Wilding Heart (chapter 3)

If she had to work today, at least the lunch rush was fun. Melody smiled and greeted the couple who came in with the soft ding of the bell. Lunch was always filled with regulars, those she knew on sight and most of them by name. She didn’t have to make her sleep-sluggish brain try to think. Habit would carry her through until she could go home and fall down.

With menus in hand and a smile on her face, she led the couple to a booth as they preferred and left them in their waiter’s care. She didn’t have to worry they’d be forgotten or overlooked. Lunch held a steady, comfortable pace and the wait staff today was great. Back at her station, she entered the booth into the computer and took a moment to breathe.

Last night still felt surreal. In all the years she’d lived in New York, she’d never been mugged. Then, not only was she nearly mugged, but some handsome guy straight out of a romance novel had stepped in and chased the mugger off. The strangeness of it had kept her awake in spite of her exhaustion. There were worse things to keep a girl awake than a gorgeous man, she thought with an inward smile. She just wished she’d asked him his name at least.

The door dinged and she looked up, a smile spreading across her face from joy rather than habit.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Damien Morrow was one of the best looking men she’d ever met. Tall and black haired with blue eyes that could melt a woman at twenty paces, he also happened to be the least vain. With a wicked sense of humor, he had a charm she would have gladly succumbed to had he shown the least interest in a friendly, somewhat overweight hostess. Still, she counted herself lucky to be his friend. At his side, the beautiful red head he’d met only a few months ago was tucked under his arm looking disgruntled. Eithné never looked particularly happy to be here for reasons Melody understood completely. With that in mind, she checked the board to make sure his favorite table was free.

“Hey, Mel.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek, never losing his grip on Eithné. “Tell me Tracy isn’t working today. Please?”

She chuckled. The blond waitress still hadn’t forgiven him for passing her over. “She’s working.” He groaned and her grin widened. “But she’s working the patio today. You’re in luck.”

“Thank God.”

“No, thank Mark. Those of us who were willing to come and help him unload the old freezer so the new one could be up and running this morning got to pick their station today and Tracy had a hot date last night.” And had drawn the coldest station to work as a result. During the summer months, the patio was a prime station but this close to Autumn, the chill breeze and occasional drizzle made life outside miserable and killed the tips.

“You worked last night?” They followed her through the restaurant to the small table wedged between the hallway into the bar and the metal railing of a bay window. It wasn’t a prime location, but Damien liked it for its view of the neighboring gardens.

“Yeah.” She waited until they were seated and handed out the menus. “You good for now?”

“My cousin should be coming in pretty quick. He wanted to catch a breath of air first.”

Translation: the cousin was a smoker and was taking advantage of the open air of the park.

“I’ll bring him back when he comes in. What’s he look like?”

“Tall as me. Long blond ponytail.”  His grin flashed. “Not nearly as good looking, though.”

Her heart jerked at the description before galloping away in mad hope. That sounded a lot like the guy who’d saved her from a mugging last night. “Black leather? A bit on the lean side?”

“Yeah.” His interest sharpened. “You know him?”

She shrugged, hoping her panic didn’t show on her face. “Had a bit of a situation last night. Mark forgot to move some stuff from the deep freeze into the cooler for today and asked me to do it since I live the closest. I was leaving when a mugger jumped me. This guy stepped in and helped me out. Never got his name, though.”

“Carradoc ap Arawn.”

The deep murmur behind her nearly jerked her out of her skin. She turned slowly to look up, hoping beyond hope she wasn’t drooling. There was nothing more pathetic than the fat girl lusting after stud on the hoof and she’d all but gushed over him last night. Daylight showed details the shadows had hidden and she had to remind herself to breathe.

Thin black brows slashed across a face of sharp angles and clear focus. His pale hair was caught back, smooth and neat, leaving nothing to detract from the stark beauty of him. She forced herself to look away. There was no way his eyes were purple. It had to be the lighting in here or maybe contacts that lent his eyes that amazing color. The long, black leather coat draped over his leanly muscled form to the tops of the heavy biker boots he wore. The black leather pants completed the look that screamed danger. All he needed was a tattoo instead of the heavy beaten gold necklace that framed his throat like a collar.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, forcing a smile and not quite looking at him. “Thanks to you. I’ll go get another menu. I’ll be right back.”

