All for a Rose (30 page)

The room was spotless.

Well, not spotless. There was still some dust on the floor, some jagged glass fragments sticking out of the window frames. And the mattress still bore deep gouges bulging with stuffing. But the broken vases and statues, the shattered wooden furniture, and the scraps of ruined blankets were all gone.

Daman stood in the corner. His hair stuck up at odd angles as though he’d been tugging on it, some of the pale strands coated in the dust dancing merrily through the air. Maribel’s lips parted as she noticed he was holding a dustpan and a brush. The sound she’d heard, the one she’d known but couldn’t place. It had been the sound of a broom and dustpan.

She closed her mouth, wrinkling her nose at the sensation of dust coating the tip of her tongue. Waving her hand in front of her face to disperse the dust provided a distraction for her mind as her eyes continued an unabashed examination of the
naga
.

He was no longer wearing the glittering mail shirt that he’d worn to greet Corrine—or anything else for that matter. Rather he stood before her bare—in more ways than one. There was a raw look in his silver eyes, a slight hunch to his shoulders. He stood there like a man expecting bad news. The pain she saw in his eyes stole her breath.

She must have stared at him longer than she thought because he finally gave in and spoke first.

“You came back.” His voice was low, hoarse with dust, emotion, or both. Slowly, he leaned down to place the brush and dustpan on the floor, his serpentine body more graceful than any biped could ever hope to be. “You came back…again.”

“You cleaned up.”
Brilliant, Maribel, lovely opening.

Daman’s eyes didn’t waver from her face, as if he were afraid if he looked away she would vanish. “I had to believe you would come back. I wanted to show you…” He started to gesture at the room, stopped. “I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted.” Frustration pinched his mouth and he shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to see me like you did last time.” He gestured around the room, the movement jerky, almost angry. “Sitting in ruins like some sort of barbarian.”

It was strange to be standing there talking about the room’s state of cleanliness when they were both thinking about Corrine, and what had happened in the sitting room. It wasn’t lost on Maribel that whether Daman realized it or not, what he was doing by cleaning his room was trying to show Maribel that he was in control. She knew a little something about organizing the world around her when the world inside of her was…a bit conflicted.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” She kept her voice calm, nonjudgmental. Open.

Daman’s face tightened, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “Are you offering me a choice?”

“I am. We don’t have to talk about it. I know you well enough to know you met with my sister with the best of intentions.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “And it’s not as if you haven’t told me from the beginning that you…struggle…to control your temper.”

Something in Daman’s eyes sharpened suddenly and he leaned toward her ever so slightly. There was a scrutiny in his expression that had every nerve in Maribel’s body alive and buzzing with awareness.

“You know your sister goaded me,” he said slowly, his voice low with something akin to awe. “You… You are not convinced she was the victim she played so convincingly.”

Maribel snapped her mouth closed. Heat rushed to her head and her hands fluttered around her, helpless to do anything with the nervous energy suddenly sizzling along her skin.
Deny it!
a voice screamed inside her.
She is your sister!

“Perhaps we don’t have to talk about it,” she managed meekly.

The intensity remained in Daman’s eyes as he slid toward her, his posture improving as if a weight had been lifted from him. The black slit that bisected his silver irises grew wider, and Maribel could suddenly see her face reflected in his gaze. She looked…mesmerized.

“You still want to stay with me.”

Maribel’s throat went dry. He was so close. The heat from his body kissed her skin and she could already imagine the weight of his scales pressing against her legs, could practically feel his arms sliding around her waist. She leaned closer to him.

“Yes.”

There was something she was supposed to tell him, ask him. Or something she should be doing. Whatever it was, it was lost when his mouth closed over hers.

He tasted exactly as she remembered, hot with a trace of the flavors she’d used in her last meal. Sweet Marsala wine. She moaned and deepened the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. Daman’s arms tightened around her, dragged her against his chest.

She inhaled sharply at the first touch of his forked tongue against her own, the sensation strange and new. Tension sprang to life in Daman’s arms and he started to pull back, arms stiffening as if to push her away. A small sound of protest escaped Maribel’s throat and she threw her arms around his neck and hung on.

