Protected by Stone (A Paranormal Romance Novel) (19 page)

His eyebrows furrowed tightly. “'All of this?'”

With ruddy cheeks, I swept past him and into the hallway. “I'm starving! Let's, uh, let's go.”
Don't want to explain where my mind was all day, not at all!

Grault walked beside me, making his steps shorter to keep pace. As we passed through the circular stair room, I swore I glimpsed Junlit (and a few others) peeking at us around the edge of the hallway.

My companion didn't seem to notice. “I've fed the guests, they shouldn't need you anymore tonight.”

“Er, uh,” I stumbled on my words. “Great! That's great.”
Too eager, too eager.

Fiddling with my dress, I tried to think of what to say. Grault hadn't been intimidating before, not like
this
. Scary, cold, sure. But the way he felt now... the way everything felt... I was left at a loss. How did I approach this? If he was trying to be romantic, that was scary enough. The idea of going along and being wrong was even worse. No one enjoyed rejection.

And we work together, live together, if something happens and stuff goes sour... oh god I'm getting way too ahead of myself.

Turning the corner, I followed him into the greenhouse. I locked up with one foot on the grass. “Grault—this is...” In front of me, lit like fireflies sitting among the plants, were a number of tiny candles.

“Do you like it?” he asked, a knowing smile breaking his composure.

My stare moved from his lips, to the candles. I repeated it again, trying to confirm what I was seeing. “I do! Did you actually do all of this?”
For me?
was my unspoken extension.

Placing the basket beside the stream, he tugged a blanket free from inside. “Of course I did.” He said it so matter of fact, I had to bite my lip to hold back a dumb giggle.

I wasn't used to boys (men, I corrected myself) doting on me. Grault hadn't struck me as the romantic sort, yet here he was, picnic basket and candlelight among the flowers.

Something about this feels... wrong. Why is he doing this for me? Is it really because of how hard I've been working?

Deep down, I knew that couldn't be it. Faced with the scent of home-cooked food, the sweet smile of a certain handsome face, I just didn't care.

Whatever the reason, Grault was making me feel amazing.
Special. For once, after all the comparisons and comments on how I'm not magical or talented like Tessa...

I feel special.

“Sit,” he said, so I did. “Hold this,” he said, giving me a glass, so I took that too. It was easy to follow directions, much easier than allowing myself to start accepting the situation for what it was.

Junlit was right. I think Grault likes me, this certainly has to be a date!
Buzzing with too much energy, I almost dropped the glass when he began filling it. The liquid from the bottle was gold as wheat. “What's this?”

“Wine,” he said, pouring himself a glass.

“I should warn you,” I chuckled nervously, “I'm technically too young to drink alcohol.”

“Too young to drink, but not too young to own a house,” he scoffed.

His observation made me squirm. “When you put it that way... Besides, I'll be twenty-one in just five months.”

Grault took a small sip. “Ah, a spring child.”

“I guess.” Tilting back the glass, I let the acidic notes drift down my throat. It was warm and chill, all at once. “What about you? When is your birthday?”

His frown lines were almost invisible. Almost. “Would you believe I've forgotten? Here, before the food gets cold.”

How could you forget your own birthday?
I wondered, biting back my curiosity. He looked unsettled, eyes avoiding mine.
Maybe he's ashamed about it. No easy way to ask him how old he is, now. Great. He looks only a little older than me, I guess it doesn't matter much.

He handed me something wrapped in paper. It was the size of a grapefruit. Removing one for himself, he placed a glass container between us on the blanket. Whatever it was, it steamed when he peeled back the cover.

“Is that soup?” I asked, leaning in to inhale the spicy scent.

“Correct.” He reached out, his hands on the package I'd put on my lap. The paper rustled, only mildly louder than my breathing. “And this... is a bread bowl.”

Looking down, I gawked at the hollowed out dough. “Oh!” I was delighted, he'd taken some of the bread I'd bought and made something ingenious. “Grault, this is very clever of you.”

His grin split his face. “Thank you, Miss Blooms.”

Hearing him say my name so formally mulled my joy. “Can't you just call me Farra, please?”

