The Matchmaker's Mark (16 page)

Maybe. More likely he was just losing himself in the rich ambiance of old trees who liked to gossip with the rare elf tourist.

Getting to his feet, pacing away didn't change his gut feeling. He'd known that memory since childhood, had always thought he'd recognize her in real life. She'd been his first love, the only female to capture his heart. No matter where his eye roamed, he was always looking for her. When he'd reached adulthood without finding the woman with those eyes, he'd set out with the Matchmaker, hoping she waited for him elsewhere in the world.

Dare struggled with the thoughts rushing though his mind like an autumn wind tossing and swirling fallen leaves. How had he not recognized her in the shop, over those sunflowers? How ignorant of him that he didn't know her in the churchyard.

He smothered a bitter laugh. Once he'd asked Camille what his childhood dreams meant. Though he'd done his best to be vague, he knew she'd seen through him to the heart of his questions. It was one of her more powerful gifts. She'd never given a real answer, only encouraged him to stay alert and open-minded.

Alert. What a joke.

His mind, his childish dreaming mind, must have cast her as an elf to soothe his prejudice. Yet, even if he went to her now, her breeding would be the least of the obstacles ahead of them. He'd seen her mark. Lily had been pledged to another; might already be in love with someone else.

Please not the lovesick werewolf. His heart clutched and his stomach rolled at the thought. Every fiber of his being screamed against such an injustice.

She'd been his dream, the ideal he'd clung to in every dark moment of his life.

He'd been with Camille long enough to know any romantic pursuit to alter her affections would eventually fail. Dare's stomach twisted again and he finally recognized his mysterious illness for what it was: Fear.

After fighting and hiding and guarding against all nature of enemies and threats, the sweetest dream of his heart rendered him helpless as a sapling in a tornado.

He could almost hear Camille's rusty laughter rolling over the campfire as it often did when she navigated matrimonial challenges. "I miss you, my friend," he whispered.

Dare skirted the white gazebo, crossing to the sea wall once more, letting the wind buffet him. He'd learned the local history from the trees, knew precisely where to find the fully grown, real life version of his first love, his only love. Now, he just needed the courage to find her and apologize. And possibly eliminate a werewolf suitor.

So much for rest and relaxation.

~*~

Amy let the sun beat down on her, happy to be with Guinness, her book, a cooler, and the whole of the ocean stretched out before her. She used the cover of her dark sunglasses to confirm the absence of brooding wood elves.

It wasn't that she didn't believe Dare was a man – elf – of his word. He had a way about him, glamour or not, that implied a wisdom beyond the youthful features. And she had enough confirmation of his loyalty if she reconsidered the rather cryptic letters from her aunt in the context of new information and recent events.

No, she just wanted to be away from it all. To experience the simple escape of reading a good book in the sunshine on the beach when normally she'd be trapped in front of her fireplace with a stack of mediocre essays on Dickens. She should really move that unit to a different time of year.

On that mental note, she opened her book, the latest historical romance by one of her favorite authors, and threw herself into Regency England, a grand salon and the horrible dangers of destructive gossip.

For a lovely bit of timelessness it was just the tang of sea air, the steady breeze on her face, the peace of Guinness lounging beside her, and the heart beat of the ocean as the waves bumped against the sand.

In January! It was bliss.

She'd chosen her spot carefully, determined not to ruin this precious day by setting off a mass display of intensive public affection.

Occasionally, other brave beach-going souls wandered by, but Amy didn't seem to have any effect on them. Had Dare been making up that love potion business? Maybe he was the problem and she wasn't the real threat to humanity after all.

Eager to experiment, she got to her feet and with Guinness at her side, she headed off in the direction of the more populated pier. Along the way, not one person threw themselves at another and no one wandered into the ocean declaring their undying love for a mermaid. No children were embarrassed by overly affectionate, beach combing parents.

"It was him," she muttered to herself. "He didn't shield me, he magnified me." That thinking was dangerous as it showed she was buying into the Matchmaker myth. Staring out at the ocean, she forgot the machinations of the novel while she contemplated the best way to confront Dare. She would not be manipulated for any cause. Which only implied that she believed he had magical powers.

But she couldn't deny her odd eyes in the mirror, even when Dare wasn't around, and the ghosts last night had been as real as the sand squishing between her toes now. No matter. Believing she was the Matchmaker didn't mean she believed all the woo-woo stuff he was spouting.

Aunt Camille's rare visits had never incited the neighbors to get frisky on the way to the mailbox. Dare claimed it was because she'd mastered her gifts. Amy had to wonder. She'd intended to draft a comparison study during her time here in Charleston and she wasn't ready to give that up just yet.

Guinness hesitated as shouts rang out on the pier above her and footsteps rushed like distant thunder toward the ocean.

Amy blinked several times, certain she was imagining the lovely woman bobbing in the surf. No one else was swimming so it wasn't one of those polar swim club things. There wasn't a boat nearby and this wasn't the beach surfers frequented. And yet a woman seemed to hover as the waves broke around her, hair streaming in coral cords over sun-kissed bare shoulders. She looked far too bright for the cold ocean.

Mermaid was Amy's first thought and based on the shouts overhead, other beach goers agreed.

While everyone on the pier was surely staring and snapping pictures of the beauty in the ocean, said beauty was glaring straight at Amy. The hateful intensity was unmistakable, filling Amy with an undeniable urge to run away – and stay away.

She followed Guinness, scrambling back from the foam nipping her toes, putting as much sand between herself and the rising tide as possible.

