs that made her ache to run her hands over them.

And he wasn't her type at all. He wasn't even remotely her type.

He's our mate, her dragon told her, infuriatingly smug in its certainty. He may not be what we thought we wanted, but he's what we need. That's how it works.

But that's not how I work, she thought miserably, rolling over again and tucking her arm under the pillow.

She'd dreamed of meeting someone she could have long conversations with, about history and philosophy and her favorite plot twists in the latest bestseller. Instead she'd gotten someone who barely knew which end of a book to start reading from, someone whose inner life was no more rich and exciting than his bear's.

That's unfair, her dragon told her snippily.

It was unfair ... but being mated to Gunnar meant spending the rest of her life with him. Every day. Every night. And even if the sex was good—who was she kidding; with a body like his, the sex was going to be great—she couldn't imagine what they'd spend all those evenings talking about. Was her life with a mate going to be exactly like her life before—quiet, lonely evenings spent reading by herself?

She sighed and gave up on sleep. Quietly, she dressed and cracked her door open. The hallway was dark and silent, the door to Derek and Gaby's bedroom shut. She stepped out into the hallway, gasped and stifled a curse as something soft and furry nearly tripped her.

A cat shot past her ankles into the room. Melody glanced back to see a tail vanishing into the warm nest of blankets she'd left behind.

"Don't let Tessa see you or you're going back into cat prison," she whispered.

Prison made her think of Gunnar. She grimaced. Everything made her think of Gunnar right now.

Carrying her shoes, she padded down the hallway and tiptoed down the stairs. She wasn't sure where she wanted to go; a half-formed idea had entered her head, a possibility for one way she might be able to get out of this unresolvable mess with Gunnar, but mostly she just wanted to get away for awhile. It was a dark night, with no moon: a good night for flying.

"Hey there," a quiet voice said out of the darkness in the living room, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

A moment later, her eyes adjusted enough to make out Gunnar sitting on the couch. As far as she could tell, he was just sitting there in the dark.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Melody whispered fiercely. She leaned over to put her shoes on and give herself something to do other than stare at him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. Again."

"Sorry," he said quietly. "Uh ... sorry again, I guess. I didn't realize you didn't know I was there."

Her irritation slipped away in amusement, at herself more than him, and she laughed softly. "I should put a bell on you or something, so I'll always know where you are. You're so quiet. I don't think I've ever met anyone as big as you who can make himself as unobtrusive as you can."

It made her think of herself, actually, though she didn't want to say so. She wasn't big, of course. But she, too, had a way of hiding in a room while still being in plain sight.

Except for that one brief conversation on the couch, they hadn't had a chance for a single private moment during the entire rest of the evening. No opportunities to smooth over the awkwardness; no chance to find out what his big, capable hands felt like on her skin—

No! Stop that!

Gunnar got up off the couch. "It's something you learn," he said quietly. "When you've been—where I was."

"Prison?" she asked.

In the near-darkness, he was nothing but a shape, his blond hair backlit softly by the slight luminescence from the windows. She was acutely aware of him, though—aware of every inch of him. He was still a few feet away, but it seemed as if she could feel the heat of his body from here.

As if nothing separated them but the night. As if she already knew the taste of his skin, the feel of his body against hers—

"I can't pretend it wasn't what it was," he said softly. "That I'm not what I am."

"Neither can I," she said, but she took a step forward. He did, too, as if they were drawn to each other by some magnetism greater than either of them.

It didn't have to matter, she thought. There were other things to do in life than talk about books. Things that needed no words at all ...

But when the dream ended and she woke from the heat of his hands on her skin, woke to find him lying beside her in bed ... what then? An empty life, trapped together, unsuited to each other—like her parents?

Except her parents had not been tied together by a mate bond, so they had been able to walk away.

He started to say something, and then stopped. She reached out a hand, not sure what she was doing or why, and her fingers brushed across his T-shirt-clad chest. She sucked in a breath. He stood still, and then his hand came up to close over hers, gently curling around her fingers.

She'd dreamed, awake or asleep, of what his fingers would feel like on hers. It was just as she'd imagined, and better than she'd hoped. His hands were big, strong, and capable, the fingers rough with calluses as they brushed lightly across the backs of her own.

She stepped forward before she knew what she was doing. Her arm was a livewire and current arced down it, drawing her to crash into him. He lowered his head, in the dark, and their lips found each other's as if meant for it.

