Accacia’s Curse
BEA PAIGE
Sisters of Hex – Book One
Copyright ©: Kelly Stock writing as Bea Paige
First Published: 27th November 2017
Publisher: Kelly Stock Cover by: Arizona Tape
Kelly Stock writing as Bea Paige to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Fivesistersbornbeneaththestars
Neitherboundbybloodnorkin
Mustunifythewarringclans Andridthelandofsin
Theirlivestheyarebeholden Acurseatoptheirheads
Brokenonlybyalovedivided Betwixtthreealliedmen
Therewillbeopposition Topeaceandharmony Aplantocausedivision Mustnevercometobe
Ingreatdangertheywillfindthemselves Amongstdividedlands
Theirfateheldinthebalance Oftheirlovers’hands
Agoldband,itwillsignify Theunityoftheclan Andonceeachringisworninplace Fivesisterswilltakecommand
Prologue
Iremember the first time the sun almost killed me. I was a toddler, barely three years old. I had found my way out of my mother’s sight for no more than five minutes, but it was enough time to sneak out of the back door and onto the porch that surrounded our house. It was such a beautiful day, the sun high and bright. The sky empty of cloud. I could hear the laughter of other children playing in neighbouring gardens. I so desperately wanted to play with them. With no other thought than the need to join the fun, I stepped out into the sunlight, my bare feet soft against the warm wood of the deck.
I heard my mother’s horrified scream before I felt any pain. No child should have to endure what I did that day, and the long days that followed. It was a burning, scorching, terrifying pain that my younger self could not properly comprehend. Then there had been darkness, sudden overwhelming darkness. Darkness that has remained with me long after my mother passed and will remain with me until I die. That’s if I am unable to find a cure, and find a cure I will because I know that I wasn’t destined to live in darkness, I was destined to stand in the light.
Chapter One
“You almost done?” Roland asks me. He pushes his thick spectacles up his nose, and wipes a hand through his greasy hair. I lift my eyes from the microscope and wait for his next inevitable question. I try not to shudder.
“You fancy a bite to eat?”
“Sorry, I have plans,” I say automatically, knowing full well those plans extend to another lonely night with a microwave meal and Netflix for company. That lack of company, however, is a lot better than a date with creepy Roland.
His cheeks redden, highlighting his pockmarked skin and fuzzy facial hair that, despite his age, hasn’t quite decided whether it wishes to remain prepubescent or form into a stubble.
“Quite the busy one, aren’t we, Accacia, given you spend most of your time either locked away in here or locked away at home?” he says, before pinching his mouth shut on the remark. I narrow my eyes at him.
“What I do in my spare time is none of your business, Roland,” I say, avoiding the fact that he has practically confessed to stalking me. I glance to the right of me where a pair of scissors is resting on the workbench. I would use them should he get any funny ideas, and I most certainly will be reporting him to the lab manager in the morning. This kind of behaviour is unacceptable.
The red on his face deepens further as he holds his hands up. “I meant nothing by it, Accacia. I just… well, we’ve worked together in this lab side-by-side for, what, two years now? I just never heard you mention anyone else, and I thought you might want a friend,” he stutters, trying to backtrack.
“This is work, and that is private. I never mix business with pleasure,” I snap. I might be lonely, but I am not desperate. How dare he assume I need anyone at all. I’m quite happy as I am with my microwave meals and hours of Dexter on TV. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Besides, I’ve heard the rumours about Roland, the whispered comments by the other technicians. According to their hushed conversations, which are not so hushed, given I can hear them from the other side of the lab, he’d had a crush on a member of nursing staff at our sister hospital and was moved to this lab after the managers brushed her accusations of stalking and weird behaviour under the carpet. Apparently, there are advantages to knowing someone on the board of directors. This certainly appears to be true in Roland’s case, if the rumours are anything to go by.
“Of course,” he says, finally backing off.
I release a sigh of relief, covering my anxiety with a fake yawn. I don’t want him to think he has me spooked. He looks at me for a long moment.
