Loving Ean (The Fae Guard Book 2) (29 page)

Aden is waiting for me, casually leaning against the gray wall, his jean clad legs crossed at the ankle, and he is fiddling with his phone. As nonchalant as he is trying to appear, it’s obvious that he is on edge when every few seconds, he tugs on the collar of his dark blue t-shirt and then rubs his hand over his head a couple of times. We haven’t spoken much since I took off and have truly missed his friendship. Aden is family to me and the thought of not being able to repair the rift between us has Aodhagan’s words once again coming to the forefront of my mind. I need to rid my brain of the bastard and his mind games. I pad down the hall and lean against the wall next to Aden. “Hey.”
Just brilliant, your communication skills are really stellar, moron.
Whatever.

Aden looks up from his phone, his face serious, “How are you doing?”

I’m taken aback by his question, I expected him to still be angry at me. “As good as can be expected with all of this shit we’re wading through.”

Aden chuckles, but when his phone vibrates, he jumps and looks down at the screen of the phone, his face panicked. “Dude, maybe I should be asking you that question. What’s going on?”

After reading whatever is on his phone, Aden relaxes again, but keeps the device firmly clutched in his hand. He nods toward the exit and we start walking in that direction. “Shaylee is ready to pop and when I say that, I’m being completely serious. Her stomach looks like a fucking balloon, sometimes I’m afraid that if I bump into her, she’ll burst.”

There is no possible way that I could hold in my laughter, so I don’t even try. Aden throws me a dark look and stabs the button for the elevator once we exit the glass doors into the lobby.

“Every time this damn phone buzzes, I’m sure it’s going be Shaylee, telling me she is in labor.” He looks mad as hell and really freaked out at the same time. I continue laughing. What? I can’t help it.

I slap him on the back as we hit the underground floor and follow him out of the elevator, into the parking garage. “Come on, I haven’t see your wife in a while, let’s get you home before you start crying like a little girl.” Aden shoves me in the shoulder and I almost lose my balance because I’m, once again, laughing my ass off.

“I’m going to enjoy holding this over your head when it’s your—” Aden breaks off and grimaces. I don’t want the tension returned between us, so I steamroll right over it.

“We’ll see, jackass. We’ll see.” We’ve reached our cars and I round to the driver’s side and put in my key, grinning at him over the top of the vehicle. “Even if that day comes, I’ll never be as pussy whipped as you.” I throw the insult at him before swinging down into my seat and slamming the door. I can’t hear if he responded, but there is no mistaking the hand gesture he flashes as I drive away. I feel one of the weights lift from my shoulders.

I’M STANDING OUTSIDE A
beautiful, red brick town home, waiting for the door to be answered, and trying hard to breathe when I feel like all of my oxygen being sucked up by the man standing beside me.

It’s been about two weeks since I called it quits with Phin and standing next to the man who broke my heart over and over, I know I made the right decision. It just wasn’t fair to Phin and even though he never gave me even the slightest hint of impatience, I couldn’t handle it. What if it took me years—decades—to get Ean out of my heart and my head? If and when that happens, if he’s still available, we might give another try. For now, I’m going to shut the door on my, currently non-existent, love life and concentrate on other things.

I wanted to be peeved at Fate for sending me out with Ean, but I knew it was practical. Ean keeps glancing over at me with a searching look, I don’t know what he’s hoping to find, but it’s unnerving me. Finally, the door opens and my insides unclench in relief. A beautiful Fae woman opens the door and gives us a beauty queen smile. Damn. My breathe catches at the vision in front of me. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d be doing everything I could to bang this woman.

She looks no older than thirty, she either had her child really young, or she’s aging incredibly well. I’m inclined to believe it’s a little of both. Her pale skin looks so soft I almost reach out to touch it. She’s tall, with dancer’s legs showcased in a pair of red shorts. She’s sporting a seriously spectacular pair of breasts (hey, I can admire the goods even if I don’t want to sample them), and the spaghetti straps of her white top showcase her dainty shoulders and collarbone. Her long, lustrous, blonde hair hangs straight with a side swept bang, framing her oval face, making her incredible green eyes pop. I’m slightly blinded by the sparkling white of her teeth when she blasts us with a wide smile. I might be feeling a little self-conscious about myself right now.

“Hey, Ean. Come on in.” For Pete’s sake, even her voice is perfect, a melodious and smooth Irish accent. Ean grins and steps forward to give her a hug. I’d probably feel jealous if I didn’t fully understand why any guy would be drooling over this woman.

Ean steps back and turns to gesture at me to come in, “This is Laila. Laila, this is Eliska.”

Eliska steps forward with a warm smile and embraces me. When she stands back, I return her smile without thought, it’s absolutely contagious. “Thank you for coming. Ean said you were the perfect person to talk with Cuirealan. She’s been struggling with finding herself the last few years and we were hoping that learning about her Fae blood might help her find her place.”

Eliska turns and starts up a set of stairs that will take us from the foyer to the main level in the house. I promise I’ll stop extolling her virtues after this but, watching her flawless ass walking in front of me, I start to wonder if Cuirealan’s problem is more about living in the shadow of this goddess. I don’t think it is Eliska’s fault by any means, but with her as a mother, I could see her feeling inadequate. The house is beautifully decorated in white, green, and small accents of red. There are landscapes of the Irish countryside and subtle nods to their Celtic heritage everywhere.

