20. Ecco

20

ECCO

M y eyes flutter open, the hazy remnants of sleep dissipating as our room at the Moonflower Inn comes into focus. The sheets are rumpled and twisted around me.

My entire body flushes with warmth as vivid memories of last night flood my mind: the electric touch of Graeme's hands on my skin, the insistent press of his lips against mine, the way we finally surrendered to the red-hot desire that had been building between us for so long.

But as awareness seeps in, I realize the space on the bed beside me is empty. Graeme is gone.

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Was it just a momentary lapse in his iron-clad control? A onetime thing he already regrets in the harsh light of day?

The thought stings more than I care to admit.

Because it's time for me to accept the truth: Graeme is not just a fling to me, as much as I'd like to guard my heart by believing that. Over the past couple of weeks, my perspective of him has changed entirely.

He's not a cold alpha asshole; he's a careful protector who wants to keep me safe, even if that means disagreeing with me. He's not a heartless, stoic monster; he believes passionately in duty and responsibility. He's not trying to drive me absolutely insane; he is balancing out a part of my personality that even I can admit is sometimes reckless.

Fuck. I press my face into the cool pillow, taking a steadying breath.

I'm not just attracted to Graeme.

I like him.

I roll over, hugging the sheets to me—and there he is.

Graeme is sitting in one of the plush armchairs by the eternally crackling fireplace, watching me intently.

The orange flames cast flickering shadows across his sculpted features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and brow. His pale blue eyes seem to glow from within as they roam over my face, drinking in every detail like he's trying to burn this moment into his memory.

My heart skips and stutters, uncertainty rising.

I swallow hard and sit up, pulling the sheets tighter around myself and meeting Graeme's gaze.

"Do you… regret what happened with us?" I ask.

The words come out small and fragile. I brace myself for his response, for the disappointment I'm sure is coming—the same disappointment that comes every time I start to fall for someone.

Graeme's eyes flash with intensity, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then something deeper, something fierce.

In an instant, he's crossed the room and is kneeling beside the bed, his large hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a gentleness that catches me off guard. The rough skin of his thumb caresses my cheekbone, and I lean into his hand despite myself.

"Absolutely not," he says, his voice raw with emotion. "Last night was… everything, Ecco. Everything I never knew I needed."

I feel exactly the same way.

His words envelop me like a soothing balm, melting away the knots of anxiety in my muscles. My eyes flutter closed as I savor the solid weight of his hand, the comforting scent of stone and rain that always seems to cling to his skin.

He brings his other hand up to knot in my hair, and something in me catches fire. I reach out and eagerly tug him closer, pulling him down onto the mattress and then clambering on top of him.

I pause to drink in the sight—his large, muscular chest and shoulders, his wings spread wide and starting to curl around me in a protective embrace.

I smile as he starts to respond to my touch. My body ignites as he presses up against me, his arousal clear beneath his clothes.

Just as Graeme's hands start to slip under the hem of my nightgown, a sharp knock at the door shatters the intimate moment.

We both tense, and I can tell Graeme's senses are instantly on high alert. In a flash, he's on his feet, wings flaring out as he positions himself between me and whoever is at the door. His body is a wall of chiseled granite, every inch radiating a fierce protectiveness that makes my pulse race.

I scramble out of bed, hastily pulling on a robe as I move toward the door.

"Pretty sure the stalker wouldn't knock first," I say as I push past Graeme, giggling as his expression turns rueful while I open the door.

Mariah stands in the hall. Her eyes dart from my rumpled state to Graeme's imposing stance behind me, and a knowing look spreads across her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?" she teases.

I shoot her a quelling look, my cheeks flushing.

"Shut up," I mutter, but I can't hide my own grin. Part of me wants to shout from the rooftops that Graeme and I hooked up, but he's such a private person, I don't want to make him uncomfortable.

And besides, I'm still not totally sure what we're doing, or what comes next.

Mariah's expression sobers, bringing my attention back to her.

"I was actually heading over to visit Velda," she says. "Poor thing could use some company, and I thought we could see if there's anything we can do to help her feel better and… you know… get a bit of control over the whole snow situation."

I hesitate, my gaze darting between Mariah and Graeme. I'm reluctant to leave our room, worried the spell will be broken and whatever fragile thing we've started will blow away like dust in the wind.

I chew my bottom lip, torn.

Graeme places a reassuring hand on the small of my back.

"We should go," he rumbles. "I'll accompany you, of course. Can't let you out of my sight." His words are gruff, but I can hear the underlying tenderness. "But I'll give you as much privacy as I can."