“Well, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” I mumble, watching as he leaves the lab. The door clicks shut behind him. I rush over and type a few numbers into the keypad, overriding the external entry combination so he can’t come back in, should he decide to try to persuade me further. It’s unlikely he’ll ever really try anything to harm me, but of late I’ve been spooked. A few nights ago, I could have sworn I saw a man standing in my back garden. I had been staring at the moon, which had this funny red band around the edges of it, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It had been brief, and probably just shadows, but it had certainly looked ‘man-shaped’. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine, but I push the feeling of dread away. For a scientist,
my imagination has a bad habit of running away with itself, despite my inherent logic. Surely Roland wouldn’t go that far?
Sighing, I head over to my office in the far corner of the lab and click the computer on. My eyes run over the results of today’s tests. Unfortunately for me, whilst I’d determined two cases of skin cancer and one breast cancer case from the biopsies sent to me earlier that week, I’d got no closer to understanding my own rare genetic disorder. The sun is still my enemy and the night the only time I can feel a little more human and a little less like a freak of nature.
None of my colleagues know of my disorder or my efforts to find anything close to a cure, they just think I am a workaholic, arriving to work at dawn and leaving at dusk. Unlike Xeroderma Pigmentosa sufferers, my skin is able to regenerate following any exposure to the sun. Whilst theirs can, and almost always turns into skin cancer. The fact that I can self-heal is the biggest mystery and something I keep to myself. The few friends I do have only know about my condition, not my ability to heal so fast. No one, apart from my dear, departed mother, knows about this anomaly, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. Don’t get me wrong, going out in the sun still hurts, it’s excruciating in fact. The difference is I can heal quicker than the average person. All the blistered bubbling skin that appears so quickly after exposure to the sun is completely regenerated within a few days.
My eyes trail from the computer screen to the car park five stories below. I can just make out Roland’s skinny frame as he gets into his car. The relief at seeing him pull out of the carpark is immense. I hadn’t realised he’d alarmed me quite so much until this moment. I find myself peering around, just to make sure there are no other weirdos hanging about down there. Satisfied there aren’t, I turn back to my screen and switch it off. I’m not in the frame of mind to continue with my research, full stop. Roland has successfully spooked me enough that I want to go home. Grabbing my bag and coat, I head out of the lab and make my way to my car.
A couple of minutes later, after a quick diversion to the staff cafeteria, I head out into the now deserted car park with a chai latte warming my hands. Frost is already covering the windshield of my
trusty Ford Focus and the air is chill. My woollen coat isn’t doing much to keep the cold out either. I hurry over, instantly regretting that I’d parked it in the furthest, darkest corner.
“Just perfect,” I mutter under my breath as I place the latte on the roof of my car and fish in my handbag for my keys.
For whatever reason, my usually steady hands are not so steady, and I manage to drop my bag. “Damn it,” I curse, not in the slightest bit amused. I crouch down, picking up the contents of my spilled bag and stuffing them back in. Spotting my keys by the front tyre, I go to pick them up, only to find a black sneaker suddenly covering them. My heart leaps in my mouth as my eyes trail upwards. Roland is looking down at me.
“Clumsy today, aren’t we,” he smiles. But that smile doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s nowhere near. He’s giving me a look, a look that has me worried. I stand quickly. He moves his foot and bends down to pick up the keys, all the while keeping his eyes firmly on me.
“I thought you’d left?” I say.
“I did, then I remembered I forgot to tell you something.”
“What?” My eyes glance about the empty carpark. As a member of staff working in the laboratories within the hospital, we use a different carpark to the public and given it is well past office hours there aren’t any others about. A thread of worry skirts my skin as Roland steps closer to me.
“You’ve been really wonderful to work with, Accacia,” he says, his pink tongue peeking out from his mouth as he licks his chapped lips. It reminds me of a worm.
“Thanks, Roland, that’s really nice of you to say. Can I have my keys back now?” I hold my hand out.
His eyes flicker to my palm. “Now, why would I want to do that? You and I are having a nice chat, aren’t we?”
I smile warmly, despite the fear coiling in my stomach. “Yes, of course, but I really need to get home. I’m tired, it’s been a long day and I need to go to bed.” He takes a step closer and I step back. “My keys, Roland.” This time my voice shakes, and I curse myself for showing my increasing dread.
