Page 17 of Blood and Magic (RBMC: Helena, MT #2)

Maeve

I rubbed my temples while I waited for Mill to return, my headache worsening throughout the day.

It escalated into full-body chills by the time I asked Ellen to help with dinner.

But it didn’t wear me out the way the flu or a cold would.

If anything, I wanted to do more. I had the sudden urge to straighten the place up, gather every pillow I could, and make a fort in the parlor, some place quiet and hidden and comfortable.

Maybe I could convince Vermillion to stay there with me tonight.

I sipped my wine, but it tasted like garbage. Perhaps it had turned, and despite how good the chicken smelled, the thought of eating it made me want to vomit. My stomach churned, and I scowled at the food.

It had been fun to help Ellen in the kitchen once I had finally convinced her to let me. She insisted it was her job, that I paid her to do it, and while I couldn’t argue with that, I simply reframed the thought. Perhaps I was paying her to give me her wisdom.

Of course, now I suffered for it with pressure between my eyes and body aches that wouldn’t go away.

I straightened when Vermillion’s footsteps echoed down the stairs, and I forced a smile as he sat on the opposite side of the table.

His clean scent wafted over the space between us, reminding me of woods, rain, and man.

There was something else there, too, something dark and inviting.

I wanted to curl up in his lap, stuff my head in his chest, and inhale every last bit of him for the rest of the night.

“When you look at me like that,” he said, scooting his chair in, “it’s difficult to remember we’re supposed to be enemies.”

Warmth flooded my body, heating my cheeks, down into my neck.

My skin burned with the memory of how he’d touched me at the wedding, how his rough fingers had electrified my nerves, bringing me to life.

He’d flirted with me over text this afternoon.

Did that mean something more? Or was he just being nice?

He didn’t seem like the playful type, but of course, how well did I truly know him?

“You’re very nice to look at,” I admitted. “And besides, we’re not enemies anymore. Not really.”

He chuckled and grabbed the wine to bring it to his nose.

“No, don’t,” I said. “It’s soured.”

Vermillion frowned and sipped anyway. “Tastes alright to me.”

“Huh.” I tried it again, only to shiver at the bitter taste sliding down my throat. “Maybe it’s just me. God, I don’t know what’s wrong.” Gripping my head, I ran circles on my scalp and sighed. “Go ahead and eat. I’m not sure I’m hungry.”

Vermillion twisted his features into a worried frown before picking up the fork to stab into a piece of chicken, using the knife to slice it off. “Do you feel any better since this afternoon?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I took some medicine, but it didn’t help.”

Vermillion gulped and glanced down at his dinner. “Is it just the headache?”

I shook my head. “It’s body aches and chills. I think I have the flu. You should probably keep your distance.”

“Hmm. I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. “Thank you for dinner. This is amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I didn’t do much, but learning was fun.”

“What made you want to cook?” He narrowed his gaze on me and took another sip of wine.

I shrugged. “Not sure. Just felt like doing something, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned back in his seat and tilted his head to the side, seeming to study me. “Are you noticing anything else? Like maybe the urge to clean or…other things?”

Snorting a laugh, I pushed the chicken around on my plate. “No. Why?”

“Never mind,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Okay. Aside from having to check in with an annoying bodyguard every thirty minutes.”

Vermillion pulled his lips into a charming smile. “You didn’t seem that annoyed in those pictures.”

“Play your cards right and you could enjoy the same privileges as Lennon.” I winked and bit into the chicken before deciding it tasted awful, too. Perhaps some bread.

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t tease me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

I liked the sound of that.

We bantered through our meal, and afterward, we sat and talked like old friends.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I finally asked, emboldened by the few sips of alcohol and the cozy conversation.

“No.” He scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. “I haven’t been serious about anyone in a long time, and after I nearly died…it’s easier to keep people at a distance.”

That piqued my interest. “You nearly died?”

He nodded and explained how he’d been helping the MC with a raid, but things went wrong. He’d been clinically dead for five minutes.

“Me too,” I said. “Some strange heart condition.” I pointed to the spot on the floor where it’d happened. “Right there, in fact. About six months ago.”

“Me too,” he said. “So you’re a day walker.”