Ean places his hand at the small of my back (ummmm) and guides me into their sitting room. I take a seat on a lovely green sofa and each spot that was touched by a finger tingles. He sits down beside me and leans back, lounging comfortably. Eliska calls up another set of stairs and soon I realize that Cuirealan’s problem doesn’t stem from being overshadowed by a beautiful mother. Cuirealan is the spitting image of Eliska. Wow. The cogs in my mind start turning with possibilities and I have to stop myself from getting lost in my thoughts. The back of my neck starts to tingle and the hairs stand on end. I reach back to rub the sensation away, but my hand brushes something and the skin there joins the party.
What the hell?
Glancing behind me, I see that Ean has moved his arm so that it’s resting across the back of the couch. The proximity of his skin to mine is flushing those spots with heat. I sit forward and sneak a peek at Ean through my lashes, but he doesn’t appear to be paying me any attention. I shake it off since he doesn’t appear to be affected and turn my attention to Cuirealan as she sits gracefully on a cream satin, high backed chair. She greets Ean affectionately and has a pleasant smile on her face as her mother introduces me, but there is a wary skepticism lurking in her jade eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Cuirealan.” Ean says with a wink. I expected her to blush and stammer like most girls do when Ean turns on the charm, but she just laughs and thanks him. Ooooookay. This is weird. Why am I here?

“I know your parents have been talking to you today, telling you about your heritage and how today has changed you,” Ean’s voice is soft, almost crooning and I watch as her cynicism deepens. He continues to talk to her about the mark and the knowledge she’ll need to grasp, touching on our abilities and still, her eyes grow more and more on edge. Her father (who should be a freaking underwear model if he looks as good naked as he does in jeans and a t-shirt. The genes in this family . . . damn) joins us and I watch the three of them trying to gently coax her into acceptance.

This is wrong. It’s all wrong. I stand up suddenly and all conversations stops. I reach out my hand to Cuirealan, “Come with me.” My voice is firm, brokering no argument, but not harsh. I stare at her steadily and watch the jade turn to the color of fresh grass as they fill with curiosity. After a moment, she takes a hold of my hand and stands. On our way in, I’d noticed that through the kitchen, there is a glass door that leads to a large meadow. Perfect.

Everyone else in the room stares at us in confusion, not quite sure how to handle this. Ean is looking at me like I’m crazy. I throw them all a reassuring smile, “We’ll be back after a while.” Then I continue to lead Cuirealan out the back door and into the field. I let go of her hand at the edge of the yard and walk just ahead as we make our way into the sunny area, carpeted with stunning green grass and speckled Butterwort, a native violet-blue wildflower.

Behind me, Cuirealan is quiet, but I can feel her gaze on me, which was the point. I’m sure she can see the way the sun makes my skin look almost celestial, somewhat translucent. I decide to take it a step further and I reach for the sun inside me, inviting her to see the radiance that comes from tapping into our magic. When I finally turn around, her eyes are riveted on me and filled with wonder, just as I’d hoped.

“Sometimes, it’s not about the whys and hows, Cuirealan.” I profess with a growing smile. “An explanation can only take you so far. Sometimes,” I hold my hand out to her again, “sometimes it’s about throwing yourself into the thick of it and just seeing what happens.” I smile encouragingly and wait, I have no doubt she will take the next step.

I still see something in her eyes, keeping her from truly trusting in what she is seeing, but she takes my hand.

I lift her arm up in front of her and show her that the sun affects her in the same way. “Tell me, what is it that’s been bothering you over the years, making you feel so lost?” She looks at me, startled, and I grin, “I’m not psychic,” I laugh. “You’re mom told me.” She giggles and I feel one layer of suspicion peel away.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt quite like myself, whoever that is. I could never seem to settle into my place; who I am. Now my parent’s tell me it’s because I had a hidden nature, the blood of Fae. It all just seems so fantastical, and even if I do believe it, I don’t feel as though it has changed anything. I’m still lost.” Sadness exudes from her and it breaks my heart a little. I know how to fix it though, and it strengthens my belief that this will work.

“They say seeing isn’t believing, right?” She nods. “That’s absolute bullshit.” Cuirealan’s eyes widen, stunned, then she dissolves into laughter. It’s a beautiful sound and I’m encouraged by it. “Just because we can believe things we aren’t able to see, doesn’t mean that our trust isn’t strengthened with proof. I know where the missing piece you’re looking for is.”

I’ve been holding her hand this whole time, helping to center the power she doesn’t realize she is absorbing from the sun. It’s not as if they wake up at twenty-one and are suddenly perfect at all that is Fae. Just like any race, species—whatever—we naturally develop through growth and gaining knowledge. Most often, I have to start my new trainees with simple lessons on feeling their magic without my touch.

“Do you feel that warmth? Not the heat beating down on your skin, the warmth curling around you from deep in your center.” She blinks at me a few times, and then her eyes clear and she seems to recognize what I’m talking about. Her head tilts to the side as she contemplates. I lift her hand to eye level and show her that it matches the sun-kissed, ethereal look. Her mouth drops into a little o and she gawks at the evidence in front of her.

“It really is a part of you,” I explain.
Now, it’s time for the good stuff.
I let go of her hand and a strong gust of wind suddenly knocks her backwards. She doesn’t hit the ground. Instead, she lands in a throne of weaved roots and branches. Sparkling droplets of water rain down before her, and one of those elegant purple flowers grows, crawling up the chair and stopping just under her nose. Cuirealan is in a semi-state of shock, but wonder has invaded her whole being and she sniffs the flower, her laughter dances in the wind around us.