Ashes of the Fae: (Leila Davis Book 1) Page 9

  “Maddy…?”

  “Yes, Leila?”

  “That was bad…” To that we both laughed, the tension in the air only easing the smallest little bit before resurfacing. It was nice to know he could crack a joke at least, even if it was a terrible one.

  “Yes, yes it was.”

  “So…will that happen every time we kiss, hypothetically? If we were to kiss like that again, I mean.” I didn’t want to sound too anxious, even though the time for that was probably long gone.

  “Oh…no. Not that I know of. But wait, Leila, I also wanted to apologize…for something else…” Something clawed at his conscience here, filling his eyes with a sort of dishonesty. “Your clothes, they were filthy and wet. So when I carried you upstairs last night…I admit, I did change you, but I made sure to cover you first. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about that. I just didn’t think you’d want to sleep in wet, soiled clothing.”

  “Maddy, it’s fine, you’re fine, really. Hell, I should be thanking you for that, as well as everything else. That aside, it’s just all so fascinating. Just all this…you…what you are… the things you can do. How did this all even happen to you? Were you born with these…gifts?” This time I had said something, the one thing that I shouldn’t have said, because he shut down almost as quickly as I asked. “What is it? What did I say?”

  This was the first time I had seen him upset, on the verge of what looked like a tearful fit before he turned his head away. Sighing shakily. “I um…” For this, he took off his hat, flipping it over and over in his hands before scooting to the edge of the cushion. “Maybe…maybe I should go.”

  “Maddy, no. No please, I’m sorry for asking. If— maybe we should set some sort of boundaries, you know? Like things you don’t want me asking about at all, subjects and things. Yeah?”

  “I…forgive me.”

  “No, no, no, no…don’t…don’t close up now, please. I didn’t know.”

  But that didn’t stop him.

  His movements appeared weak as he lifted himself up by the arm of the sofa. He only got as far as the doorway in the kitchen that led to the foyer before stopping. His wide grip took hold of the doorframe as his head hung low. Without hesitation, I rested my hands on his back, in an attempt to comfort whatever turmoil was plaguing him. I wasn’t going to say a thing.

  Suddenly, he slunk down to the floor, his back against the wall. He pulled his legs close as his arms hung over his knees, still fiddling with his hat. I quickly joined him, pulling my shirt closed as our legs barely touched. Whatever happiness he may have had moments ago was now replaced with a recognizable grief.

  “My son, Arden…was taken. A long time ago...”

  His eyes were solemn, flooded with a harrowing sorrow. And though no tears fell, his breath shuddered as if they had.

  “…taken by a Hag while he slept. He was four, a chubby little lad, and I…” For a moment his mouth hung open, words catching as he tried to go on. “I remember waking up in a sweat, even now, having heard…nothing, but I felt it. Somehow, I knew he was gone.”

  All I did was listen, intently. I wasn’t about to interrupt because I could feel his pain, having been in his shoes just a few days ago. But his hurt was still far greater than mine.

  “My wife—former wife,” he elaborated quickly, “she didn’t believe me. Said I had just had a bad dream, but I got up fast…so very fast, and I was right.” His face writhed with emotions, contorted with a snake-like agony. It was like he was reliving it all over again. And even though his eyes had glossed over, still nothing fell.

  “So I ran out to look for him. I had no idea where I was going, but something drew me…” He grabbed at the air in front of him, tugging an invisible object toward him until his fist pressed against his chest. His eyes were wild and alive as he seemed to play the motions in his head.

  “It was pulling me like—like some unknown force. As I came to the cliffs, I remember looking up at the crag and the caves beneath it. I heard…I heard him screaming.”

  His words trailed off as his face soured. His body was afflicted by a bout of dyspnea—breathing hard and fast—like he was in a sort of panic. I wrapped my arm around his to try and help ease it, but he settled quickly, taking in deep breaths to calm himself.

  “By the time I found him, the Hag had already…well, he was gone.” There was something else he had wanted to say in all that, some missing piece of information, but he didn’t elaborate.

