Blood on the Tide, page 18
“As long as you understand that there will be no distracting me from the conversation itself.” There’s no give in her voice, and the steel I find there sends a thrill through me despite my concern for her.
“So be it.” I take her hand and start toward the nearest staircase carved into the cliffside. As we get closer, I’m relieved to see a lift that appears to be powered by magic. Good. Maeve might be feeling better, but if we have to climb more than one level, it will put too much stress on her body. I veer toward the lift, pretending that I don’t hear Maeve’s huff of irritation. She can be mad if she wants, but I am looking out for her best interests. Even if she doesn’t appreciate it.
The person at the lift is dressed head to toe in shades of vibrant purple. Only their eyes are visible, deep orange orbs that give little indication to the type of person hidden beneath the clothing.
Conscious of the irritated selkie at my back, I decide not to make matters worse by being an asshole. I can’t quite manage a smile, but I keep my tone polite. “Can you direct us to a healer?” After a pause, I add, “Please.”
Like everyone else in Threshold, the translation spell I acquired upon entry seems to work with them. They take me in and glance at Maeve. It’s everything I can do not to step sideways to prevent them from looking at her. My reaction doesn’t even make sense. They’re hardly threatening.
They point one gloved finger upward. “Three levels. Go right. Look for the door with roses on the mantel overhead.”
“Thanks.” Whoever this healer is, they’d better be good. No doubt, the locals keep the most skilled healers to themselves, far away from sailors and tourists. It’s what I would do. If I have to, I’ll track down one of those fuckers, but it would piss Maeve off more, so I truly hope it won’t come to that.
We take the lift up three levels as directed and follow the instructions to the curved doorway with roses carved and painted along the mantel frame. Up until this point, Maeve seemed content to let me take the lead, but as I raise my hand to knock on the faded white wood, she steps in front of me. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Maeve.”
“Lizzie,” she mimics my irritation. “If your glaring face is the first thing the healer sees upon opening the door, they’re liable to slam it right in your face. Let me do the talking.”
“As long as you’re honest about how you’re feeling and what happened.” I’m not used to this guilt. I don’t know how to combat it. I don’t even know if I have the desire to combat it. I’ve killed so many people over the course of my life, and never spared a thought to who they were or what their hopes and dreams may have been. Or even who they left behind. I’ve hurt countless others with the same lack of care.
But there is no lack of care when it comes to Maeve. I catch myself staring at her face, clocking the exact tone of her skin to ensure that she’s feeling well. Of measuring the steady beat of her heart for any irregularities. Every time I blink, I see her in that bed, too pale, too still, too lacking in the vivacity that makes Maeve Maeve.
Because of me. Because I lost control and almost damaged someone that I have grown to—No. There’s no use following that train of thought to its natural conclusion.
I step back and allow Maeve to knock gently on the door. A few moments later, a robed figure, this time in light gray, opens it. They have orange eyes as well, though they are faded to a pale color and lined on each side with age. “A vampire and a selkie. What a strange combination. Come in.”
Maeve and I exchange a look. There are plenty of paranormals who can clock me at a glance, but her? With her pelt tucked carefully into her bag, she could be anyone. I have the strangest desire to turn around and hustle Maeve away, but after making such a big deal about getting her to a healer, there’s nothing I can do but follow her inside.
This, at least, is familiar. I may not recognize all the herbs and jars and miscellaneous paraphernalia in the cabinets lining the walls around the room, but I recognize the sensation of a healer’s place. It doesn’t matter what the culture, what the variety of paranormal, what the time or space or anything else—all these spaces have a vaguely similar feel. Dim and soothing and scented with whatever herbs are designed to relax nervous patients. Most people find it comforting. It makes me want to crawl right out of my skin.
Vampires heal at an exponential rate. All I need to recover from even a mortal wound is blood. We don’t have much use for healers, and there’s a complicated history there where a number of them would very much like to poke and prod us to find out if our healing powers can be applied to others in their care.
Personally, I take exception to being poked and prodded.
I stick close to Maeve as we step into the room and follow the healer’s urging to sit on the wide stone bench in the center. They move to stand before us and clasp their hands in front of them. It’s then that I notice the hands themselves, gnarled with age and containing an extra knuckle on each finger. “I’m Rose. Tell me what brought you here today.”
Maeve puts her hand on my thigh before I can say anything. It’s just as well. She gives the healer a sweet smile. “My friend here was a little overzealous in her bite and took too much blood. I’m feeling fine, but it would reassure her if you would check me over.”
“She was unconscious for two days,” I snap.
Rose turns those eyes on me, and it feels like she sees things that I have no intention of sharing. “More than a little overzealous, then.”
Shame heats my skin, but I meet her gaze steadily. “It won’t happen again.”
Rose shrugs. “Young love and lust often make fools of us all. You’ve seen the consequences of that loss of control.” She moves to Maeve and motions with those delicate fingers. “May I?”
