Chapter 18
“Goddamnit!” Simon pounded his fist on the steering wheel and then yanked so hard it should have wrenched it loose from its column. She’d learn to be obedient sooner rather than later if she knew what was good for her. And he’d damn well know who her model was, even if he had to stake out her house until the man showed up.
If the man touched her, he’d kill him. He’d done it before, he’d do it again.
“Goddamn her!” He’d sold hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of her sculptures. She should be willing to trust him with everything.
But she didn’t. He’d messed up by demanding to know who the model was. And then again by pushing to see the drawings. He had to learn patience with her.
Unless he took things into his hands and schooled her in her proper place with him. But he needed to be careful. If he rushed, he could crush her creative genius…like he did Katelyn’s. She never recovered, and he ended up having to end things between them permanently.
The pressure was building inside him. The raw need exploded through him like a tsunami. His cock swelled now, making his pants uncomfortably tight. He needed that taken care of too.
He checked the time and, seeing it was only ten o’clock, mentally flipped through his options. The address he copied from Genevieve’s check register lay tucked behind his license in his billfold, waiting to be used. He shivered as a fresh wave of excitement blended with a skin-tightening compulsion. His breathing sped up. She’d be an excellent substitute for Genevieve.
He’d go to the apartment and watch for her. Perhaps he’d run into her by accident. And if the time was right, he’d know. Reaching town, he pulled into a grocery store parking lot and fished his billfold out of his back pocket.
He got out the business card where he wrote the address, and keyed the location into the GPS built into his dash. The woman’s voice said, “Calculating.” He pulled back out on South Main while she decided what direction he needed to go. “Turn right onto West Wand Street.” He was happy to oblige her.
Several turns later, he cruised through a neighborhood of townhouses owned by the college to house the overflow of students from the dorms. He found the address quite easily, and pulled into the lot to park between a large SUV and a beat-up Honda.
He studied the townhouse where she lived. The trash has been set out along the sidewalk to be picked up, and the lights were all off.
Checking the dashboard clock, he saw it might be late for students who had an early class. He would not be seeing her tonight. But possibly tomorrow.
Part of the pleasure was the hunt, wasn’t it? He’d scope out the neighborhood more thoroughly tomorrow, while she and her housemates were in class. Then he’d return on a pretext. He’d use Genevieve as an excuse. That would make things all the more…satisfying.
Tonight he’d watch Genevieve for a time. He still had the panties he stole from her house. That would hold him over until a more satisfying alternative to fulfilling his needs presented itself.
* * *
“Is something wrong, Finn?” He had never rung the doorbell before.
Genevieve was slow in opening the door, worried it was Simon returning. Relieved to find it was Finn instead, she relaxed and even offered him a smile.
“An idea has come to me. But I will need yer help to try it.”
Genevieve walked out onto the porch and immediately wrapped her arms around her waist as the moist mountain air caressed her bare arms and legs with icy fingers. “What is it?”
Finn closed the distance between them and wrapped his wings loosely around them both. His body gave off heat like a sauna, and she relaxed within the cocoon he’d created.
“While I am the stone statue, I want ye to carve away my tail.”
She stared at him for a moment. It was not what she had expected him to say. “Why?”
“I want to see if removing the tail while I am a statue will remove the tail while I am alive.”
It was a…she wouldn’t say good idea…but it was a logical one. But a dangerous one, too. “Finn. Your tail is part of your spinal column. It may leave nerves exposed if I remove it. You could be in constant, terrible pain.”
His features—part man, part creature—set in mulish lines. “I am willing to take the chance.”
“I know how desperate you are to be rid of the curse.”
He grasped her arms and pulled her closer. “Do ye, Genevieve? Do ye ken what ’tis like to spend sixteen hours a day as a block of stone, locked in the same position and unable to speak?”
It was torture for him. It had to be. “No. I don’t know what it’s like. But if I deface your statue and you end up in terrible pain, it will make your life more difficult, and it will be my fault, Finn.”
She closed her eyes, unable to look him in the face when she said it. “If we can’t free you from the curse, you’ll be in pain for….” She couldn’t say the words aloud. An eternity. It would shatter all hope for him to hear those words.
“I’m in pain now. I dinna know how much longer I can bear being this creature.”
Tears blurred her eyes. “I know.” She moved in close and put her arms around his waist. His body was large and muscular. But for his wings, tail, and claws, his anatomy was human. He was human. She recognized him as human. A man. A man with a horrible deformity. A man worthy of affection and caring.
She rested her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. Felt the heat and smoothness of his skin against her own.
Finn stood as still and stiff as the statue, and for a moment she thought she had overstepped the boundaries between them. Slowly he pressed a hand against the small of her back and held her. His chin brushed her hair. “I havena held a woman in centuries, Genevieve.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
He chuckled, his deep voice holding a texture all its own. He rested his palm at the base of her neck, then ran it down her spine to the small of her back, then tugged her closer, until her body conformed to his, and she became aware of how much he wanted her.
An ache of longing sparked deep within her. She hadn’t felt those stirrings of need in so long.
He plucked the chopsticks out of her hair, and it unwound and fell to one shoulder. He smoothed it, but one claw tangled in the strands. “I could use some help, lass.”