“What is it, Accacia? Surely, you’re not afraid of me? We’re friends, right?”
I don’t answer. A sudden warmth blooms on the middle finger of my right hand. The warmth turns into a burning sensation. “Ow.” Momentarily forgetting the danger I am in, I glance at my hand to find a gold ring sitting there. It brightens suddenly, and a wisp of red writing spreads across its surface before disappearing. I don’t wear jewellery, and I’ve certainly never seen that ring before. Am I so afraid that I am now imagining things?
“Ignoring me now, are we, Accacia?” Roland says, stepping so close that my back is pressed up against the car. My heart starts to thump loudly in my ears. Roland reaches a hand to my face; his fingers leave a trail of ice down my skin. I try not to scream.
“Roland, we work together. This isn’t appropriate,” I say, trying to sound formal, professional, in the hope that the reminder will make him come to his senses. He just laughs.
“Yes, and look where that’s got me. I don’t want you to see me as a colleague, Accacia, I want more than that.” He presses himself closer to me, his foul breath making me want to gag. He breathes in deeply, his cold nose pressed into my hair. “Your smell, it’s exquisite,” he says. Then he licks my ear like some feral dog. Disgust rolls through me.
“Roland, BACK OFF,” I shout, pushing against his chest. That only seems to enrage him further. He grips my upper arms painfully and leans in.
“No,” he says simply, before pressing his mouth against my own. I twist in his grasp, attempting to shake him off.
“STOP IT!” I scream.
“You heard the lady. I suggest you back off or you’ll regret it.”
We both stiffen, me because I am staring at a man who looks more terrifying than Roland, and Roland because that man’s hand is squeezing his shoulder so hard he lets go of me immediately.
The man jerks Roland backwards. I let out a shuddering breath.
“Who the fuck are you?” Roland says, turning to face the man. “This is none of your business, so back off, mate.” A growl rumbles up Roland’s throat, taking me by surprise. What the hell is that?
I look at the stranger, at the remarkable indigo colour of his eyes, and wonder why Roland cannot sense the danger as I do. This man, he is not someone to be messed with. He oozes controlled anger. Anger that is bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to be released. He runs a hand through his dark, chinlength hair.
“This is very much my business. Accacia here is under my protection and you,” he says, jabbing a finger into Roland’s chest, “are testing my patience.”
Underhisprotection?What on earth does he mean by that? I’ve never met this man in my life. Noticing that Roland has dropped my car keys, I crouch down and pick them up. Hopefully, this man, whoever he may be, can distract Roland long enough so I can get out of here and back home to lockable doors and windows.
Roland draws himself up and puffs out his chest. “I said, back off!”
If I wasn’t so terrified, I would laugh at his stupidity. He steps towards the man, arrogance and pride preventing him from seeing that there is no way he can win this fight. I almost feel sorry for him. Then I remember what his intentions were, and I suddenly wish for the stranger to let rip. As though hearing my exact thoughts, the stranger glances at me and dips his head once before launching himself at Roland.
I don’t stick around to see what happens next. I open my car and get in, locking the door immediately. Without putting my seat belt on, I turn the key in the ignition and step on the accelerator. It’s the first time I do a wheel spin as I speed out of the carpark. In the rear-view mirror, I can see the man holding Roland aloft by his neck. I exit the gate and when I glance back again, both men are gone.
Chapter Two
As soon as I get home, I lock all the doors and windows and pour myself a large glass of red wine. I gulp it down and pour another, this time sipping it slowly. My heart feels as though it is about to explode from my chest and I’m shaking so badly that I must make myself take deep breaths. As soon as I am able, I call Pat, the lab manager and tell her what happened. I miss out the man coming to my rescue part and just say that, eventually, Roland had a change of heart and let me go. She promises to bring this to the attention of Human Resources and the board of trustees in the morning, then hangs up. I am tempted to call the police, but figure I should wait to see what happens at work first. Besides, police mean questions and questions could lead to me telling them about the man. For some reason, I don’t want to draw attention to that part. I glance at my wristwatch, it’s half past nine. I’ve missed my favourite soaps on TV and I am not at all hungry. Deciding a long soak in the bath is what I need the most, I head upstairs to the bathroom.
