Chapter 21
Genevieve carried two large mugs outside and sat down beside Finn’s statue while she waited for him to transform. She sipped her coffee and studied the statue’s face. It hadn’t changed at all, but the live creature had. His ears were becoming more human. His brow ridge was less exaggerated.
He was going to be upset when he saw she hadn’t tried working on the nail again today.
In fact she’d gotten precious little work done at all because she’d been busy stewing about him. Especially about her response to him.
She should never have acknowledged it. Should never have encouraged his advances. It only put more pressure on Finn to solve the problem, and it tempted him with something they might never have together.
She’d been celibate for two years. Maybe she was just sexually frustrated.
How could she want him when he looked like a…a monster?
Because she’d seen what he looked like before he became the creature. That image was firmly implanted in her head. And her heart. It was like looking at a burn victim. She saw past the disfigurement to what was supposed to be. But this was much worse.
She felt Finn’s transition before she saw it. Heat wafted off him, and the stone began to shimmer and take on a more pliant texture. She stumbled to her feet, uncertain about being so close to him when it happened.
When he staggered to his feet, she took another involuntary step back, trying to ignore the response she had to the sight of his broad, muscular chest and taut abdomen.
He was so…virile…standing naked before her.
* * *
He had waited for her, making an effort to prepare himself for the pain while she worked on the nails while he was trapped in the stone…but she never came. He didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. “Why did ye not try t’carve away some more?”
“Would you get dressed before we discuss this?” She handed him the sweatpants and wandered to the edge of the patio with her cup.
He studied her back. She could try to hide her response to him, but he could sense the heavy beat of her heart and smell the changing scent of her arousal. Having her this close after a few nights without her only made his need sharper.
“I poured you a cup of coffee. But I put some water on the table too.”
He pulled on the pants, but was more interested in the water than the coffee. The long hours of being confined to the stone made him nearly mad with thirst. He took several long gulps of water, and used the back of his hand to wipe away the drop or two that ran down his chin. He brought the glass, which was sweating with moisture in the warm evening, when he went to stand beside her.
“Miranda thinks that if I do anything more to change your statue, there could be worse repercussions. She wants to try a magical solution before we carve anything else away.”
So there was a reason behind her hesitancy to cutting into him when he was in his stone form, other than her fear of causing him pain. “What sort of backlash?”
“I’m not sure. But your foot isn’t healing, and that was just after very shallow changes to a nail that normally can be trimmed without danger or pain. I think it’s proof enough we shouldn’t attempt anything more.”
’Twas true. His toe throbbed like a heartbeat and had begun to fester. He moved to the cabinet and removed the peroxide and salve she’d given him to treat the wound, then moved to the edge of the patio and knelt to pour some of the liquid over the injury. It burned and sizzled when it hit the wound, and bubbled madly. He doused the wound twice more before patting it dry and putting the antibiotic salve on it.
“She and Juliet are cautious.” Genevieve said as he sat on the concrete bench. She handed him his glass of water. “They’re flying blind regarding the magic around you, Finn. They’ve never seen anything like it.”
He nodded. “Cinead was an evil bastard.” He focused his attention on the cubes of ice floating in the glass. It was hard to trust the witches. He did not know them. “Are ye sure they intend to help me? Or are they stallin’, hopin’ I’ll give up?”
“They’re not stalling, Fin. She’s worried your magic might rub off on me if I disturb your shape any more.”
God’s blood, why had he not thought of that? “’Twouldna be what I would wish for ye, Genevieve. Or anyone else.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Miranda and Juliet need help with the magic, Finn. They have several friends, fellow witches, they’d like to bring on board to boost the power of the spell they’re formulating. But the more people who know about you, the greater the danger that others will find out about you.”
He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t exactly been hiding away when he prowled above the town and climbed about the rooftops every night. He knew it was partly because he was tired of hiding. Tired of being alone. “How much longer do ye think I’d be able to hide, lass? This isna the wilds of Scotland.”
“They want to come tonight and meet with you, Finn.”
He fell silent for a moment. “How many?”
“I don’t know. I’m assuming there’ll be thirteen altogether.”
What other choice did he have? It seemed he was being pushed in one direction.
He nodded.
“So, you’ll be okay with the other witches helping them?”
“Aye.” He paced away from her to sit on the steps leading into the breezeway. He drank more of the water.
“Would you like something to eat before they come?”
“Nay, lass, thank ye. Mayhap later.”
When she sat down next to him, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She’d been keeping her distance. He didn’t have to be hit on the head with the flat of a broadsword to tell she was worried about what happened the other night.
He couldn’t blame her. How else was she supposed to feel when a monster showed her he wanted to do a bit of swiving? Wanted to bite her, too.
He raked his fingers through his hair. He wanted more than that. “Ye should call them.”
He watched the battle of emotions on her face. She reached for her phone and dialed the number.
He refilled his water glass and nearly drained it again. The glass rocked a little when he set it down on the patio table, and he steadied it.
He needed to get away from this situation for a time. Away from her and the emotions she stirred. He opened the small outdoor cabinet and reached for the towel and the small basket with the soap, hairbrush, toothbrush, and toothpaste she’d placed inside.
She treated him like a guest. But she also worried about him. He took some comfort in that.
He gathered the things and went around the side of the studio to strip off and bathe before the witches arrived. He heard the engines of several cars arrive as he was finishing up, and turned the water off.
A quick burst of impatience bubbled up. He was tired of tiptoeing around the humans. He had been a slave to magic for six hundred and sixty-three years. He was done with it.
