Page 17

Summer

W hile shoveling in scrambled eggs at the kitchen table, Wyn interrogates me about my parents’ murder, and as he scrapes his plate clean, his bright-green gaze turns intense. “One last question. When you were making pizza that night, did you notice any strange smells in the kitchen?”

“What kind of smells?”

“A dark, smoky scent, tinged with something like burnt sugar?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

Shaking his head, he swiftly changes the subject and blasts me with another dimpled smile. “Some members of my family remember a time when this city was swampland, crawling with angry beasts with long snouts and even longer tails.”

“Do you mean alligators? They’re still out there. Take care if you walk behind the house near the lake. Do your ancestors originate from Lake Grenlynn, Wyn? ”

Marie hovers by the stovetop, wiping it with a transparent cloth. I haven’t the heart to tell her she’s wasting her incorporeal energy.

As Wyn collects our plates, his lips twist and he avoids my eyes, fixing his gaze on the tabletop. “No. They’re not from around here.”

I touch his arm, flinching at the zap of electricity that shudders along my spine. “Leave the mess. We’ll pack the dishwasher tomorrow after breakfast. We should go to bed.”

Wearing a grin, he slowly turns to face me, his expression equal parts boyish mischief and barely leashed, extremely manly hunger. “Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

Shit, no. But neither is microwave popcorn for dinner, and I’ve had that twice this week already.

“We have to sleep sometime, don’t we?” I say, squeezing his bicep just because I can.

As we climb the stairs, he’s so close behind me his body heat warms me like a radiator, and I’m pretty sure he takes a big , long breath through his nose, like he’s... “Hey! Did you just sniff me?”

Please say no. Wait! Please say yes. Dammit . I clearly haven’t decided if I’m flattered or freaked out.

“Is enjoying the way someone smells a crime in this city?” Wyn asks.

“No it’s just creepy,” I say, pushing him through the door of the spare room next to mine.

I’m lying. I don’t feel creeped out at all. My skin tingles all over, and I’m having trouble thinking straight. I barely know him. But he’s this perfect mix of hot and strong and vulnerable. And I’m so attracted to him. I don’t want to be, but I simply can’t help it.

“You can sleep in here, and Zylah will learn to deal with it.”

His eyes light up as he checks out the room. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Crossing his arms, he leans a shoulder on the door frame. “Sorry about drinking your scent in like a wild wolf before. I couldn’t help myself. You smell amazing.”

“I didn’t have a chance to shower after work today. I must stink like—”

“You smell perfect,” he interrupts. “ Really . Couldn’t be better.”

I laugh. “You’re still drunk. Time to go into your room, Wyn,” I say, nudging his wall of muscle through the doorway again. A great excuse to touch him. “In this state, you’re dangerous.”

He makes a please-explain face, arching his brows, then his eyes smolder and darken.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m scrambled eggs.”

“I think you know why.”

Oh, shit. Here we go. He’s not the least bit shy. The question is: what am I going to do about it? Give in, or resist my growing attraction to a possibly mad, clothes-optional stranger?

“Grían is the word for sun in old Irish,” he says, leaning closer. “Did you know that? Makes sense that people call you Summer.”

I swallow hard, unease humming in my veins. He knows my birth name? He must’ve read the old newspapers in the basement. Damn. I should have moved them. He says my real name like it means something. Like I mean something to him. That’s what scares me .

“No. I didn’t know it,” I lie smoothly. Mom was an Irish scholar, so of course I’m aware of what my name means. I just don’t understand why I’m lying to him.

Warm fingers stroke my cheek. “When you lie, Summer, the skin around your left eye twitches a little. Most wouldn’t notice. But I notice everything about you.”

“Sounding like a stalker again.”

He grins, unashamed.

I smile back. “Those dimples of yours are lethal.”

“Finest in the land that I hail from… or so I’ve been told.”

“Humble, aren’t you?”

“Not particularly,” he admits. Stepping even closer, he rakes a hand through his hair and blows out a slow breath. “Gods, Summer. I want…”

Then before my brain catches up, his head dips lower. His lips touch mine, whisper-soft, the shock and feel of him curling my toes.

“Wyn,” I moan like I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first saw him naked in my kitchen. Which is true, but honestly, I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for him.

Deepening the kiss, I lean into him, my fingers threading through his hair, the palm of my other hand cupping his cheekbone, not letting him come up for air.

Waves of heat pulse through me. I’ve never felt anything this good. When he groans and wraps his arms tightly around my waist, I push forward, into the bedroom, ready to take this all the way.

Life is hard, and I’m tired of not having nice things. Of sitting back waiting for the good stuff to happen. I don’t want him to slip through my fingers and disappear forever. Not before I feel the full weight of him against me, skin to skin.

A tremor ripples through him, and then his hands are on my shoulders, cool air between our bodies. “I can’t, Summer. Fuck, I want to. More than anything. But I can’t because my sister—”

“Your sister ?” Anger and confusion shudder through me as I sink onto the edge of his bed, rubbing my arms. “I don’t understand. What’s she got to do with who you sleep with?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you the truth.”

“No shit. But news flash: I already do, so you’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Where do I start?” The bed frame creaks as he sits beside me and expels a long breath.

“I’m the only son of the Air Prince of Talamh Cúig, Everend Fionbharr.

My mother is Lara Delaney from the human city of Blackbrook.

