Betrayals (Cainsville Book 4) (39 page)

“Fwnion,” Ricky said to her, patting her head.

She whined and ducked away.

“Or maybe not …” Ricky looked at Ioan. “We got a sense of what happened. She fought something in a forest with three other hounds. They died. She blames herself. She thinks the psychic break is punishment. That’s why she ran from her pack. I’m guessing her name brings up bad memories. Maybe we
should
try a new one.”

I remembered the opening of the vision, how she’d felt on the Hunt. “How about Lloergan? It means moonlight or moonshine.”

“Lloergan, then?” Ricky asked the hound. “A new name for a new life?”

She thumped her tail.

“A temporary new life, at least,” Ricky said. “We should keep trying to find her original Huntsman.”

Ioan pretended not to hear, but Ricky said, “It’s only right. Put out the word to your contacts and see if we get a bite.”

B
ack to Cainsville after dinner. While waiting for Gabriel, I spent some quality time with TC, which amounted to feeding him and cleaning out his litter box while he watched. When I tried to pet him, he stalked off, and I threatened to replace him with a
cŵn
puppy. He ignored me.

Gabriel arrived, and we walked to Veronica’s. I told Melanie I’d like to speak to the other lamiae in Chicago, as part of the investigation. Just touch base, find out if they’d seen anything, heard rumors …

She said she’d talk to them, in a tone that warned me not to hold my breath. She knew full well I was looking for a killer among her sisters, and she was having none of it. Could I blame her? Not really. They were second-class fae and had suffered their share of witch hunts.

We returned to my apartment to grab my overnight bag and the cat. I worried a bit about how TC would react, given that he’d spent a few days locked in the Carew house basement. He zoomed in and made himself at home on the couch, as if nothing bad had ever happened to him there. Which makes him a lot like his human, who happily embraced the same house where she’d found a dead body in the attic.

“My office fireplace is cleaned,” Gabriel said as we settled in the garden with mochas, cookies, and blankets. “I’ll use it tomorrow.”

“Then I’d better start looking for a garden one.”

“That was the idea,” he said as he tugged the blanket over his shoulders.

“Or we could just
not
sit in my empty garden when it’s so damned cold.”

He didn’t even answer that, instead saying, “About the hound …” Which was the prompt I needed. I explained.

“So the Huntsman
was
connected to Lucy Madole’s death,” Gabriel said when I finished the story.

“Seems like it. He had Lloergan do surveillance, and the hound sensed Lucy would die at another’s hand.”

“Whoever he’s working for had Lucy killed and then had him persuade Ciro to kill the lamiae. That person also set him on Aunika.”

“Or has made it seem that way.”

“Perhaps,” Gabriel said. “False persecution to deflect attention and give Aunika what appears to be an alibi.”

“As soon as I catch up with her, she’s beset by mystery stalkers and then disappears … which allows her to continue carrying out her scheme. If I only had any idea what that scheme could be. Or what her motivation might be.”

“You likely won’t know all that until you find Aunika. We should rechannel our efforts in that direction. The Cŵn Annwn want to find the rogue Huntsman. See if Ricky can persuade them to locate Aunika instead.”

“Right. Because leading us to her may lead them to him. Okay, then. We have a plan. I’ll concentrate on that and stop chasing my tail trying to make connections with the rest.”

After a few moments of silence, Gabriel said, “I will also speak to Melanie myself. I might be more persuasive.”

“Persuade her as Gwynn.”

He stiffened at the name.

“I saw him here in the garden,” I said softly. “When I had the vision here last spring.”

“Which explains the fever,” Gabriel said. “Your brain’s equivalent of an allergic reaction.” He tried for a smile, but it faltered, and he busied himself drinking his mocha.

“It’s not like that. When I see Gwynn, they’re good memories. It’s easy to paint Gwynn and Arawn as selfish and arrogant and thoughtless, and it’s easy to paint Matilda as silly and weak. They were young and they got caught up in fear and jealousy and they made mistakes. Terrible, senseless mistakes.”

“Can we discuss something else?”

“I just think you need to come to terms with Gwynn, or it’s just going to get more and more uncomfortable.”