Grateful for a reason to move away, she caught his hand and lifted her hair free. She studied his nails. They were thick, and about an inch long. An idea formed, and she grabbed onto it to get her mind off other things.
“Claws, Finn.”
His yellow eyes looked almost green in the dull porch light.
“Aye, I have them.”
“Claws. I could try to file down one of your claws and see what happens. I don’t think it would cause you pain like a more intricately woven part of your physiology. But we can find out what happens when your statue form is altered.”
A slow smile curved his mouth, revealing pointed, lethal-looking teeth…which no longer frightened or horrified her.
“When will ye do it?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. Which claw would you like me to experiment on? Foot or hand?”
“Foot, I think. I only walk on them. I dinna use them to hunt.”
“Okay. I’ll do just a little reshaping, and we’ll see what happens. If it hurts you while I’m doing it, how will I know?”
“You won’t, lass. I canna speak or move. But ’twill only be a wee nail. How painful can it be?”
He’d obviously never had an ingrown toenail. “I think I’ll take it slow and do this by degrees, and wait to check in with you to see what you experience. It’s best we don’t rush it.”
“All right, lass. But if it works…”
“Some of the other things would be major changes to your structure. Your wings are as much a part of you as your arms, hands, and head. They’re flesh and bone. It would be a major amputation, and I’m not a doctor, Finn. If I removed them and you transitioned and bled badly, it could kill you. Or leave you permanently crippled. The bones of your wings are attached to your shoulder blades, and possibly your shoulders.”
He fluttered his wings, and they brushed against her. They felt soft—not like leather, though they looked like it—but more like skin.
“Mayhap we can wait ’till the end to remove them. I rather like flying. ’Twill be one of the few things I’ll miss.”
She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for him to be without them after so many centuries.
“Are ye afraid of heights, lass?”
“No.”
“Go change into warmer attire, and I will share the experience with ye.”
Genevieve opened her mouth to tell him no, but to be perfectly honest with herself, she had been curious about his wings, how they worked, and what it was like to fly. “I’ll only be a moment.”
She rushed to her room, shed her dress, and changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
When she exited the house again, Finn was waiting in the middle of the yard.
“There is no need to be afraid.”
She swallowed, though her mouth was dry. Not with fear, but a complex tangle of emotions she didn’t understand. “I’m not afraid.”
He placed an arm around her waist, then bent to scoop her up and lift her. She might have weighed nothing, it seemed so easy for him. He took two long strides, and his huge wings flared and flapped once, twice, and they were airborne.
As they climbed, a quick frisson of fear struck her, and her arms locked around his neck while the air cooled significantly, making her ears burn.
They glided and swooped down over the treetops, and though they were a safe distance above, she had to fight the urge to lift her feet.
When they flew over an area cleared of trees, she spotted the wolf pack, many more wolves than the four animals she saw the other night in her yard. There were at least fifteen in the group.
They looked up as Finn and she passed overhead, and she heard their high-pitched yips and howls as they fell behind. Finn swooped higher as they reached the edge of town.
“Someone will see us,” she shouted above the whoosh of the wind as it passed.
He shook his head. “They dinna glance up as often as ye might expect. They are too busy looking at their phones.”
He was probably right. It had become the way of the world.
He glided in a long swoop around the outskirts of the college, keeping high above the glow of the streetlights. The buildings looked like a model to scale, and the cars like toys. They passed over a cluster of apartment complexes where a group of students walked down the middle of the street. A car came upon them and the driver tapped his horn to urge them out of the way. The vehicle gleamed beneath the streetlights, its sleek lines familiar, even from above. “I think that’s Simon’s car.”
“Aye, ’tis.”
The students danced out of the road and up on the narrow sidewalks. The Jaguar rushed past and cut down the next side street on its way back to Main. Finn cut a diagonal path across the neighborhood and flew north. When he wound his way over Simon’s house, she frowned.
“How do you know where he lives, Finn?”
“I followed him home the night you thought m’ statue had been stolen. He parked on the side of the road beneath the trees and watched the men search.”
She frowned. Why hadn’t he come up to the house?
Finn circled until the Simon’s car pulled into the driveway, and then was swallowed inside his garage.
“Is his house pleasing to ye?” Finn asked.
She thought about the perfect furniture, perfect organization of every piece of art and every painting. “It’s nice, but not as nice as mine. But then I grew up in mine, and lived there with my grandparents. It’s home.”
He nodded.
Was he missing home? But what kind of home could he have after being banned from the castle and hidden in the surrounding woods?
And why hadn’t she ever invited him into her home?
Well, for one thing, his wings might create a problem, and he would probably find the space difficult to move around in. But what about the studio?
She’d have to clear an area for him. Perhaps a quarter of the room. Perhaps put in a small television. What would he think of television?
Finn turned back to the outskirts of the town. The closer to the ground they flew, the warmer the air—a relief, because she was feeling the chill through her sweatpants and shirt, and couldn’t keep from shivering. Finn glided along the contours of the mountains. She’d never noticed how many streams and cleared fields existed within the ten or so miles just outside the city limits.