For once, the thought of Graeme shadowing my every move doesn't irritate me. In fact, I find myself craving his constant presence, wanting him by my side always.

Funny how quickly things can change.

After Graeme and I dress for the cold, the three of us head out, and I ignore Mariah's questioning gaze. We walk toward the edge of town where Velda lives, chattering instead about the crazy endless snow, my comments punctuated by the crunch of icy snow between our feet.

We let ourselves into Velda's front yard, but a familiar figure emerges from the front door, stopping us all in our tracks.

Deandra.

My steps falter as apprehension and old hurt rise in my throat. I can feel my body tensing, my hands clenching into fists at my sides, and I brace myself for another confrontation with my mother.

But when Deandra turns to face us, her expression is not the smug, self-assured mask I'm used to seeing. There's a vulnerability in her eyes, a hesitance in the way she approaches us that throws me off balance.

It's like looking at a stranger wearing my mother's face.

"Ecco," she says softly, her voice uncharacteristically tentative. "I'm glad we ran into each other. Can we... can we go somewhere and talk?"

I glance uncertainly at Mariah, not wanting to ditch my friend, especially not for Deandra. But Mariah, ever perceptive, just gives me a reassuring smile.

"Go ahead," she says. "We'll catch up later."

I sigh, squaring my shoulders as I turn back to Deandra. "Okay. Let's go."

Deandra's gaze drifts to Graeme, standing silently behind me. I scowl, remembering how she shamelessly threw herself at him during the wedding reception.

"He's coming too," I say firmly, my tone brooking no argument.

To my surprise, Deandra just holds her hands up in a mea culpa. "I'll behave myself, I promise."

I lead us to the Orc's Anvil taproom, knowing that if I'm going to have a heart-to-heart with my mom, there needs to be alcohol involved.

The walk is awkward, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. The only thing that keeps me from turning tail and running is Graeme's steady presence behind me.

Safe , I think again.

Whatever bombs Deandra is about to drop, whatever emotional minefield I'm about to navigate, at least Graeme will also be there.

We settle into a corner booth at Orc's Anvil, shucking our winter layers. The worn wooden table is layered with rings from hundreds of past patrons' drinks.

The taproom is half-empty, but not as empty as I would have expected at this early hour. Many of the townspeople seem to be taking the snowstorm as an excuse to act like it's a holiday, and I see a few other pints on tables. In a corner sits a lively circle of teachers I recognize from my high school days, all playing a riotous card game.

Graeme takes up a post nearby, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, close enough to intervene if needed but far enough to give us a semblance of privacy.

Our beers arrive, and Deandra fidgets with her drink, her usually confident demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic nervousness. Her fingers tremble slightly as she raises the glass to her lips, taking a fortifying sip before meeting my gaze.

"Ecco, I..." she begins. "I want to apologize. For so, so many things."

The words come out in a rush, as if she's been holding them back for years and they're finally overflowing, unable to be contained any longer.

"I'm ashamed that I wasn't there for you during your teen years," Deandra continues, her eyes locked on mine. "When your father and I divorced, when I left... I was in a bad place. I was so deeply unhappy, Ecco."

She takes a deep breath, her gaze darting down to her beer. Then she purses her lips, clearly considering what she wants to say. She nods to herself and looks back up to me.

"I hope you never know what this feels like, sweetheart, but I was in a deep depression for years. By the time Joran and I separated, I felt like I was sleepwalking through my own life. The only way I could figure out how to regain control was to burn it all down and start fresh."

I sit in stunned silence, my heart hammering as I try to process this.

Deandra pauses, her voice cracking with emotion. "I deeply regret the way I handled it. I wasn't thinking about all the people I would hurt in my quest to fix myself. And I never could've imagined the deep scars I'd create in our relationship."

My eyes widen as I listen to her confession. I'd always assumed Deandra left because she wanted to have more fun—to flirt and manipulate, and not be tied down.

She's never told me any of this.

I've been so focused on the way she made me feel during those years, that I'd never stopped to think about what she might have been going through. It was much easier to protect my heart by casting my mother as a villain in the story.

Deandra reaches across the table, her hand hovering hesitantly over mine. "I know I haven't been the mother you deserved. I've been so caught up in my own problems that I've neglected the most important things in my life."

Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I swallow hard, my throat tight, a storm of conflicting emotions rage in my chest: shock, anger, confusion, regret.

