A movement on the path made her stretch her neck to get a better look. Declan emerged from the shadowy trail, running. She jerked upright, expecting pursuit. He ran to the lawn, leaned forward for a moment, shaking his head, and began to circle the house slowly in that telltale jogger way, walking off the burn in his lungs. Rose dropped back into her chair. Her pulse hammered. Prickly needles of adrenaline rush nipped at her arms. Damn him.
He probably didn't know the meaning of running from his attacker, arrogant ass that he was. Chew slowly, indeed.
She understood why he was the way he was. She'd read the Encyclopedia of the Weird and other books she bartered from the caravans. The nobles of the Weird enjoyed unmatched power. They ruled over their domains as individuals and over their countries as assemblies under the watch of a constitutional monarch. They were painstakingly bred, educated from birth, and brought up with the sense of belonging to the elite. Like purebred show dogs groomed for obedience training competitions. Their lives had strict rules. It was not really his fault for trying to impose them on everyone - he simply didn't know of any other way to be. But just because she understood where he was coming from didn't make him welcome.
Declan completed his circle and stopped right in front of the porch. He wore dark pants, a shirt with ripped-off sleeves that left his arms exposed, and light boots. Nice arms . . .
The way he had summoned an image of that beast yesterday; now that was impressive. She wanted so badly to learn how he did it, she'd almost asked. Almost. He'd laugh in her face. He already thought she was an ignorant, rude mongrel. No need to give him more ammunition.
The huge sword was still on his back. He shrugged it off and pulled off his shirt. Rose paused with the cup halfway to her lips.
His golden hair, damp with sweat, spilled down his back. Tall, big boned, layered with carved muscle, he was made with strength in mind, but the massive width of his shoulders and chest tapered to a flat stomach and narrow waist. His hips were lean, his legs long and powerful. Despite all his bulk, there was a honed sleekness about him - he was strong, supple, and quick, a man who spent all his life sharpening his body into a weapon. That's what they did, the nobles of the Weird. Their ultimate purpose was to lead armies into battle.
Declan turned very slightly. It was a tiny movement, but she caught it - he'd checked that he could be seen from the window. Ha! He was showing off for her benefit. Rose smiled into her cup. Blueblood or not, he was still a man.
Declan flexed a little, displaying a perfect chest to the grass, and stretched. Rose leaned her head to the side, following his movement as he turned, letting her stare trail the sharp line of his biceps to his muscled back, and over his chest to his flat, ridged stomach. They really did know how to make them in the Weird.
No hair on his chest or stomach. All of that muscle clothed in golden skin, slicked with sweat from running. Against the cold fog of the morning, he radiated heat as if lit from within by his own warm glow. He was beautiful. Even his iceberg eyes were captivating despite the menace.
She drank her coffee. He must've done something truly awful to have to look for a bride in the Edge. Maybe he was a rapist . . . No, she decided. She just didn't feel that creepy vibe from him. A killer maybe? Murdered the son of somebody important in a duel? That she could see.
He picked up his sword. Now what?
Declan held the blade above his head, pointing parallel to the grass. For a long moment he stood still, utterly focused, and then erupted into sharp strikes. He slashed and thrust, fluid muscles rolling under his skin, faster and faster, cutting down invisible opponents in a lethal dance born of melding the sword fight and art.
That was entirely more than a woman could take. Rose lowered her cup to the table, leaned her head on her elbow, and simply watched.
She harbored no illusions. The only value she had to him was in her ability to flash and bear children. If she agreed to become his bride or his mistress, she would live in the house of a cold frigid man who would probably despise her, among people who would be so busy looking down on her because of what she was, they would have no chance to find out who she was. Her brothers would be servants at best. It would be a terrible life. True, Declan was heartbreakingly beautiful and hypnotic to watch. But she would have even more fun when she watched that muscled back and that perfect ass recede as he walked down the path away from her house, never to return.
ELSIE sat in her room on the rocker, holding Mr. Clooney. Through the doorway she saw her granddaughter and her best friend, Leanne, talking in hushed voices. On the porch, Amy's daughter Mindy was trying to do the same with Kenny Jo, Leanne's oldest boy, but he wasn't answering.
The four-eyed creature sat in the doorway blocking Elsie's exit. She had spent the whole night drawing the ward glyphs on the floor with a Magic Marker. She would've drawn more, but the marker had run dry.
The creature leaned and nudged at the invisible wall of magic streaming from the glyphs. A spark shot from the twisted swirls and nipped the creature's chin. It sat back on its haunches and showed her its teeth: bloodred and nasty. It wanted to get her. She shook the teddy bear at it. It was the same one who killed Mr. Bana, she was sure.
"Thanks for coming," Amy said. "I don't know what got into her. She sat like that since yesterday noon. She won't come out, and I can't drag her out by myself."
"Older folks get like this sometimes." Leanne nodded in understanding.
Amy was tall and soft, with a round face and a round belly and round hair of little brownish curls. Leanne was about the same height, but skinny and wiry, with a sharp face. Like a blond ferret with boobs. All of the Meddlers' women bred that way. Elsie pursed her lips. Together they would drag her out. She'd tied herself to the rocker with her scarves, but she knew the restraints wouldn't stand up to them for long.
Two more creatures padded from the kitchen. One slunk by Amy, almost brushing her big butt. She shivered and glanced over her shoulder. The creature looked right at her. She shrugged and turned back to Leanne. Elsie sneered. Stupid girl.
The creature by the door smiled at her. Soon, its gray eyes promised. Soon.
"It's not that I want to manhandle her, but . . ." Amy leaned forward and said confidentially, "She's wet herself. I just don't want it to get around that I abuse my grandma and all that. You know how people are."
"You don't have to worry on my account," Leanne assured her.
The two creatures hooked their claws into the wall and began crawling up the side like two huge ugly lizards. Tiny flecks of plaster broke off and fell on the floor.