Page 53 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane (Rise of the Resistance #2)

THE CAT AND THE BIRD CAN’T SHUT IT OUT

A presence in the room wakes up the predator inside me. I didn’t sleep much, and my body gave out about four am. I sit up and squint into the darkness as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My body tightens from head to toe.

He’s here.

I don’t turn on the lights; instead, I let the emerald bleed in and use my night vision. This is good practice for learning to control individual features of my Beast. Full transformation is not only difficult to control, but lacks stealth. I look at the doorway to the hall and see him fidgeting, his expression nervous and aura awash with emotions like a bad LSD trip.

He was gone all night.

My first reaction is spite. He should be nervous, as he berated me for things outside of my control, didn’t respect my honesty, and made me worry all night long that he’d taken a powder. We may make a lot of lofty professions, but my heart is still taped together with duct tape. I have to fight not to panic every single time we fight like this, no matter what the reason is.

He knows that.

I itched all night because he was away and unlike any other mate I’ve ever had, the tug of being separated isn’t an emotional ache inside, but a physical problem. I tossed and turned for hours—my exhaustion led to a total shutdown. It sucked rocks and it’s his fault for being an ass. All I care about right now is that he’s home. I could kick myself for not being angrier, but I can’t help it.

He’s home.

I give him a small smile, feeling tentative as I whisper, “Hi, baby.”

What a giant pansy I am. This wasn’t my fault. I did nothing wrong. In fact, I worked hard to make sure that no one else did.

“Morning, love of mine,” he says, ditching his duster and shirt on the couch. He plops down onto the bed next to me. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes widen. Not like him to start with an apology. I tilt my head, studying him. “What for?”

I feel it’s necessary to find out what he thinks he’s apologizing for. In the past, others have hurt me and not given any specific reasons or excuses. That only leads to the same thing hurting me over and over as I think they never knew why they were saying sorry–or didn’t care, I’m not sure which.

“I shouldn’t have said that last night,” he mumbles.

Ah. He gets it. Let’s see how well he understands.

Nodding, I sigh. “It’s okay. It upsets you. You had a good reason.”

He shakes his head, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it up. My resolve turns to mush as I look at the small, badly knit sweater. “I pined.”

Shit. How do I push the envelope on that? I mean, the damned thing wouldn’t fit Twist, but he tried. Imagine what would happen if anyone but me got a picture of the killer of K Street with knitting needles and a baby blue yarn. He knew just how to get me with that one: an old joke about me missing him so much when he’s gone that I sit in a rocking chair and knit like a Civil War widow. He’s telling me how much he missed me with it, albeit sneakily.

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. I am so in love with this wonderful, moody, loving, difficult idiot that I don’t even know what to do with myself.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, love—truly. I know it hurt you; I could feel it all night. You cried, and it’s my fault. I lashed out and included you in a group of people that I shouldn’t have. Forgive me?”

He does not understand how much I try to keep the insanity away from him and keep my own issues from affecting him. Having it thrown in my face was painful.

My nose rubs against his neck as I nod; I inhale his scent as my fingers clutch the tiny scrap in my hands, feeling calmer than I have in hours. “I know they upset you. I was trying to be honest with you and let you know why I was late. I am sensitive about being grouped with the people who are less than healthy in behavior. I try to keep a lid on my crazy.”

His arms wrap around me and he buries his face in my hair. “It was a bloody miserable night. I felt so sodding alone.”

That’s a feeling I know well. I stayed here because it terrified me to miss his return.

I paced, I cried, I yelled, I tossed and turned—what I did not do is feel like I had anyone who could understand. I didn’t contact Rafe. I couldn’t explain in a way that he would understand; I had to go it alone. “I slept a grand total of two hours before you got here,” I murmur. “I itched all night. Aradia came to sleep with me, but she got annoyed and took off.” I chuckle.

Rubbing his cheek against mine, he says, “I don’t think I’d like to have another night like that any time in the foreseeable future. My family wasn’t exactly—sympathetic. They’re not likely to be when I’ve been a git, so I got no comfort there at all.” He lets go of me for a moment, slipping under the covers to snuggle. I slide over and curl up against him, eyes closing as I sigh. “I couldn’t even kill my breakfast, sod it all. It was pathetic,” he grumbles.