Making her escape, she rushed through the dining room to her station to snatch up a menu. Taking a moment to update the board, she fanned herself with the plastic covered pages. Good God. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had charged her up like this and with nothing more than a look. Even her kneecaps had developed a decided tingle. God help her if he ever touched her.

“You weren’t afraid of me last night. What changed?”

She bit off a squeak as she turned, the menu held like a shield between them. Carradoc looked aloof and a bit confused as he stared down at her.  His eyes weren’t purple, she was happy to note. They were a rich, purple-blue like a Siamese cat. Not that it helped the nerves that jittered with awareness. And that faint, lyrical accent did things to her blood pressure that should be illegal.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she denied. “If you wanted to hurt me, you’d have hurt me last night.”

“Then why run?” He broke off with a sigh. “You needn’t protect her, Eithné. I mean her no harm.”

“Sorry.” The woman sounded anything but apologetic. “Just making sure. Melody is a friend.”

“And I’m family.” He sounded sad for some reason and Melody felt a strange melting in her chest. Lonely was something she understood.

“It’s fine, Eithné.” She forced her gaze to meet his, refusing to flinch away from the heat that scalded up her neck. “Thank you again, though. I mean it.”

He nodded and retreated. Eithné plucked the menu from her and followed him. Melody watched them go, wondering at the strained air between them. It was sad, but some families seemed to work that way. Maybe he’d been in prison or something. She’d have to ask Damien later.

The day dragged after they left and Melody was left with too much time to think. Damien had never mentioned any family other than his mother. Not that they were bosom buddies or anything, but she would have thought he’d have mentioned a cousin at least in passing. And, dear God, that gene pool was heavy in the good looks department.  It was his name that had her wondering if she’d misheard him or if she needed her head examined. Maybe she really did spend too much time with her books. Maybe her imagination was getting the better of her.

Maybe she was just desperately intrigued by the new guy in town.

At the end of the shift, Tracy appeared to lean her elbows on the station while Melody’s replacement was clocking in. The blond looked unhappy, a normal state of affairs, but Melody couldn’t help asking anyway.

“How’d your date go last night?”

Tracy shrugged. “Eh.”

“What happened to the hot stud-myster you were talking about?”

“Turned out to be a horse’s ass.” She shrugged again.

“Steve called yesterday.” She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe she just wanted to feel wanted, too. Not that Steve was exactly a winner in that department, but he was all she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

“Ask you out again?” Tracy perked up at the thought.

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, God.” The blond rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, he has a friend he just knows you’ll hit it off with.”

“Brother.”

“Same thing.” Tracy shook her head. “God, Mel, you have to stop letting these losers pawn you off on the next guy down the road. Make them take you seriously. Set your sights on a guy and don’t let him get away, excuses not allowed.”

“I will pick a guy to hunt when you stop falling into bed on the first date.”

Tracy looked mutinous. “Sometimes all I want out of a date is a bit of fun. I’m not in it for wine and roses, you know. Not all of us want for-ever, just for-now.” She shook her head again and changed the subject. “Hey, did you hear about the guy they found in the alley this morning?”

Melody’s heart tripped over. “No. What about him?”

“He was dead. Had a gun in his hand that had been fired, but there was no blood or anything so he didn’t kill himself. I talked to one of the cops. Hunky dunky in a uniform. I might have to try me a boy in blue.” Tracy shoved away from the station, wagging her head. “Yeah, well, the guy was probably some junkie who misfired and scared himself to death. The cop I talked to said other than the track marks on his arms, there wasn’t a mark on him. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah. Weird.” Melody felt dazed, shock tripping through her with little jackhammers singing an inane little song. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep playing games with her mind. It wasn’t as if dead junkies being found in alleys were anything new or even all that rare around here. There were no marks so there was no way that Carradoc could have killed him.

