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I'm nearly run over by a dozen kids stampeding by, screaming, growling and barking. One of the younger ones I recognize as Tress, the precocious blond girl who made such an impression when I visited the demesnes in Faerie on the night of the mountain god’s blessing. She was so smart and so pretty, and so...just glowing with life. She still is, running wild with the others. She steals just a quick glance at me and her eyes go wide.
"Aunt Mia!" she screams.
"Aunt Mia!" the others scream in echo.
Then Tress throws her arms around me and squeezes. She's only as big as a nine year old human girl, but already her strength is far greater than human. The hard squeeze she gives me would choke a linebacker. I groan as my ribs try to give way under the pressure.
"Sorry! I forgot you're a person!" she cries, and then they all run off again, whooping and hollering.
Aunt Mia.
God, what a kick in the guts.
I've always known that what I do affects families. All the cartel guys we chased down were fathers and grandfathers. When they went to prison, their wives and children had to lose them. But they also lost the houses, the money.
All that stuff gets seized.
I'm sure they still did all right, financially and everything. It wasn't like they were homeless. But they did lose their family homes. And their families were forever damaged by the absences.
That's what happens when you commit crimes, dummy! my brain tells me. And I know it's true. It just feels so different when you're getting hugs from a little girl whose father might be in prison because of you someday. When I see them playing in this house that will no longer be theirs when their family is wrecked.
I'm not supposed toknowwhat happens after they go to jail. I'm not supposed to worry about them. Worry is reserved for the victims of their crimes.
The innocent people they hurt.
I try dodging down a few more hallways, and searching a few more rooms. But everywhere I go, I'm met with more people. There isn’t an empty room in the whole darn house!
But everyone is…nice. They greet me and hug me and wish me luck. I know it’s not reallyforme. It’s for Fabien. There’s so much respect for him here. I know he thinks everyone fears him because of his power, and maybe these people wouldn’t go so far as to shake his hand, but they really care about him.
He’s the rock the family is counting on.
"Making friends?" a deep, drawling voice whispers in my ear.
I nearly scream, and press my back against the wall. I know it's Fabien. My body seems keyed to his presence. I feel like I'd know his voice, or his touch, even in pitch darkness.
I'd know the heat of his gaze was on me even if I were asleep. In fact, sometimes I wake and it feels like he was just there, watching me.
"Fabien," I say. My mind goes blank as it always does when he's around. What is wrong with me? Normally, I tell men exactly what's on my mind, whether they like it or not. But with Fabien, my tongue just gets tied up.
He gets close and places a hand against the wall on either side of me, locking me in. He looks over my hair, leaning so close, I feel the heat of his body near mine. He smells incredible, and his hard body defines the white button-down he's wearing, filling out his black trousers. I resist the urge to put my arms around him, to nuzzle his neck and inhale his wonderful scent. To get it all over me, like I'm his favorite pillow case.
He leans closer, his lips tracing the line of my neck. The tentacles around his head snake across my skin, gripping and caressing me, like a hundred fingers tracing across my face and neck.
"Soon you'll be mine," he whispers.
It’sall a lie, I tell myself. He won't really be my husband. It’s only a game I'm playing until I find the evidence. But the truth is, I haven't been able to stop thinking of him all day. I was up half the night, tossing and turning. I was so wet, the bedsheets were ruined. No amount of touching myself could dull the ache I felt for him.
My body craved the freedom that’d come later in the day. When we were wed. When he’d claim me as he promised he would. Part of me wants to have him right now. The scattered moments of bliss I've felt at his touch, the dreams torturing me nightly, all makes me crave him more deeply.
But that's my body. My mind is still in charge.
At least that's what I tell myself.
His hand caresses me right through the thin material of my dress. His fingertips trace their way from my neckline down across my breasts to my stomach. Something warm flutters in my core as he goes further down. His hand crosses the curve of my thigh.
As my lips part to tell him to wait, he kisses me.
His mouth is hot and hungry against mine. Tentacles circle my neck, tightening and pulling me in. They creep out of his shirt sleeves and entwine my waist. They slip through the buttons of his shirt and caress my breasts, finding and squeezing my nipples seemingly on their own.