Daman stilled, hesitating, then a deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. Maribel swallowed the sound, pleased when he continued the kiss. Tentatively, she drew her tongue over his, playing with the different points. Daman’s breath quickened, became more ragged.

He pulled away with a gasp. His mouth moved, but no words came out. The black slits of his eyes had thinned, nearly vanished. The sight tightened things low in Maribel’s body and for a long minute she could do nothing more than stare into those eyes.

“You…” Daman started. His voice was hoarse and he had to swallow before continuing. “You understand now that my curse has nothing to do with love or trust. Your…feelings for me will change nothing. Your sister will not—or cannot—lift the curse. I am now as I will always be.”

“I don’t care,” Maribel said fiercely. She stroked one hand through his hair, laughing at the dust that rose into the air. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Daman leaned closer, laid a gentle kiss on her lips. “A most pleasing situation.”

Warmth blossomed in Maribel’s chest as his lips slid from her mouth across her jaw in a trail of gentle kisses. Suddenly she remembered what it was she’d come to ask him.

“I don’t care what form you have,” she managed, closing her eyes as he laid a particularly hot kiss against the pulse at her throat. “But you should know you may still have a choice.”

Daman went still in her arms, that strange, alien stillness that no human could attain. “What?”

“My…my sister says she may still be able to lift the curse.” Maribel pulled back so she could think. “She just needs a little help.”

The air changed, cooling between them even as he still held her in his arms, only inches away from his chest. Something snagged at her dress and some distant point of Maribel’s mind registered the fact that his claws were dancing at the small of her back, sharp tips catching the material of her bodice.

“Does she now?” Daman took a deep, slow breath. “And would this help need to come in the form of a goblin girl?”

His scales shone in the light streaming through the shattered windows, illuminating his heaving shoulders and the tip of his twitching tail. His eyes gleamed more than human eyes ever could, the black slit down the middle emphasized by the brilliance of the silver. His tongue flicked out from between his lips. Was he doing that on purpose as he had before, intending to intimidate her, drive her away?

A wave of unease washed through Maribel’s stomach, but she pushed it back. “She doesn’t have to come back here, I just need to speak with her. Won’t you trust me to let me do that?”

“Oh, so now it is a matter of whether or not I trust you?” Daman pulled away, his face closing down until he wore the same indifferent mask he’d worn so often when they’d first met. “Let me guess, your dear sister has told you that if I trust you, I will give you Jeanne’s location.”

Maribel bristled at his tone.  “I told you once that I didn’t care what form you’re in. I still don’t.”

Daman’s jaw twitched, but he nodded. “I believe you.”

“But it’s also clear to me that whether or not I care…you care. I have to wonder if you’ll ever be really okay with yourself if this curse isn’t broken. If you’ll ever be able to…let me close to you.” A blush tickled her cheeks, tried to distract her from what she was trying to say, but Maribel stubbornly ignored it.

Daman averted his eyes, peering out the broken windows. Shadows danced through his eyes, over his face. The sun was setting and for a moment that dying light was the only warmth on Daman’s features.

“I do trust you,” he said finally. There was a tiredness around his eyes when he faced her again, an exhaustion in the way his shoulders sagged. “But even if Corrine is being truthful, and she wants to find Jeanne for no other reason than to ask for her help, I could never betray Jeanne by revealing her location. I swore to her the day I pulled her out of Mother Briar’s grasping clutches that she would be safe, that no one would ever find her. Not even to save my own sanity could I betray her trust.” His gaze grew unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing anything now before him. “That trust was not easily given. It is far too precious to break.”

Maribel studied him carefully, her heart softening. “It sounds like she meant a great deal to you.”

“They all do,” Daman said simply. “So many changelings are left by their parents. There are all kinds of reasons. The
sidhe
do it to keep their bloodlines strong, to bring in fresh blood. The goblins and trolls often do it because they find human babes more appealing than their own kin. And then there are others who do it out of boredom, or to chase some random prophecy or another. Whatever the reason, it is seldom that they do their research before leaving their child. They assume that humans will care for the creature they think is their own, and they leave it at that.”

