Chapter Ninety

Havermouth, Present Time

Aislen’s jaw dropped and then she laughed, leaning back against Talen. She turned so that she was cradled on his lap like a child. He wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face into the hollow of his neck beneath his chin.

“Of course, you know,” she couldn’t believe her own stupidity. As the Triquetra knew what Talen was, he would know what they were. “I was torturing myself tonight to try to tell you…” She toyed with the key that he wore on a fine gold chain around his neck and the chest hair that curled in the v of his collar.

“Hmm,” he lowered his head until his cheek was against hers and his beard tickled her skin. “You should not fear to tell me anything, Morgana.”

“This is sort of a big something, though,” she told him. “The supernatural world does not like it when humans find out about them.”

“Humans, yes,” he said softly. “But that is not what you are, is it?”

“You know what I am?” She was surprised. “I don’t even know what I am.”

“Not specifically,” he corrected. “But I have been on this world long enough to know a human from a supernatural.”

“I can read thoughts, flashes and moments, mostly. It’s a pretty lousy gift because it’s never complete, just pieces,” she offered hesitantly. “I can’t read your thoughts, though.”

“Not surprising.”

“Except when you take my blood,” she amended. “And then I get a moment…”

“Aha,” he chuckled knowingly. “I can imagine just what moment.”

“The werewolves… The Triquetra,” she barely breathed the word. “We have a complicated history.”

“That much is evident,” he traced the triangle just below her collarbone. “They did this to you, and it is their initials here,” his hand lowered to where the ivy vine was located. “The tattoo artist,” he murmured. “That first night, who looked out of his door as we passed. This is his work.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Complicated,” he murmured. “Would it be simplified if they were dead?”

Her heart squeezed. “Not really,” she confessed. “I’m mad at them for this, and other things, but…”

“You care about them.”

“Yes.” She pressed her face into his chest, her hand clinging to his neck. “They’re arseholes, but they’re my arseholes.”

“Hmm. Hold the wine,” he reached down to the side of the chair and handed the bottle to her before rising, lifting her in his arms. He crossed to the open door and set her inside, before stooping to collect the discarded camisole and shorts and put them in the gift bag. She stepped further into the house as he followed, closing the door behind him, and turning the lock.

“They have keys,” she told him, in case he thought that he was locking them out.

“I am not worried about your werewolves, little demon,” he smiled. “But a locked door would delay a human intruder if your canine protectors failed to stop one, and it is foolish to assume that small towns are any safer for women living alone and unprotected - as far as the human population knows.”

“You’re too good to me, daddy,” she stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips over his jaw.

“Come,” he took her hand and led her towards the kitchen. “Tell me about your werewolves.”

“I’d rather have sex,” she admitted, as they passed the master bedroom. “I’m all hot and horny.”

“Soon, little demon. I need to understand the situation here.” He located the wine glasses in the cupboard and poured for them both. “Come and sit on my knee whilst you tell me the story of the…” He frowned slightly. “Triquetra.”

She sat on his lap and sipped her wine. “I guess it’s the normal story. New girl to town, bunch of boys who fuck anything in a skirt, they sort of bullied their way into my life. I thought, at first, that I was just… another fuck for them, but I gradually realized…” She trailed off and took another mouthful of wine whilst she considered it.

“You were much more to them,” he supplied.

“I guess. They never really treated me as special, though,” she felt the familiar sense of shame as she spoke, and the heat of a blush rise on her skin, the feeling sticky as if she were contaminated by the past. “They treated me just as badly, just as disposable as the girls that came before me. The only sign that I was different was that when we were together, they would fuck each other as well as me, and all together…” She shifted uneasy in her embarrassment. “They kept their relationship to each other secret from the pack and the town. I don’t know if they came out after I left. I suspect not.”

“Hmm,” he sipped his wine. “Werewolves tend to prefer regional locations. Small, isolated populations where their pack behaviour is less obvious, assumed to just be another small-town oddity. Diversity historically originates from cities and spreads outwards. Werewolves, therefore, are slower to accept diversity within their packs.”

Aislen turned her head to look up at him. “You are ridiculously sexy when you talk like that, daddy.”

He laughed. “And you have the sex drive of a werewolf alpha.”

“Would it surprise you if I said you broke a five-year drought?”

He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said quietly. “It wouldn’t. But not for the reasons you are thinking. So, these boys did not realize that you were important to them,” he prompted.

“They didn’t know about me,” she explained. “The pack thought that I was a human. And…”

“Humans are complicated,” he nodded slowly. “A bi-sexual polyandrous group with a human mate. Complicated is somewhat of an understatement.”

“I didn’t understand, and they could not tell me without breaking their laws, and things between us…” She shook her head. “It started badly, and just became worse. The pack offered me a scholarship to an art school in Rideten, and I took it. Whilst I was in Rideten, I met a witch coven, and being apart from the Triquetra… I realized that it was better for me to stay apart.”

“But you returned, now?”

“My father died,” she told him. “I had to come back for the funeral last week. I suspect that he is also why you are here. Patrick Carter.”

“Ah,” he sighed it out. “Patrick Carter. His daughter’s name on the file is Aislen.”

“I changed my name when I moved to Kabramatta.”

“I am very sorry for your loss,” his arms tightened around her.

“Thank you, but we were… estranged. Because of the Triquetra,” and suddenly she was weeping again. “Damn it,” she cursed herself.

“Let it out, Morgana,” he murmured. “It does no good to hold it in. You have every right to weep. You have lost your father and the opportunity to mend bridges, and returned to a home, and lovers, that you once sought to escape. And I suspect that is not all, is it?”

“No,” she agreed. “On the day of my father’s funeral, the Triquetra abducted me and took me back to their house, and for three days they… Well, you can see what they did to me. Rhett ended up letting me go, and I swam across the river…”

“And ended up in the hospital,” he finished for her. “Finish your wine, Morgana.”

She finished the last mouthful of wine and slipped off his knee. “Are we going to have sex now?”

He rose and stroked the hair back from her face. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Yeah,” she inclined towards him. “Talking of the past makes me feel icky. Your body on mine will chase the ick away.”

“In that case,” he swept her off her feet, cradling her in his arms. “Let’s go chase the ick away together.”