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“Thanks, Ben. Can’t tell you how much that means to me. But before you go, there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me.” When he delivered his request for Ben to find a replacement jacket for Regan, Ben said he’d see what he could do.
When Ben hung up, Ian spent the next several minutes talking with Zane of Swanicott, reassuring him that Regan was well. He also told him what Regan had said about the size of Margetta’s army, to which Zane whistled low and added one powerful ‘motherfucker’.
“What’s the plan?” Zane asked.
The question was logical, but Ian’s brain wasn’t functioning at top speed. He swirled his wine in the clear glass goblet. “Hell if I know. I’m still adjusting.”
“To Regan in your house?” Zane was also a good friend and had asked the right question.
“That and something else.” He didn’t want to speak the words aloud again, but he needed to face up to his new reality, the sooner the better. “Regan’s a blood rose.”
Zane responded as he had before and another beautiful ‘motherfucker’ left his lips. “And Regan, of all women. Yet, I don’t know.” He paused, then, “It feels right to me.”
“Since when are you ‘feeling’ anything, my friend?”
Zane laughed, a deep resonant sound he hadn’t heard in maybe the whole of Zane’s life. “Since Olivia, that’s when. Sweet Goddess, that woman can make me laugh. And I see a lot of things differently now.”
“No, shit.” Ian didn’t think he could handle much more of Zane’s current positivity gained from his recent bond to his own blood rose.
He frowned as he settled his elbow on the arm of his leather chair. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb, then looked at the etched silver rings he wore. “I’ll say one thing. It’s incredible not having pain.”
“I’m with you there.” Zane paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, “Ian, it’s not so bad having a blood rose enter your life. There’s a certain amount of mystery to the process. I can only say Olivia changed just about everything for me, and all of it good. Try to be open to Regan if you can, though I know, given your history, it would be tough.”
Zane didn’t know the half of it. “Yes, it would. But I wanted you to know I’ve got her and she’s safe. I’ll probably bring her back to Swanicott later this evening.”
“You do what you gotta do.”
~ ~ ~
Regan held the edge of the blanket between her index and middle fingers, rubbing back and forth. She’d soothed herself this way from the time she was a child. The sh
ower had been heaven, and her escape from Margetta’s fortress was a wave of relief that kept delivering.
Her hair was damp as were her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she wept. Maybe for Sandra and the rest of those enslaved by Margetta. But also because she’d fought with Ian and because he’d never forgiven her for something she hadn’t done.
She doubted he ever would.
He believed she’d bewitched him in some fae-ish way, though she hadn’t. She’d never done anything like that in her life and never would. Unlike the powerful Vojalie, who could enthrall easily and take over the minds of those less powerful than herself, Regan’s ability was quite limited.
His accusations had cut deep for so many reasons. How could he have known her all the months they’d been lovers, yet not really known who she was, her integrity, her innocence?
She wiped at her tears some more.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep. She threw back her covers, and though Ian had given her one of his freshly laundered t-shirts to sleep in, she needed something else.
Roaming the house, she went into the living room and found exactly what she was looking for. A small leather pillow with a crinkled texture sat against the gray wool sofa back.
She picked it up and pressed it to her nose.
There it was, the rich, deep forest and fern scent that she’d smelled earlier.
She returned to her bedroom and closed the door tight.
Crawling back into bed, she dragged her nose across the leather once more, then held the pillow to her chest.
Within a few minutes, she was sound asleep.
~ ~ ~