Frothy bubbles form on the surface of the water as the bath fills. I remove my watch, placing it on the vanity unit. It is only then that I notice the ring on my finger. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about it. I try to pull it off, but my attempts are halted when a burning pain sears my skin.
“What the hell is this?” I say out loud. My scientific brain kicking in, I peer more closely at the ring. When it had first appeared on my finger, I could have sworn that red, cursive, writing appeared across its surface. Now there is nothing. It is just a plain gold band about quarter of an inch thick. It looks old, the gold faded and scratched. I can’t understand why it is on my finger, and more to the point, why I can’t take it off. Giving it one last yank and finding myself in more agony, I decide to ease myself into the bath instead. Perhaps the water will help me slide it off my finger.
I must have fallen asleep because when I awake the water has gone cold and the bubbles have mostly dispersed. Telling myself off for falling asleep in the bath, I get out and grab a warm towel from the rail and dry myself thoroughly. Then I wipe the mirror, so I can take the day’s make-up off. Despite my awful condition, I cannot deny that I have beautiful, flawless skin, even if that skin turns into painful blisters the moment the sun touches it. I suppose it is both a blessing and a curse. More curse than blessing, though. My mother used to call it alabaster, and I suppose it is. I’m very pale; not being able to go out in the sun has that affect, funnily enough. My straight hair is naturally long and black, making me look paler still. My eyes are a dark brown and currently lined with smudged mascara. My only saving grace are my lips. I’ve never had any need to wear lipstick as they are naturally bright red. Kissable lips, my mother used to say. Sadly, for me, the only kissing lately has been unwanted. The thought of what Roland might have done had that man not come along makes me shudder. I’ve had very few relationships, most not lasting longer than a few weeks. All the men I’ve dated in the past dumped me the moment they found out I didn’t like to go out during the day. It wasn’t much fun spending all day inside when you lived by the coast, especially during summer. They also had an issue with the fact that I was a workaholic. Once they’d got what they wanted from me, I was pretty much old news anyway. They’d all been deadbeats in one way or another.
Picking up the toner and cotton wool, I remove the last of the mascara, then smear my face in cream. Even though I am the wrong side of twenty-five, I don’t look much older than twenty. No sun
equals no lines. I try once again to remove the ring, but get another burning pain for my effort. I give up, figuring that I would do something about it in the morning.
I head into bed, not bothering to put any nightclothes on and drift off into a fitful sleep…
A WARM HAND strokes down my arm as my eyes flutteropen. Sitting on thebednexttome istheman from thecarpark.Hesmiles. “Are you feeling better?” he asks. I nod my head, suddenly unable to speak.“Iamgladofit.You won’thave anyproblemswiththatman anymore. I made sure he will never touch you again.” I hear the wordshe issayingbutfindmyselfcompletelydistractedby thefact thatheisstillcaressingmyarm.Histouchisdoingstrangethingsto my imagination and my body. My skin tingles pleasantly under his touchandIfindmymindwanderingtowhereI’dlikehistouchnext.
Aninvoluntarymoan slipsfrom my mouthandhiseyesdarken. I can feel hisgaze on my neck as I turn my head towards theside, pressing my face into the pillow. The faint sound of warning bells ringsinmy headandIwonderwhy Ifeeltheneedtobare my neck tohim,wonderwhypartofme isafraidwhilsttherestisdesperate formorethanhistouch.
“Accacia,don’tdothat,”hewhispers.Thewarmthofhishandis removed,andIfeelbereft.
“Wait,”Isay, grabbingontohisarm.“Don’tgo.”Idon’tknowwhy I amaskinga stranger to remain in my bedroom, or why histouch hassuchaprofoundeffectonme.ThenIrealiseImustbesleeping and relax into the dream, content that the only danger is my imagination,andrightnowI’menjoyingeverybitofit.
He considers me for a moment, but he doesn’t place his hand back on my bare skin, even though I want nothing more than for himtodoso.
