Echo (Bound to the Fae Book 2) Page 4

  “I’m in the middle of a lesson, but if you’re willing to wait twenty minutes, I’ll be able to help you.” The woman gives us the cold shoulder as she reminds her pupil of the correct way to hold the bow.

  Cambria practically weeps as the little girl hits a particularly sour note. “I was actually passing by and thought maybe I could help?” she nearly begs, looking at the instructor with desperation.

  The woman frowns. “Why?”

  Cambria just gestures to the oblivious child.

  “You think you’re more qualified?” She scoffs indignantly, and Dorian rushes to intervene.

  “Not at all, ma’am, she didn’t mean to insult you. Cambria just has an unparalleled love of music and always wants to help wherever she can.”

  She purses her lips, but eventually nods. “Fine. Good luck.” She says the words kindly so the kid doesn’t pick up on what she’s really saying with the statement.

  Cambria asks the girl to stand up, correcting her stance and hold as if it’s second nature. She stands behind her, covering the child’s hands with her own to guide her motions, and gently prompts her to where she wants her fingers on the strings. When she slowly drags the bow across, the sound is far smoother and in tune.

  “There we go.” Relaxing her rigid posture, she sighs. “You’re not trying to murder the poor thing, you want to play with it. Pretend it’s your friend if that helps; you don’t want to hurt her.”

  She carries on for another ten minutes at an agonizingly slow pace, but by the time she steps back and releases the reins, the girl is far more careful than before. That’s not to say her playing is good, but the volume is more subdued and you can at least tell what song she’s trying to play; even if she botches half of the notes.

  The instructor’s eyes practically bug out of her head, looking at Cambria in awe. “Three months. Three months, and yet you made more progress in ten minutes. You’re not thinking of setting up shop in town, are you?” she asks with blatant concern.

  Cambria snorts. “Heck no, I don’t have the patience for this sort of thing, or children in general, honestly. I just couldn’t stand not intervening when I heard her. No offense, kid,” she tosses out there last minute to soften the insult.

  The little girl shrugs, tucking a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. “It’s fine. I don’t even want to play, but my mom makes me.” There’s a flash of pain across Cambria’s face before she quickly conceals it.

  Bending down so that she’s face to face with the little girl, she gives her a sad smile. “Yeah, my mother was the same way. Made it really hard to enjoy it for a while. But you know what I realized?”

  The little girl hangs on her every word. “What’s that?”

  “Once you learn, it becomes such an intrinsic part of you that you can’t ever imagine letting it go. It’s freeing in a way I can’t even put into words. No matter where you end up in life, you’ll always have that. That music is a part of your soul striving to get out into the world; you just need to learn how to open the door. It’s a friend that will always be with you, no matter how lonely or sad you get. Take care of that part of yourself and it will take care of you.”

  The little girl cants her head to the side as if she doesn’t quite believe her or fully understand. “What do you mean?”

  Cambria bites her lip, warring with herself, so I bump her shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I’ll stop you if you start getting carried away. Go ahead.”

  She kisses my cheek before asking the instructor if she has a full size one she can borrow. Curious, the woman obliges, crossing the room and returning a minute later. Cambria makes a few adjustments before stepping up the few steps onto the mock stage in the back half of the room. Tucking it beneath her chin, she closes her eyes and releases a steadying breath.

  With the first draw of the bow across the strings, I’m transfixed. She makes it seem so easy, each note fluid and blending into the next seamlessly. With just a few flicks of her hand, she can run a person through the emotional gauntlet; melancholy, hopeful, and then get your heart racing in a bid to keep up with her fury.

  Faster, harder, she pushes herself, always going all in. When I see the first shimmer over the violin, watch the polished wood start to transform to crystal as the piano did, I fight through the mesmerizing pull to cross the room. I circle around behind her, setting a hand on her hip and stroking my thumb back and forth so as not to startle her.

