Lily mouths the wordmate,trying it out in her mouth. I would smile, but I have no grace to give her.
I need to check on Hyacinth.
It’s easy to follow her scent across the stone yard. She’s sitting on a box inside the shed, watching the foxes wrestle. It won’t be much longer before they’re ready for their new home. My chest aches at the thought of giving them to the burly green orcs in Westfang. But not near the pain that I have when I think of watching Hyacinth leave.
“Are you okay?” I ask, approaching slowly to ensure I don’t scare her.
With a sniffle, she nods yes, wipes her eyes, then looks at me. “I love her, of course. She’s my sister. But sometimes she’s so dense. It’s like she’s been blinded by this idiot because he tells her she’s pretty and he has money.” Her hands wave about in animation as she speaks, demonstrating her frustration. The hiccup in her voice is adorable, even if her being upset makes me want to teach both Patrick and Lily a lesson. How can her sister be this short-sighted about this man?
It takes one fox sneeze, and I’m beside Hyacinth, on one knee, holding her hand in mine. “Your sister makes her choices, and you make yours. You can only protect her so long. I’m sorry this has been such an upsetting weekend.”
A smile plays on her lips as she says, “Not the typical Vegas weekend, that’s for sure!” That makes me laugh. Her hand reaches up to move a loose lock of hair away from my cheek. Her fingers are delicate, smooth. She rests her hand on my cheek—I’m conscious of the prickly stubble growing on my chin and jawline, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Hyacinth’s smile, even a sad one, is brighter than the desert sun outside.
“I don’t want you to cry.” It seems silly, trite, to want to cheer her up. To want to wipe her tears.
It takes a minute, her eyes searching mine, hand still cupping my jawline, thumb gently stroking my cheek. Her scent changes as time passes. From grief and frustration to something sweeter. Yearning. Leaning forward, our noses almost touching, she kisses me.
Fireworks erupt inside me. Outside me. Burning me to the ground. My mate mark is fire against my chest—bright white with flame and desire. Need and hunger push us together. The need to taste her cheek, neck, ear, collarbone. The hunger of my fingers holding her close to me, digging into her sweet, soft, dimpled skin. To hold her heat against me. To show her that I want her. That she’s mine. She tastes like sweet berries and syrup and salty tears. Her arousal fills the air around us, a perfume of everything I’ve ever dreamed of.
A car door slams, shaking us out the haze we’re in.
“That’s my ride,” Hyacinth says in a tremulous whisper. A kit gives a half-bark-half-scream from the pen, making us jump. I feel the same way, kit. “Thank you for everything.”
She stands and walks toward the door, expecting me to follow, but I refuse to watch her drive away.
Chapter 7
Hyacinth
That kiss. Isn’t there a country singer that sang about “that kiss?”Yeah, I never knew a kiss could be like that. That a man, a scorpion, a shifter, could have so much power behind his kiss.
I’m dizzy as I step into the sun, and I can’t complain about it. If every kiss from Sting made me dizzy and giddy like this, I’d be a happy lady.
The smile fizzles away when Lily steps outside, back in yesterday’s clothes, looking huffy, and tired with a very fake smile stuck to her face. “What are you smiling about?” she asks, her voice sharp.
I raise an eyebrow in response and she apologizes…kind of. “Sorry, I just—feel a little nervous. You put all these thoughts in my head, making me doubt Patrick. I tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. I hope that means he’s on the plane already.”
Without a word, just a nod of my head, I step past her and into the house. The long ride back to Vegas should start with an empty bladder. And a fully thermos cup of water, just in case. And maybe a leftover pancake wrapped in a napkins. Again, justin case. I can’t imagine that the car Sting called for us would have any sort of danger attached to it. But after the past twenty-four house, I refuse to be bamboozled by anything or anyone.
It reminds me of us at twelve and thirteen, moving between foster homes, trying to figure out what we could bring with us…just in case. That was right before we met our forever family. Right before we found safety, peace, and love that wouldn’t end.
Perhaps, I muse, as I wrap the two pancakes in a napkin, this is a sign that there is more “forever” love waiting for me. I touch my lips, swollen from being kissed and devoured. Even after having Jenni and Matt love us forever, be our parents, friends, guides through teenagerhood and into adulthood, my trust in the institution of love and relationships is low—if existent at all.
It was just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. I tell myself as I fill my cup and head to the waiting car outside. It’s black and sleek, but thankfully not a limo. I don’t think I could get into another limo. Not after yesterday. Lily leans against the door, waiting for me, looking care-free and easy. Even though that’s been her personal most of our lives, it strikes me like a slap in the face. LikeI’veover-reacted to being stranded in the desert.I’mbeing overly emotional or suspicious about Patrick and his intentions.
It makes me angry.
We stand there. Two sisters who need each other, and also who can’t see what the other is seeing from two feet away.
“Look, I know you don’t trust Patrick. You might be right.” I snort derisively. She puts up a placating hand. “You’re probably right. But I have to see him face to face and figure it out. I can’t just walk away without knowing one thousand percent in my heart that he doesn’t love me.”
“What if he loves you, but in a twisted way? A way that leaves you injured, hurt, or worse?” At that, she jerks her head back as if I’ve slapped her. As if this is the first time a thought such as this has entered her head. Even after last night.
“Well, I know that isn’t healthy. I’m not a dummy. Really!” she says when I raise an eyebrow at her. Arms out, I step into her hug. Forgiveness. Trust. Loyalty. My sister and I are going to be okay.
“I want you to be happy. And safe,” I say as we let go of each other.
“Okay. I will be. Let’s go.” She opens the door. I scrunch up my face, feet planted to the rocky soil beneath me. When she looks up out of the open door at me, mimicking my scrunched face, I know what I need to do. “You coming?”