“I came to see if you were ok, that is all. I need nothing else from you right now,” he says, running a shaking hand through his hair . Isensehisneedtoleave, butIdon’twanthimtogo. Sittingup
in bed, I reach out to him, my hand pressing against his cheek. “Stay,”Iwhisper .
His eyes trail over my body and I realise that my duvet has slippeddown,revealingmybreaststohim.
“Icannot,”hesays,standingabruptly. Iknowhewantsto, Ican tellbythewayheisdevouringmewithhiseyes.
I surprise myself when I trail a hand over my breast,cupping it gently. Hiseyes darken, and I can see hisbody sway, unsure now. “Stay,”IsayasIslideafingerovermyhardenednipple.
He seems to shake himself, and I am not certain who is in a trance,himorme.
“I cannot.” He raises his hand and before I know what is happening, I am falling back onto thepillow, my eyes closing once again.
I WAKE WITH A START, sitting up in bed. My breathing is heavy, laboured, and I feel strangely tense as though I am on the verge of something. A tiny moan escapes my lips as the full force of the dream comes back to me. I realise what it is that I need, and I feel my face heat at the thought. The fact that I was dreaming of that strange man has me feeling all out of sorts. I mean, he was terrifying, andhandsome. “I need a coffee,” I say to myself, shaking those thoughts aside.
Stepping out of bed, I see daylight trail through the curtains and realise I have overslept. It’s just as well Pat gave me the day off to get over my ordeal. Tomorrow is the weekend, so I have three lonely days to look forward to, trapped in these four walls. Great.
Trying to be positive, I think about all the research I can do and resolve to get myself out of this brewing funk before it incapacitates me entirely. In the past I’ve been so miserable that depression has kept me in bed for days on end. Those days were the hardest, but not today. Despite it all I will not allow the depression to swallow me. I have direction now, I am determined to find a cure. In three
years, I will turn thirty and there is no way I am going to remain trapped like this, not if I can help it.
It is surprisingly bright for a winter’s day, and I do my best to avoid the stream of light peeking through the curtains. I stand in front of it, ruminating on how I should pass, and decide to just go for it. The sunlight catches the skin on my bare shoulder, burning me there.
“Bugger,” I say, covering up my nakedness and newly formed blister with a robe. Looks like I am staying put today, at least until after dark.
Heading downstairs, I see Mr Tickle, my Burmese cat, run straight up the stairs like he’s just seen the devil himself. “What’s up, Mr Tickle?” I call, but he’s already headed into my bedroom and under my bed. I’ll deal with him later. Coffee first.
Since I inherited this house from my mother I’ve made some adaptations, funds permitting, to help me live better with my condition. My kitchen is a large, open plan space with floor to ceiling windows. Great if you love the sun, not so great if the sun is trying to kill you. After my first real close call as a child, I was banned from going into the kitchen until after dark. Now I have remote controlled blinds that close the moment dawn breaks and open again once the sky is dark. They work so well that I must turn the kitchen light on the moment I open the door, otherwise it’s pitch black.
Grabbing this morning’s paper from the mat by the front door, I push my bum against the kitchen door and flick the light switch on. I head straight for the pot of coffee percolating on the work top and pour myself a cup. I like it strong and black, no sugar.
“Good morning, Accacia,” I hear behind me.
I spin around, the fright causing me to drop both the cup and the jug of coffee on the floor. They shatter, splashing hot coffee up my bare legs. It burns.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I say, before losing my balance, the pain of the hot coffee making me feel dizzy.
The man from last night, the man from dreams, is by my side in an instant, scooping me up into his arms. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says.
I consider his sapphire eyes, then pass out.
Chapter Three
The first thing I feel is a burning pain on my legs. It is excruciating, and I wonder whether I’ve somehow fallen asleep with my legs in the sun. Then I remember the coffee pot smashing on the floor, and the man sitting in my kitchen. I peer out of my lashes, my heart thundering in my chest with fear, and with something else that I don’t really want to acknowledge. The man is bent over, cleaning up the broken coffee pot and mug. I sit up, figuring that a mass-murderer wouldn’t bother cleaning. He seems to hear me move, even though I am being as quiet as possible.