“I will come to terms with it. In my own way.”

“I wish I could show you—”

“No,” he said, his voice harsh as he met my gaze. “If you are thinking you might be able to share a vision, as you did with Ricky, the answer is no. I’d like you to respect my wishes.”

“I will. I’m sorry.”

He was already on his feet, picking up the dishes with a clatter and headed for the house. “I have work to do. I’ll be at the kitchen table.”

So please find another place to be.

That was what he was telling me. It did not matter how far we came, the moment my toe crossed his invisible line, he was done with me.

“Fuck you, Gabriel,” I said.

He turned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Fuck you. I was only trying to help, and as soon as you said no, I backed down. Yet that wasn’t enough. It’s
never enough. I’ve misbehaved, and so I lose the privilege of your company. You’ll walk into that house—
my
house—and tell me where I can and cannot sit, because God forbid you should have to endure my presence when you’re angry with me.”

His gaze chilled. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

“No? Okay, then. Well, I have work, too. So we’ll both sit at the dining room table.”

He stood there a moment, and then said, “I think you should call Ricky and see if he can stay here with you tonight. I have things to do—”

“You are such a fucking coward, Gabriel.”

Those eyes turned to ice. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t even have the guts to say you don’t want me around.”

He glared at me, his jaw working.

“Come on,” I said. “You can do it.
You’re a pain in the ass, Olivia. You’re a nag and you’re a bitch, and I don’t want to be around you. Go away.”

“I never said—”

“Do you know what’s worse than being a coward? Being a hypocrite.”

“Are you calling me—?”

“You tell me you have my back. You fuss about my safety, make a big deal about protecting me. But the moment that’s not convenient, Ricky can take over. You know what, Gabriel? I have an even better idea. Why don’t you give me a ride back to Chicago so you can drop me off in a shitty neighborhood.”

“You got out of the car—”

“I didn’t realize where I was.”

“Neither did I.”

“I
waited
for you to come back.”

“I didn’t know exactly where you got out. Not until Ricky told me the next morning.”

“Bullshit.”

“I had other things on my mind, Olivia. All I registered was that you got out of the car.”

“Which was such a relief that nothing else mattered.”

Again his jaw worked, nothing coming out until he said, “I would never have intentionally left you there. No more than I’d actually let Ricky stay your first night here. I would have realized my error soon enough. I will ask you to spend the night at your apartment.”

“No.” I headed for the house.

“If you think that will force my hand and make me stay—”

I laughed.
“Make
you stay? Seriously? The moment you want to leave, you will, and there’ll be no way to get you back until you decide you want to come back. You’ll ignore my calls, my messages, my texts. You’ll tell me not to come into work. You’ll freeze me out again, and I can’t put up with that. I just can’t.”

“So why do you?”

I stopped. Just stopped. It was like when he laughed at the thought we were friends.

Why do I put up with him?
Why did I keep banging my head against this wall, knocking myself senseless trying to get through to him, and then raging and crying because I’d hurt myself.

Why did I put up with it?

Because I loved him. Because I was such a damn fool.

My eyes filled with tears, and I think that was the worst. As humiliating as if I’d said the words out loud.

Gabriel saw those tears and recoiled. And
that
was the worst.

This was the man I kept tying myself up in knots over? The man I couldn’t quit even when I had a solid, stable,
amazing
relationship with Ricky? Instead, I wanted the guy who would shut me out if I crossed invisible boundaries? Who’d walk away
if I challenged him on it? Think me a fool if I stayed? Think me weak if I cried?

I could tell myself I’d made my choice with Ricky and this with Gabriel was just friendship, but that was bullshit. A few signs of kindness from Gabriel, signs of consideration and caring, and I was right back, like Ricky’s hound, desperate for scraps of attention, some hope that maybe, just maybe …

Maybe
what?
Even if I got him, what exactly did I get? A man who’d walk away at the first sign of trouble. Who’d slam the door and mock me if I followed. Who’d withdraw if I showed any sign of actual emotion.

