Page 58 of Commanding Flame and Shield
And then I saw her.
Did she know? Did she know that her smile completely undid me?
I sat down in the booth across from her, and took another breath, willing my mind to cleanse of the chaos inside of it.
Aren was not yet at full power. Bash and Sky had only been dead for a few weeks. It was too soon. Too soon to put anything else on her plate. Selfish, really. But I could do everything in my power to keep her smiling. And I would. Even if that meant just having her back. But fuck, if I didn't want to earn her for myself.
As I watched Alvara tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, flashing her full throttle smile, I knew that I would love her either way.
“I have a gift for you,” I finally said as my plans solidified, grateful the words weren’t slurred together. Her bright eyes widened, brows raising, and she pointed at her chest. I winked. “It’s about damn time we made good on those promises.”
TWENTY-FIVE
ESTELLE
ALVARA
Aunt Estelle’s home was a life-size Victorian dollhouse, tucked between cornfields on all sides, except for the front, which faced a two-lane dirt road. Its white front porch wrapped around sunny yellow walls, jeweled with rocking chairs and a softly swaying porch swing that creaked in the wind. I’d forgotten about our promises to each other from our first trip in the mountains. They’d been washed away by the chaos and the grief. Overshadowed by the search for Bash and Sky, by the panic to heal Aren, and keep him safe as he recouped. The funerals. The endless research, and hunt for the mystery demon coming for retribution.
But August hadn’t.
I jumped down from his jeep, and followed him across the expansive, perfectly manicured lawn. My mouth dropped as I studied the enormous fountain in the front yard. A naked man and woman were intertwined, only their cores covered by a tangled sheet. Her exposed breast was pointing to the sky, and a long arm arched over her head into her flowing hair. The man’s arm wrapped around her waist and the water poured from the tips of her fingers, back into the pool. Apollo and Daphne, perhaps.
August strode in front of me, and cleared the steps in a quick hop, to open the door for me. A shy smile was crooked on his handsome face. He’d promised to bring me there weeks ago, but I never imagined we would actually get to.
I tentatively stepped inside and was greeted by a grand staircase. The energy was magnetic, hyper-charged with the countless antiques overflowing from every surface within the white walls. To the left of the sunny entryway was an octagonal sitting room, full to the brim with artifacts of every kind. Floral patterned Victorian settees and sofas sat upon a dark rug. Above the room, a large tapestry hung from the wall, depicting a somehow comical scene of children playing in front of a lake with a small goat.
I hadn’t realized that I was beaming until August’s satisfied smile caught my attention, his eyes trained on me intently. Every object in the home had a history, just begging to be read, understood, and valued. I wanted to touch them all—each sun-browned scrap of lace, each bustier, book, lamp, and armchair.
“August I—” my voice caught in my throat, and I blinked several times, eyes stinging with the beauty of the energy there. He grinned shyly and looked to his feet before letting out a sigh and returning my smile.
“You like it?” He bit his lip before seeming to realize what he was doing, features morphing back into a soft smile.
“Love it—I, I don’t know—”
“I know. Take your time. We have all day.”
Standing there, in his aunt’s house, thinking of our time in the mountains, and the fact that he kept his word left me speechless. He seemed to see that I was grappling with something, and smirked a knowing smile, gave me a reassuring nod, and crossed the room in easy strides. He sat on the settee and spread his arms across the back of it, leaning back as if to show me he was content to stay a while.
I stepped towards a grandfather clock, standing tall above the rest, its brassy hands frozen at six-oh-five. I breathed in the oak and soaked up the smell of lamp oil and parchment—stirring up memories of my own before I reached out my hands and began to read.
As we made our way through the house, August's interest in the stories—and in my gift to see them—seemed to grow. Long since abandoning his relaxed sprawl on the couch, he had grown more and more glued to my side, his hand often finding its way to the small of my back as he guided me through the old house. The sun cast hard shadows on the ground, indicating high noon, by the time we paused to drink the cold glasses of sweet tea August brought out.
August ran his hand over his short beard as I told him the names of the family that had first owned a Greek bust, on top of a bookcase as old as our country. His eyes were piercing into mine, like he could see to the very depth of my soul, setting a wave of butterflies loose in my stomach, and he shook his head.
“Damn. You’re amazing, Ally.”
Blood rushed into my cheeks, and my eyes found my feet, which were on a stunning antique runner. It would take several days—maybe I needed a week—to read everything in the dollhouse walls.
“Thanks,” I finally said, when my cheeks had returned to their normal temperature. His grin brought the flush right back, though, and I laughed, tossing my hair over my shoulder to braid it for a distraction.
Ever a magnet, I found myself leaning against August repeatedly as we toured the house. Like a couple of slow-motion bumper cars, we continually drew back together until our shoulders bumped us away again. He laughed when it happened for what must have been the dozenth time in the narrow hallway upstairs. The walls were plastered in pastel floral wallpaper that seemed to dance as August ran his fingers through his long curls, and inched closer to me, straightening his posture, his lips so close that I felt the heat of his breath on my cheek as he chuckled. The feel of him there made my stomach hover in my ribs in an unsettling sensation I was beginning to crave, in spite of myself.
“Sorry, again,” he muttered. “My mom has always told me that I’m magnetic. Never could walk a straight damn line next to her.”
I grinned. August’s life before us was fascinating to me. But the evident intent in his eyes made my breath catch. Slowly turning my back against the wall, our eyes locked, and August turned his body towards mine. Heart hammering in my chest, my hands grew clammy, and I wiped them on either side of my sundress. The open neckline led to sheer, off the shoulder sleeves, and it felt intensely vulnerable with the yearning that had built in my core over the afternoon. And with the way his eyes raked over me now. He set his hand against the wall, his muscled arm a brace between us, and carefully nicked a strand of my hair. He spun it between his fingers, thoughtful and focused, and my breath came faster. Warmth flooded through me as he said my name.
“Ally…I know you have so much on your plate, but I—”