“Hello again, Accacia,” he says.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Who are you?” I ask. “And how did you get in my house?”
The man smiles and his whole face changes. The brooding darkness of last night is gone, replaced instead with a sudden warmth. “My name is Rhain. It is very much my pleasure to meet you.”
“Rhain? As in sky and thunder…” I ramble.
He grins. “Yes, I suppose so.” He notices me wince at the pain from the burn. “We need to fix that,” he says, pointing to my legs.
“I’ll be ok,” I say, not sure how to explain to this stranger that I will heal, eventually.
“I insist,” he says, grabbing a tea-towel and saturating it with water at the sink. He approaches me, his gaze moving from my face
to my legs. His eyes linger slightly at the gap in my robe, and I realise I am almost indecently exposing myself to him. My cheeks redden; unlike the dream last night I’m not a natural exhibitionist and I pull the robe together over my chest. Thank god it was only a dream, imagine the embarrassment, not to mention the stupidity. He could be a rapist or a murderer for all I know. Which leads to my next question.
“What did you do to Roland?” I ask, suddenly feeling afraid of his proximity and his answer.
He sits on the coffee table and shrugs off his dark leather jacket, revealing the firm muscle of his arms. A strange tattoo swirls down his left arm in an intricate Celtic design. I can just about see another similar looking tattoo poking out of the top of his shirt and I wonder whether the tattoo on his arm meets the one on his neck. Suddenly, all thoughts of Roland go out of my head. I realise that I should be very afraid but I’m not, and that worries me more than anything else.
Rhain picks up the wet towel and lays it gently over the bottom half of both my legs. The cool of the water eases the pain somewhat. It’ll be a few hours before the burns will have completely healed and a lot of agony until then. I’m used to it by now.
“That better?” he asks, concern furrowing his brow.
“Yes, thank you,” I say. I don’t understand what is going on and frankly have no idea why I feel so safe in his presence. It’s ridiculous.
He looks at me, sensing my displeasure, and swipes a hand through his hair. “That man, he wanted to hurt you.” His eyes darken at the memory. “He would have, if I hadn’t stopped him.”
I see the way his hands grip the table. “I know that,” I say. “And I appreciate you helping me, but when I left I saw you with your hands around his throat…”
“He got what was coming to him. You need not worry about that rat anymore,” he spat, the sapphire of his eyes darkening.
A shudder runs through me. “What did you do to him?”
Rhain picks up my hand. His touch is incredibly gentle for someone who just looked like he could tear a man to pieces. As
much as I detest Roland, I don’t wish him harm, or at least in the cool light of day I don’t. Last night, maybe, was a different story.
“You need not be afraid of me, Cia. I would never hurt you,” he says.
“Cia?” I say.
“Do you not like it? Accacia is quite the mouthful,” he says, winking.
“Parts of me are, yes…” I say, my mouth running away with me. He grins, his eyes flashing as they lower to my chest. “Yes, I noticed that,” he says.
I pull my hand from his grasp. What the hell is wrong with me? Here I am, flirting with a stranger who has practically confessed to murdering Roland. Well, possibly not murder, but at least GBH.
“Roland is not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. Although he deserves no less,” he says as though plucking those thoughts from my head. “I taught him a lesson about the correct way to treat a lady. He won’t be hurting anyone again.”
“But I work with him. If they find out you hurt him, and that I know you, we could be in trouble with the police. I could lose my job, and that can’t happen,” I say, my voice rising with anxiety.
“Hush, Cia. Nothing bad is going to happen…” But he checks himself, as though that isn’t strictly true. I open my mouth to speak but he changes the subject. “The police? What are they exactly?”
I frown. “Are you being funny with me? The law enforcement, the people who can put you in prison for doing whatever it is you did to Roland.”
Rhain laughs. “Where I come from, Roland would have been strung up and flogged for his actions. He got off lightly. Besides, I am not afraid of these police.”
“I hope you’re joking?” I say, then realise he isn’t when he shrugs his shoulders. Who the hell is this man, and more to the point what country does he live in? Somewhere backwards if they allow public flogging. My head spins with the possibility.
