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“From the annual Grochaire Festival. The fireworks had started. I wasn’t even near my parents when it happened. I’d taken off with friends and at the time had become separated from them. I was only ten and wasn’t paying any attention to the crowd, just the lights in the sky. The killer covered my mouth with a rag laced with a chemical similar to your human chloroform. The next thing I knew, I was strapped to a table and in more pain than I’d ever known in my entire life.”
She took his arm in hand, holding his wrist in such a way that she could look at the scar. Here resided everything with Willem, the depth of his pain, the way that his soul had been robbed of innocence, and why he wanted to break the bond with her.
She traced the figure-eight with the tip of her index finger. “This wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t say anything, but she knew enough to understand his pain and his guilt and how no words could ever heal what had happened.
She also needed him to know that what happened to him didn’t matter to her. If anything, his suffering had made him the diligent agent he was today.
Slowly she leaned down and kissed the scar, letting him feel her level of acceptance for what he’d endured. He couldn’t change what happened to him, he could only move forward and she wanted to be part of that journey.
Willem grew very still so that Charlotte could hardly read his emotions. His voice, however, penetrated her mind softly, Charlotte, no.
Yes, Willem. And she kissed the scar repeatedly then finally rose up and met his gaze. His hazel eyes shone with an expression that looked caught between wonder and horror, as though he didn’t understand how she could even touch him, never mind putting her lips on the symbol for all the ugliness in his life.
She kept hold of his arm. “You’ve never told anyone before, have you, I mean other than Davido?”
He shook his head slowly. “But I needed you to see why this is impossible between us. I’m deeply scarred. I’ll never be truly normal, never be real boyfriend material and definitely not the right man to bond with a blood rose. But I have several friends, good men, who are mastyrs. I could introduce you to them.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity that he would suggest handing her off to one of his friends, but she didn’t say that. She could see he was sincere, but she also knew he was trying to deflect what he felt.
She decided to be as honest with him as he’d been with her. “I don’t want anyone else, Willem. I want you. It’s as simple as that. And over the past several months, since I first became attracted to you, believe me I’ve met several mastyrs but never felt desire for any of them. You’re the one.”
He shrugged his arm out of her hold, his gaze falling to the table. He closed the file and zipped it back up. “Thank you for saying these things. It will always mean a lot to me. But I know myself, Charlotte. I won’t be able to go forward with you. I just wanted you to know why. That’s all.”
Charlotte let her new fae abilities come to the fore and hoped for some kind of wisdom.
But nothing came to her, and she really wasn’t sure if there was wisdom to be had for this kind of situation. Willem had to change how he viewed himself. But she’d lived long enough to know just how hard that was for human or realm-folk alike.
All she could do was be with Willem for the next twenty-four hours and hope that something happened to disrupt his old way of thinking.
Finally, she offered, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a break from all of this. How about we put this case file away and you offer me whatever you can find in your fridge.”
At that he searched her eyes and a half-smile formed on his lips, but she could feel his sadness. He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
***
Chapter Seven
Willem turned toward the cabinet and slid the file back into its drawer. He felt grateful beyond words that Charlotte had let the whole thing go. For a moment, he’d felt sure she’d start arguing with him, trying to get him to see how ridiculous he was for feeling the way he did, that he should just get over what he’d been through so long ago.
But she hadn’t done that. Instead, she asked for a meal and yes, he’d always be grateful.
Closing the drawer, he inclined his head in the direction of the foyer. “Come on then. I’ll see what the housekeeper provided.”
“Did you call ahead or something?”
“No, I have a standing order for the beach house. She would have been here two days ago to restock and to clean up.”
Once in the kitchen, he had her perch on a stool at the island while he heated up some homemade soup, a flavorful barley-beef.
“That smells wonderful. I don’t know if it’s because I fed you so recently, but I’m starved.”
As he stirred the pot on the gas stove, he turned to glance at her over his shoulder. He loved that she spoke so easily about having serviced his blood-needs. She was so very human, yet he could tell she was very comfortable in his world, that she liked being here.
She looked adorable, her elbows planted on the speckled gray granite, her chin in hand, her auburn hair a cloud around her shoulders. He recalled what she’d looked like beneath him, her hair spread out on his pillow. Suddenly, he wanted to see her that way again, the sooner the better.
She rose up, her head tilting. “Do you know that right now, your ocean scent is stronger? Oh.” He watched her creamy complexion pink up.