Right?

After clocking out, she gathered her things and stepped out into cool afternoon sunshine. Her body dragged at her, punishing her for the late night, no sleep and a day spent on her feet, but the park across the street beckoned, the trees shading crimson and gold and inviting. Without much of a struggle, she gave in, crossing the street to lose herself in the cool shade. Picking a path at random, she wandered, trying to get her brain to empty of all the worrying, niggling thoughts. It should have been easier. It wasn’t as if her life was convoluted or messy. She worked, she slept, and occasionally she dated. She paid her bills, read mysteries and romances and occasionally caught a movie. Nothing fancy. Not even any skeletons in her closet.

But she was a people watcher. She noticed things. Little things mostly like the way Damien’s friend, Star, always ordered coffee and got lethargic afterward. Or how Star’s new boyfriend avoided the stuff. Al Centauri? She stifled a snort of derision. She could believe the Centauri part what with the stud factor and all, but Al? Not in this lifetime. In fact, every member of that group were strikingly beautiful people and yet no one seemed to really notice. Tracy didn’t count. She got hot after the guy who checked the parking meters because he wore shorts.

Damien had always been kind, a friendly guy who worried and teased. He reminded her of a cat, graceful and a bit lazy if stroked. But he was different. There was no hiding that.  Straight men didn’t usually paint fairies for a living and brag about it. They painted nudes or sculpted granite or something manly like that. And he was definitely straight.

Then there was Eithné. Damien had claimed she was a champion archer and the woman hadn’t denied it. But no matter how Melody looked, no matter how she spelled the name, there was no record of an archer anywhere on any list by that name and she couldn’t bring herself to believe they were lying about it. It didn’t have the feel of a lie, just a truth she couldn’t prove.

Carradoc ap Arawn. Definitely Welsh. Carradoc, son of Arawn. But the patronymic naming system had gone out of use in the fifteenth century. Was it sad that she knew that? Maybe.

She walked, lost in thought. She had a thing for fantasy and fairy tales, sure, but that’s what kept her walking when her legs ached, what kept her here in the leaf strewn park instead at home in bed getting some much needed sleep. Scratch a myth and find a fact.

She really needed to get a grip on her overactive imagination.

Arawn. She’d first heard about him when she was a child on Grandfather’s knee, while he read her tales of Manawyddan, Gwydion and the sons of Dôn. Arawn, the legendary Horned King of the Dell of the Dead who used his black cauldron to bring the dead back to life. It was a tale that had haunted her for years.

It could be it was all an inside joke, a harmless giggle for them. The reality was probably they were simply a group of beautiful, eccentric people with some rather odd habits. Her own love affair with tales of the fair folk had her seeing things that couldn’t exist. But if there was a group of people that could make her believe in fairies walking the streets of New York, it was that one.

A bench sat tucked in a curve of the cement that rose to form a flowerbed and she sat, her muscles aching. The music of falling water from the fountain soothed. Leaves drifted down as Autumn surrendered slowly to Winter. As early as next week it would be snow falling and things would get sloshy for a while and there would be no more long walks in the park.

Melody gazed unseeing through the crimson and gold foliage, ignoring the people passing by as she tried to force her thoughts onto more realistic paths. Could Carradoc really be Damien’s cousin? They were both tall men and handsome in their own way, pale eyed and intense. It was possible.

But fairies? After all, traditional Fae folk were nothing like the kiddy stories children heard today. They were tall, human looking and very beautiful. They could blend in easily if they wanted to. If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  Ok, so that was Sherlock Holmes, but he was right.

She sighed. Did it even matter? If they were, they were people living their lives where she was lucky to know them. Good friends were hard to find and she needed to keep that in mind. Either that or she needed to get her head examined. Therapy was too expensive to start believing fairies actually existed.

A shadow fell over her and she looked up, blinking. As if conjured by her thoughts, Carradoc stared down at her, his pale eyes distant and his hands tucked in the pockets of his long jacket. There was no sign of Damien or Eithné.

