All for a Rose (15 page)

“Go to your sister. It has been weeks, and she is such a charming girl. It will only be a matter of time until she has the power over the beast to leverage the information I need. Use your influence over your sister. Get me that information. It is your only chance.”

Corrine swayed in her seat, blinking slowly as Mother Briar’s words echoed in her head. “I’ll do it.” She stood up, proud of herself that her legs only trembled slightly. She met Mother Briar’s gaze. There was a spark of pride there, and Corrine’s spirits rose. She tried to remember why she’d ever been angry with the witch, but couldn’t think of a reason. “You’re certain Daman will let me see her? After what I did…”

“Corrine, I’ve already planted the seed in Maribel’s mind that Daman needs love and trust to break his horrible curse. I’m certain that Maribel’s kindness and Daman’s own guilt over his horrid temper will be more than enough to make him give her whatever her heart desires.” Mother Briar scowled. “Besides, the beast has such a soft spot for changelings. I’ve yet to hear of him denying one of the creatures anything they asked for.”

Corrine gritted her teeth. “He certainly doesn’t care that way for anyone who
isn’t
a changeling. He had no problem whatsoever telling
me
no.”

“Yes, he was cruel to you, wasn’t he?” Mother Briar moved to stand behind Corrine, hands rising to rest on her shoulders. “All you wanted was the same security he so willingly offered those pathetic changelings. He has no wife, no shortage of treasure. You’re a beautiful girl, a girl who’s been brave in the face of more adversity than any woman should have to bear. He had no right to
mock
you like he did.”

The flames below the large black pot danced in her vision as Corrine’s mind drifted back to the first time she’d met Daman. “He was so kind at first, but it was only because I had Maribel’s blood on me and he thought I was a changeling. For a moment I actually thought he cared about me.”

“He only cares for creatures from beyond the veil.” Mother Briar snorted. “He obviously has no respect for the suffering humans must endure. Who knows what sort of terror those changelings wreak on their new homes after he’s relocated them?”

“You are no changeling. You have a good life, you are just too spoiled to appreciate it. Go home, human, and be grateful.”

Daman’s words echoed in Corrine’s memory. She could still see his flashing silver eyes, the harsh lines of his face, the cruel twist of his handsome mouth as he’d practically thrown her out of his manor.

“Make your sister understand that Daman is not the man she thinks he is, that he is a selfish beast who kidnaps changelings and sends them away from the people their own families chose to raise them. If she is the kind-hearted soul we know she is, she will help me find my daughter.” The witch moved to the side and settled into a chair next to Corrine. “And then, my child, I will teach you all you need to know to get the life you want—the life you
deserve.
You can trust me. Only me.”

Anger burned hot inside Corrine as Daman’s face hovered in her mind, mocking her, her pain, and her dreams. Her heart cauterized in her chest, the decision solidifying inside her like a lump of coal squeezed into a diamond. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Mother Briar stood up, brushing her skirts off. “Now, let me wrap up some bread up for you to take home.”

“Thank you.” Corrine waited for the witch to turn her back and then plucked an apple out of the bowl on the table and tucked it into the other pocket in her cloak. She was so hungry…

Chapter Six

Maribel jabbed the knife into the slab of meat and began viciously sawing off the fat and flinging it into a bowl. It landed with a wet
plop!
The sound was not nearly satisfying enough to appease Maribel’s growing temper.

 “I wasn’t staring.” She savaged the piece of beef into small chunks, hurling them into the oiled cast iron pan heating on the oven. “Why would I? It’s no big deal.” Her teeth clenched in frustration. “Half… Half…” She pursed her lips and slammed a fist down on the cutting board. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Say it. Half
serpent
.”

The word hung in the air like an accusation. Maribel drummed her fingers on the cutting board, jaw jutting out as she glared at nothing in particular. After several moments of silence, her shoulders slumped and she cast a glance at the oven.

She should have been more excited that Daman had an oven. She hadn’t seen one since her family had been wealthy enough to have a full kitchen, and even then she’d spent limited time in that area of the house. It hadn’t been until they’d lost all of that and she’d begun cooking for her family herself that she’d started dreaming of using one. Now she finally had her chance, and she couldn’t enjoy it properly because she couldn’t quit thinking about her sour host. She grasped the knife.