When they came upon a small creek, and Finn flew up, then straight down, feet first, and slowly landed along its banks, where he lowered Genevieve’s feet to the ground. The crickets’ chirps built to a chorus, and the only light was the half-moon overhead, and the million fireflies blinking in scattered synchronization across the field.
“What are those called?” Finn asked, nodding toward the fireflies. “I have noticed them close to water and in the tall grass. And why do they light up?” He rubbed his large hands up and down her back and arms to warm her.
“They’re called fireflies or lightning bugs. When we were young we used to catch them in a jar, until we realized how cruel it was to confine them and let them die. They have a chemical reaction in their body called bioluminescence. The chemicals they produce react to the oxygen their bodies take in, and they light up. They use the flashes to identify their species, or attract a mate. The males that light up the longest attract the most females.”
“Lucky buggers.”
Genevieve laughed out loud and was rewarded with a soft, gravelly chuckle. Curious, she reached out and touched his wings. Finn stilled beneath her touch. “They’re not at all leathery like a bat’s. They’re soft, like skin.”
“’Tis because they are skin.” There was a huskiness to his tone that heated her cheeks for a moment. She dropped her hands and silently chastised herself for her thoughtlessness. She should have known better.
He stepped away and went to the small stream. “The water here is pure, Genevieve.” He knelt and dipped his hand in to drink.
Silence fell for some moments. “They seem to be at home here, he said. “The fireflies.”
“Yes, they do.” She paused. “Do you feel at home here, Finn?”
He looked up at her face. “Aye. As at home as I can be anywhere. The crags and glens here are different than at home. They are covered with many trees. But I’ve grown used to them. Though I sometimes miss the sea. There was a loch close to the castle, and the seals lived there.”
“I love the sea too. It’s like a heartbeat that calls to you.”
“Aye.” He looked toward the east. “’Tis growing late, and ’twill rain soon. I’d best be getting ye back to the house before the storm hits.”
She glanced at the distant horizon for any sign of the coming weather. “How do you know it’s going to rain?”
“’Tis like that heartbeat. I can feel it.”
Her eyes were growing used to the deeper darkness, but he was still just a shadow moving toward her. She shuffled forward and collided with him, and he looped an arm around her waist to steady her.
His taut, muscular abdomen, and the unmistakable maleness of his body pressed against her, triggered a quick, tingling flash of need. She caught her breath and instinctively leaned into him.
He froze, and she heard him swallow. His muscles went as rigid as the erection pressed against her. The ragged intake of his breath gave her a sensual thrill, as did the hard beat of his heart.
Every nerve in her body seemed to bristle with awareness. She trembled with the fierce need to part her legs and let him in.
Oh, God. They couldn’t do this. But she wanted to.
His hand moved to the small of her back, and he held her more tightly. “When I am no longer the monster, I would ask ye to remember this moment.”
Quick tears stung her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. She swallowed, though her mouth was dry.
“We must go back.” The gravel in his voice had deepened.
“Yes.”
The trip took only fifteen minutes, but it seemed too short. Within the glow of the porch light, she found it hard to look at him. “I didn’t mean to make things more difficult for you, Finn.”
“It already was, Genevieve. Since the first time you looked into the eyes of my statue and said I was so ugly I was beautiful.”
She looked up. “You heard me?”
“Aye. ’Twas close to sunset, and I could feel the change starting while ye cupped my jaw.”
She’d thought his jaw human to the touch even then.
“The rain is here, Genevieve, ye must go in.”
Almost as though he’d called them down, fat drops splatted on the concrete sidewalk next to the porch, and she dashed up the steps. She turned to find him standing in the rain below her. He tilted his head back and let the water flow down his body. In moments, his hair was saturated and the hair on his chest dark with moisture. His skin looked bronzed in the dim light, the muscles beneath a play of light and shadow. He was one with the elements as long as he was the creature. And, dear God, he was beautiful.
“Will you try carving away the nail tomorrow?”
“Are you sure you want to risk it, Finn? Miranda and Juliet may come up with a spell.”
“And they may not. I’ve waited so long already, Gen.” He strode forward to rest a foot on the bottom step. Once again his eyes appeared green beneath the porch light.
“I’ll use a sander, and just reshape the nail a little, then. Nothing drastic.”
He nodded. She ached to go back down the steps and hold him. Just in case.
“Ye will do well, lass.” There was such hope in his expression, emotion swamped her again, and she had to look away.
At a loss, she murmured. “Thank you for taking me flying, Finn.” She turned and went in before her words or actions made the situation worse. She leaned back against the door, her throat aching with the need to cry.
* * *
Finn stood in the rain and let it wash down his body and cool the fire of need raging inside him. The scent of her arousal had called to him. How could she want him when he was still the monster? But she saw more than the monster when she looked at him. He read it in her face, in the way she allowed her arm to brush his when they sat together, in the way she touched him.
She hadn’t just made it more difficult for him by responding to him. She had made it impossible for herself. He could not act on his desire or respond to hers as the monster. He wouldn’t. There was always the chance he might lose control and hurt her.
And if he couldn’t be human again, how would either of them live with wanting each other and never being able to act on it?