He glanced at me, then slid a ladle from the basket. “That would be improper. You're the owner of this house.”

Yet, you always call her Tessa, and not Miss Blooms,
I thought petulantly. I scratched at the outside of my arm, doing my best not to pout. “Is it more improper than taking me on an impromptu picnic?”

“Hardly impromptu,” he said flatly.

“That's not the part you should be arguing.”

Narrowing his eyes, Grault poured soup into both our bread bowls.  “Miss Blooms, if you are having trouble taking this for what it is, I don't know how to soothe you.”

How to soothe me?
My mind conjured a few ideas, all quite inappropriate. “It would be easier if I
did
know what this was.”

“It's dinner.” His elegant fingers extended a spoon to me. It reminded me of when he'd offered me a hand to help me up.

Like then, I hesitated to grab it. “But is it just dinner?”

In his fingers, the spoon dipped. “I don't know what you mean.”

Taking the utensil, I twirled it in the hot liquid. The soup looked like melted rubies in the candle light. “Forget it. I guess I thought something else was going on here, and—just forget it.”

We sat in silence for some time, each of us looking into our bowls. The steam tickled my chin, encouraging me to try the alluring meal. It was close to burning on my tongue, the bright flavor of tomatoes doing a dance with onions.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in through my nose. “This is really good,” I whispered.

He hadn't touched his soup yet, simply watching me the entire time. “Thank you, Miss Blooms.”

“It's so good,” I went on, hearing the heat in my voice rivaling the food, “that it makes me angry.”

“I—what? Angry, why?”

Taking another bite, I felt the spice coat my tongue. “It's unfair. You've been able to cook this good, all this time, and you never... you never once suggested that you take over the kitchen duties.”

It was a small motion, but Grault sat up straighter. “That was always Tessa's—”

“I'm
not
Tessa, though!” I snapped, setting the bread bowl to the side. “I'm not her, and I can't be her. Isn't that obvious by now?”

“Miss Blooms,” he said crisply, “it's been very obvious since the start.” His words cut like barbs, sticking in too deep. “However, that—Miss Blooms?” As he had opened his mouth, I climbed to my feet. I wouldn't sit idly under his insults.

Oh, good, that feeling of distance between us that was there at the start. There it is again. Now I can think properly.
Brushing grass off my dress, I spun to walk towards the exit.

“Miss Blooms, wait!” he called, chasing after me like my own shadow. “I'm not finished explaining!”

“You don't need to
explain
anything,” I muttered, looking straight ahead. My goal was the hallway, to leave that garden behind. “From the start, I knew you were disappointed by me. Telling me the details is wholly unneeded.”

Grault's fingers closed on my wrist, covering most of my lower arm. Logically, I knew I couldn't pull away, but I still tried.

“Miss Blooms!”

“Let me go!” He was reminding me of how weak I felt, he needed no effort to try and hold me still. “Just let me go already! I'm not going to listen to you chide me about how bad I am.” Tears were boiling in my eyes, I wanted anything but for him to see them fall. “For you to act like you're doing me a favor because you made me dinner once, as if I need such pity anyway!”

“It wasn't pity!” he growled, a noise so wild it crept into my muscles, locked me up on the spot. I stopped tugging, my hand still trapped in his grip. Hovering above me, Grault's eyes were a storm of black ice, of pride that didn't know what to do with itself. “It was never, ever pity,” he said, speaking in a hush. “I would never help you out of something so pathetic as that.”

Don't cry, don't ever cry in front of anyone. Especially not him.
My molars creaked from straining. “Then what? What made you do this, all of this, if not pity or guilt for me?”
He doesn't care, he could have helped all along and he never did, he let me flounder and fail and... and...

There was surprise in his eyes. “What motivated me to do this?” It sounded like he was asking himself.

My brain was working hard, battling my heart in a fight for what would break down first. I could see his lips, how close to mine. Feel the energy from his flesh where it held me near.

He denies me at every turn, but why do I even want his approval? Why do I care what he thinks, or wants, or any of it?

“What I was trying to say to you,” he whispered, white lashes hanging low, “was that I knew you would never be like her. But, that it never mattered to me. Tessa never needed help... and she never let me try. I guess I got used to that arrangement, after all this time.”

