Master of Miasma (The Valhalla Series) (5 page)

The toilet is porcelain with a striated stone lid and seat, and I head straight to it needing to do my business before he returns because there is no door.

Sitting down I stare directly at the mirror framed with carved wood, at the amber basin with bugs still stuck in it, and at the quaint faucets fashioned out of metal to look like war axes.

Having a quiet pee, the draw of his bathroom cabinet is irresistible. Staring at the raw cotton towels and the single woven mat in front of the shower, I wonder how long these people have been hiding in caves, undetected by mankind.

At least they have some modern amenities like toilet paper. Concluding, I pull my panties up and face the toilet to flush it, only to be stumped. The cistern is also porcelain but there's no handle. No button. No lever. For fuck's sake!

Sighing, I fumble all around it feeling for a latch or something. Leaning against the wall on my hand to look down behind it, the entire area depresses under my weight, sinking into the rock.

Flabbergasted I pounce back, terrified I've fucked something up. The toilet flushes, the air filling with an immediate infusion of orange blossom.

The wall stays stuck in and I'm really panicking now!

Flitting about, I look left and right. Help!

Shit! The shower wall has slipped into the rock, exposing a doorway beyond it. What did I just do?

“You okay in there?” reaches faintly to me. He's trying not to lurk which is very sweet but... uhm...

“
I broke it!” I yell back.

“
May I enter?” speaks much closer.

Fuck, he's going to do his nut! I can't exactly hide this epic screw up.

“Yea...uhm... sure!” I answer, wishing for a slice of normal in a world turned on its head.

He walks in, filling the entire exit. In such confined quarters it's easy to see his giant gene wearing itself on his sleeve.

Looking at the wall, he frowns, stalking to it to peer inside. “How did you do this?”

“
I was trying to flush the damn toilet! Where's the lever?”

“
It's voice activated,” he says, glancing at me with amusement flashing briefly across his features. “Flush.”

And just like that the toilet flushes, stalling conversation until the noise abates.

He launches back at me and I flinch against the basin, exhaling slowly when all he does is open the cabinet to get a flashlight. Returning to the gap in the wall he flicks it on, “You didn't tell me how you did this.”

“
I leaned on the wall to look behind the toilet to find the flushing mechanism and the wall gave in under my weight, and the next second the wall was missing!”

Cut me some slack here dude! This isn't exactly familiar territory.

Flicking the light in his hand off he turns to face me with a severe expression, “Congratulations on finding a hidden tunnel I didn't even know was there. Did you wash your hands?”

“
N..no. I was too busy dancing around cardiac arrest city if you don't mind!”

Turning his back to me he presses the indentation above the cistern, “Well hurry up, our dinner is getting cold.”

The wall slides back to enclose the shower and he saunters off as if this is perfectly average on any given day.

Pegging around to face the basin I turn the right axe with my heart still thumping, switching on water, using the soap left on the honeyed rock for this purpose. Sandalwood wafts up to soothe my nerves, foaming luxuriously over my skin, burning the shit out of my wound. God dammit!

Slamming the cabinet door with my knee so I can gingerly towel my hand dry, I'm no longer interested in snooping.

Done in his den I go stomping to the entrance, walking around the corner, bumping right into the solid shadow covering the foot long passage to the bathroom.

I'm about to scream when it clamps around me, squeezing tight. God!

Chapter 6

Hefted up, I'm crushed in a bear hug before promptly discarded back on my jittery legs, “There, now you've had a hug. One thing you need to know about me is I cannot abide the sound of hunger. It burns holes in my heart to know there are people on this planet too poor to eat. Now we dine, and do not be so polite that you don't voice when you are famished.”

It's so unexpected that I'm smiling like an idiot.

He's so awkward that it's clear he's unaccustomed to having company. His hug was rather nice. Firm, reassuring, very more-ish.

He grins at me, snatching up my hand and tugging me to a table around the corner in his personal cave. Waiting in the alcove is a round table large enough for three giants. Lordy, I feel like a newborn in need of a highchair.

The aroma of stew hits the black hole burrowing through my stomach lining and it responds in loud appreciation, forcing a blush to burn up my cheeks.

He pulls out my chair for me, then seats himself, tucking in with zilch ceremony beforehand.

Sampling it, it's scrumptious, juicy with gravy and a hint of spice to add the perfect dash of bite to every mouthful.

Between blows on the spoon, half the size of his ladle, I ask the next logical question. “So what happens now? What is the plan exactly?”

“
There is no real plan other than to get you settled in and comfortable.”

“
But what about my stuff? I can't just fall off the face of the planet.”

Sitting back, resting hands on his thighs, he surveys me, “Emma, if you want to leave I won't stop you.”

“No, that's not what I mean. Shit dude, this is like an adventure and I'm game for a while at least, but I have responsibilities and need my clothes and... all that.”

I have too many questions to leave now, starting with my dad.

It's only Friday so I have the weekend in my favor.

He indicates the passage out of his quarters with a nudge of his head, “Your belongings have been gathered and are waiting in the guest room.”

Separation anxiety robs my appetite. I don't know if I'm brave enough to sleep by myself in such a strange place. “Am I living here now?”

“
I hope so.”

Three words sharper than a stake to the brain. Three simple words laced with enough suggestion to make me giddy.

What would that mean? What if after a week I hate it here?

Leaning on the table with his elbows either side of his dinner he covers my forearm with a heavy hand, “Em, listen to me. I wasn't kidding about watching you. Your home has been vacated, the kit you took to the Fallen Fraternity has been removed from your cabin, everything you own is in the chamber next door to mine. I knew you'd want someone familiar close enough to respond if you needed support, but for all intents and purposes this is a new beginning for you if you'll accept it.”