He took two long strides, and his wings lifted him. He circled Genevieve’s property for several moments while he watched from the distance to see two more cars arrive. Would they try to break the spell tonight? Dread lay in the pit of his stomach like a fist, warring with hope.
What more could they do to him that Cinead hadn’t already accomplished? If they killed him, he’d at least be free. He turned into the wind and came in for a soft landing, twenty feet away from the crowded patio and approached the circle of women. Their identical looks of shocked amazement might have amused him any other time, but he was too busy bracing himself for what was to come.
Silence stretched, and he cleared his throat.
“Good eve, ladies.”
“Nice entrance, Finn,” Juliet said, her tone dry.
The comment triggered a chuckle, lightening his mood. “Thank ye.”
The banter between them seemed to break the ice, and Juliet went around the circle, introducing each woman. The group varied from young to old, and small to large. One woman in particular stood out because of her flaming red hair, and another because of the tattoos of symbols and designs coloring her arms and hands. Each had a varying degree of power radiating from them.
Their reaction to him ran from fearful fascination to excitement. Each witch circled him with palms out. He stood patiently while they conducted their examinations, watchful of their reaction. His magic had been a part of him for so long he didn’t notice it, but they each reacted to it, strongly.
Once they finished and began their discussion, he moved away to sit on his block. It was a relief when they took the meeting into the house, leaving him in peace.
After a time, Genevieve came out, Butterbean at her heels, and pulled a seat up next to him. “It’s like a war room in there. I can’t help, so I’m leaving them to it. How about some food?”
“Nay, lass.” The cat gave him an affectionate head bump and rub against his thigh, inviting some petting. Finn obliged, and picked him up and held him against his chest.
The yap and howl of the wolf pack came from the north.
“They don’t come close to the house anymore.”
“I bid them not to. There are younger wolves in the pack who dinna have the control of the older ones.” The cat stood on his hind feet, braced his front feet on his chest and rubbed his head against his cheek.
“Like the one who tried to eat Butterbean.”
“Aye.”
She got up and wandered from one side of the patio to the other, her movements restless and sharp.
“Thank you for looking out for him and me, Finn.”
“As a soldier, ’twas my duty to protect the clan and the laird’s property. ’Tis my duty to protect ye and yer home now, when I can. ’Tis good to have a purpose.”
She came to a halt beside him. Her expression in the patio lights was both worried and intense. “I want you to be able to walk in daylight among us again, Finn. I want you to be able to have a normal life. Go to the library and chose your own books. Go to the grocery store and chose the food you like. I want you to be free to choose your own way, instead of being tethered to me as though I own you. You are still your own man, despite all the magical bullshit forced on you.”
“I was owned by my laird before ye bought my statue, Genevieve. But if it makes ye feel any better, I dinna feel owned by ye, lass.”
“I don’t ever want you to feel as though you are obligated to do anything because I give you food or…or anything.”
“There is no sense of obligation, lass. Only what is right. It suits me to earn my keep in some way.”
A quick, relieved smile finally flashed across her lovely face, but she remained on edge.
“What has brought on this sudden concern about owning me?”
“Miranda said you may be programmed through the magic to be loyal to those who take possession of your statue.”
He thought about it. “I didna stay on the castle grounds because I was loyal to the lairds, lass. I stayed because I had no choice. I have to stay where my base is. I’ve tried to fight the pull when the sun rises, but I canna resist. I have to return to it.
“I dinna feel loyalty to ye because of magic, but because ye have been generous and kind to me.”
And because he found her irresistible. He found it impossible not to look at her if she was anywhere near. The expression of determination on her face when she was about to tackle a job, be it cleaning his statue or weeding the flowerbed, fascinated him. He was enslaved by the length of her legs and her delightful polished toenails. Her hair was a hundred different shades of brown, and he wanted to memorize each and every one of them.
Was she doing this because of what had happened between them? His pride rose up, smarting at the thought.
He gave Butterbean a final stroke, set him on his feet and then stood, looming over her.
“Ye dinna have to be saddled with me out of a sense of obligation, lass. Ye can move the base wherever ye wish, and I will, of course have to stay on it during the day, but at night I can see to m’self and never bother ye again.”
She stared at him, her expression changing to the focused one he’d just been thinking about. Instead of addressing the issue she grabbed his arm. “Come into the studio for a minute, Finn.”
She tugged at him as she strode toward the exterior door. He followed, even though anger, triggered by his hurt pride, still burned inside him. She hit the numbers, the door rose, and she flipped on the lights. “Come in.”
He stepped inside the wide entrance and paused. The interior of the studio was at least half the size of the great hall of the castle, though the ceiling was not as high, and the walls were made of sheets of metal.
A sculpture, as tall as he was, stood midway across the large space. The shoulders and head were roughly cut, but still retained a block-like structure, without distinct features. But based on the muscular forearm pressing to break free of the marble, he recognized the figure as male. The limb thrust through the stone as though it had punched loose.
Genevieve picked up an odd object and descended on him. The orange cord strung from it was for electricity. She raised the cone-shaped thing and pushed a button on the side. The bulb flared, blinding him, and he blinked.
He threw up a hand to shield his eyes. “What are ye about, lass?”
“Look at me, Finn.”
She had never spoken to him in such a tone, with a strong undertone of command. He glared down at her.
“What color are your eyes, Finn?”
“Yellow. Brighter than a wolf’s, but not as bright as an owl’s.”
She smiled, excitement radiating from her. “No, they’re not. They looked green the other night. I thought it was just the light, but now they’ve turned blue.”