CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Moira~
She hadn’t expected to find Sully in her aunt’s quarters, sipping from a tall beer glass, and actually looking as though he belonged in Robin’s dainty parlor. Moira couldn’t recall ever seeing her uncle looking so spruce. Even when Aunt Gale had been around, he had worn his ancient seafaring sweaters and fishing pants and his beard had been spadelike.
She returned his hug and kissed his cheeks – which for once were not totally covered with a gigantic gray bush – and wished him elsewhere. She needed advice, not a family party. This was going to be embarrassing enough as it was.
Sully gave her a second bear hug. “What’s wrong, lass?” He held her so he could look into her eyes.
“Let Moira catch her breath, Sully,” Aunt Robin said austerely. “Sit down, my dear, and tell us what happened to frighten you.”
“I’m not frightened,” she declared.
Sully got up from his chair. The delicate-looking piece didn’t even creak. Aunt Robin must have conjured it especially for her burly guest. He went over to the liquor cabinet and opened the carved wooden door to reveal a fridge. He poured her a glass of white wine. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Have a drink and tell us what Quinn’s been up to.”
Moira accepted the glass gratefully. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she felt the need for something right now. She sipped. “I don’t know why you think Quinn’s to blame,” she muttered.
Robin’s laughter rang like silvery bells. Sully’s bass notes wound around Robin’s in masculine counterpoint. Moira stopped herself from stamping her feet. She was an adult, she could act like one.
“H-H-He.” Somehow she couldn’t continue.
“I’ll take that bastard apart,” Sully swore. He rose to his feet looking every inch the powerful sorcerer he was.
“Be calm, my dear.” Robin waved an elegant hand. “This is more of a lover’s quarrel than a rape.”
“Robin’s right, Uncle Sully, Quinn didn’t rape me.” Quite the contrary. She couldn’t continue. She backtracked a bit. “He’s been painting pictures of me. Nudes.”
“From life?” asked Robin interestedly. She took a minute sip from her glass.
“No! He says I’m his muse,” Moira said. “But they look exactly like me.” Except that her nipples did not look anything like the unfurled petals of a crimson rose.
“I told you so,” Robin murmured complacently to Sully.
“You didn’t say anything about that boy painting our niece,” objected Sully. “Resonating auras are not the same thing.”
“One leads to the other.” Robin inspected Moira with sparkling blue-green eyes. “You object to nudes?”
“Of myself! He has twenty-three of them. He says they are not for public display, but I found them.” She sipped morosely from her glass.
“What does he intend to do with them?” thundered Sully. “Because if he enters even one in the Art Fair –” One giant fist crashed into an equally gigantic palm.
“He says he can’t stop painting them. He put them in this vault they have at Shoreside,” Moira said. “He doesn’t want to enter them in the show.”
“Of course not,” Robin said serenely. “And yet your nerves are all aflutter. What else happened? Besides spending the night together?”
Of course Robin knew. Everyone in Mystic Bay knew. Probably by now the entire island knew. She sipped morosely at the wine.
“Well,” prompted Robin.
“He found out that I am a virgin.”
“Indeed?” Robin looked pleased.
“Did he ask you to marry him?” demanded Sully.
“No,” Moira said sulkily. “He kissed me and then he informed me that we had to stop. Or I would turn into a dragon and become a mortal with a mortal lifespan. And then he walked out.”
Robin clucked her tongue. “How uncouth,” she observed. “I would have expected better manners from that young man.”
Sully snorted. “I could tell you a thing or two about dragons. Civilized they are not.”
“They do their best,” Robin corrected gently. “Did you want him to transform you, Moira?”
“Become a t-t-twenty-foot scaly reptile? R-r-reduce my lifespan to a couple of centuries? Of c-c-course not!” Moira wiped tears from her face.
“Dragons are quite beautiful, you know,” Robin replied. “Formidable. Terrifying. But, in their own way, gorgeous.”
“I’m not so sure what would happen if a fairy was transformed,” Sully said heavily. “But by Jove, Quinn better marry you before he carries out the experiment.”
Moira looked at her aunt. Robin was gazing into the middle distance and looking thoughtful. Sully noticed and stopped his rumbling. They both waited in silence until she returned to them.
“It’s to Quinn’s credit that he didn’t take advantage of you and transform you when he had the opportunity.” Robin paused. “He did have the opportunity?”
Moira nodded. Sully handed her a clean, white handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“Well then, Moira, the ball is in your court. You must decide if you wish to marry Quinn. I will consult our records and see if we can predict the outcome of your transformation. But it is my opinion that each event is likely to have a slightly different outcome. There is no guarantee that you will have the same outcome as other fairies.”
“What do you mean? He didn’t ask me to marry him.” That was part of her grievance.
“If you are transformed into a dragoness, you won’t be able to predict your lifespan – it could be that you will live as long as the Fae do, and that Quinn’s life will be lengthened, rather than yours shortened. Your children may be dragons or they may be Fae. Or a mixture.” Robin folded her hands on her lap. “You will have to decide if uncertainty is to be your fate.”
“Fairies are not meant to have angst and emotional conflict,” protested Moira. “Look what he’s done to me. I’m weeping. And it’s not the first time.” She blew her nose again. “I don’t like feeling like this. How can I marry someone who makes me cry? Even if he wanted to marry me?” To her mortification, her voice rose in a wail.
Robin’s shining head inclined in gracious acknowledgment of her complaint. “Falling in love is not a calm and sensible undertaking. Emotional upsets go with the territory.”
“Then it is not for me,” Moira declared. “I don’t want to feel like this for the rest of my life – even if it is a short one. That would be unbearable.”
Robin smiled gently. “I believe the intensity of the emotions diminishes somewhat after the first while and they stabilize. You would get used to all the different feelings and learn to control them. Mortals have many emotions and they seem to enjoy them.”
“Damn straight,” growled Sully.