A Monster and a Gentleman (20 page)

“I watched her turn him—a strong, proud man—in an unsure, angry shell of himself. And yet she still insisted that she loved him, and every time she said it, he believed her.”

“When I was in high school, they got divorced. She wasn’t upset about it until I told the court that I wanted to live with my father.”

“She loved you.”

“No, she’d signed a pre-nup—my father wasn’t an idiot. There was a stipulation in it that said that if there was a child, a huge sum would be set aside for the care of the child. She figured I’d live with her and she’d have access to the millions that were meant for my care. I shut that down. I was old enough to stand up for myself and finally, in that courtroom, I was able to tell the world what a manipulative bitch she was.
 

“My dad got custody, and after we’d gone home he said to me, ‘The only lasting beauty is the beauty of the heart.’ It was a quote from a poet, a teacher, and I knew it was my father’s way of saying that all that mattered is being true to yourself.

“My mother’s ‘love’ almost destroyed him. But he was true to his heart and he recovered. I promised myself that I would never try and be anything other than what I was and that I would never put myself in a position to be hurt, or to hurt someone, the way my father was.”

Seling reached up and touched her face. “I’m sorry for you and your father.”

“Thank you, but,”—Cali let out a little hiccupping laugh—“right now that all seems fucking stupid and melodramatic. If we die tonight, I’m going to be severely pissed that I wasted time that we could have spent together.”

“I was thinking that, but didn’t want to say it…”

“So if we survive, we’ll do this. We’ll go all out, move in together, do romantic mushy stuff.”

“Have epic death-kill ratios in Call of Duty?”

“Well, that goes without saying.” Cali pressed his massive, hot hand to her cheek.
 

There was another saying by Jal
ā
l ad-D
ī
n Mu
h
ammad Balkh
ī
, the poet her father had quoted. A saying she did her best to ignore, because it went against her hard-hearted life motto.
 

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.

Cali had plenty of barriers, but sitting there in the dark with the man she cared for hurt and bleeding in her arms, she let them go. Love was dangerous, but not nearly as much as losing the man she knew she was starting to love before they had time to see what exactly was between them.

“We have to survive,” she said. If she was finally letting go of her fear and willing to start a relationship, she was going to be pissed if they died before they got to the good stuff.

“That was my plan.”

“Good, because I think I’m falling in love with you. I refuse to find the guy I’m meant to love only to have him killed off.”

“You love me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Cali warned him.

“You—” Seling stopped speaking, his head snapping up. “Someone’s coming.”

Cali scooted out of the way as Seling got to his feet. She looked around, but the building was clear of debris. Weapon or no, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Seling staggered to the edge of the building, scanning the ground below them. He looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, and I think I’m starting to love you too.”

Shots rang out, shattering the silent night.

Chapter Thirteen

Oren and Maeve

Oren checked the knot of his tie, then smoothed the ends against his shirt. It had been a while since he’d worn a tie. They were for weddings, funerals…and first dates.
 

He knocked on the door of the condo Maeve was sharing with Henry and Seling.

Henry opened the door. His brow went up as he saw what Oren was wearing.
 

“Am I overdressed?”

“How would I know?”

“Good point.”

“Is he here?” Maeve called from deeper in the condo.

“Yes,” Henry answered.

“You’re supposed to bring him in and give him a drink. Then I’ll make my entrance.”

Henry thumped his head against the door a few times. “She’s been like this all night.”

Oren chuckled. Hearing Maeve’s voice had relaxed him. His date skills might be a little rusty, but she probably wouldn’t notice—a nice perk to taking a non-human on a date.

“Do your people date?” he asked as Henry closed the door behind him.

“No. But she knows what dating is. At least, I think she does. She might have a date mixed up with going to prom—she watched chick flicks all last night.”

Oren adjusted the flowers he held, glad he’d brought them. He was never sure if bringing flowers was creepily out of sync with modern dating or fun and retro. He’d heard it both ways.
 

Henry led him into the living room. Oren went to take a seat, but Henry stood against the wall, his arms folded, so Oren too remained standing.

“What you’re doing is dangerous,” Henry warned him in a low voice.

“Is it?” Oren had no intention of explaining his feelings or intentions to Henry. “I think Maeve can take care of herself.”

“I know she can. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Er…thanks?”

“Henry, stop saying mean things about me!” Maeve called out.

“I’m not saying anything mean about you.”

“Yes, you are. I wouldn’t hurt Oren.”

“You might not mean to.”

“Just because you think it’s a mistake to mate with humans doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”

Oren jerked in surprise. After her explanation about mating, it was startling to hear the word. It was equally surprising to hear that Henry didn’t think they should be with humans. He thought that Runako was the one who hadn’t liked the plan to come out to the humans.
 

“You don’t like humans?” Oren tried to keep the question casual. Was it possible that they’d been looking for someone working on the movie, when really it was an internal betrayal?

Something of his suspicions must have showed on his face, because Henry stiffened.

“I like humans and humanity,” Henry said in a low voice. “But I think that relationships between humans and monsters are doomed to fail.”

“Why?”

“Because while we may be able to fit in to the human world, human mates will never really fit in to our world.”

Oren looked at the flowers on the table. They now looked silly—and he felt stupid.
 