“It’s been weeks,” she informed the would-be stew. “
Weeks
, and every time he deigns to speak with me I get to bear the brunt of his atrocious mood swings.” She stabbed the raw meat and resumed butchering it. “If he didn’t want to go on a walk, he should have said so! It wasn’t as though I was trying to underline the fact that he…”

She tripped over the words in her mind, tiny voices in her head screaming she was being rude until she forcibly shook off her embarrassment. “Don’t be a ninny, Maribel,” she told herself firmly. “Say it. He hasn’t got any
legs
.” The knife thunked into the wood on a particularly enthusiastic jab. “That’s no reason we can’t get along. I’m not judging him for it, there’s no reason for him to be so blasted sensitive.”

The meat sizzled, oil flying off in angry sputters, wrenching Maribel out of her reverie. She gritted her teeth as the oil splattered against her arm, tiny droplets burning her skin. “If anything,
I
should be the one who doesn’t want to try and get along with
him
,” she told the vegetables. “Every chance he gets, he steers the conversation to Corrine. I’m sure he thinks he’s being subtle, but men in general are lost when it comes to subtlety and that’s apparently even more true for men who are…” She glared at the angry red spatters on her arm.
Say it, Maribel, it’s no big deal. You’ve already said it once.
“Half serpent,” she finished.

“Wyvern.”

A squeak exploded from Maribel’s lips. She whirled around with the knife held out in a defensive pose, silver blade shining in the light pouring into the kitchen from the open door and the great cooking fire in the hearth.

Daman loomed in the doorway, his strange silver eyes glinting in the light like polished silver coins. The draconic scales of his lower body shimmered as muscles shifted, and Maribel cursed the blush that heated her cheeks as she became painfully aware that Daman was naked. The fact that he had no…parts, showing should have made it easier—but it didn’t. The arm holding the knife sagged as she scrambled to tear her mind away from wondering things no lady had any business wondering about a man who was not her husband.

“What?” she demanded.

“Wyvern,” he repeated evenly. His deep voice rolled into the air like approaching thunder. “Not serpent.”

Maribel tried to follow the conversation and failed. The fierce heat of her embarrassment had obviously boiled her brain past the point of functioning. Anger obligingly rose to take the place of logic, but before she could let loose a scathing comment, Daman spoke again.

He gestured at his lower half. “I’m not half serpent, I’m half wyvern. Serpent could just as easily mean snake. My ancestry is dragon.”

Maribel started to cross her arms, realized she was still holding the knife, and pressed her lips into a thin line. He’d heard her then. Shame rose at being caught insulting her host, but she viciously squashed it down. What business did he have spying on her anyway? She returned her focus to the chunks of meat sizzling in the pan, careful to brown them evenly. “What’s the difference?” she shot over her shoulder, forcing nonchalance into her tone.

“Careful, child,” Daman warned, the now-familiar warmth of his temper heating his tone.

Maribel whirled around. “I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman.”

Daman held her gaze, silver eyes steady and unnerving. “What’s the difference?”

A thousand contemptuous retorts fought for dominance on Maribel’s tongue. She’d come to the kitchen to find some peace, to lose herself in doing something productive. It wasn’t fair for him to follow her in here, to spy on her and try to paint her a fool. Not when he avoided her so well the rest of the time. She diverted her attention away from Daman and back to the meal she was preparing, jabbing at the chunks of meat and dusting them with pepper. 

“What are you making?”

Maribel tensed, grip tightening on the knife. “You did say I was free to go wherever I wished on the property. You have no cook, I assumed it would be all right for me to feed myself.”

“I did not mean to suggest you were doing anything wrong. I was simply…curious.”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as he moved closer. Her stomach fluttered and she had to take a moment to settle herself before answering. “I’m making a stew.”

“Stew?”