  “I’m so sorry…” I cried, my face long damp with heartache, which had started the moment I found out he lost his son. With a loud sniffle, like he was sucking back more tears, he sat a bit straighter, rolling his shoulders through a sigh.

  “So I took what was left of him to the cliffs over the water and I…well, I jumped. I didn’t think I could go on without him, and I knew I couldn’t face Frances, but…” For a moment he shivered, as if haunted by cold, but it soon ceased.

  “Somehow I survived. I woke up on the cliff side the next morning, knowing there was no way I could’ve lived. I knew I had jumped, but he was gone, and there I was. So I returned home…” His legs fell open, hat spinning in his lap as he watched it keenly. “Needless to say, she didn’t believe me.”

  Briefly he seemed to pause, unmoving, and then he began to chuckle. It was the sort of laugh someone gives off when their misery has been spent.

  “And then days passed and I began to feel…strange—different, and not like myself at all. Long story short, she realized something was wrong and, unable to rationalize it, she left. Before she did, she even went as far to blame me for his death.”

  “She thought you killed him?” The idea angered me. Here he was grieving, and the one person who should’ve been there for him only damned him.

  “Yes. And then the townsfolk thought I killed him…so one night when I was passed out in a drunk, mournful stupor… they…set the house on fire. They barricaded all the doors and guarded the windows to make sure I couldn’t escape.”

  Something about that made me lose it, and all I could hear was the sound of my blubbering snivels as my heart wrenched. I couldn’t believe that someone would do something so inherently cruel to another—to him— for nothing.

  “So I crawled to the fireplace and curled up in there… and once again, I should’ve died. The smoke, the heat, the burns…” He shuddered. His muscles were tormented by the afterthought. “I wished I would’ve. I mean, I had nothing; I had lost everything, but I lived. I’ve been this way ever since I woke up on that cliff.” He looked down at himself, almost ashamed. “But at least I can try to save other children…where I failed to save my own. I just can’t save all of them…”

  “Are anymore of the missing kids still—”

  He shook his head gravely before I could finish, confirming what I already knew.

  “You’re lucky Iris was such a small girl.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “See, Hags are picky. Sometimes they keep a child alive for weeks. Feeding it, fattening it…” he spat, the rage seething through his teeth. Again he breathed deeply. “I blame myself for Arden… always. I wonder; if he hadn’t been so plump, would he have lived long enough for me to save him?”

  “It wasn’t your fault…” I muttered. But there were no other words of comfort I had to give. No real solace. I knew nothing I could say would make him feel better, so I stayed quiet instead. My head rested against his arm as we sat in silence a while, Iris’ little snores still bouncing off the walls.

  “Coffee?” I asked through a wet sniff, wiping away the waterworks as I stroked the length of his arm. With the heavy stuff out of the way, I felt diverting to comforts might be best.

  “Hmm…I could go for a wee dram, if you have any.”

  “Dram?”

  “Sorry…” He shook his head, his expression forgetful. “A shot of whiskey. Or something of the like.”

  “Oh…I think I may have something stashed away.”

  Deep in a cabi
net behind an old crockpot, I dug out a bottle of whiskey probably as old as I was, and blew dust out of a couple of short glasses that sat in the cupboard above. I had never been much of a drinker myself, but the whiskey had definitely found some use once Iris’ father left.

  Maddox still sat on the floor, collecting himself.

  “Are you hungry at all?” I asked, sifting through the snacks in the pantry and awaiting an answer. Hearing none, I grabbed the first bag I could. “Maddy?”

  “Hmm?” He only looked up once as I came back to sit. He watched me tear open a bag of pretzels as I poured us both a drink. As I handed him the first one, he immediately swigged it, tilting his glass toward the bottle as if asking for more. I obliged.

  I leaned up on the wall beside him, munching away on the salty snacks as I chased them down with the liquid fire. Eventually, our emotions settled, the drink taking the edge off the sadness that staled the air. I stared at the swill in my glass, a tightness clenching my stomach, knowing the impending story was deeply personal—and one I hadn’t told for years.

  “My husband left me…about five years ago.”