I smile a little at that image. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here and we’re okay.” I nuzzle his neck then nip his mark. I should push this more because I need him to understand why he should be more careful. However, I’m so fucking glad he’s back that I can’t make myself kick up more dust right now.”

Groaning, he clutches me to him. “Christ, you feel good.”

I purr, the rumble low and thrumming. “You do, too.”

His hand slides over my hair, and I lean in, sighing in contentment.

Suddenly, his brows furrow. “It sounds like the terror twins are up to tricks again; the goddess wants me to warn you since she’s having a conversation right now. When she comes out of the sodding room for breakfast for the first time, this happens.”

I look over at the night table, floating my phone up and squinting at it. There are at least ten messages stacking up on the lock screen and the words ‘trouble’, ‘love’, and ‘blame’ are a common theme. “Well, looks like if I were paying attention, I’d be getting my own lectures.”

“Why are they texting you? You are mates. Why don’t they split your skull like the goddess does to me?”

I shrug, trying to downplay this as much as possible, because it’s a peek into the insanity of my life and could lead to topics I am not ready for and after last night? I know he is ALSO not ready for this shit. “I have to kind of… explain to you what things look like inside my—inner sanctum, we’ll say.”

“Isn’t that the name of a comic book guy’s house?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not averse to you thinking I’m that powerful, but no.” I pinch him and smile. “Inside me, there are a lot of places—more than a normal person because even before the Beast, my magick has needed space, and this is how I could manage all the lines.”

He gives me a skeptical look but stays quiet.

“Picture a large room like in an old marble library in Europe. In the center is the ‘eternal flame’ as we’ll ever so dramatically call it. That’s my spirit, soul, and fire—whatever. Around that atrium, there are doors to where my magick lives, the Beast, my human side, and mating bonds. Open one: find a part of me that connects to the flame. Inside, there are floor to ceiling cabinets that look like old-style card catalogs. I label every drawer that is filled with memories, thoughts, feelings, etc. Some things get sealed because they need to be. Some are easy to open. When I need to, I lock the doors and cut off the connection to the flame. Sometimes for my sanity, sometimes for self-protection, and sometimes in anger. I can do it with just about anything because one door represents the rest of the Universe and that one, I had to learn to clamp off.”

His eyes narrow. “One door is me?”

I nod. “It is. I don’t quite have control of that one yet. It’s difficult.” His expression wars between pleased and irritated, so I go on. “Months ago, I started filing things away in particular mates’ rooms. I learned to seal the door fully, partially, and with our exes, cut the cord so that it feels withered and dead.”

“Dead?”

I give him a shrug. “I’m a witch, love. You can’t imagine that these rooms and corridors and everything aren’t full of nature and life and emotions and impressions—cutting it off from my life force has made it look like the door to Hades. I can’t help that. It needed to happen, and I needed to store the ache somewhere where it wouldn’t make me insane. You know the stories.”

“What about your primary?” he asks.

“He has his own room. I store his things.” He looks like he’s about to ask a question and I shake my head. “Not for discussion. Witches I’ve consulted say that they don’t know anyone who compacts their inner being the way I do. Between that, the emotional turmoil here, the Beast, the magick, cloaking the Resistance, holding his stuff, and everything else? It explains why I require feeding and the amount of feeding needed has increased. I need life force energy. As my magick grows stronger and I renew with the Earth more often, that will make it easier.”

“The reason you’re telling me therefore is that they have to text you? They can’t use their bond because you’ve clamped it?”

“Yes. I have for a while now. I didn’t feel they needed access to things that were not their business, and I cannot trust them to stay away. It has made for some interesting conversations, Rafe says. He’s done his best to downplay it.”

“The phone buzzes again and I raise the lights a smidge with my mind, looking at the screen with a snarl. Bullshit arguments, pleas, accusations: the full circle of the ‘why aren’t you paying attention to me’ game that the two of them play. I’m sure that the next step will be them getting someone else to poke at me, too.