Maribel glanced over her shoulder, brows rising to her hairline as she found Daman examining the vegetables she’d chopped, poking through the bowl of carrots and potatoes and the separate bowl of celery, onion, carrots, tomatoes, and garlic. Her inner chef preened at the expression of appreciation in his eyes as he surveyed the stew’s ingredients. She started to say something, but suddenly his forked tongue flicked out of his mouth, killing the words before they could escape her lips. It was only for a second, but it was…unnerving. Generally speaking, such tongues were usually very tiny, belonging to snakes significantly smaller than Daman. Seeing a tongue the size of a human’s—forked like a serpent’s—was…strange.

Daman finally raised his attention from the ingredients. Maribel jerked her attention back to the browning meat, hoping he hadn’t caught her gaping at him.

“Go ahead and stare, it’s all right.”

Maribel tensed. His tone held no heat, but after being here for weeks, the words were familiar—and they’d never been pleasant. “I was
not
staring.”

Scales rustled against stone. “I wasn’t accusing you, I was telling you it was all right.”

Again his tone
sounded
sincere. The meat hissed as Maribel flung the thick pieces about in the pan. “So you think I want to stare at you, that I’m that rude? That’s what you think of me?”

“You’re behaving like a child again.” Daman snatched up a potato, squeezing it in his grip until his claws disappeared into the brown-skinned flesh. “I was trying to be nice. I’m aware you’ve never seen a
naga
before and you’re trying not to stare, but frankly it’s more annoying to see you tense up every time I’m in the room because you’re trying
not
to stare. The first time obviously wasn’t enough, so just get it over with, satisfy your curiosity.”

Now there’s the sourpuss I remember.
Maribel spun around, the spoon clenched in her grip as her arm trembled with the urge to fling it at her host. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m
tense
around you, not because I’m trying so hard not to stare, but because I’m bracing myself for whatever vitriol you’re going to fling at me? Perhaps you’d like to disparage my sister some more?” She pointed at him with the spoon, feeling a sense of empowerment with the utensil that usually only came from brandishing a weapon. “I don’t know what has your tail in a twist, but I’m sick of you taking it out on me.”

She whirled back to the stove before the color rising to her face could steal her victory from her. It had taken every ounce of willpower she had to mention his tail, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment by letting him see how much effort it had taken.

The stunned silence behind her was incredibly satisfying. Maribel smirked at the stew meat. There was an exhalation of breath behind her, a ragged sound dragged up from the depths of his being.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister,” Daman muttered.

“Sorry because it’s not true, or sorry because it caused our ‘little feud?’”

A low growl rumbled up from Daman’s chest. “I do not want to fight with you.”

“Then get out of the kitchen.” Maribel grabbed the pan holding the meat and dumped the browned beef into a large bowl. The pan clanged onto the stove as she slammed it down. She kept her eyes away from Daman as she stalked over to the vegetables she’d prepared and threw the carrots, garlic, onion, and celery into the pan still coated with oil and residual fat from the meat. The vegetables sizzled, echoing her temper.

There was a short silence and then Daman’s voice again. “It has been some time since I’ve…entertained,” he admitted grudgingly. “Perhaps we could start over. Get to know one another over dinner.”

Maribel went still, a cup of pulverized tomatoes in her grasp. “Are you completely serious?” She glanced back at Daman, torn between outrage and shock. “Are you inviting yourself to share a meal with me? A meal
I’m
preparing?”

For a moment, she caught him with his guard down. His stiff mask of indifference had broken and he was gazing with something akin to longing at the food cooking on the stove. As soon as he registered her attention, he stiffened. Haughty arrogance returned to mask his emotions and he pulled his claws free of the potato and thumped it down onto the table, holding her eyes as if daring her to comment. She swallowed the sharp words she’d been about to hurl at him and tapped her spoon on the pan.

“Do the brownies cook for you?”

His eyes twitched, but remained on her. “They gather fresh produce from the gardens, but they don’t cook and they don’t hunt.”

Maribel couldn’t help dropping her gaze to the claws on the tips of his fingers, glancing from them to her injured potato. “So you…hunted for this meat?”

“One doesn’t ‘hunt’ for cows.” Daman made a face as though he’d bitten into something sour, then sighed. “I mean, yes, I slaughtered the cow for that meat.”