  I could feel his head turn my way, on a slow pivot, but I didn’t meet his gaze. Instead I took another slug, tapping the toes of my shoes together as I fought a quivering lip.

  “What happened?” The way he asked was almost cautious.

  “Hmph…” I shook my head upon remembering, still somewhat bothered by it. “Well, we got married young, and everything was great, you know? High school sweethearts, or whatever.” I made sure to finish the glass before jumping to the next part. “But after I got pregnant, he started acting…sort of distant, I guess. He said he wanted a family as much as I did but…he didn’t. I know that now.”

  Anger began to simmer within me, the bottle making its way into my grasp as I skipped all pleasantries and took a gulp from it. My head began the start of a spin. “A few days after we had Iris, we hired a babysitter; when James couldn’t take off anymore. She was a younger, prettier, perkier little thing, but it was just someone to help take care of Iris—I was so naïve. I had to have a C-section, see, and I couldn’t really do much for a good month or two. But uh…apparently they grew…close…in the time I was, you know, bedridden.”

  His eyes burned into the side of my head as I spoke, those long fingers brushing the side of my leg in passing affection. I think he could tell I was getting riled up. “When I was finally able to go out again, the first thing I did was to go for a nice, long walk. After being inside for so long, I needed it. But, you know, silly me, I soon realized I was being over ambitious so I turned back around.” In a wavelike motion, I gestured with my hand dramatically, signaling my return.

  “I came home earlier than expected, and caught him in bed with her—our bed.” Another sip helped numb my aching heart, the hole he left still a bit raw when I spoke of it.

  “A few weeks,” I spat through bitter tears. “He couldn’t wait a few fuc—” My mouth was full with a slurry of foul words, things I wished I had said to him then.

  “I still wanted him too…so badly. He was my first. But he couldn’t stand it…the idea of sleeping with me anymore, or even touching me—now that I had this ‘burden’ as he called it. ‘I see you so differently now that you’re a mother’”. I scoffed, remembering the insecure feelings that crept up in me then—and even now.

  “And so he left with Alysa…I haven’t heard from them much since. What’s worse is I forced myself to believe that he had gone missing, but really I was just in denial. The cops had a good laugh though, I bet.” I shook my head, realizing that my story paled in comparison to his. I didn’t want to make this any more of a pity party than it already was.

  “But that doesn’t even compare to yours, I just…I wanted you to know. And yeah, a couple years later I went on a few dates just to see but…nothing ever came of it. A kiss here, maybe a bit of fooling around, but I felt so little. I could be insatiably horny, and still couldn’t bring myself to sleep with anyone. It was just always so…empty.”

  Without realizing, I had begun to cry again, the tears only known to me when one dripped into the bottle. I swiped at them quickly. “Sorry…” I sniffed, swirling the tainted mixture as I stared at the floor.

  “Fool.”

  “Sorry?”

  I was surprised he really went so far as to call me a fool.

  “He left you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but…”

  His hand fell to my leg, tracing sweetly up the length of it as he took a gentle hold of my knee.

  “So that makes him a fool.” The base of the bottle clanked to the floor, my eyes still teary as our gazes met. His eyes were full of a passionate sincerity, and the malt made his voice sound like it dropped in pitch as he leaned in closer. “A fool…for leaving someone like you.”

  “Oh, Maddy…we’re such lightweights.” I giggled, noting that we really hadn’t drunk much and already felt its effects. “I think the drink has gone to both our hea—”

  Suddenly, I was his. He lifted himself from the floor so fast it startled me. We both gasped as he took ahold of the back of my neck, pulling me close. Our lips locked as he crawled on top of me, our bodies colliding in a moment of ecstasy. With my back to the floor, he hovered above me. The sound of the whiskey bottle rang as it toppled over; spilling what was left onto the floor.

  We both reeked of malt, but it didn’t stop our tongues from dancing savagely around one another. My hands traced up his burly, quivering arms as they braced the floor on either side of me. Every so often, our kiss would break from drunken sloppiness, but we’d soon find our way back to one another.