  “Easy there, angel,” I murmur, only for her ears. “Dial it back a notch.”

  She makes no indication to have heard me, can’t nod with her chin resting on the violin and hands a flurry of motion, but I know I got through to her. She withdraws a bit of the power I barely am starting to understand, never once fumbling a note. I step back and just marvel at her, still stunned that so many people can overlook how incredible she is just because they’re scared or jealous.

  It’s as tragic as the beautiful music she plays, and her words of it being a part of her soul striving to escape echo through my mind. Listening from the new perspective, I appreciate it all the more. I can feel her longing for more as if it was a tangible thing and it makes me physically ache with yearning. I can’t imagine living like this all of the time and the fact that she conceals it so well? Fuck, if I didn’t already love her, I’d fall for her all over again.

  Dorian starts applauding first, snapping the other two out of their trance as they jump in wholeheartedly. Cambria bows with a flourish, soaking it all up. It adds even more life into her, and hell, if we could get her to perform in front of a solid crowd? She might not have to return to the fae world for weeks.

  She says her goodbyes and we head back to the car, feeling twenty times better than we did leaving the house this morning. Thankfully, this means we’ve bought ourselves another day before having to cross, so she and Dorian can go hunting for another ring to use tomorrow since I’m scheduled to work. I’ve missed too many days as it is, and I know if it wasn’t for Lucien’s influence, I’d have been fired by now. I feel guilty, but it can’t be helped.

  Glancing down at the back of my hand, I look at the branding of twisted knots that tether me to Cambria and the others, brushing my thumb across the raised scarring. As if she can sense me messing with it, she gives me a questioning look, checking that everything’s alright. Even now, when she’s being hunted for treason, she’s worried about us, wants to take care of her ‘humans’. It should grate at my nerves, make me feel like a pet, but in reality?

  After my father offered me up to be killed in his place, it feels really damn good to belong with people that I know actually give a shit about me, that can’t leave me even if they tried. We’re bound to the fae, and even though it might mean our deaths, I feel more alive and at home than I ever have before.

  Chapter 4

  Cambria

  I hear the car door slam in the driveway, thrilled at the prospect of a ticked off Lucien storming in the door. Healthy? Probably not, but the best way to get his attention seems to be by annoying or pissing him off. He’s far too stoic as it is and if it takes frustrating the hell out of him to put a little life in his eyes? So be it.

  I’ve given myself emotional whiplash over the last week, going from one extreme to the other faster than I can blink, but at this point I’m just trying to hold on for the ride. There’s far too much coming at us in rapid succession and I need some time to acclimate, to figure out how to adapt, so I’m trying to cut myself some slack. Naturally, that means I should ignore my problems in favor of causing some for other people; seeing others struggle makes me feel not quite so alone.

  Silly humans and their moral compasses.

  He throws open the front door, eyes settled on the scene in the living room and rolling his eyes. “No one could answer their phone because you were turning the house into a strip club? Seriously?” Despite his harsh words, I don’t miss the way his eyes rake over me, ensuring I’m not missing a limb.

  “And here I thought you’
d like the prospect of pole dancing.” I fake being put out, enjoying the flicker of panic in his amber eyes. “I’ll take it down, no need to make you suffer.”

  He quickly backtracks, scrambling to salvage the situation, until he sees me grinning. “You’re infuriating.”

  I don’t bother arguing, because I mean, he’s not wrong.

  He came home late, missing dinner, and I take his hand to lead him to one of the couches we rearranged to surround the ‘stage’. He sits without a fight, starting to relax now that he knows we’re all alright. I slowly undo his tie, letting it hang around his neck, before gently running my hands down his chest and over his lap. Dorian flips on some seductive music and Luce quickly changes his tune to one wholeheartedly, and solidly, supporting the development.

  I straddle his thighs and he tries to grip my hips, but I guide them behind his head instead, my breasts brushing against him. So when I slide off his lap to sit beside him and don an identical position, he practically pouts. Atlas steps out of the kitchen, strutting out and gripping the pole like he was born for the position.