“Look,” Rhain sighs. “Roland will wake up in a few days with a sore head, a few bruises and a better attitude towards women. You have no need to worry about anything, Cia.”
“You sound pretty confident about his change in personality. I’m not sure he’s capable of being any different.”
“I can be very persuasive,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Hmm,” I say, not entirely sure how to respond to that.
We sit quietly for a moment. The burning on my legs is easing far quicker than I expected. Perhaps a scald from hot coffee heals faster than a burn from the sun? Either way, I’m glad. I am beginning to think I’ll be stuck on this sofa for longer than I want to be. Especially when there is a hot stranger making himself comfortable in my home. If I have to get away quick, I would need a pair of legs that worked.
Rhain settles back on the sofa opposite me. I can feel his stare trailing over my face, and I have no idea what to say or do. The fact that he is still sitting in my home and not explaining who the hell he is other than, apparently, my knight in shining armour is a little disconcerting.
He coughs, and I see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I have two brothers,” he begins. “Well, they are not blood brothers exactly, although they may as well be. They are my brothers-in-arms.”
“As in the army?”
“Of sorts, yes. We have known each other for many, many years. Fought beside each other, have each other’s backs. They are my brothers in every way. They have their… quirks, but they are good men.”
“What are their names?”
“Devin and Ezra.”
“I’ve never heard names like that before. Where do you live exactly? They don’t sound very English.” Living along the Kent coast, you don’t really get to hear names like that very often.
“We live somewhere far away.” He looks nervous suddenly.
“Where? Like Europe, Asia? You sound English, although your accent is a little strange.”
“No, none of those places,” he says, fiddling with something in his hand. It looks like a jewel, a red jewel. My eyes widen. Is thata
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H .—Long; skull flat, rather narrow between ears, free from wrinkle; stop hardly visible. Jaws strong, muscular, but not too full in cheek, and of good punishing length. There should be a slight falling away below the eye, so as not to have a greyhound appearance. Hair on face same description as on body: short (about ¼ inch long), almost smooth and straight; a slight beard is permissible, and that is characteristic. Teeth strong and level. Lips not so tight as a bull-terrier’s, but well fitting. Nose black. Eyes dark hazel, small, not prominent, full of life, fire, and intelligence. Ears, when uncut, small and V-shaped, of moderate thickness, set well up, dropping forward close to cheek, free from fringe, and hair thereon shorter and generally darker in color than the body.
N —Fair length, gradually widening toward shoulders, free from throatiness, with a slight sort of frill at each side of neck, running nearly to corner of ear, which is characteristic.
S C .—Shoulders must be fine, long, sloping; chest deep, muscular, but neither full nor wide.
B L .—Body moderately long; back strong, straight, with no appearance of slackness; loins broad, powerful, slightly arched; ribs fairly sprung, rather deep than round.
H Q .—Well under the dog, strong, muscular; thighs powerful; hocks near the ground; stifles not much bent.
S .—Generally docked, free from fringe or feather; set on pretty high; carried gaily, but not over back, nor curled.
F L .—Feet strong, tolerably round, moderately small; toes arched, neither turned out nor in; black toe-nails. Legs moderately long, well set on, perfectly straight, plenty of bone and muscle; pasterns short and straight; fore and hind legs moving straight forward when traveling; stifles not turned outward; legs free of feather, and covered with hair as on head.
C .—Hard, wiry, not soft nor silky, not so long as to hide outlines of body; straight, flat, no shagginess, no lock nor curl.
C .—“Whole-colored,” the most preferable being bright red, wheaten, yellow, and gray; brindle disqualifying. White sometimes appears on chest and feet; more objectionable on the latter.
S .—The dog must present an active, lively, lithe, and wiry appearance; lots of substance, free of clumsiness, and framed on the “lines of speed.”
T .—The Irish terrier, as a breed, is remarkably good-tempered, notably so with mankind, it being admitted, however, that it is perhaps a little too ready to resent interference on part of other dogs, hence called “daredevils.”
W .—Sixteen to twenty-four pounds.
D —Nose cherry or red; brindle color