His eyes sharpened and he once again focused on Maribel, grim determination etched in the lines of his face. “But that is not always the case. Mother Briar knew in a moment that the child screaming in the cradle was not hers. She kept her anyway—probably because there is more work to be gotten from a goblin girl than a human child. But the way she treated Jeanne…” He shook his head, as if the end to that sentence was too horrible to vocalize.

It wasn’t until that moment that Maribel realized what was truly driving Daman mad. “Daman, what have you done since you stopped rescuing changelings?”

“What have I done?” His tail slashed across the floor, flinging up a fresh cloud of dust. “I have done nothing. I am far from my homeland and there are very few creatures who are familiar with my kind around here. To the changelings of this land, I am a monster, something to terrify, not comfort. They are already abused, taught that the world is a hateful, violent place. They do not trust easily, and this form makes it difficult to even approach them, let alone gain their trust enough to convince them to come with me, to let me help them.”

“Oh, Daman, you can’t just turn off that kind of passion, that kind of dedication.” Maribel took his face in her hands, cupping his jaw in her palms. He vibrated in her grip, silver eyes shining with some sort of inner light. She smiled ruefully at him. “No wonder you feel like you’re going insane.”

“
Nagas
do not change their purpose once they have found it,” Daman whispered, his voice a bitter mix of longing and despair. “I cannot simply take up a new mission.”

“Do all
nagas
work alone?”

Daman frowned, his handsome face twisting with the expression as he focused on her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your problem is that you cannot approach the changelings because you are physically frightening. You need them to know you mean them no harm, you need them to know you before they see you.” She raised her eyebrows. “You need an introduction.”

She could see the moment he realized what she was suggesting.

“You… You want to help me.” His brow furrowed, eyes going hazy as his mind turned the idea over. “So…I would find the changelings, but you would approach them first. You would get to know them—”

“And after I’ve earned their trust, I would tell them I know someone who could help them,” Maribel finished. “I would introduce you in a controlled way, after preparing them.”

Daman dropped his head, no longer meeting her eyes. His entire body trembled, a violent shaking that had Maribel’s heart leaping into her throat.

“Oh, Goddess, did I say something wrong?” She tightened her grip on his face, tried to make him look at her. He resisted her efforts, shaking his head, and her heart pounded ferociously in her chest. “Daman, please, tell—”

A strangled cry tore from somewhere deep in Daman’s chest. The next thing Maribel knew, she was being crushed against his chest, his mouth covering hers in a possessive, searing kiss.

Chapter Fourteen

Daman’s head spun under the wave of heat that flowed from where his mouth was pressed to Maribel’s, melting down his body to pool below his waist. She tasted as sweet as he remembered, her lips the same velvety texture that haunted his dreams. Her words echoed in his ears, dragging hope kicking and screaming from the depths of his body.

She wanted to stay, no matter what his physical form, she wanted to stay—she wanted him. To be offered a chance to get his life back, the purpose he lived for, he needed to keep him sane, on top of that was…

A surge of passion washed over him and he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, careful not to drag his claws over her body as he held her like a lifeline. She’d done herself in now—he’d never let her go.

Maribel moaned into his mouth, her sharp intake of breath stoking the flames inside of him. It took more effort than it should have to keep from deepening the kiss. His fangs retracted against the roof of his mouth, but there was still a good chance Maribel could cut herself if the kiss went too far. Adrenaline was adrenaline, and he had very little practice with passionate kissing in this form.

This was a dream. It had to be a dream. Somewhere in reality, Maribel was running as fast as she could away from him, her arm around her two-faced sister. She’d come in at such a horrible moment, caught him at his worst, towering over her sister with what must have been a demonic expression on his face, fangs bared. She wouldn’t have stayed. She wouldn’t have come to him when her sister was working so hard to poison her against him.