Americana Fairy Tale (37 page)

Taylor took the hand and wordlessly stood. He trembled like a skittish colt from the shock as he openly gawked at what Nadine had done to Corentin. His hair had been hacked off and arranged, and Taylor was amazed it could be tamed into an appealing style. The luxurious black-on-black wool suit fit him better than his leather jacket ever could.

Taylor had always dreamed of a clean-cut gentleman to sweep him off his feet. And here was that man. Right in front of him. Poised, polished, and the perfect prince under the dirt, grime, and ragged clothes.

Now that Taylor had his dream come true…. He wanted the old Corentin back.

Taylor threw his arms around Corentin’s neck and then buried his face under Corentin’s chin. Corentin went rigid under the touch. Taylor couldn’t stop weeping. “Can we go? Can we go, please?” Taylor asked, his voice cracking as he cried.

Corentin didn’t return the embrace, and Taylor crumbled. The one moment he needed Corentin to show him affection, he wouldn’t.

Taylor choked through his sobs. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll say anything you want. Just take me away. I’ll go away with you. I’ll go away quietly.”

The crowd became a low rumble of noise in Taylor’s ears. Corentin still said nothing, and desperation stabbed into Taylor’s mind.

“I won’t scream. I won’t run,” Taylor said as he cried. “You can do anything. Anything.
Anything
. I just want to feel. I just want to know it can be real. Can we pretend it can be real? Just pretend? Please? Please?
Please
?”

Taylor’s voice died as he fell, sobbing, against Corentin’s chest. Corentin still didn’t offer any gesture of comfort, and Taylor’s heart shredded. He tried to choke out more words, but nothing came beyond his hopeless sobbing.

“Taylor…,” Corentin said quietly, and Taylor hiccupped with hyperventilation.

He desperately searched Corentin’s face but saw nothing but regret on his features.

“We can’t,” Corentin said.

The words might as well have been buckshot to Taylor’s heart.

He couldn’t help the embarrassing wailing that came out of him. The animalistic sound of a feral man denied the one thing he had always sought and would never find. Ringo had always wanted Taylor to find peace with himself and whomever he loved. Taylor knew then he would die never knowing that peace.

“M-m-kay,” Taylor said, trying to speak. He rubbed his coat sleeve across his face. “O-okay,” he croaked. “M-m-sorry… I kn-knew you d-didn’t f-f-feel the s-s-s-same.” He slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from dissolving further into hysterics. His face flushed, and he drowned in all the tears of the crushing reality. Everything was over.

There was no way out.

Taylor forced himself to pull it together but did a miserable job of it. He turned to flee the humiliation, and his mind was already frantic about how he’d face Corentin later as they got back on the road. He got two steps away before Corentin’s hand ensnared his wrist. Taylor sucked in a sharp breath as Corentin spun Taylor around to face him. Corentin looped his other arm around his waist and pulled him close. Taylor’s heart hammered with fear, confusion, and hope. Corentin kept his expression stoic, and Taylor didn’t understand.

Corentin’s fingers laced with Taylor’s, and Taylor shuddered. Corentin caressed Taylor’s fingers with his thumb. “You need to believe everything I say. Right now,” Corentin said firmly.

Taylor nodded and studied Corentin’s face.

“I want to,” Corentin said, and Taylor’s knees buckled from the confession. Corentin steadied him. “I want to do nothing more than make you feel. Feel everything you hold inside. Let you be free. Let you know how devastating you are.”

Taylor shivered, and his head filled with cotton from all of his crying. Corentin held him close, gently, like Taylor had always wanted.

“You’re not trash,” Corentin said. “Not to
me
. You need to understand, you are loved. You have always
been
loved.” Corentin released Taylor’s hand and then moved to stroke his cheek. “Look at me,” he said, and Taylor nodded as Corentin cupped his cheek. “I’m with you. I will always be with you, no matter where the road leads, no matter how far it goes. I’m here. I will always be here. You’re not trash, all right?”

Taylor nodded. “Y-yeah,” he said shakily.

Corentin gave Taylor a pained frown. “But we can’t be like this. We can’t do this,” he said, and Taylor shook his head in confusion. “I can’t do what comes next. I won’t do that to you.”

