Chapter 9

chapter 9

Lizzie

Biting the selkie was a mistake. She tastes even better than I could have dreamed, her blood as full of mystery as her inky eyes. Even thinking about it now, hours later, my fangs throb in wanting. Worse in some ways, she came so sweetly. Desperately. With cute little whimpers and shudders that tempted me to let things get out of hand.

I need her help for a prolonged period of time; otherwise, I’d already be planning a full seduction the moment we find a bath and bed.

I’m such a fucking liar. I am planning a full seduction the moment we find a bath and bed. We’re adults. We can enjoy each other and go our separate ways at the end of this. Sex is a perfectly natural outcome when desire sparks so fiercely between people. There’s no reason not to give in to it.

No reason except Maeve acting skittish ever since she came back to herself. I can’t quite decide if her racing heart is because she wants more?.?.?. or because she’s afraid of me in a way she hasn’t been since we met.

To distract myself, I nod at the bag she tucked away. “Why did you have a go bag packed when you’d already escaped the island once?”

Maeve makes a face, but we have nothing better to talk about. There’s nothing to look at but the endless blue of the sea, and that is not something I want to focus on for any length of time. I’ve historically enjoyed the sea—from shore. The soothing crash of the waves, the early morning mist that kisses my skin, the way the sun glints off the surface as it sets behind the horizon. It’s so much different on the water. The sun is unrelenting, the surface creating a mirror that means there’s no escaping the bright rays. Salt is everywhere, crusted on my clothes, my skin, my hair. I hate it.

Better by far to focus on Maeve.

She finally sighs. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Then would you rather talk about how pretty you are when you orgasm?” I’m not flirting with her. I just want information, and this is the best way to get it. There’s no way she wants to discuss what happened between us when I bit her. Which means I’ll get the information I’m seeking. That’s all.

Sure enough, her skin deepens to a bright crimson and she looks everywhere but at me. “You are incredibly frustrating.”

“People have said worse.”

“I can only imagine.” She pokes at the rudder, but unless she dives over the side of the boat, she’s not getting out of this conversation. Finally the selkie sighs. “The bag isn’t mine. It’s a community thing. We have them stashed all over the island.”

I examine her words from several angles. “To escape the C?n Annwn or monsters?”

“Monsters.”She makes a derisive noise that wrinkles her cute little nose. “My people have been in Threshold since before the C?n Annwn showed up. So have the peoples of all the islands. Do you know what stories we pass down?”

This anger feels like it’s following a known path, the way a river carves its way through a mountain. “What stories?”

She clenches her fists. “Cautionary tales to give predators wide berth. Because that’s what these so-called monsters are—predators acting according to their nature. The C?n Annwn have killed more than any predator they hunt, and they’ve done untold damage to communities who tried to push back against their rule. No monster has done that.”

Earlier, she said that the selkies have no use for ships and boats because they do their own hunting in their other forms. Which means that there is no easy escape from the island unless they want to swim. If I were hunting selkies, I would merely wait on the surface until they ran out of air and then pick them off like fish in a barrel. They are still mammals, after all. They have to breathe air.

“The go bag?”

“Viedna isn’t very large, so people think that what they can see is all there is to see. There are caves that stretch for miles and miles. There is fresh water, but not much in the way of food if you’re not a fan of mushrooms. Some of the caverns have actual supplies, but near the other entrances, we keep bags. Just in case.”

Interesting. I’ll admit that I fell into the same trap of assuming that the small island is exactly as it appears to be. “Do the stashes belong to the rebellion?”

“Some of the smaller ones, but that’s only because the village elders gave them permission to hide people passing through.”

I still have a lot of questions about the rebellion. I know what Nox says. I know what Evelyn and Bowen say. But in their own way, they each occupy a privileged and unique position within the ecosystem of Threshold. They are part of the C?n Annwn. The boogeyman that terrifies communities and monsters alike when they sail into port.

That’s not the role Maeve has played. “How were you recruited?”

Once again, she seems like she doesn’t want to answer me. Once again, she does anyways. But she surprises me. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine. One for one.”

