AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What encouragement,” I joked, stepping onto the coffee table so I could reach his cheek. It was warm and soft, and I felt his arm go around me as he whispered in my ear, “Definitelydon’teat the cake.”
Chapter 5
The next two days before Beltane passed exactly as my birthday had, with the exception of the almost certainly poisonous cake. Thanks to swift demon healing, I finally had enough strength in my wings, shoulders, abs, and all the other lacking muscles to keep aloft for five whole minutes, and Altair left me to practice hovering and landing while he ran drills with the rest of the team.
I lost spectacularly in sparring for every single match, but I was starting to understand what I was doing wrong, and my hands didn’t ache quite as much from holding the sword. More speedy demon healing for the win, I supposed.
Herne joined us for a quiet dinner both nights, which was unusual for him. He liked to be out among his people, or yelling at someone to work off his anger. When Carnon asked him, with childish impoliteness, what he was doing when he showed up for the third night in a row with trays of stew, Herne shot back that he was making sure I wasn’t dead from training, and told my curious brother to mind his own business.
“Why are you really here, Herne?” I asked, after Carnon went to bed on the eve of Beltane. Herne and I sat drinking wine in silence, except for the crackle of the fire. His booted feet were propped up on the coffee table, and he was studying me with uncharacteristic indecision.
“I’m honestly not sure,” he replied gruffly, frowning at me over the lip of his wine glass. “Have you felt anything…” he hesitated, putting the glass on the table and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, “strange in the last few days?”
“Strange how?” I asked, that tug lurching through me as if to say,me! I’m a strange feeling!I ignored it and tried to slow the pounding of my heart that always seemed to speed up when Herne and I were alone together.
We’d sat like this plenty of times after Carnon had gone to bed, especially in those first few years as I was trying to figure out how to be both older sister and mother, and he was trying to figure out how to be both father and brother. Herne had no other living family, as far as I knew, and when Carnon and I had come along, he had been easily adopted into our little unit as a surrogate for what we had lost. He may have slept on a different platform, but he was with us almost every day for the last five years.
But this time felt different somehow. It was making me hopeful, which was probably not a good thing.
“Strange like…” he dropped off again, grimacing as he tried to figure out how to phrase what he was feeling. “Like a tug.” He looked up, gaze meeting mine, and there it was again, that insistent tug of wanting. Of desire. Of need.
I put my glass down next to his and leaned forward, so that our faces were only a few inches apart. “Yes,” I said, unabashedly holding his gaze. “You feel it too?”
He nodded, still frowning at me. “You’re too young,” he said, cupping my neck with his large hand and making my breath catch as he caressed the spot just under my ear with a calloused thumb. The touch was gentle. Reverent. “And I am far too damn old.”
“For what?” I asked, feeling myself lean a little closer. Our lips were inches away now, and I could easily close that distance. But the sting of rejection at Yule held me back.
Herne pursed his lips, the longing suddenly crystal clear in his eyes. My heart lurched as he pulled me a little closer and rested his forehead against mine. “For anything,” he said resignedly, holding me there for a moment longer before leaning back slightly to press a kiss to my brow. “Goodnight, Cerridwen.”
He rose and was out of the sitting room so fast I barely had time to register what had happened between us. I sat in stupefied silence for several long minutes, until realization hit me like a blow straight to my heart.
The Pull. The tug he was feeling, that I had always felt toward him. It was the Pull. Herne was my mate. And he didn’t want me.
???
Herne avoided me all the next day.
Training was canceled in favor of preparation for Beltane, and Carnon took up all my attention as he tried to help with every task which inevitably had to be completely redone by me.
We hung flower garlands and assisted in the kitchens and helped set the banquet tables for the celebration, but Herne was conspicuously absent the whole time.
Carnon asked me repeatedly why I was in such a bad mood on Beltane of all days, but I just shook my head irritably.
“Grown up stuff, tiny king,” I said, looking down at him. Artemis had taken to perching between his small horns, and he looked utterly ridiculous and adorable with the huge creature perched atop him. “Why don’t you take Artemis hunting until the celebrations start?”
“Okay!” he chirped, running off without even a wave goodbye. I rolled my eyes, knowing Artemis would keep him safe. Despite the target her presence at Carnon’s birth had put on all of our backs, it was a comfort to know he was forever guarded. Artemis might not look like much, but her claws were wickedly sharp. Her beak too, if the crunching of the bones of the small creatures she liked to eat was any indication.
The sun had begun to set and people were already making their way down to the celebration when I headed back up to my room to change, determined not to think about Herne, or the disaster at Yule, or my realization from last night.
Unmated demon females and unmarried human women usually wore white to Beltane celebrations, and I had no idea if any of my usual flowy dresses for such occasions would work around the damned wings. They had been less of a nuisance today, I noted, my muscles finally strong enough to hold them up and out of the way when I needed to. I gave them an apologetic pat for swearing at them in my head and turned back to my closet to see if I could make anything work.
There was a new gown I didn’t recognize hung at one end of the rack, and I pulled it out with a little gasp. It was made of gauzy white material that looked like it would float over my arms and hips, and the back was once again styled with ties around my neck and lower back.
There was no note, but I assumed that this had also been Herne’s doing. Carnon wouldn’t have thought of this, being that he was ten and preferred wearing mud to anything else, and Herne was the only other person I knew with access to our rooms.
I put the dress on, a little thrill going through me as I twirled slowly in the mirror, lest I topple over with the wings. It was perfect and beautiful, with tiny flowers and leaves and stag horns embroidered around the cuffs and hem in gold and green, and a plunging neckline that went very, very low. I grinned. I doubted Herne would be able to ignore me in this.
I made it a point to dance with every unattached male who asked me at the celebration, just in case Herne showed up. The Bloodberry wine flowed freely, as well as sparkling white elderflower wine and dark, bitter ale. And despite the lack of a maypole, it was an excellent feast and dance.