I chuckled. “A day walker?”

“You died and came back to life.” He laughed, and a chill shot through me at the sound. “Did you see any white light? Any long-dead ancestors welcoming you into the great beyond?”

“Sadly, no,” I admitted, taking another drink of wine.

“Yeah, same here. It’s disappointing, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” I tried to ignore the contemplative way he looked at me, as if revealing the worst thing that had ever happened to me had changed the way he saw me.

“What about you?” He spun his empty wineglass around. “Any boyfriends?”

“Oh, tons,” I said facetiously. “Yes, they’re constantly blowing up my phone. I can hardly keep the men off me.”

“Why say it like that?” He leaned forward on his elbows, studying me. “You’re a beautiful woman. I would have thought you’d have them lining up around the block.”

“I don’t trust people,” I said. “Especially men.” I’d been brokenhearted too many times to count, and after a while, the risks didn’t outweigh the benefits. “You think I’m beautiful?”

His cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink that echoed up to his ears and down his throat. “All of you Vanderbilts are.”

The rush of cool, humiliating rejection splashed through my veins, calming down any hope that he might return my affections.

Then, he gulped the rest of his wine and stood. “I should go to bed. Thank you for dinner, Maeve.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Will you join me for breakfast tomorrow?”

He nodded. “And another ride, if you’re feeling up to it.”

I waited for his footsteps to ascend the stairs before I grinned to myself, finished my wine, and retired to my own room.

This went on for three more days. In the mornings, we ate breakfast and talked about our plans.

He updated me on the Bloody Scorpion sightings, pointing out where it was safe to go and where I should avoid.

Anything within the bounds of the security perimeter was okay, but I should always have an escort.

We took Molly and Rusty on rides, and I fell even more in love with his eyes in the sunshine.

They were the kind of brown that had flecks of glistening gold, and when he smiled (which he rarely did), it lit up his entire face. I’d do anything to make him smile.

I told jokes and talked about my sisters, and we reminisced about his time on the ranch and what stupid kids we were. It was nice to have him around, to be in his company, and when he went to work during the day, I texted him every thirty minutes like he wanted.

On Friday, he finally took me out on his bike. It was a beautiful Harley, painted a deep red with sparkling flecks.

“It’s Vermillion,” he corrected when I pointed it out.

“Oh, like your name,” I said, putting the helmet over my head and latching it under my chin.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded and swung a leg over the seat, balancing it between his thighs as he fiddled with the buttons on the handlebars.

Excitement bubbled in my stomach. Despite all my reckless behavior, I’d never been on a motorcycle before.

My father would never have allowed me to surround myself with people who rode them.

If he could only see me now. I couldn’t contain my rebellious laughter.

“Now, listen,” he said. “When we get going, you hold on tight, okay?”

The idea of wrapping my arms around his midsection and never letting go made my inner nine-year-old want to scream with both joy and mortification.

“Okay,” I said with a grin as big as my entire face.

I climbed on the bike behind him, my knees on either side of his hips, and I put my hands on his waist.

“No. Like this, sweetheart.” He grabbed my wrists and pulled them around his torso, forcing me closer to him, smushing my boobs up against his back. Completely embarrassing myself, I trembled at the contact, and I thought I heard him chuckle before he kicked the bike to life.

The loud rumble shot through me, and I forced myself to focus on my breathing to steady my heart rate.

But after he took off, I couldn’t contain the pure adrenaline-laced joy racing through my veins.

I squealed as we went faster, the rush of the wind on my cheeks amping up the thrill in my blood.

The combustion thundered under me, vibrating the soft spots between my legs, which was as scandalous as it was mesmerizing.

He kept it slow until we got to the main road, and then he let loose. We sped through the back-country streets, and when he took turns, I hugged him tighter to ensure I didn’t fall. Tingles spun through my stomach, and my pulse pounded, but it was terrific.

Life was meant to be all about this: the heat of the moment, the unrestrained pleasures that stifled the monotonous boredom, the magic of the world whipping by. Minutes raced like seconds, and I enjoyed every single one to the fullest.

Mill drove us into the mountains, and when he finally stopped the bike, we were at an overlook that gazed down on all of Helena.