His mouth was hot, hungry, wanting. His hand cupped her face, fingers curling into her unbound hair; his other hand still trapped hers against his chest, pressing her palm to his accelerating heartbeat. She gasped against his mouth and wrapped her other arm around his back, pulling him against her, as if they could be made not two bodies, but one.

What am I doing? The thought surfaced from her lust-drunk mind, and she caught her breath, breaking the kiss, and pushed him away.

He stepped back, startled and hurt; she knew it without seeing his face. "Melody?"

"I'm sorry," she gasped. She could still feel his lips on hers. She could taste him. She knew what he tasted like now; she could never forget it. "I'm sorry—I—this was a mistake."

"I'm your mate, Melody," he said. She hadn't realized her hand was still on his chest; she'd used the leverage to push him away, but only as far as the length of her arm. "We're mates. We're meant for each other."

Desire thrummed through her blood. If she gave in now, if she let herself fall against him one more time, she would never get away.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and wrenched her hand away from his chest. Blindly, tripping over furniture, she stumbled to the door and fumbled with the locks until she undid all of them and wrenched it open.

"Melody—" Gunnar began, and the distress in his voice cut her to the bone.

"Don't follow me!" she snapped, because she could hear his steps coming after her. She softened her voice: "Please. I need to be alone for a little while. Please?"

"It might not be safe out there."

He was so close. She dared not look back, not with her arousal still so powerful that it made her limbs shake, made her hardened nipples press against her sensible cotton bra.

"You know what I am." She tried to make her voice hard, but it came out shuddering. She need only turn around, give in to what her body so desperately wanted—No! "Just as I know what you are. You saw my animal when you looked in my eyes. You know, better than anyone, that I need fear nothing when I walk in the forest at night."

But the words, which had always been true, were a hollow lie now. She feared nothing except her own emotions. She feared nothing except her animal's desire to bond her to a man in a union that could bring nothing but pain for both of them.

Her steps were swift, all but running, around the corner of the house and through the meadow grass to the barn.

Gunnar didn't follow, respecting her wishes—whether she wanted him to or not. Mingled relief and disappointment rose in her throat, choking her like unshed tears.

In the stillness of the night, she stood with her hand resting against the rough boards of the barn wall. Her breathing calmed; her racing heart slowed. Her knees no longer trembled.

She still wanted him like a fire inside her.

She also knew that once she had him, there was no going back from that.

Melody shook her head as if to shake off her own thoughts. There might be, just possibly, someone who could help her. Help them, because Gunnar was just as trapped by this unsuitable bonding as she was. It wasn't anyone she would ever have dreamed of talking to about her romantic woes before—but in this particular case, that person might be able to help her when no one else could.

She took off her glasses and tucked them into a pocket of her cardigan, having learned the hard way that while her clothes and anything in the pockets shifted when she did, her glasses and other accessories did not. The night was now an indistinct patchwork of light and dark blurs. She took a few steps away from the barn to give herself room, and shifted.

The blurry world shrank, but didn't get any clearer. She had often considered the possibility of having glasses custom-made in a dragon size, but the idea of how ridiculous it would look, let alone trying to explain to an optometrist why she needed her prescription in bicycle-tire-sized lenses, had always stopped her. Besides, her dragon's sharp sense of smell made up for their mutual lack of vision.

Oh, good, her dragon crooned, spreading great leathery wings. If you're done being stupid about our mate, can we fly now?

We can fly now, yes.

Hunting? the dragon wanted to know.

Not right now. Maybe later. Tonight we're going to see Father.

Oh, that's a long flight. I like that. This will be fun.

Her wings beat downward. It was hard to launch from the ground, much better to jump from a height, but after a few strong beats she lifted off, tucking her legs under her. Relying on the moonless darkness to hide her, she winged her way across the mountains, heading for her father's lair.

Flying across this rough country was faster than driving, with no need to follow the winding roads and highways, but it was still a long flight. Normally she would have welcomed the solitude and the opportunity for mental peace, but tonight her mind was in turmoil. She forced herself to focus on the rush of wind across her wings, the fuzzy haze of the stars above, giving herself over to her dragon's pleasure in simple, physical things. Soon enough, she glided down over the blurry lights of her father's mansion, perched on a clifftop overlooking a secluded valley.