I’m brother to the Unseelie Queen of Merits, and also, I have this pain-in-the-ass curse— ”

I hold my palm up between us, shutting him down. “No, you don’t. No curses. I don’t want to hear any more of your delusions. It’s best if you get into bed and have a good night's sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“The curse has nothing to do with why I can’t touch you. It’s just that I told Merri that I wouldn’t. To keep us both safe.”

“La-la-la-laaa,” I sing, clapping my hands over my ears. “Not listening!”

“Come to bed with me?” he asks, his expression vulnerable. “To… sleep, I mean.”

“ What ? Why? Because you’re a glutton for punishment?

” With a loud sigh, I stand up. “I don’t think so.

You can lie there all alone and think about what we could have been doing if only you weren’t so worried about your imaginary sister’s opinion, which is weird by the way. Hope you have the sleep you deserve.”

If I sound seriously butthurt, that’s because I am. I haven’t wanted anyone like I want Wyn in years. But the feeling can’t be mutual if he’s making up bad excuses to avoid doing the deed with me.

“Okay. Goodnight, Summer,” he says whipping his T-shirt over his head.

I bite my lip to stop myself from saying something stupid, like, oh, wow, muscles .

“Give my regards to the lady in the mirror,” he continues. “I presume she’s your mother.”

Halfway to the door, I freeze. “You see the ghosts, too?”

“Of course,” he says with a grin. “I’m not blind.”

“Whenever I see my mom’s ghost,” I reply, “I beg my eyes to malfunction.”

“Why? It’s a talent, Summer. Only gifted folk see them.”

Arms crossed, I pace in front of him. “I’m not convinced. Being forced to bear witness to their never-ending pain. Seeing them trapped in limbo. It’s horrible.”

Ollie appears in the doorway, announcing his presence with an urgent meh-raow? before springing onto Wyn’s lap.

My cat vibrates in ecstasy as Wyn strokes him firmly from head to tail.

“But you can easily release the spirits from the plane they’re trapped in.

The ritual is simple. If you know the dead person, you must forgive them for the harm they did you.

If they did no ill, but believe they have, then you must say you forgive them anyway. ”

I tuck my unruly hair behind my ears. “It can’t be that straightforward. ”

“It is. Just say the word, and I’ll help you let your dear mother go.”

“She was never that dear to me.”

“Where’s she buried?” he asks.

“Her ashes are in the garage.”

He braces his palms on the bed, muscles straining as if he’s about to stand up, bare-chested and everything. “Show me.”

“ Now ?” I squeak. “Why?”

“I’ll make sure we send your mom away for good.”

“Dabbling in the dark arts while you’re still drunk? No thanks. Too dangerous. Maybe tomorrow.”

His earnest desire to help melts away any lingering resentment from his rejection. I bid him goodnight with a smile and a lazy wave over my shoulder.

While I’m brushing my teeth and trying to scrub the image of the sexy, crazy boy in the other room from my mind, my mother materializes in the mirror. “He’s dangerous,” she warns without preamble.

Although I agree with her, I pretend ignorance, shrug, and say, “Who?” through a mouthful of toothpaste. My plan to exorcise her from the house pops into my head, and hot shame rolls through my gut.

“The wolf-boy you were making out with.”

Wait… how could she…? “I thought you could only see through Gravenshade’s mirrors,” I mumble.

“Perhaps that’s what I wanted you to believe.”

I spit into the sink, then rinse my mouth and toothbrush.

“Wyn’s not as half as dangerous as the idea of you watching my entire sexual awakening in 4K, Mom. ”

Because that’s just peachy. Who wouldn’t want their dead mother witnessing every embarrassing moment of their lives?

I think of how wild and reckless I acted when I returned from my year-long-kidnapping event—or whatever it was. The hangover days I spent barfing over the toilet, my rage-filled self-destruction, the ridiculous songs I screamed out, drunk and hating on my parents for never loving me enough.

Oh, and let’s not forget the times I spent in bed engrossed in Zylah’s smutty romance books.

I really hope my ghost mother enjoyed all of that. Good grief .

“Right. So you can move anywhere you want around Gravenshade. Can you go outside, too? Why did you call Wyn a wolf-boy?”

She just smiles and melts into a ghostly cloud of gloom, destined to return tomorrow, like the world’s most persistent nightmare.

I really must take Wyn up on his offer to perform an exorcism. I’ll follow it up tomorrow and make sure whatever we do won’t hurt her. I don’t want her to suffer eternal damnation or anything too torturous, but I wouldn’t be upset if I never saw her frowning, judgmental face again.

Realizing I’ve forgotten to take my anxiety meds, I slip into sleep shorts and an old band T-shirt and pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, the usual chill I get whenever I make this trip alone at night sliding down my skin.

I click on a lamp and find the benches reasonably tidy, which means Zy and Kurt are still out drinking. And just like that horrible night eight years ago, the moon is full and silver light is shimmering over the tiled floor .

Lunging on one leg, I peer under the dining table. No bogeyman. Good. It’s just me and the creepy shadows.

After swallowing my pills, I crack open the back door and peek through it, certain I can hear music playing near the woods—wafting pipes and a low droning sound I don’t recognize. Probably Kurt out there with a portable speaker, playing a cruel joke on me.

If it is, when I catch him, I’m going to bury him under the magnolia tree.