Fear was a vise around her throat and Amy wished for enlightenment and ignorance in equal measure. Did she really want to know what caused that kind of hate bobbing out there?

Marching back to her blanket and book only turned her own mood black. Her one day to treat herself to balmy weather in the dead of winter was ruined by that beauty with a bad attitude swimming off shore.

Her hands slowed in the process of packing up. She'd fought Dare too hard to be driven away by some bitch with fins and a tail.

Moving her blanket a bit closer to the dunes, she and Guinness got comfortable once more. But she couldn't follow the story. The words skipped and twisted as her thoughts zigged and zagged through her mind.

Mythical creatures she'd read about and forgotten were obviously populating Charleston. Hateful mermaid, bossy elf bodyguard, pissed off werewolf, and grieving ghosts. Sure they were different than fantasy description, but still they were more real than a normal person would expect – or accept.

She'd blame her star burst eyes for making her see things, but she knew it was a lame excuse.

The women of her mother's family loved to tell stories of the 'old world' as they called it. Tales of magic and lands beyond the range of normal vision. Legends of courageous men and women. Fairy tales to anyone with more sense than imagination.

Her family was steeped in imagination. Well, the female side of her family anyway. In light of recent developments, she shuddered to think what secrets might lurk on her father's side of the family tree.

Charleston was apparently the vacation destination for creatures of myth. The ghosts liked it so much, they never left. And just as Dare had implied, not everyone was friendly.

If she believed him, many of these other creatures were here for her – for the Matchmaker. She snuggled deeper into her jacket just as a sparkle and flash of coral hair broke through the waves several yards out.

Well, too bad for Miss Fin and the rest of them. She was here for work – her real work – and for play. Damned if she'd be sent packing by anyone or anything. She'd enjoy the beach today and tonight she'd review a few of Camille's old letters she'd stored on her computer. Then she'd make a decision and a plan of action that suited
her
. Not Dare, not the impending arrival of a mysterious book, not a wispy threat of a werewolf. Just her.

~*~

Lily moved through her day in two minds. As a retailer, she prepped the daily order for the hospital and dealt with the drop-in customers. As a woman and an elf, she worried for her brother while she considered how best to rid herself of the werewolf loitering in her back room.

Glaring at him was useless, except for the marginal emotional satisfaction. Ignoring him was easy enough, but it didn't really fix anything.

Clearly his pack wasn't big on manners if her attempts to be rude didn't faze him. Unless she just wasn't being rude enough. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. If she engaged him – bad choice of words – if they talked she might learn details to help Cade track him down. Because there was no way Cade would let this insult on their house go unanswered.

She walked by him again on her way to the cooler for a salmon pink rose sure to please the customer waiting in the store.

"Never knew an elf so big on nature's destruction."

Remembering her new intention, she forced herself to smile. "I work with responsible growers and a little magic." As if she had oodles of power she was saving for the right moment. "My flowers give joy longer than most. Plus I encourage recycling."

"Uh-huh."

She was grateful for the dark cooler where she could roll her eyes without getting caught. She came back out, salmon sweetheart roses in hand and a bright smile on her face. "All females like pretty things."

He curled his lip, exposing a fang, but she decided it wasn't a setback. He couldn't possibly be reformed within a few seconds of one conversation.

"You may be female, but you're no elf."

As insults went, that one had been overused before she'd started kindergarten. "Then I'm perfectly qualified to educate and assist males in their amorous pursuits."

There, let him chew on that. Shoulders back, gentle smile in place, she returned to the man waiting at her counter.

She'd been right about the perfect color and she worked up a corsage and a matching hand-tied bouquet of the sweetheart roses while he waited. Murmuring a charm for health and happiness, she rang up the total and sent another smiling customer back into the world.

"Wow. You enthrall them to boost your bottom line. I was wrong. You really are an elf."

She spun around, and seeing him dominate her doorway, her shop, her day, she gave up on gaining information and insight. With a snarl that mirrored his, she snapped. "I don't need to 'enthrall' anyone."

"Did you charge him full price?"

"Not that it's your business, but he's a local cop and a fr-"

"Oh, so he's taking advantage of your soft spot. Your mercenary relatives would call that bad for business."

Enraged she went toe to toe with him. "Is this a business analysis or a stake out for you?"

"Just trying to help." His silver eyes swirled like mercury and he smoothed his hands over her shoulders. "Settle down, kitten. You know how to get me out of here."

She wanted to shrug him off, but there was something in his touch that kept her stationary. "Who's enthralling now?"

"Me," he confessed, a smile flirting with one corner of his mouth. "But only until you tell me how to find the Matchmaker."

"Even if I knew I wouldn't sic you on her!" she growled.

"Impressive." He smirked, raising his marked arm.

She stared at his mark, horrified that it might begin to glow. "We are not matched." The declaration lost a little power since it came out as a weak whisper.

"No. Of course not." He released her abruptly. "But as I've said, we're stuck in this together until the Matchmaker shows up."

Lily mulled over his words and his touch the rest of the afternoon. She didn't attempt further conversation and, thankfully, neither did he.

He ordered delivery for dinner since he'd cleaned out her fridge at breakfast and lunch. His every action proved he was resigned to stay as long as necessary.

She wanted him out, but no excuse proved were-worthy and he offered no clue to her brother's fate.

It was intolerable. Her only comfort was Henry, who'd wandered back in just ahead of the delivery. He hissed in the werewolf's direction at regular intervals, but otherwise ignored their unwelcome guest.

She wished she could be as aloof, but the man – wolf – was way too overbearing.