She had worried that everyone would be asleep, but light spilled out onto the lawn. Her father often kept late hours. She landed on the grass and shifted, folding her wings about herself, and restored her glasses to their usual place on her nose. Although it was nice not to have to shift back naked, like non-mythic shifters had to, she felt severely underdressed in her gray cardigan as she mounted the wide marble steps to the front door.

For a long time she had tried to be the daughter her father wanted. She had dressed like a haughty daughter of wealth when she was in his house, even though she felt like a child dressing up in someone else's clothes. And she'd left her glasses at home, even though she was half blind without them and contacts hurt her eyes, because he didn't like seeing her wearing them; he considered it shameful for one of their kind to advertise their weakness in such a fashion.

But these days she had retreated into a sort of pride in the dowdy, librarianish way of dressing that she preferred. She almost enjoyed her father's scathing looks when she came to dinner wearing jeans and a sweater, with her hair in a bun. It wasn't like she was ever going to be the tall, glamorous daughter he'd wanted, so why play the part anymore?

The door opened just as she reached to knock, and her father's manservant Maddox blocked the light, a massive slab of muscle crammed into a suit that always seemed slightly too small, somehow, even though it fit him perfectly. Expensive tailoring couldn't hide the enormous shoulders or the graceful, pantherlike way he moved.

"Your father's in his study," he rumbled, and glided out of the way. "He's expecting you."

"Of course he is," she murmured. It didn't surprise her that she'd been detected on approach. She knew that her father's security system was second to none. It wouldn't even surprise her to learn that some of his technology was military grade.

Maddox didn't bother escorting her; he knew that she knew the way. Her footsteps echoed down long hallways, and ornately decorated doors opened silently at a touch of her hand. Her father's mansion was like a museum, full of the gold and jewels and expensive artwork that he liked to hoard.

She vastly preferred her dusty, cozy apartment full of books.

The door to her father's study was closed. She tapped lightly and waited for his acknowledging "Come in" before entering.

She was privately glad that she hadn't found him in his home office, a vast and austere room with tall windows looking down on the valley. His study was a more intimate space, full of dark wood paneling and old-world charm. A fire crackled in the fireplace (genuine; no gas-grill fakery for Darius Keegan) and the lamps, while electric, simulated the warm glow of old-fashioned lamplight. Her fingers ached to touch the spines of the leatherbound books lining the walls. Darius, with a glass of brandy in his hand, sat in a large leather chair in front of the fire.

"Father—" Melody began, and then stopped. She hadn't expected him to have a guest, so it had taken her a moment to notice the second chair was occupied.

The other man rose quickly, and bowed to take her hand and bring it to his lips. "Miss Keegan."

"Heikon Corcoran," she murmured. She was not overjoyed to see him, though as the heads of other dragon clans went, the lord of the Corcoran clan seemed to be a reasonable sort. It was just difficult to forget that they'd been on opposite sides when she'd met him and the rest of his clan, even though their dispute with her own clan had been resolved through Tessa's intervention.

"I can leave," Heikon said, making another brief bow with courtly old-world grace. He was much older than her father; she'd grown up thinking of Darius as unimaginably old, but Hiekon was one of the truly old dragons, born hundreds of years ago. He was old enough that he genuinely looked old, his hair gone mostly to gray and his face lined, unlike the ageless severity of Darius and most of the other adult dragons she'd met.

"No," Melody said. It occurred to her, given the reason why she'd come, that the wisdom of accumulated centuries might be exactly what she needed. If her father didn't know the answer, she would have had to seek out Heikon later anyway. "I can say what I need to say in front of both of you."

"Drink?" her father asked, pressing a glass into her hand before she had a chance to say yes or not. "It's good to see you, daughter." He reached out fastidiously to flick something off her shoulder. "You appear to have a cat hair on your ... whatever you call that garment you're wearing."

Melody glanced down self-consciously at her shapeless cardigan, then looked more critically at her father's dark velvet jacket. "As do you, Father," she said with a slight smile, and reached out to brush off a handful of orange and white hairs.

"That little pest," Darius remarked in a conversational tone. "I've told it to stop shedding, but will it listen?"

Melody rolled her eyes. She knew her father doted on the kitten Tessa had given him, now grown into a young cat. In fact, there he was, the orange and white tomcat with the undignified name of Toblerone (Tessa had named him; Darius had never bothered to change it). The cat was stretched out on a red velvet pillow in front of the fireplace, a pillow that Melody strongly suspected had been put there for cat-comfort purposes. She could see no other use for it.