I consider her offer. I don’t particularly want to share details about myself with this woman. We’re already in a situation of forced intimacy, and it’s only going to get more complicated as time goes on. I don’t often bite the same person repeatedly, especially if they’re not already intimately acquainted with how bloodline vampires work. It’s far too easy for them to get the wrong idea. Their blood might taste good, but I’m not feeling the same level of pleasure that they are from the bite.

Unless we’re in the middle of having sex when I bite them.

Allowing Maeve closer is a risk. For her. Maybe I shouldn’t care about it?.?.?. Actually, I don’t care about it. She can make her own decisions. If she wants to know more about me, then that’s her problem. My logic feels a little flimsy, but I ignore it and press on. “If you insist.”

“You’ve already asked me about my bag. I want to know about how you came into Threshold.”

I blink. I expected her to ask about the jewels, or perhaps about Evelyn. That seems to be what everyone is focused on since they’ve met me. No one asked what it took to get here. “I came the same way that everyone else seems to. I walked through a portal.”

Maeve gives me a stern look. It’s cute. “You’re not honoring the spirit of the agreement, Lizzie. Tell me the story.”

I could push back, but I’m curious about her. If I don’t play along with this little game of tit for tat, then I won’t get answers to my questions. That’s the only reason I give her the full story. “Evelyn demolished the portal in my home that she entered Threshold through, so that way was closed to me. I’m still not sure how she made it to Threshold, since that portal wasn’t supposed to work like that. It took me two weeks to figure out that she hadn’t exited somewhere else but was caught in the in-between. There was another month of hunting down the truth of what that means.” During that month, I was convinced Evelyn was dead, torn apart in the space of nothingness. I should have left off the hunt, but I needed closure. I used the excuse of attempting to reclaim the family heirlooms, but I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I finally got the truth.

She wasn’t dead. She was in Threshold.

A space between realms. One that is entirely survivable if you are clever and resourceful, both things that Evelyn is in spades. “From there, it was only a matter of finding the actual portal to Threshold. It seemed too risky to attempt what Evelyn did—using a portal meant to travel within our realm and frying it—so I took a more traditional route. It moves, so I had to figure out the exact time and location when it would appear so that I could step through.” For Evelyn, only a week or two had passed since she fled my house. For me, it took nearly a year to reach Threshold. Each day, my anger at her grew until it was a fiery thing inside me overwhelming all else. And even in a fit of rage, I couldn’t kill her.

My mother would be so disappointed.

“You must have been very driven to find your ex-girlfriend.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I turn back to my original question. “You have your answer. How did the rebellion recruit you?”

Maeve leans back against the side of the boat. Unlike when she was sharing information about the cave system on her island, she seems significantly more relaxed with this topic. “They didn’t. It kind of happened by accident. I knew Nox because they were one of the few C?n Annwn I could stomach when they stopped by on their way north. Or south. All sailors invariably end up in my family’s tavern, drinking themselves under the table. Once I reached adulthood, my mother would often send me away during the nights when those sailors were C?n Annwn.”

Easy enough to read between the lines. If there’s one thing so many of the crews of the C?n Annwn do, it’s abuse their power. Maeve is stunning and draws the eye wherever she is. It would only be a matter of time before one of those bastards decided to take what she wasn’t offering. “And then?”

“On one of those nights, I saw Nox slipping out of the village. I followed. They met up with a shadowy figure not far from where we found this boat. I was close enough to hear their conversation, and when they inevitably caught me, they decided to recruit me instead of killing me.”

A risk, but as ruthless as Nox is, they have a soft spot for broken toys. And innocence. Maeve may think that she’s broken right now, but she firmly lands in the latter category. “So you put yourself in danger, interacting with the C?n Annwn, because of Nox?”

She gives me a wan smile. “That’s two questions.”

Frustration threatens to take hold, but we’re having a conversation without sniping at each other, and she’s readily answering my questions. I suppose it’s not too much to ask that I continue this little game. “Fine. Ask.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“That’s not a question at all.”

She raises her brows. “Are you dodging giving an answer?” Intrigue colors her tone. “Fine, I’ll play by the rules properly. What is your family like?” She exaggerates the lift at the end of the last word. Little brat.