Maeve lifts her hand and places it in Rose’s. The healer does something that makes the air sizzle around us. Defining the nature of the magic isn’t a skill set I have, but I’ve been around long enough that I can often figure it out from context clues. Not this time. Instead, I watch Maeve closely, watch for any signs of discomfort or pain.
Instead, she looks almost peaceful. When Rose releases her hand and steps back, Maeve even smiles. Rose clears her throat. “It’s just as you say. There’s nothing else amiss. She just needs plenty of fluids and rest, and a proper meal wouldn’t hurt.”
Maeve turns to me with a victorious smile. “See, I told you so.”
“We can discuss this later.” I rise and reclaim her hand. “What do I owe you?”
“Consider it a gesture of goodwill.” Rose waves away my offer of payment. “I did nothing but the diagnosis, and that hardly took the time that it cost you to take the lift up to me. You can be on your way.”
It’s as clear a dismissal as I’ve ever heard. I start to turn toward the door but pause. “Thank you.” The words feel odd on my tongue. “I appreciate you taking the time to help us.”
Maeve’s smile is brilliant enough to chase away my discomfort at my politeness. Being vicious and cold has always helped me attain my goals. I’ve never tried being nice. I don’t know how. But I’ve made my selkie happy, and that’s more than reason enough to consider doing it again. “Come on. Let’s find you some food.”
chapter 23
Maeve
It doesn’t take long for us to find a little restaurant one level down from the healer’s residence. Its entrance is a bright yellow with various plates of food and fizzy-looking drinks painted on it. Inside, it’s cozy, all domed ceilings and sturdy furniture. The bartender is dressed in a dizzying robe that shifts color depending on their movement and the light. They immediately point us to a quiet table for two in the back corner.
We gave most of the riches in the captain’s quarters of the Serpent’s Cry to the crew to ensure goodwill, but we kept enough that we won’t have to worry about paying for things for a little while. If I can find someone working with the rebellion on Drash, I can make that money stretch further, but that’s down on my list of priorities at the moment.
I manage to keep my patience until I’ve eaten the bowl of soup—a delicious mix of shellfish and root vegetables—to head off Lizzie’s concern that I have enough nourishment. We need to have a serious conversation, but we won’t manage it if we’re bickering about my growling stomach.
I didn’t expect her to be so protective the moment I got hurt, and I certainly didn’t expect it to last days after I woke up. She’s hovering. Maybe later I’ll relish the knowledge that she cares enough to worry, but right now I want to shake her until the Lizzie I’ve come to know returns.
Once my spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl, I set it down and give her a pointed stare. “No more putting this off. We’re talking now.”
Lizzie swirls the wine in her cup, her expression carefully blank. “I’m listening.”
I fight not to grind my teeth in frustration. I’ve been trying to talk to her since the moment I woke up. Why listen to reason when she can continue lashing herself with guilt? I don’t have high hopes that she’s listening now. I take a deep breath and strive to keep my voice even. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
She finally lifts her gaze to mine, her dark eyes going so cold that I shiver. “What part of you almost died do you not understand, Maeve? There was a point where you went to sleep and I didn’t think you’d wake up again. So no, I don’t think I’m overreacting.”
I grab onto my patience with both hands and do my best to not yell in her face. “This is a discussion you should have with me instead of making unilateral decisions that affect both of us. You hardly attacked me in the bath. I climbed in of my own volition, and I’m the one who drove you past the point of desire until you forgot yourself. More than that, I knew that you were emotionally distraught after your experience with the kelpie, and I still allowed us to get out of control. It took two of us to reach that point, and you need to acknowledge that. I’m not an innocent victim that you attacked in the middle of the night. I chose that, Lizzie. I chose you.”
“You chose that? You chose me?” She lets out a laugh that’s too loud and too harsh. It turns the heads of several people in our nearby space, and she leans closer and lowers her voice. “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Did you know that you would spend the next two days unconscious when you offered up your neck to me?”
Of course not. Of course I had no idea that things would spiral to that level. But if she’d told me that was a possibility, I don’t know that I would have cared. I was too far gone—just like she was. If I was anyone else, I could have hurt her.
Maybe I . . . did hurt her.
I stare at Lizzie, taking in the sharp little movements that she makes as she fidgets, the lines bracketing her mouth that haven’t gone away even though I’m feeling closer to my old self than ever. How many times today have I thought about the fact that I hardly recognize her like this? It took two of us to get to that point. She ignored that she was taking too much, and I ignored that she was emotionally fragile in the first place.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”
She jolts hard enough to rattle our cups on the table. “What do you have to apologize for?”
“If I hadn’t climbed in the tub with you while you were off-center because of what had happened with the water horse, I don’t think you would’ve lost control like that. I worried you. More than that, I worried you when you were already in an emotionally vulnerable place.”
“You’re wrong.” She narrows her eyes. “This is something that happens with bloodline vampires from time to time. Biting you feels almost as good as it does to be bitten by me. Sometimes we forget ourselves. Sometimes we hurt people.”