  Luce drops his hands back to his sides, groaning. “It’s always something with you three.”

  I tsk, setting a hand on his thigh and teasing to keep him from leaving. “Now, now, you don’t want to hurt his feelings. Stay, blow a load off.” He narrows his eyes at me while I correct myself. “Take a load off, sorry. Humans and their phrases trip me up sometimes.”

  Dorian fake coughs as he flops down on my other side. “Bullshit.”

  I hush them both, getting a huge kick out of the entire thing. It’s clear Atlas has never done something like this before, but hell, he’s sure giving it a solid go instead of half-assing it like I expected.

  He slowly peels off his shirt and tosses it to the side between dancing before moving on to unbutton his jeans. I don’t care who you are; it’s damn near impossible to sexily pull off jeans while dancing. We all end up breaking character when he stumbles, laughing and kicking them aside. He stays in his boxers for the rest of the song, but damn, color me impressed. The other two loosen up and start playing into it, whistling and tossing singles at him.

  He prowls over to grind against me, ignoring the others and nipping at my ear. “I’m getting you back for this one, little fae. Just you wait.”

  Shivering with anticipation, a thrill runs through me with his promise. He steps back and gathers his clothes, bowing dramatically as the song comes to an end. I get to my feet clapping and he chucks his shirt at my face, but I carry on anyway.

  “Not sure why you’re so upset, that was shockingly good.”

  He tugs his jeans back on, rolling his eyes. “Trust me; it would have been better if it was you.”

  I hand him his shirt back and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Nah, I’d break my neck on that thing.”

  He rolls his eyes, calling me out on my lie, and captures my mouth. His kiss is harsh, full of the promise of revenge, yet at the same time swearing protection. It’s as complicated as the man giving it and I greedily take all he has to offer.

  “I’ve got to get up early for work, so why don’t you go spend some time with Luce?” he offers in a whisper. “I got you all day, but you’ve barely seen him since we got back, and I can tell you miss him.”

  As I open my mouth to protest, he silences me with another kiss, this one softer. “Don’t make it into a thing. I’m not being jealous, angel. I think you both need some time, okay?”

  He heads off to bed since he needs to get up at four a.m., but Dorian stays in the living room with us as I move towards the couch. Dorian promptly drags me onto his lap and I lean into him, savoring the way Luce’s jaw ticks. Like he tends to at any opportunity, he threads his fingers through my hair. I’m not sure if he’s just obsessed with feeling the silky strands or it’s an unconscious habit, but I adore it.

  “You should have seen the way she showed up that kid today, Luce,” Dorian taunts, making me sound like an asshole.

  I shudder in horror at the memory. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure anyone could have.”

  All fae are attuned to nature to a degree, but we’re also influenced by our abilities. Like those that have an affinity for fire magic naturally have an aversion to water, since most of my powers are influenced by music, it physically hurt to hear that song being mangled. I’m fortunate enough to have multiple abilities, but it’s the most defining root of my magic. If Atlas really wanted to get revenge, he could just butcher some Tchaikovsky and leave me puking for the afternoon.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you play more than piano,” Lucien finally says with a smile after Dorian finishes regaling him with the tale. Honestly, I don’t find it nearly as interesting as he seems to, but I’m not about to turn away the appreciation in his gaze.

  I squirm on Dorian’s lap, getting more comfortable and reveling in the power it gives me to be able to make him hard without doing more than sit here. He hisses in a breath as I shift again and grin, blinking at him unrepentantly.

  “Sorry, D. Want me to sit somewhere else while we catch up?”

  His arms band tighter around my waist. “Not even a little.”

  Lucien’s mask fractures enough to let a sliver of jealousy shine through. I pretend not to notice, drawing him back into the conversation.

  “Maybe tomorrow you can come with us ring hunting?”