Even in the bright light of day, the man seemed to stand in shadow, pale and slim but in no ways weak. A watcher, she decided, not a mingler like Damien. She understood the allure of watching from the corners, though. People could be very amusing.

God, but he was gorgeous. She leaned back on the bench and sighed. “Hello again.”

“Do you ever sleep?”

The question made her smile and she shrugged. “I could ask the same of you. Have a seat. Get comfortable.”

Slowly, he settled his long frame on the bench, careful not to touch her. “I don’t need much sleep,” he said softly. “My cousin tells me your name is Melody.”

“Yep, that’s me. And I do like my sleep, by the way.” She couldn’t help the disgruntled tone. “But first I nearly get mugged, then one of my best friends introduces me to his cousin who thinks it’s funny to claim a fairy tale bad guy as his father. Oh, and then someone tells me that the guy who tried to mug me was found dead in the alley this morning. My brain’s too full to sleep right now.”

He sat in silence, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Bad dreams?” he asked finally.

She found it odd that that was all he could come up with after her litany of problems. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms.

“The guy in the alley. Care to tell me what really happened?”

“Do you think I killed him?”

She thought about that. “There were no marks on him so I guess not. Unless you scared him to death?”

A faint curl to his mouth was his only response to that.

“Why call yourself the son of Arawn?”

Those violet-blue eyes settled on her face, suddenly intent. “You know your Cymric myths.”

“The Horned King makes a rather a deep impression on a child and I had nightmares about him. For years, Grandfather had to remind me that Gwydion killed him and defeated the cauldron-born.”

He settled deeper onto the bench, his face going expressionless. The lyrical accent that tantalized her ears deepened. “Actually, Gwydion didn’t kill the Horned King or defeat those spawned of the coirc dubh. The Son of Dôn was a mage. Using magic, he forced the Horned King into Anwyn, the Dell of the Dead, and the souls of the reborn with him and then sealed the door behind them.”

The thought made her stomach churn. It had been a childhood nightmares but some fears lingered.

“I suppose fiction won’t sell if the bad guy isn’t defeated more permanently than that. Still, he’s a really scary guy and you’re claiming him as your dad. Not funny. Don’t ever assume someone isn’t going to get the reference to obscure mythology. I’m not the only one who reads, you know.”

“Not funny,” he agreed quietly. Sadness clung to him, an air of almost palpable sorrow she didn’t understand.

“You know,” she admitted, trying to cheer him up. “It doesn’t surprise me that Gwydion got the good PR in that story. He always struck me as being arrogant and full of himself. Manawyddan ab Llyr was my favorite. I was always a sucker for the clever guy.”

His smile was slow and did things to his face that made her insides melt. “Son of the god of the sea. I like his stories, too.”

Silence fell between them, a companionable quiet. Around them, people moved along the path, some together, others heading off alone wherever their lives took them. Afternoon waned before she stirred, loath to move but knowing if she didn’t she would fall asleep where she sat. At least she didn’t work for the next few days.

“How long are you going to be in town?” she wondered out loud.

“No longer than a month.”

“I supposed I will see you around, then. Damien likes the food at the Grill.”

Carradoc rose, his long body towering over her as he held down a hand.

“My cousin is very fond of you.”

She took his hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. He performed the maneuver as if she were a featherweight. A girl could really like a man like this.

“I’m rather fond of him, too.” She smiled. “Is he really your cousin?”

He tilted his head, still cradling her hand. “The relationship is more distant than that but cousin is as good a word as any. He is family to me.”

“And your father?”

He gazed down at the fingers he held for a moment, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “Does it truly matter?”

She shook her head finally. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

“And that would be your mistake.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but she had no time to react. Carradoc’s fingers tightened on hers, pulling her behind him as a group of men surrounded them. Something moved, flickering at the edges of her vision. Something her brain refused to accept as real. Then somebody thumped her on the head from behind and the world went dark.