I almost give the pat, neat answer that I provide whenever I’m forced into this kind of conversation. There are only seven bloodline families in my realm, and though vampires engage in varying levels of secrecy, everyone in the paranormal community knows of our existence. At least in theory. So when they come across us, there are inevitably questions. Not even fear is enough to completely drown out curiosity. It’s inconvenient.

But when I answer, it’s the truth that slips from my lips. “My father is dead and has been since I was a small child. My mother rules the family with a bloody iron fist. She’s taught me everything I know. My younger brother is the family fuckup. He was supposed to be my right hand, a built-in support for the day when I take over, but he’s always chosen to go his own way.” Currently, his own way is giving my mother fits of rage, possibly because he’s finally beyond her reach. He’s created a sickeningly cute little polycule with Mina, Rylan, and Malachi?.?.?. all of whom are members of other bloodline families. Not even my mother would risk war by daring to cross so many powerful vampires.

“You almost sound like you envy him.”

I glare. “That’s also not a question.”

“Lizzie.”

“What’s the point of playing a game if you don’t follow the rules?” Granted, I’m more than happy to discard whatever rules don’t serve me. Though, from the look in Maeve’s large eyes, I’m not going to escape this subject on her next question. In an attempt to distract her, I say, “Who took your pelt?”

Instantly, all relaxation banishes from her face. I watch her close down in real time, her expression shuddering and her spine straightening. “His name is Bronagh.”

I open my mouth, but she beats me there. “Why are you so resentful of your brother?”

“I don’t want to answer that question.” I don’t mean to say it. This game started as an attempt to get more information out of her, to understand the enigma that is Maeve, and yet I feel like I’m the one being stripped bare. She sees more than most people. Even Evelyn never really asked me about Wolf. Or my family, for that matter.

Maeve smiles slightly, the twist of her lips bittersweet. “Then I think this game is done, don’t you?”

It should be. It’s a smart idea. I don’t know how situations continue to slip out of my control time and time again. It’s never been a problem before. Usually when I’m backed into a corner, I just kill my way out. Or I avoid a fight altogether by virtue of my reputation. Neither of those has been an option for too many of the uncomfortable situations I’ve found myself in since I came to Threshold. They certainly aren’t an option now.

More than that, I want to know about the bastard who took her skin. I want to know the story of how it happened and why. I can barely acknowledge the motivation behind that desire for knowledge. It’s not mere curiosity, though that would be significantly less complicated. No, the sensation inside my chest when I think about him is furious?.?.?. and almost protective.

That fucker put the bruised look in Maeve’s eyes. He hurt her, carved out a piece of her, and took it with him when he left. Unlike most exes, he did it literally.

I want to see what Maeve is like when she’s not mourning a lost piece of herself. I want to know what kind of woman she is when she’s at peace. Whatever that looks like.

A deep breath does nothing to settle the jagged pieces inside me that grind together when I think about my brother. “Wolf has never cared about our mother’s expectations. He moves through life driven by desire and?.?.?. love, I suppose. He doesn’t seem to feel the same pressures I do. He doesn’t conform. He doesn’t break himself until he’s unrecognizable, all to fit a mold created by our mother. I suppose I am jealous of him. It makes me hate him sometimes. I’ve certainly hurt him enough over the centuries. But nothing seems to stick. He endures whatever punishment my mother decrees and then moves on. I don’t understand it.” The words feel sharp in my throat. Painful. I’ve never admitted this out loud, not to anyone.

I wait for Maeve to point out that I make my own choices, too. That I am choosing to conform to my mother’s demands, just like Wolf is choosing to push back. That I bow to duty over love every single time. It’s how I lost Evelyn, after all. It’s how I’ve lost the person I might have been if I was born into a different family, was taught by a different mother.

There’s no point in mourning that version of myself. She was weak, so she had to die. It was the only way I could live. There’s certainly no point in wondering if this selkie staring at me with fathomless eyes would have liked that softer version much better than the one who sits before her, heart cold and hands drenched in centuries’ worth of blood.

And yet?.?.?. I can’t help but wonder exactly that.