Taylor couldn’t follow what Corentin was saying. He placed his hands on Corentin’s lapels and tugged gently. “What are you talking about?” he asked, desperate for an answer. “Please… Corentin. Just tell me.”

Corentin’s expression turned dark, and his face contorted with a monstrous fury. He snatched Taylor’s wrist and held so tight that Taylor’s bones creaked.

Taylor gasped and tried to jerk away. He grunted through the pain. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re hurting me!”

“This is why we can’t, Taylor,” Corentin said, and his voice dropped into a demonic groan befitting the witches of his lineage. “If we do, you’ll die.”

Taylor squealed under Corentin’s bone-crushing grip. “Please…. Stop….”

“You need to run,” Corentin said as the darkness flooded into his tone. “You need to get as far away from here as you can. Right now. You need to run from me.
Right now
.”

Corentin shoved Taylor away, and Taylor tumbled back into the handrail of the staircase. He stared at Corentin, trying to make sense of the wickedness within him. He hesitated, and Corentin roared his frustration.

“Run, Taylor,” Corentin bellowed, and the gala attendees gasped in horror at the outburst. “I will
hunt you down
, little princess. I will take you apart if you
don’t run
!”

Taylor knew that was his final warning.

He fled into the night, away from the only ally he had.

The ally who had been sent to kill him all along.

P
REDATOR
AND
P
RINCESS

The Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island, Michigan

June 12

T
AYLOR
DASHED
across the manicured grasses of the golf course, his boots making crisp whispers against the ground. In the distance, Lake Huron churned angrily against the dark sky. He didn’t dare look back. He knew Corentin would be upon him soon. And Corentin would deliver on every horrible imagining Taylor had conjured. Not even Ringo could protect him this time. If Corentin hadn’t killed Ringo already.

Tears ran down Taylor’s cheeks. He clung to the frail hope Ringo was still alive.

Clearing the tree line, Taylor immediately tripped over a root. He crashed onto his stomach and coughed with the hard impact. Taylor snapped to his feet and took off again.

His goal was the truck. And the huntsman tools in the truck’s tool chest. Taylor had to be ready to defend himself. He had no choice in the matter. The only option he had now was to kill Corentin. He had to protect himself. He had to do it for Ringo.

“Oh, Storyteller…
Ringo
…,” Taylor croaked and doubled over to collect himself. The sobs finally came for him. His shoulders shook with ragged breaths, and his mouth contorted into a miserable rictus of relentless sorrow.

Desperation urged him onward.

He ran up the dirt patch and bounded over the mossy logs. His feet slipped on the vegetation, but he leaped to correct himself. He gasped with a victorious grin when the truck was in sight, then hopped from log to log and finally clapped his hands on the truck’s tailgate. With a foot on the bumper, he propelled himself into the truck bed. Taylor crashed to his knees in front of the diamond-plated tool chest. He fumbled while looking for a latch. His fingers fluttered over a padlock, and he squealed in defeat. He jerked hard at the lock with frustration and was pleasantly surprised when the hook of the lock pulled open.

Corentin had never locked it from when the journey started.

Taylor threw the lid open, and the shrill creak startled the birds from the trees. His shoulders slumped.

Corentin’s huntsman tools were
just tools
.

A few hammers, some wrenches, screwdrivers, trowels, paintbrushes, drop cloths, the typical fare for any handyman.

Taylor’s fingers brushed over the drop cloths and felt something hard. He yanked back the crinkled plastic and found a well-used machete. Without a second thought, he tore the machete from the tool chest and was ready for the fray. He turned to abandon the truck, machete in hand….

And jerked with a gasp when he saw Atticus sitting on the tailgate behind him.

Every ounce of bravery Taylor had washed out of him. He trembled like a still rabbit, listening for danger and waiting for Atticus’s killing blow.

“Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into now,” Atticus said in a contented purr. His lilac eyes glimmered in the darkness.

“A-Atticus…,” Taylor stammered. “You’re here? How are you here?”

Atticus smiled and patted a spot next to him on the tailgate. “Idi’s been watching you.”

Taylor knew he was outgunned. Whatever Atticus had planned for him was going to happen sometime. Taylor didn’t intend for that time to be soon. He sat on the tool chest instead, ready to leap off the side of the truck if he needed. But the idea of tripping and landing on his newly acquired machete seemed likely.