I know I should be horrified that she’s hurt people, but I’m more concerned with how defeated she seems. “You wouldn’t hurt me on purpose.”
Her mouth flattens. “I did hurt you. Intent matters less than the results. You almost died. It won’t happen again.”
“But what if I want it to?” The question’s out before I can call it back, and I wouldn’t anyways. “As I said before, it took two of us to get in that situation, and I think it’s more than fair that the two of us come to a decision about how we move forward.”
She plants her hands on the table. “You can make all the statements you want, Maeve.” She speaks slowly, each word enunciated clearly. “But ultimately it doesn’t matter if it took two of us to get to that point or if I am solely responsible, because I almost killed you and I will not do it again. You can make your own choices with your safety and health, but you can’t force me to bite you.”
I want to keep arguing, but it’s coming from a selfish place. We had finally reached a point where it felt good to be there. With her in my bed, comfortable enough to do all the things that we both wanted to do. To have newly created distance between us feels wrong. It’s only a matter of time before she returns to her realm; I don’t want to lose another minute with Lizzie.
If she harmed me, then I harmed her right back. The evidence of it has already been cataloged. If I was a better person, I would allow her to retreat instead of clinging to her with all my strength. A month ago, I would have said I was a better person. It turns out . . . I’m not. “What if we compromise?”
She glares at me. “If you’re about to suggest that I bite you—”
“I want that, but I understand if you’re not ready for it.” I keep talking, even when she’s obviously about to protest that she’ll never be ready. I desperately don’t want her to say those words out loud, because then they might be true.
I want Lizzie, with or without her bite. If that means that I have to sit by while other people orgasm as a result . . . it hurts to think about, but she’s not mine. More than that, if she was, I would be a terrible partner to demand that she starve herself to appease my jealousy. “Do you still want me?”
“What kind of question is that? Yes, I still want you. That’s what got us into this situation to begin with.”
Relief makes my shoulders sag for a moment. Hearing her confirm her desire comforts the part of me that’s been on edge since I woke up. Lizzie may be a lot of things, but she’s not a liar. I can trust her when she tells me she wants me. I want to trust her. “I still want you, too. You need to eat, and if you won’t bite me, then you need to pick someone else.”
She watches me closely, as if sensing a trap and not being able to define the parameters of it. “You’re okay with that? With me biting someone else?”
No. Yes. I don’t know. I want to be okay with it if my approval is what she needs. We have such a short time together, and we’ve already wasted days of it with this nonsense. Granted, I don’t think Lizzie would qualify it as such, but I’m not in the mood to admit she might be right.
“I have no claim on you,” I finally say, but the words are stilted and wrong.
Lizzie leans forward, expression intent. “Do you want a claim on me?”
Does she understand what she’s asking? The implications? Of course I want a claim on her. I haven’t known her nearly long enough to justify the strength of my feelings, but I want her at my side in whatever way I can manage, for as long as I can manage. “You’re leaving. You were always going to leave.”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “But there’s not a deadline in place. It could be weeks—or months or years. Threshold is large enough to lose a ship for that long and longer. I’m bound to find those family heirlooms and return them to their proper place, but I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves if we start acting like I’m going home tomorrow.”
Every bit of that statement is full of contradictions. She almost sounds like she doesn’t want to find the Crimson Hag at all, but that can’t possibly be right. Her only goal since arriving on Threshold has been reclaiming the jewels stolen from her.
She might care for me—and her reaction to taking too much blood cannot be construed as anything other than caring—but I have no illusions about what that means. She cared for Evelyn, too, and she still chased her across the realms with the intent to kill her and retrieve the stolen items. I can’t count on Lizzie’s caring being enough to combat the loyalty she feels to her family, no matter how toxic they seem from the little bits she’s shared.
I would be a fool to read into her words for anything other than what she intends. Which is to leave. No matter what she says, it won’t take years to find the Crimson Hag. If we’re not able to track them down in the next week or two, then we’ll travel to Lyari and wait for them there. All of the Cŵn Annwn are required to stop in at some point during the year to report to the Council. Even if we missed the Crimson Hag when we initially arrived, it would be less than a year before they returned—sooner if the Council had reason to summon them.
But I don’t say any of that out loud.
Lizzie’s fingers twitch as if she wants to reach for my hand but stops herself. “Do you want a claim on me, Maeve?” she asks again.
Some long-buried instinct demands that I do anything to avoid baring even a portion of my heart to this woman, who’s destined to break it. But I’ve never been a coward, and I won’t start now. No matter the consequences. I tell the truth. “Yes.”
At my soft word, she finally moves, hooking the edge of my chair with her foot and dragging me around the side of the table to her. She laces my fingers with hers and lifts them to her lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Then we find a way through.”
So much contained in that single sentence. I know better than to hope, and yet hope flutters in my chest all the same. It’s tempting to seek reassurances, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask her for them. Lizzie has none to give me.