  The jealousy is still there, but now it’s blended with his frustration. “I can’t. I need to finish a few things.” He runs and agitated hand through his dark hair.

  I don’t crawl over to him, not yet. “I could come to work with you, help you finish things up faster, and we could go in the afternoon?”

  He swipes an agitated hand down his face, getting up and heading into the kitchen. “No, it’s more important to find the new crossover point. Me being there won’t help us find one any quicker since we need to follow your lead, so you shouldn’t waste time at the office. Divide and conquer.”

  There’s a brief stab of rejection no matter how much I know he doesn’t mean it the way I’m taking it. He’s running based solely off of logic, on practicality, but still. It hurts.

  “Luce,” Dorian whispers, but he may as well have shouted into the silence overtaking the room.

  Lucien returns with a raised eyebrow, waiting to see what he wants, because it’s clear he’s looking at things from a completely different perspective than we are. And honestly? I have trouble voicing that it stings.

  Years of being called an attention whore, despite needing it to survive. It doesn’t need to be positive, as my parents made abundantly clear, though. Even negative attention is enough to sustain me, just barely, but keeps me from dying. It just messes with my head as much as making me sick, hence why I spent a few days licking my wounds.

  I know I’m a hot mess with screwed up priorities and delusions to keep me sane; it’s how I’ve survived since the day my brother died. The only way I’ve managed to cope and not fall into a spiraling depression is getting out of my own head, pretending to be someone else for a little while. I cling to those personas, because as soon as I’m left alone with me, I’m forced to face everything I’ve pent up and brushed aside in favor of getting through just one more day.

  So how am I supposed to just say ‘you hurt my feelings’? Before these three, not a single soul cared; went out of their way to, more often than not. I’ve never had anyone in my corner that actually gave a damn before, that asked me about my day or what I might need. I’m grateful for what I’ve found with them and don’t want to fuck it up by asking for extra when they already have given me more than I ever dreamed I’d have.

  Dorian weighs his words carefully before he speaks. “I know you’re trying to keep us all safe, and I appreciate that sacrifice, but it’s coming across like you don’t want to be around Cambria any more than you have to be.”

  His eyes widen before whipping to me, scanning my face as he searches for the truth in his words. I must not be doing nearly as good of a j
ob hiding my thoughts as I’m attempting to, because he starts marching over after only a split second.

  Involuntarily, I lean into Dorian for comfort. Not because I’m worried Lucien will hurt me in the slightest, but because the confrontation scares the hell out of me. This is all uncharted territory. I’m so accustomed to shoving my problems under the rug to deal with...never, that being forced to shine a light on them and deal with things head on has my anxiety flaring up.

  Dorian senses the tension radiating off of me, tightening his hold in a combination of reassurance, and not letting me make a run for it. He kisses my shoulder while my stomach flips, my breathing coming quicker.

  Luce kneels down in front of me, picking up on the change now that he’s scrutinizing my every movement. He and Dorian dealt with me the last time I freaked out, and according to the latter, he’s a pro after helping Dorian heal throughout the years.

  As if he’s battling his own nerves, he hesitantly extends his fingers towards my neck. Tentatively, he slips his hand under the collar of my shirt and over smooth skin until settling on his mark on my chest. His was the most brutal to receive, carved above my heart. The scars are smooth to the touch now, but still upraised and I figure they always will be. Like when Dorian and Atlas brush their thumbs over their marks on my hands, it helps to settle my nerves a bit, but my heart continues hammering away.

  “I just keep hurting you, don’t I?” His gaze is raw, simply stating the painful truth rather than actually asking.

  I can’t trust myself to speak, my heart leaping from my chest to get lodged in my throat. Running my tongue over my suddenly dry lips, I anxiously wait for the moment he decides that he was right and we never should have crossed this line. He’s the type of man that would give up everything to take care of the people he loves, and from how glacial his eyes are right now, I can practically see the gears turning in his head, preparing to push me away for my own good.