“Shut up, Henry!” Maeve yelled from the other room. This was followed by a litany in a language Oren didn’t recognize.
 

As Maeve spoke, Henry’s eyes got wider, his cheeks pinker. He tried to cut in twice, but Maeve’s tirade rolled right over his words.

Oren was now starting to think this was a mistake. “I should go…”

“No! Henry!”

Henry rolled his eyes, muttering, “Seling gets to deal with her next time.” He sighed, then added, “Oren, would you like something to drink?”

“Just water, if it’s not too much trouble.”
 

Henry went to the kitchen, then threw Oren a bottle of water before marching down the hall towards where Maeve’s voice had come from. A moment later he emerged, then cleared his throat.

Oren picked up the flowers and turned to watch as Maeve appeared at the mouth of the hall.

She was stunning.

Her long, lithe body was shown off in a short black dress that shimmered in the light. Her pale legs seemed to go on for miles, and she wore a pair of black shoes he vaguely remembered her trying on in the store.

Her hair was wound into a bun on the top of her head, making her seem even taller, and regal. She wore a diamond necklace, which sparkled against the smooth, pale column of her throat. He had a moment of déjà vu, then realized that she looked like a sexier version of Holly Golightly in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
.

“You look amazing. Stunning,” Oren said after a reverent pause.

Maeve’s face broke into a grin, and drop-dead sexy was suddenly dangerously approachable.

“Took you long enough,” Henry muttered. Maeve grabbed for him, but he danced back. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Uh, these are for you.” Oren presented Maeve with the flowers. Her eyes got wide and she stroked a rose with one slim finger.
 

“Thank you. No one has ever given me flowers before.”

“Then they’re all fools.”

Henry left the room in disgust.

Maeve bit her lip. “What do I do with them?”

“You should put them in some water. I’ll help you.”

Together they rummaged in the kitchen until they found a vase. Oren showed her how to cut the stems under water—gardening had been one of his recovery hobbies—and then she happily arranged them.

When the vase of flowers was set in a place of honor on the dining room table, Maeve ran back to her room for a coat at his suggestion.
 

Oren looked at the flowers. It had been a very long time since he’d felt like he was able to make someone happy. He’d screwed up his life and hurt a lot of people, and since then he’d been just treading water and not making waves. Watching Maeve fuss over the flowers reminded him that he’d once been the kind of man, and the kind of lover, who could make a woman’s eyes light up.

Tonight, he hoped to be that man again.

Maeve licked her lips, her eyes fluttering closed. “I love this.”

“I can see that you do. Are you going to share?”

“No, get your own.”

Oren leaned back in his chair, espresso cup in hand. Maeve was happily doing obscene things to a piece of triple-chocolate brownie cake and a glass of sweet port. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he touched the eight-year sobriety chip he’d stuck in there, a talisman to help him turn down the offers for wine he’d been sure would come with the meal.
 

Maeve’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m teasing—you can have some.”

“I think I’d rather watch you eat it.”

Oren shifted in his seat as Maeve spooned up another bite, popping it between her pink lips and moaning in bliss. This was a special kind of torture. Naked pole dancers doing midair splits were less sexy than Maeve and chocolate.
 

“Good, because I like eating it,” she said when she was done. “I also like having dinner with you.”

Oren smiled in agreement. He’d thought the conversation might be similar to all of their others, where one party was left a little baffled by the other. But over dinner they’d found common ground. They’d talked about the politics of the environment and the commodification of public resources. Their pasts had come up, and Oren hadn’t shied away—she already knew the gory bits. He’d held her hand when she described the early death of her mother, who’d fled to America to give Maeve a better life. It was a familiar story—even the fact that Maeve’s mother had come from Ireland was certainly a common tale in America. The twist was that they’d been fleeing a civil war among the fairies of Ireland—one that would be mirrored by the Troubles the human people of Ireland went through.

A cold shudder had gone through him when Maeve said that one of the reasons her mother left was because the banshee were a relatively weak class within the fae and that Maeve’s own father had died early in the fighting. If she was weak…that was something to worry about later.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” their server asked.

Oren looked to Maeve, who was eyeing her cake plate as if thinking about asking for more. Lips twitching, Oren told her, “We can come back another night, for more cake.” Maeve looked guilty and Oren laughed. “I think we’re done.”

“I’ll bring the bill right out, sir.”

When the server left, Maeve sighed. “I do love this cake.”

“I know.”

Maeve set her spoon down. “Does this mean the date is over?”

Oren tensed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the end of dinner. Are we going to do something else?”

“I didn’t arrange for tickets to anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oren didn’t think it was, though after this dinner, he had no doubt that Maeve would love a full night on the town.

She bit her lower lip, releasing it so that slid slowly from between her teeth. Oren’s cock twitched. She hadn’t been asking if they were going to the opera.

“Maeve?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to come back to my place…for coffee?”

“Does coffee mean sex?”

Oren barked out a laugh and pulled out his wallet. “Yes, yes it does.”

They barely made it to Oren’s front door before they were all over each other.

Oren had to admit that the image of Maeve dropping Catherine to the floor with her touch was on his mind as he offered his hand to help her out of the car. But when they touched, he felt fire, not ice.