Why the hell isn’t he focused on the person sitting at his goddamned table right now?

“Right then,” he says, closing his eyes, looking like he’s concentrating. I hear doors slam one after another and the air feels dense. Breathing heavily, he drops back against the pillows.

Tilting my hand, I try to sense the change. “What did you do, baby?”

He lifts his head, looking drained, and hisses, “I closed the entire house. It’s a little mental trick I’ve learned: no one gets in physically and only primary mates can contact us mentally. I know that’s something you do on your own, but now we’re both a world away. We need a day like this.”

I nod slowly, agreeing that the outside world is wearing on me. Laying my head on his chest, I let the calming influence of our bond sink in. I’m so fried from all the stress and the problems that have been popping up within my family. Everything is grating on me.

His lips brush my forehead, voice husky as it vibrates over my skin. “For the moment, nothing out there can touch us here, I promise. Anything tries to get in, Talia will deal with it.”

Rubbing my face on his chest, I wrap around him, clutching at him like he’s the only port in my storm. I inhale, breathing in his scent. I feel his nearness, his strength seeping into me, washing away the gray.

~Love you, baby. ~ His voice is a whisper, linking us deeply enough that I feel the tiny light of the baby joined in. She’s so strong, so quickly. It is no wonder they set the docs to keep a close eye on my progress.

Feeling the connection echo through me like a healing balm, the ugly of things in the outside world fades. A thought occurs to me and I look up at him. “I think I’m hungry again. Maybe.”

His deep chuckle reverberates in my mind and heart as his hand brushes over my cheek. ~Preggo broads. Sheesh. ~ I feel the laughter again, his teasing tone, and it buzzes through me like warm champagne. ~For what? You need me to get you something? ~

“I don’t know yet. I gotta think about it.” Chewing on my lip, I consider for a moment.

His hand rubs over my stomach and he arches a brow at me. “Let me know. I could take you out.”

Snuggling closer, I shake my head, nose wrinkled. “Don’t want to move. I’m too comfy.”

He snorts. “That narrows the lunch menu, puss. There’s me and there’s me.” Pondering for a moment, he reconsiders. “There might be stuff in the fridge. I don’t know the last time your crew was about.”

I shrug. “I’m sure it’s full. Leo won’t let anything get empty. There are too many cooking shows to experiment with, especially since the garden sprouted.”

His phone rings, causing him to curse. “Fucking hell. That’s a Company ring. I have to take this, baby.” Expression apologetic, he scoots out of bed, taking it with him as he walks towards the hallway.

I curl around a pillow, closing my eyes as I feel the doors inside me rattling, pulling at me despite his words. The moment he’s not touching me, they worm past his defenses and start testing mine. I wasn’t lying. I can clamp them off, but unless I burn the bridge as I did with Rhea and Alistair, they can fight it. They don’t always win, but they put up one hell of a fight.

Angry accusations again. Fuck.

My brow furrows and I tighten around the pillow, trying to block it out and keep it from bleeding in. It’s harder to keep them out since the Winter Incident. Everything about them is so wrong that I can’t always snip the line. The delineation between Wilde and his demon is difficult to control, and that is because I’m so broken there. I manage, but things still slip through. He knows it, too.

Footsteps echo on the parquet floor of the hall and the bed dips as he sits. “What’s with the curling, baby? Is closing the world out not working?”

I shake my head. “Not entirely. Bits and pieces get in occasionally. They’re used to having to find ways in. They’ve gotten craftier.”

He frowns and the shutters bang, opening everything up again, his jaw gritted. “Why am I not surprised? You are never able to walk away from it, are you? You can’t be here and enjoy us—you let them ruin it.” Pushing to his feet, he stalks across the room, growling, “I’m going to work out.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, frustration coursing through me. The bullshit from them is wearing on me and I am so through with this. Everyone sucks. Everyone !

Abandoned, angry, and burned out, I jump off the bed, trudge over to the closet and pull on my clothes. I throw my hair out of the collar of the duster with an aggravated sigh, then stomp over to the nightstand to scribble a note to leave on the bed.

Hungry. Gone to kill something.

With that, I slip out, heading into the gloom outside.