Staring at the pale skin on his hand holding mine down as effectively as concrete, I speak without meeting his eyes, “Don't you think that was presumptuous of you?”

“
Should I have left you pining for a man who ran off back to society with a redhead? Should I have abandoned you to your degrading romance with solitude? Or should I have recognized a kindred in pain and vowed to rectify her isolation because she knows she's different but couldn't understand why? Knowing that so close to her is a world waiting for her to rejoin her own kind.”

“
He ran off with Desiree? When?!”

He exhales so heavily the candle stuck in the center of the table flickers frenetically. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“Yes you should! That bastard! And he was never going to tell me? How many knew, watching me with silent pity, calling me pathetic to live in pointless hope!”

Black eyes darken, his jaw ticking again while the veins in his neck pump out, his mood betraying him, “It wasn't pathetic, it was loyal. That's who you are Emma. You believe the best of everyone which is why they hurt you with such ease. You are an idealist and despite him betraying you, he didn't have the courage to watch your eyes by facing you with his intentions. It was easier to run away than stand in the reality of your broken heart up close and personal.”

The crushed syndrome comes back strong and I glare at the grain of the pine table trying not to cry. He could have left a note! Asshole.

Releasing my arm he rubs his thumb knuckle in his eye and exhales death into the atmosphere. “Don't look back, look forward. The past has no purpose other than to be a catalyst to change our status quo. Trust me, you'll never be in that situation again. T'ach'aa don't run away from their problems, we solve them with honesty and integrity.”

Dropping my spoon so it clangs a dull ping into the brown stoneware bowl, I turn my ire on him, “Macala, you are not helping! Guy fucked me over and you ruined my hand! Men suck!”

Shoving his chair into scraping murderously out from under the table he stands, his arms flaring up in helplessness, “What must I say? Go face him so he can humiliate you? That's bullshit, Emma. You're so much better than him! Leave the trash where it belongs because it stinks! As for your hand, I refuse to apologize.”

His eye is glowing again and I can't help but keep looking at it. Seeing my attention on it he plants his fists on the table to lean in, “Go on, look at it. I'm a freak like you! You're not alone Emma, you're one of us!”

Anger is radiating off him and he ducks his head, giving me an eyeful of spiky soft looking hair, doing something I can't see with his hand. Dramatically he drops two contact lenses in front of my bowl and stares at me with challenge oozing. “Read my eye. What do you see?”

I'm drawn to it as if cursed by his order. Watching what he sees in me is a revelation. It plays out interminably, him seeing Guy steal away with Des, guilty and obviously in lust, to me being observed, a lot, over and over and over... alone at the FF. Dancing alone, me alone in my cabin crying myself to sleep, sobbing until my pillow looks like an oil spill. Diving deeper, to the aura inside me, the galaxy hiding in my irises that I didn't even know was there, to watching me sitting in the tree behind the den reading a paranormal romance - alone. God I am such a fucking loser!

A slam bumps my soul right out of my body, his hand on the table after pounding it registering belatedly because my bones are breaking under the pressure of surprise again.

“If you think that again Odin fucking help you girl.”

“
Leave me alone!' I shout, skidding my chair out, tears glistening my eyes in fright.

Before I can flee I'm snared as I exit halfway out of my chair and hurled up against the hardest wall in history, locked there in a bitter grip. His breath is shaking out of him, blowing in my eyes when he leers so close I'm blinded by the brightness in his left eye.

“You fuck with my sanity, Emma. I refuse to stand by while you berate yourself for trusting, for making mistakes. Open your eyes and see what's right in front of you!”

“
A maniac,” I whisper without thinking.

I think I'm going to faint from the pain of his fingers pinning me to the wall, from my heart so terrified it's trying to exorcise.

He drops me as suddenly as he caught me. Turning away, jamming hands into his pockets, he walks stiffly to the open plan exit into his bedroom and whatever else I haven't seen yet because there's no light in those nooks. “I'll see you in the morning. You can stay in this room tonight. I'll be close enough if you need assistance.”

I can't find words, my voice is scratching to climb out of my throat, guilt making me want to apologize, but before I can find the courage I'm alone.

At least he knows the word fuck. He's spent some time in the trenches then. Slopping back into my chair at the table I finally cave into the overwhelming desire to weep. The reasons are too numerous to list, but I'm ashamed, confused, and heartbroken.

He never told me about dad.

I insulted him.

Passion rises in the brave when faced with a challenge. It's clear he's trying to rescue me from myself, but maybe I'm just a lost cause.

I sit and cry for a good half hour before using the paper napkin to dry my eyes and blow my nose, resolute.

I'm not interested in this new dynamic. I'm better off alone. I'd rather be by myself because at least then I don't have to please anybody or worry I might say the wrong damn thing.

Stealing the candle from the table I go looking for my things. They can just put them back where they found them when they discover I'm gone.

The room next door is recessed off the passage but easy enough to find. Propping the candle pricket on a box, I dig in the bag from my cabin. It takes all of two minutes to pull on Chuck Taylors and jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie. Dejected, I sneak back the way I came, heading for his bathroom.

I'm going to see if that hidden tunnel can help me escape.

Chapter 7

Macala
:

Glowering at the fireplace in my private lounge next door, I listen to her movements. I need to find her weakness so she'll understand it's not safe for her out there with Eagle coming.