But chiseling at the cracks in her father's emotional armor wasn't why she'd come. While she was contemplating her brandy and the cat, Darius had dragged another chair to the little grouping in front of the fireplace, and reluctantly, she sat.

"So tell me of my daughter-in-law and grandbaby," Darius said, smiling with a warmer expression than she was used to seeing on his face. "How is Tessa?"

Nothing about Ben, she couldn't help noticing. Her brother and father had mended fences, more or less, but it still wasn't a close relationship. She knew that Tessa hoped the birth of their child would change that, but Melody privately suspected some wounds were too old and deep to ever truly heal.

"She's fine. Just tired all the time." He hadn't asked about Nils, she noticed, which almost certainly meant Ben and Tessa hadn't told him and therefore didn't want him involved. Having an alpha dragon on their side wasn't a bad idea, but considering what Darius could be like, she hardly blamed them for wanting him to stay out of it. She decided not to break their confidence, for now.

"I recall Esmerelda was the same when she was pregnant with you." Darius smiled in recollection and swirled the brandy in his glass. "So what brings you by?" His voice was casual, as if she'd simply stopped in at a house down the street to bring over a casserole.

"I have a question." She wrapped her hands around her brandy glass and tried not to think of Gunnar's strong arms, the startling softness of his lips on hers ...

After tonight, if she got what she'd come for, it wouldn't matter.

"You know, maybe I should leave," Heikon said, leaning forward in his chair.

"One grows used to awkward questions when one has children," Darius said over the rim of his brandy glass. He looked amused by the rival clanlord's discomfort. "Particularly daughters."

Irritation helped embolden her. "Oh, please, as if I ever brought you my birds-and-bees questions. No, this is ... well, not entirely unrelated, I guess." The thought had now occurred to her that she was about to drop the news on her father that his daughter had found her mate, and it wasn't going to be good news. May as well just rip off the Band-Aid rather than dragging it out. "Dad, is there any way to dissolve a mate bond?"

There was a silence so profound that the crackling of the fire sounded suddenly very loud. Melody tried to distract herself by reaching down to stroke Toblerone's warm fur. She couldn't help noticing that the cat pillow was located at just the perfect angle for Darius, in his chair, to lean down and pet its occupant.

"Why do you want to know?" Darius asked in a very level, very calm voice. Melody looked up and realized that, by leaning down to pet the cat, she'd put herself in a position where she was having to talk to him from the vicinity of his knees. She sat back up so quickly that she nearly spilled her brandy and leaned back in her chair as if she could press herself into the leather and escape the intent stares of the two dragon lords.

"I ... met my mate," she said in a small voice. "And I—it's not—he's not—I don't—"

I don't want to be mated to him, she tried to say, but her treacherous mouth stumbled over the words. Even without her dragon writhing unhappily in her chest, she knew that the words would be a lie. She couldn't stop thinking about his warm hands, his soft lips, and most particularly the hurt confusion in his voice when she'd turned away from him.

But we're terrible for each other, she thought desperately, trying to calm her dragon before her father sensed its agitation. We have nothing in common. We would be miserable. I'm doing this for him. We should both be set free to find other people.

Even to her inner ear, the words rang hollow.

Am I trying to convince my dragon, or myself?

"Don't tell me you've mate-bonded to a human too," her father said heavily. "Ben was bad enough, but I had much higher hopes for you."

Melody was caught off guard by the surge of protective anger rising in her chest, not just her dragon's but her own as well. There is nothing wrong with our mate! her dragon proclaimed.

"He's not a human," she said, hearing the anger in her own voice; her father's eyebrows went up at that. "It's not about what kind of shifter he is."

"Well, that's ominous," Darius said. "What is he? A rabbit? A wombat? An emu?"

Heikon looked like he was struggling very hard to keep his impassive dragon-clanlord mask in place.

"He's a bear, if you must know," she burst out.

Darius relaxed slightly. "Oh, well, that's not so bad, as shifters of the regular animal kingdom go. There's a long tradition of intermarriage between the dragon clans and our fierce forest cousins. Does he come from a good family, at least?"

Now was the time when she should simply tell the truth and forever harden her father's heart against Gunnar, as she was trying to harden her own. His family is the farthest thing from anyone's idea of "good." He's an ex-con, and oh by the way, remember that murderer who tried to kill Derek and Gaby not so long ago? That's his brother.