Corentin would be here soon, and Taylor needed to be ready.

“We don’t have to do this, At-At,” Taylor said, using the nickname he had given Atticus long ago. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It can all go back to the way it was. We can figure it out. We’ll think of something.”

Atticus chuckled, and Taylor’s stomach clenched. Taylor shrank in on himself and waited.

“You’ll think of something, eh?” Atticus asked, and Taylor met his gaze. “That’s my Taylor. Always thinking of
something
.”

Atticus’s tone held no love. He hopped off the tailgate and stepped away from the truck. Taylor took it as his cue to do the same. He climbed off the side of the truck and kept his distance from Atticus. Taylor kept hold of the machete, ready to use it if needed.

“We can just put our heads together. There has to be a way,” Taylor said and paced a slow circle around Atticus.

Atticus gave an arrogant toss of the head, and his long sweep of dark bangs settled across his forehead. “That’s you,” Atticus said with a grin. “Always coming up with some half-baked scheme with disastrous results.”

The machete shook in Taylor’s grip.

They stared at each other, and Atticus continued. “You ran away from your own wedding. You ran away to New York. You ran away from your Enchant lineage. You ran away. You
always
run away.” Atticus’s brows furrowed, and he snarled. “You run away and leave
me
to clean up your messes. You run away and leave
me
behind.”

Taylor’s lip quivered. “Please, it wasn’t like that.” Taylor waved a hand to halt his brother. “It’s never been like that. Whatever Charles—Idi, whatever his name is—is putting in your head, it isn’t true. None of it is true.” Taylor lost his footing on the path and stumbled. He let go of the machete to make sure he couldn’t fall on it. “You don’t have to listen to him. You don’t have to become Snow White the Witch Butcher,” Taylor said, and his fingers itched for the safety of the machete. “Idi doesn’t have to exploit the witches, and you don’t have to kill them. You can make laws. Regulate them. Make them accountable.” Taylor’s knees shook as he gave his final plea. The tears came again. “Please, don’t kill them. Please, don’t kill Darlene. Don’t kill Corentin. Please, don’t kill Corentin.” His voice cracked with the new onslaught of cries. “
Please
.”

Atticus blinked, and Taylor stiffened. Atticus’s face pulled into a slow, easy grin. “Kill Corentin?” he asked with merriment in his tone. “Why would I waste the effort? He’s dying anyway.”

The statement hit Taylor like a sledgehammer on concrete.

“D-dying?” Taylor asked. “Corentin’s dying?”

Atticus crossed his arms and stepped up on a collection of logs. He towered over Taylor, and Taylor felt so small in his presence. “The measure of dark magic within him is killing him,” Atticus said with an arrogant smirk. “It’s a miracle he’s still above ground. He could die any day, any hour, any
minute
.” Atticus snapped his fingers, and Taylor jumped.

Taylor didn’t know what to say, how to process, or what to do next. The chill of dread sank into his bones, gluing him to the spot.

Atticus broke into gales of laughter and clapped a slow applause. “And look at you, Taylor. Look at you.” The sickle grin returned. “You love him, don’t you? This man, this
thing
, this Cronespawn who could die any moment? Any
moment
. And you gave your heart to him? Is this one of those things you figured out? Did you honestly expect you were going to find a happily ever after with Corentin fucking Devereaux?”

The way Atticus mocked Taylor’s feelings stirred the waking fires of something deeply hidden within Taylor. The hardened heart that he kept protected now gave one angry beat. “I will remain by his side wherever the road leads,” Taylor said with a stubborn frown.

Atticus rested his cheek in his hand and shook his head. Taylor noted he was trying to hold in his amusement. “The trash can princess and the thug Cronespawn,” Atticus said and then sighed. “Mother Storyteller would love that one.”

Taylor took the distance as a blessing and immediately snatched the machete from the ground. Something was going to happen, but Taylor was going to take every opportunity to go down swinging.

“Here’s the glory of your harebrained scheme,” Atticus said. “You gave your heart to a creature that is not only not a prince, but the wrong person
entirely
, and you—” Atticus held out his hands toward Taylor. “—you as a princess cannot give him True Love’s Kiss to
save
him.”