The leftover anger deflated, leaving me to work with just my private confusion.

His mouth made the cruelest of frowns. “It was never pity. Not pity. I just... when I saw that fear, saw you struggle, those were sides Tessa never let me glimpse. It made me want to just—I'm not sure I can say.”

Shutting my eyelids, I was swept up in the feeling of my heart expanding.
What was it that Junlit said... about getting close, and then...

“Miss Blooms?” he said softly.

I licked my lips quickly. “Y—yes?”

“Are you alright?”

The embarrassment sank in slowly, but it was there to stay.
Ah, good, I'm making an idiot out of myself all over again.
“Yeah,” I sighed, starting to open my eyes.
Guess I'm just bad at reading the signs.
“I'm fine, I was just—”

His lips were soft, more tender than the buds of new flowers. It didn't seem fair, someone as strong as him being blessed with such a sweet mouth.

Losing thought, reason, I stood there in shock while he explored the kiss. It was what I'd wished him to do, but now, I forgot how it was done. I was so jumbled, if asked to spell my name, there was a good chance I'd fail.

His hand left my wrist, falling away in the same breath as the kiss stopped. Grault's eyes were feverish, flicking over me with worry. “Perhaps that was the wrong thing to do, Miss Blooms. But I thought...”

“Farra.” The name flitted from me, reminding me who I was, what was happening. “If you're going to kiss me, you have to call me Farra.”

My pale suitor stared down at me, unmoving as the earth. His palms cradled my cheeks, his shade falling on me as he swept me into a rougher kiss. It was hungry, unapologetic in its need. The grit in his voice when he spoke against my lips, made a single word with his tongue, sent ripples to my lower belly. “Farra...”

Only then did I return the kiss.

––––––––

I
t was astounding how fast winter made its presence known.

My mind didn't grasp time as easily, not with someone like Grault at my side. The house was never cold, my mood far from drab.

There were a few knowing looks from the guests, and Junlit made sure I gave him extra pancakes for a while (even if the bet hadn't been official!)

Sitting by the kitchen window, all I saw outside were the grey clouds. The green glass made things all the more dark, the sun hiding from view.

Will we have snow so soon?

As if to prepare, I tossed another log in the furnace. It kept the building toasty, which also kept me happy.

Staring out at the fields of dying grass, I found myself looking at the lake in the distance. It had been over two weeks since the attack, and not once had I been out behind the house.

There had been no need to, with Grault around. Besides the wood, he'd even taken up the mantle of assisting me with cooking.

That, no doubt, was what was making the tenants the happiest. Who could have guessed he was such a good chef? My suspicion was that he'd learned it all from Tessa, something I never had the chance to.

Tessa,
I thought idly, my thoughts floating away. I was hardly looking at the lake, not really seeing it. The flash of silver light was so tiny, I thought I'd imagined it.

That was strange, did I just see...
Again, the blip of color. It was coming from the center of the lake, muted by the rippling dark waves. The wind was clawing outside, rattling the window.

My veins were rattling harder.

I just saw the sylph, didn't I?
Pressing my nose to the glass, I squinted intensely. While the monster had never truly left my mind, it was easy to keep the problem in a distant part of my brain. Grault made me feel safe, and his (and Dirk's) words about the creature not being able to harm me as long as I stayed away from the lake were ringing true.

So far.

What does it want, I wonder?
My suspicion was an awful one. Tucking my hands into the sleeves of my sweater, I shivered despite the warmth.
It wants me. I know it must want me.

Behind, I heard footsteps. Grault's familiar scent, clean as ice and pine, came to me. Turning, I welcomed the feel of his arms around my waist. “Farra,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “What are you looking at?”

Should I tell him?
I wondered, trying to weigh the ups and downs in a mere minute.
No, he'll just worry about me. There's nothing new here, just a monster in a lake trying to... to get my attention?
Snuggling against him, I slid my arms under his jacket. His smooth skin met mine. “Just the clouds, I think it might snow. Speaking of which, are you ever going to wear anything under this coat of yours?”