Instead, she heard herself say, "I don't care about his family. I've never believed that someone's bloodline determines their worth. I just ... I just want to have a choice."

Darius smiled thinly. "A choice, daughter? You speak as if falling in love is like selecting your next book to read. If you're approaching it from that perspective, no wonder you're trying to flee."

"I'm not running away," Melody flared, as her dragon, affronted, spread its wings in her chest.

"Really? And yet," he said mildly over the rim of his glass, "you're here, asking me for paternal advice. I don't even remember the last time that happened."

"I would think you'd be supporting me in this," Melody snapped. "I've heard you say that you're glad you and my mother aren't mated."

"I said that? When did I say that?" Darius asked, his voice turning sharp.

"Er ..." It had been during one of her parents' fights, but she thought it best not to say so, if she wanted him to stay in a good mood. Both her parents, possessing even more than the usual amount of draconic pride, liked to preserve the polite fiction that their relationship had been calm, logical, and involved little emotion on either side, rather than being a stormy, tempestuous love affair that had broken up in the kind of fights that tended to flatten trees.

Anyway, the last she'd heard, her mother was "finding herself" on a luxurious round-the-world cruise and having an excellent time, so it wasn't like Mom was pining away for want of a mate herself.

The pause gave her time to gather her thoughts, but before she could speak, Heikon inserted himself into the conversation. "I might know a way."

Darius shot him an annoyed look. Inside Melody, her dragon cried, No he doesn't! LA LA LA WE'RE NOT LISTENING—

Hush, Melody ordered, to no effect, and tried to tune her creature out.

"Which old wives' tales were you thinking of, precisely?" Darius asked in a cutting tone.

"Concentrated essence of dragonsbane," Heikon said.

Darius stiffened in his chair. Melody was merely confused. "But that's a deadly poison," she said. The deadliest poison known to dragonkind, in fact.

"Not always. In less than lethal doses, it has other properties."

"None of which I wish to inflict upon my daughter." Darius's voice carried a low rumble of draconic anger; the sound of rustling, leathery wings could almost be heard.

"It's not your decision," Melody told him, and Darius gave her a look of profound surprise. She wasn't in the habit of openly defying him; her own boldness startled her. "Go on," she added to Heikon.

The dragon lord steepled his fingers, elbows on his knees. "It is said, of dragonsbane, that it can be administered in a dose that leaves the human alive, but kills the dragon."

Melody sucked in her breath. "We don't want that!" she cried, hearing her dragon's distressed echo beneath her voice.

"I warn you, Heikon," Darius growled. "You are treading dangerously close to the limits of my hospitality."

"And of my patience." Once again Melody was shocked at the boldness she heard in her own voice. It was as if the mate bond had changed her on a deep level. She no longer felt like quite so much of a child in her father's house.

Heikon lifted his hands placatingly. "I meant no offense. Nor did I mean to suggest you should kill your beast; of course not. What I've heard, however, is that this property of dragonsbane can be used in extremely controlled doses to burn away the mate bond."

Melody's dragon was still so agitated in its horror that she had to struggle to control it. The mere mention of dragonsbane had sent it into a frenzy. Darius seemed no less horrified; his face was paler than usual, and she could feel his dragon's anger as he set his brandy glass aside, a heaviness in the air like the charged tension before a storm.

"Rumors and nonsense," he said sharply.

"I've heard of it being done," Heikon said, unruffled. "As an attack, of course, not something that one would choose to do to oneself. This was many years ago, in a rival clan of ours. The mate bond of the clan's alpha pair was severed with dragonsbane by one of their enemies, or so it's said."

"And they were unharmed?" Melody asked. "Their dragon or human side?"

"So far as I know. Of course, I'm not sure if 'unharmed' is precisely the word I would use." His dark eyes were intent on her. "Ending a mate bond is a psychic wound from which few can recover. It should not be done lightly."

"I assure you she is not planning to do it at all," Darius said. "Particularly not with something as dangerous as concentrated dragonsbane. Even touching it can be fatal."

Thank you, father; some sense at last, her dragon declared.

"Do either of you think you could let me speak for myself?" Melody said in profound exasperation.

"I apologize for any distress I've caused either of you," Heikon said. "I was only answering your question."

Darius glared at him before turning his fierce stare on Melody. "I hope you aren't considering this foolishness."

