Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 33

I leave.

Dane can make whatever excuse he wants for my unexplained disappearance, and if he has an excuse for what he said and did, I don't want to hear it.

I don't want to hear whatever Julian has to say for himself, either. Fae identity crisis or not, he was the first person I trusted enough to tell about Thom, and he promptly went and broke that trust.

As for Ambrose, I know if he sees the darkening mark on my cheek and the pain on my face...

Well, Dane might be doing a great impression of an asshole at the moment, but he's still my brother, and I want him in one piece.

So, I dust myself off, swallow the emotions threatening to reveal themselves in tears, and in the most mature and dignified manner imaginable, I run away.

My wallet and car keys are in the house, though, so like a real hero I run away on foot.

The bookstore is only a short walk from the house—thirty minutes, if I hustle—but I take my time and get there in forty-five.

I'm not scheduled to work, but I figure Shanti won't mind. She doesn't seem to mind much, in fact, and I still haven't figured out how she manages to keep her store open with one part-time employee and a weak stream of customers.

However she does it, I'm grateful: grateful for the cool, book-scented aisles, the intriguing array of strange, rare titles, and for Shanti herself. Her gentle demeanor and river-incense perfume have a calming effect on me, and her soothing presence has become something I can rely on.

She looks up when I enter, and her eyes go right to the fresh bruise. Dane hadn't hit me all that hard, really, but any blow from a guy that big is bound to hurt.

"Noah?" she asks, coming around from behind the desk for a closer look at me. "I did not expect you so early. Are you all right?"

Today she's wearing a long, green dress made of loose folds of fabric, and it seems to flow around her like moving water. Her dark hair falls down her back like a shadow, and when she lightly touches the side of my face, her fingers are cool.

"Just a little family argument," I answer, shrugging. "No big deal. I thought I might as well come in and get an early start, if that's okay."

She nods. "A new shipment of books has arrived. You can help me to unpack them."

"Sure," I agree, turning away self-consciously to interrupt her study of my face. "Where do you want them?"

"Anywhere there is room." She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. "It does not matter."

"Okay," I shrug, and get to work.

I try to place the books next to something similar—a related topic or title—but Shanti is right: they're all random and obscure, and the shelves are so disorganized anyway, it hardly matters where they end up.

I've just finished stuffing a book of love potions next to a volume containing over a hundred uses for spider's webs, when the door jingles and the first customer of the day wanders in.

I hear Shanti's pleasant greeting, and a murmured response that sounds like a question, and turn my attention back to my work.

It isn't until a shadow falls over me, and I turn, that I realize the customer isn't a customer after all.

Julian stands at the end of the aisle, looking pale and miserable, and chewing the corner of his bottom lip.

I turn back to the shelf as my chest and face heat with anger, the rush of blood making my cheek throb with fresh pain.