  As his lips left mine to fall to my neck, my skin began to itch from the heat. My fingers gripped at the ridges of skin on his head as I drew him closer. His hot breaths and warm tongue were paving a dangerously wet trail down my neck before he laid a love bite at the base of it. My hips had begun moving in an irregular rhythm, imagination filled with wild ideas of being taken by him right here on the floor. I wouldn’t have fought it at all.

  He fit perfectly between my legs as the telltale prod of something hard pressed against my thigh. I began to imagine how it would feel, the both of us naked and him inside me—the thought drove me crazy. Once he was able to pull himself away long enough to lift up, he looked down at the disheveled state of me, and I up at him, our chests heaving out of sync.

  With my hips still moving, he pressed a hand against my heart. I heard the creak of leather as his fingers curled to part my unbuttoned shirt; slowly tracing the cleavage I had so beckoned him with earlier. The gloves annoyed me. I was sick of the barriers he put between our touch. This time he didn’t fight as I slid the glove from his hand, which resumed its travels down the quaking muscles of my stomach, and up again.

  His fingers were delightfully rugged, hands strong as he squeezed as much of my swollen breast as he could grasp all at once, and then continued down. With hands almost half the size of my stomach, he gripped my side with yearning, fingers still on their trek until he came to the waist of my skirt.

  As he gripped the hem, his breath shook, mine lying in wait. I felt a finger drag itself, barely touching me, along the inside of my thigh, pausing an inch away from the panties that housed my engorged pussy. In the calm before the storm, we stared deeply into each other’s eyes, watching the embers as they rumbled within us. The sudden pressure of his fingertips against the wetness sent my body into such a fit that even his own twitched.

  “Mmmm…” I moaned loudly before clasping a shaking hand to my mouth. His eyes were forced to close as he realized how soaked I was beneath his fingers. Once they opened again, he began to rub—gently, and in slow, rhythmic circles. My eyelids flickered, my mouth agape as quiet moans escaped it with each breath I took. He slid up against me with the back of his fingers, enough to feel the unmistakable bump of my clit as I whimpered against his touch.

  It was growing unbearable, this tension between us, and I knew he cou
ld feel my frustration. My anxious brow wrinkled, lust sending jolts of desperation throughout me. He reached a hand down to adjust himself, hand reappearing as his elbows fell to the floor while he lowered himself onto me.

  Brushing a mess of hair from my face, he caressed the red heat of my cheek as it grew. I slid my arms behind his back, his hand moving mine away from my mouth as he stared hard at my lips before thrusting his hips against me, kissing me as they hit. A squeal sounded within me, one I couldn’t hold. Every muscle in my body clenched against the pressure.

  We both groaned in a pause, unable to move. Even our kisses had halted, his shoulders shaking in my grasp. I could feel him throbbing against me, cock bursting at the seam of his pants as he began to move—our bodies trembling but steady. I wrapped my legs around his, feeling the gradual tensing of his round buttocks with each thrust. My toes pointed in wait of the release that started to build the second he began to ravage me.

  After all these years, it amazed me that something as simple as dry humping could feel better than sex—at least the sex I knew. That only made me wonder what the real thing would be like with this man. I couldn’t begin to imagine, but within minutes his body began to struggle, his head falling beside mine as I heard his steady breaths beginning to falter as his motions grew unsteady. Like he was holding something back.

  I wanted to be worried, truly. But whatever it was that troubled him, I couldn’t hold back anymore, as much as I tried. In one, huge rush, my senses overloaded. Legs locking, my head shot back as my eyes leaked in a silent cry that soon turned to a long, drawn out wail.

  You’d think I was losing it by how much my body convulsed beneath his, my hands gripping his shirt with such a force I could hear the fabric trying to tear. His chest hummed as he grunted, moaning loudly into my neck. His hard-on held against me as he too shook, his muscles seizing.

  Once the storm had passed, we laid there, molded to one another, our bodies fighting to return to a resting state. I nudged his head, kissing all along the side of it as he lifted, pulling it down to me for one final kiss before we heard the fussy rustling of a child who’d been rudely awoken.