Star's Crossing

42: Teach Me to Bite

Camden's eyes widened. The moment that fell between them was little more than a lit fuse, burning down fast, promising carnage. Then Camden reached for Mare, took her face in his hands.

All vengeance fled Mare like a hound after the shot. She pulled away, slapping Camden's hands from her face. "No."

Camden was pale in the night, a phantom, a wraith. "Mare."

"Ms. Atwood," snarled Mare. Anger reared up inside of her. "I am not your fiancé, nor your lover. I am not even a possibility."

Camden's eyes fluttered. "I can explain."

"Explain what?" Mare clenched her hands in fists at her side. Camden's gaze shot back to hers, now totally unreadable. He was calculated now, that much she could discern. There was no passion or fury in him. Only...what? Consideration for his next move? "Explain what, Mr. Doores?"

"Nothing." Camden straightened, smoothing his coat like ruffled feathers. His expression grew cold, eyes distant. "I am sorry, Mare. It...was not my intention to lead you on."

"What was your intention? To humiliate me? To belittle me? Why did you even write those letters?" Mare felt tears threaten. She refused to let them fall. "Did you know it was me?"

"I suspected."

"Yet I was none the wiser." Mare laughed, harsh and bitter, crossing her arms over her chest. The cold crept into her blood, bloomed outward there like a cancer. "How foolish I am. To believe in love."

Can I tell you a secret?

"Mare— "

"Go home, Camden. I will make clear our relationship—and lack thereof—to any who may inquire."

"Your reputation— "

"—will recover." Mare looked at the sea, and though fondly, achingly, of Miss Cressida. "You are not the end of my world, nor would you ever have been."

"I could have," said Camden as Mare turned, and she was surprised at the barb of ice that pierced his words.

She looked over her shoulder, and found Camden's black eyes gleaming with cool, cruel resolve. She was reminded of him that day in the woods, that night in the parlor, that dance so many years past when he looked at her drunkenly. And saw no one.

Or anyone.

And suddenly Mare realized, quick and true as a gunshot, that Camden Doores had never meant to court her. He had his secrets, and Mare would find them out. But then, in that moment, she had the audacity to be surprised, and a little disappointed.

"Perhaps," she allowed, voice soft as the wind in the seagrasses. "Perhaps I could have loved you, and perhaps you could have broken my heart. You had it, I suppose, before I knew you did. My words. They are as close as anyone can draw to my cold wolf's heart."

Camden's jaw tightened. The stars were bright overhead, and Mare suddenly felt powerful. A risen witch of thistle and sea salt, hewn from earth and storm, a creature craved and feared. A force to be reckoned with.

"But you may do your worst," Mare added, thoughtfully, turning to face Camden fully in the starlit dark. "You may spread your rumors, attempt to dismantle my reputation. You can publish my letters if you must. No demise I face could match the agony of living my life as a lie, bound to you in marriage."

Mare turned with a sweep of her skirts. Her heart was racing. She could hardly believe she'd just spoken those words. She could hardly believe she meant them.

"Ms. Atwood," said Camden sharply. "You are making a mistake."

Mare laughed. "By walking away from you? Do explain how."

Camden pressed his lips together. His eyes did not waver, but he said nothing.

"You were right," said Mare, narrowing her eyes, pressing her luck. "You are a coward."

She left Camden Doores in the dark, with only the ghost of her shadow and the indifferent stars overhead for company.

***

"And where do you think you're going, Ms. Atwood?"

Mare halted in the parlor hall, one hand outstretched for the door. She hadn't noticed her mother, whose small frame was completely obscured by the wing-backed chair beside the fire.

Mare bit her lip. She was all out of resolve after a restless night of regret and fear and a bit of sadness. After all, she'd quite grown to like Camden, though she supposed it was against her better judgment. This morning she'd gotten out of bed only on the promise of at last solving this mystery.

"Out," Mare finally answered. "I will be back later."

"Later? How much later, dare I ask?" Her mother rose from her chair across the room, eyes narrowed. She looked tired, Mare realized, and pale. Mare's father was still not back from Boston, and Matilde was paying call to her parents-in-law today. There was no one to look out for Mare's mother but the devils on her own shoulder. "Late as last night?"

Mare's cheeks heated. She'd thought Jenelle had managed to sneak her in with sufficient stealth. But a snake can taste in the air when another has crept into its den. "No. A fair bit earlier, I'd venture."

"Such a tongue on you." Her mother's eyes gleamed.

"One learns from example," Mare answered coolly, not flinching from her mother's gaze.

"I thought I had raised you better than this." She crossed the room, stopping before Mare like a shadow on a dial. "Your sisters were so good. Why do you rebel, Mare? What is it you want?"

Mare didn't know how to answer. She was no longer sure what she wanted, or what was within her reach. "Do you never find it difficult, mother?"

"What?"

"Hiding it all?" Mare shook her head. She was genuinely curious, though she'd never thought to ask. "Your emotions, your desires. Were you in love with Teddy's father?"

Mare's mother flinched as though she'd been slapped. Her face lost another shade. "How dare—"

"I do. I dare. I am too tired not to dare. I have spent my life swallowing dares. But I seek a little challenge now, mother, and I suspect you do, too. Us Atwood women, we are too sharp for our good, are we not? But there is a reason for that." Mare took a step toward her mother, holding her gaze. "Because you are sharp, and you have spent your whole life smoothing your edges so men don't get poked."

Pink stained her mother's cheeks. "I am trying to protect you."

Mare's heart tightened. She hesitated, remembering the smell of char in the air, the firelight that limned her mother's cold face. Then Mare placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Then do not persuade me to remove my teeth, mother," she said softly. "Teach me to bite."

Mare turned toward the door.

"Don't, Mare," her mother said, but her voice was high and tinny, lacking the bone it needed to threaten. "One mistake, small as it may seem, may be enough to fell the entirety of your future."

Mare hesitated, hand on the door. She felt she was on the edge of a sheer precipice. Back up or take the leap. Jump, and build your wings on the way down.

"Then I suppose," Mare said, smiling over her shoulder, "that is a risk I must take."