"Where would I even obtain dragonsbane? I haven't the first notion. It comforts me to know that there might be a way. That's all I really wanted, I think." She rose from her chair and set aside her untouched glass of brandy.

"We're not finished here," Darius began.

"Actually, I need to get on the road," Melody said. "Or ... on the wing. Whatever. I'd like to be back before they find out I was gone, or Ben and Tessa will have a fit; they'll probably think someone kidnapped me in the night."

She tried to force herself not to wonder about Gunnar's reaction. Would he worry? Would he think of her at all?

"I would hate to be the cause of unnecessary distress," Darius said dryly. "In that case, please convey my regards to my son's mate." He gave her a sharp look. "I trust you are not contemplating anything foolish."

"Do I have a habit of being foolish, Father?"

"No," Darius said, somewhat to her surprise, "but there's a first time for everything, and love makes people behave irrationally ... or so I hear."

"I'm not in love," she said, causing an anxious, desperate stir of fluttering from the dragon nestled in her chest. She honestly had no idea if it was a lie or not, although the dragon clearly seemed to think so. She had to get out of here; she couldn't keep discussing this with her father. She was too afraid she'd give something away.

"Hmm. In any case, I suppose I will look forward to meeting your mate, daughter." This was said with a grimace of distaste that he didn't bother to hide. "Maddox will see you out."

"I know my way." She dipped her head to Heikon. "Good night."

She walked swiftly through the echoing halls of her father's mansion, and whether it was her dragon's doing or her own, her head was full of Gunnar: the sky blue of his eyes, the taste of his mouth, the way he looked when he smiled.

I just want to have a choice, she'd told her father.

She had spent her life giving in to what other people wanted for her. Now her body itself had betrayed her. Talking to her father had led to the surprising discovery that she wanted Gunnar enough that she was willing to fight for him. But ... was it really so wrong to want an escape hatch in case things went badly?

It's not running away. It's not. It's just ... wanting a choice.

She stopped when she realized where she was. Her wandering feet, as if they knew her mind better than she did, had taken her to the wing of the house where her father's office was.

His office. With his safe. Which she knew the combination to; from her years helping him with the family business, she knew all his passwords and access codes. And she was also familiar with the contents of the safe, including a few vials of something she was pretty sure was dragonsbane.

She let herself into the office. The huge, echoing space was full of shadows, the only illumination coming from the tall windows that appeared as brighter stripes against the gloom. By memory and feel she found her way to the desk and switched on a lamp, then paused when she realized that the large oil painting of her mother that used to cover the safe had been replaced with a large oil painting of her father's cat.

Stay classy, Dad.

She lifted down the painting and set it against the wall. The same combination she'd memorized still worked. She shifted aside papers, boxes of jewels, and gold bars—not her father's entire hoard by any means, just a small and ever-changing part of it that he liked to keep near him—until her fingers closed on a small, rugged plastic case, looking very out of place among the other luxurious items.

Melody flipped it open. Three tiny vials nestled in the foam padding inside. There was a fourth space that was empty. She decided not to wonder what he'd used it for. Instead she took one of the vials very carefully, handling it with her fingertips. It looked so innocuous; tilting it, she saw there were only a few drops of clear liquid inside.

Concentrated essence of dragonsbane.

The idea of carrying it around in her pocket made her nervous. She wasn't sure if it could be absorbed through the skin, but she didn't want to take a chance, not just on her own behalf but also because of Ben, and because of Tessa's baby. How much dragon heritage did it take before a person was susceptible to dragonsbane? She wasn't going to use her loved ones as a test case. Instead she looked around for something to carry it in.

"Aha." In the top of one of the boxes of treasures, she caught sight of a locket on a golden chain. It was heart-shaped and crusted with diamonds, not something she'd dream of wearing normally, but for a hiding place for poison, it would do. The vial just fit inside, snugly enough that it was unlikely to roll around and break.

She fastened the gold chain around her neck and tucked the locket inside her sweater like the dirty secret that it was.

Insurance, she told herself, as her stomach knotted into a guilty ball. That's all it is. A way out, for both of us, in case things don't work out.

There was no guarantee she could get any later, she reminded herself as she put everything back, as close to how she'd found it as possible. If her dad realized that she knew about the poison in the safe, or even had thought of it as a possibility, he'd change the combination or hide it elsewhere.

I need this for you, Gunnar. For us.

So why did she feel so painfully, desperately ashamed?