My mother is a master manipulator of emotion. Is that what's happening now?

"Why tell me this now?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. "What's changed?"

I search her face, trying to gauge the sincerity behind her words.

And for the first time in my life, I think I'm seeing my mother stripped of all pretenses, all masks. Her usual manipulation is gone, and instead all I see is earnestness, honesty.

Deandra takes a shuddering breath, her gaze dropping to the table. "I've been watching you, Ecco. The way you've grown, the way you've come into your own. And I realized that…that your perception of me and of the powers we share is holding you back."

My breath catches in my throat. She's at least partly right.

I've been so afraid of turning into her, of using my siren powers for my own gain, that I've never truly embraced them, instead fighting for constant control.

"You're afraid to use your powers to their full extent because you think I've used my own irresponsibly," Deandra continues, her words echoing my thoughts. "But breaking off on my own, learning the true depths of my powers—it liberated me, it saved me in a moment where I wasn't sure if I was going to survive. It brought me back to myself."

Deandra lays a hand over mine and for once I don't flinch from her touch.

"There are more to siren powers than just seduction, Ecco," she says, imploring.

Her words strike a chord within me, and something shifts, a tiny crack in the armor I've built around my heart. Around the kernel of power deep inside me.

Deandra leans forward, her expression fierce. "Don't let your fear of ending up like me stop you from exploring everything you're capable of. You have a gift, Ecco. A unique and beautiful magic that's all your own. You should embrace it."

I sit back, my mind reeling at her words.

The bustling tavern fades away as I sink into myself, recognizing the truth in what my mother has shared. I've spent so long tempering my siren heritage, so long fearing the potential for darkness and manipulation that lurks within my own soul.

But what if Deandra is right?

What if there's more to my magic, possibilities I've barely imagined?

As I look at my mother, I feel a rush of gratitude.

"Thank you," I say slowly. "Thank you for being real and honest with me. I won't lie and say that I've forgiven everything, that I'm ready to change our relationship overnight, but… I appreciate you telling me this, and I'd like to talk to you more about it, once I've had a chance to process."

Deandra's eyes shine, a tentative smile curving her lips. "I'd like that too, Ecco. More than anything."

The walk back to the inn is quiet as I attempt to sort through everything I've just heard. Graeme's presence beside me is a steady comfort.

Can I trust Deandra? Trust myself, and the powers inside of me?

What did she mean about our powers being good for more than just seduction? Ever since gaining control, I've only ever let the tiniest sliver of magic seep into my music, just a little gentle overlay of magic to help listeners feel at ease, to lose themselves in the moment.

What else might I be capable of, if I go deeper?

Lost in thought, I barely register our arrival at the Moonflower Inn. It's only when the familiar scent of woodsmoke and cinnamon envelops me, the bustling sounds of guests in the lobby, that I blink, pulling myself back to the present.

Graeme gently guides me back toward our suite, his hand gently circling my wrist. Once we're in our rooms, he turns to face me, his pale blue eyes searching my face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his gruff voice laced with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. "I know your relationship with your mom is… complicated. Whatever went down at Orc's Anvil seemed intense."

I nod, any answer I could give sticking in my throat. Instead of speaking, I step forward, wrapping my arms around Graeme's torso and laying my head against his broad chest.

He stiffens, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. But then, slowly, he relaxes, his strong arms coming up to encircle me, his chin resting gently atop my head.

Safe , I think again, a wave of contentment washing over me.

And then the surrounding air seems to shift, the gentle tenderness giving way to a simmering heat that skitters along my skin every place our bodies touch.

Graeme's hands glide up my back, his touch sending sparks of electricity through my veins. I tilt my head back, my lips finding his in a kiss that starts off soft and sweet, but quickly turns hungry, desperate.

I press closer, molding my body against his, reveling in the feel of his hard planes and angles against my curves. Graeme's hands roam my body, leaving trails of heat in their wake. A low groan escapes him as I nip at his bottom lip, my fingers tangling in his hair.

I want to stop thinking, to let the world fall away, lose myself in the intoxicating rush of his touch.

Breaking the kiss, I pull back just enough to meet Graeme's gaze.

His eyes are dark with want, his pupils wide. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath.

"Graeme," I breathe, my voice low and husky, barely recognizable to my own ears. "I need you. I need to feel you, all of you. Please. I don't want to think."

Graeme's eyes flash at my words, his hands tightening on my hips. "Then don't think," he rumbles, his voice a deep growl that resonates through my body. "Strip for me, Ecco."