I stumbled toward the house. I heard him call, “Olivia,” and heard the first thump of his footsteps and I raced up the steps, eager to get inside, just get inside and bolt the door and collapse behind it and—

I tripped going up the stairs. I tripped, and Gabriel was right there, his hand going to my shoulder. In trying to duck his grip, I fell sideways, my head bashing the wrought-iron patio fence, and it wasn’t enough to knock me unconscious, just to make the world dip and fade and spin as I fell to …

Rock. I tumbled heels over head off the embankment, my head striking rock as I fell, and when I came to, someone had me, a face over mine, a voice calling my name, hands gripping me, the voice sharp with worry. When my eyes fluttered open, he backed off fast, stammering an apology, explaining that I’d fallen—as if I wouldn’t realize that. Even with pain shooting through my head, I had to smile at the thought that he needed an excuse to be caught holding me.

Typical Gwynn.

I started as I thought the name. Or the part that
was
me did, because even though I consciously recognized Gwynn’s fair hair and face and voice, I saw and heard Gabriel, in his gestures, in
his apology, perhaps not stammered, but the intent the same—to be certain I understood that there was a valid reason I was waking in his arms.

Gwynn awkwardly shifted me onto the grass, his hand lingering under my head.

“Can you move, Mati?” he asked.

What if I pretend I cannot? Might I get a few more moments of your care?

My lips quirked at the thought, as I brushed it off. Other girls might try that ploy. I would not, as tempting as it was.

“Well, that will teach me to watch where I’m going,” I said.

“It was my fault for talking,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, mock-serious. “You really shouldn’t do that.”

I smiled at him but couldn’t suppress a wince as I did, and he said, “Hold still. You’ve cut your lip.”

He reached into the picnic basket, brought out the wineskin, soaked the corner of a cloth, and reached to clean my lip. As he did, I watched him, so close and so intent on his task, and I thought,
I could kiss him
.

Kiss him and, yes, he might jump back like a cat with its tail on fire, but I had just struck my head and could not be held accountable for my actions. Of course, it might hurt, kissing with a split lip, but that was really the least of my concerns.

I’d seen signs lately, lingering looks, and then blushes when I caught him watching me, indications that a kiss might not be unwelcome. That I might win the prize I treasured above all others.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward and—

“
Cach!
” Gwynn said, which was not exactly the response a girl hopes for, and my eyes flew open to see him, staring up at the sky. When I followed his gaze, I saw how dark the clouds had gotten. Then lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and Gwynn helped me to my feet. When my ankle buckled, he scooped me
up without a word and started to run for a path winding up the cliffside. The skies opened and rain fell—not in a pleasant shower, but sheets of driving rain.

“
Cach!
” he swore again, and I said, “Agreed,” though the wind whipped my words away. I raised my voice to say, “Let me down, and I’ll walk as best I can,” and he pretended not to hear me and ran through the rain until we reached a cave in the cliff-side. He bustled me in, and I realized it wasn’t so much a cave as a shallow opening in the cliff, just big enough for us to hunker down and watch the rainstorm in relative dryness.

When I shivered, he leaned against me, and I took advantage of the excuse to settle against his side. He put his arm around my shoulder, gingerly, as if I might throw him off. I snuggled closer and may have exaggerated my shivering and chattered my teeth until his arm tightened around me.

“It is not the place for a picnic,” he said. “But … wine?” He lifted the skin.

I chuckled. “Mmm, not sure I should take wine from you, my lord prince. How can I be sure you’ll not use it to enchant me?”

He blushed at that, his fair skin turning ruby red, and I took a moment to enjoy that flush, that sign that his mind must have leapt to thoughts of love potions. Then I released him with, “I’ll drink it if you promise it won’t turn me into a frog,” and he gave a sharp laugh and relaxed, his hand rubbing my shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he said. “This seems the perfect weather for a frog.”

“True, but no.”

He uncapped the wineskin and handed it to me. “What would you be, then, Mati, if I could indeed work such an enchantment? Temporarily, of course.”

“A cat,” I said without hesitation. “So the next time I tumble off a cliff, I’ll land on my feet, not my face.”

He laughed then, a glorious sound, and I nestled against him, handing back the wineskin and—