Erin Kellison - Soul Kissed

Put the desk to good use. She’d never.

“Cari.” Erom stood at her approach and came around from the seat of her father’s desk to greet her. Dark blond hair. Golden tan. Keen black eyes.

She crossed the office to walk into his embrace.

Why had he been sitting there? That was her father’s desk.

His hands went to her waist, mouth lowered for a kiss, leading with the woodsy-snap of his aftershave. But that bursting panic within her surged— no air —and she gave him her cheek.

His expression was a little tight when she pulled back. “We will find the monster who did this to your House.”

She’d wanted a close hug, to be enveloped in warmth. To go to bed with him and forget for a while. Or that’s what she’d thought she’d wanted.

Cari nodded to answer. Yes, she would find the killer. Mason Stray was arriving later that afternoon—so much to do before then. She’d assess what the stray had to offer—he used to show off with Shadow when they were younger; maybe he’d learned some control since then—and then determine the capacity in which he’d best be used. And then she’d get started.

“Timing is critical.” Erom gestured toward a leather bench by a window in her father’s office. He wanted her to sit. She could guess where he wanted the conversation to go. It’s why he’d wanted to come, and why she’d finally let him. He’d never been one for foreplay.

But every muscle in her body was restless. She couldn’t sit, couldn’t be still, couldn’t sleep. This feeling was driving her crazy, and she didn’t know how to explain it without seeming . . . compromised.

“Cari?”

She nodded again, but paced to the desk and touched her fingertips to the surface. She’d lived right here day-in, day-out since it had happened.

Maybe she was just nervous.

“You’re the head of your House now,” he said behind her.

She didn’t need the reminder. She’d been present every moment for the change-over, from the funeral pyre to signing papers until her hand ached.

“The new me.” If she closed her eyes she could still see the white-bright of her laptop’s screen, burned into her retinas from being up all last night reviewing company accounting. She officially loathed spreadsheets.

“We need to think our next steps through.” Erom’s voice was stern. “The Houses are watching.”

Cari traced a grain of the wood with her fingernail. The Houses were all grieving their dead. Except, of course, the one who had done this.

But it was good that Erom wanted to take careful steps, to protect what was theirs. She knew he would. He would make a good partner.

She didn’t know why she felt suddenly so distant, when she’d been looking forward to seeing him. She’d thought it through . . . had decided it was time . . .

Then Stacia. . . . Please don’t make me get married.

Erom approached to stand by her side, an arm coming around to comfort, a strong hand on her shoulder to show he was there. Solidarity. “The sooner we marry, the better. I wish it were under other circumstances.”

They had talked about marriage before, and she had spoken with her father about the match as well. Erom’s father and brother also approved. It made sense on all levels. She’d been reviewing the decision for days; her stepmother had patiently gone through the pros and cons with her. Erom’s House was strong, a longtime ally, and though he was a second son of Salem Vauclain, he’d acquitted himself well in a series of international negotiations between the Houses and clans abroad.

Cari glanced over to give him a smile. As ever, he was impeccable. His dress shirt, a gray on gray pinstripe, was open at the collar. He had a clean shave. She touched the slight pucker of a scar on his lip from a fight some years back. It was her favorite thing about him.

Her father had asked her to wait a year before making irrevocable decisions, as mage couples never divorced.

Erom was right. Marrying under other circumstances would’ve been better. And yet, a sixth sense, just waking, told her that, for Erom, these circumstances were probably . . . fine. She had the feeling that things weren’t good for him at home.

Plus, he liked her father’s office. Hadn’t he been just getting comfortable on the action side of Father’s desk? Add a thriving company to Erom’s international network, and they both could rise among magekind. His objective was natural—he was a mage after all—and she’d shared it with him. His ambition was one of the reasons he appealed to her.

Wait a year, her father had said.

She just didn’t know how much she, as a person , figured into Erom’s plans.

Wait , her father had said, but she heard him better this time, maybe because she realized it herself. Her father had been saying, Erom Vauclain is not the one.

For the first time today, her belly settled.

She didn’t need a year to think anymore. She owed Stacia a shopping spree. Big one. Maybe for that new job when all this was over.

“About marrying.” Cari let her tone give her away.

The air in the office was absolutely still, but it seemed as if she was turning into that harsh wind again and it was going to blast through her. She’d face it anyway.

His arm around her tightened. “I spoke too soon.” A gentle, but steady response. “You’re grieving.”

He had no idea. Grief was just the beginning of what she was feeling.

A flush of magic rolled through her, a little power, which she needed. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “We’re not going to work out after all.”

She wanted her father’s office. She’d gotten quite comfortable here these past four days. And in time she could make contacts overseas herself. The product was almost ready.

“I should’ve waited to mention marriage.” His voice had roughened. “I just don’t want you to bear this alone if you don’t have to.”

A perfect response. “You always know what to say.” Except when he didn’t.

Why hadn’t she picked up on it before?

She couldn’t afford a mistake on this scale now.

“You need time. I tried to give you as much time as I could, but I just had to see you.”

Her father must have noticed something. Everything too well played. Her father had been waiting for her to notice, too.

Well, now she had.

“I’ve got time.” Years and years of it. “I respect you too much to continue this way.” He’d be within his rights to be angry; she’d allowed him to risk the plague to come out to Belmont Hill for nothing.

His handsome brow furrowed. Really, he was wonderful.

But.

“You need a break while you regroup,” he said, “while you see to your House. I wish you’d let me help you.”

Apparently, she had to be clearer. “Erom, this is a break. A breakup.”

He stepped back, his expression going circumspect. “You’re not yourself. This is too sudden a shift for you to mean it.”

He was still being careful. Hopeful? Or desperate. Dolan was a great House, and he was a second son who wanted out from under his brother’s thumb.

“Things happen suddenly all the time.” Her father’s death, for example. It had knocked her off balance, knocked her down. But this decision, made so fast, felt solid. The wind could blow and blow at her, and she could take it.

Erom put his hands on his hips, a gesture that flexed his very nice chest. “I have to think about this. I wish you would too. We have other matters to consider—our project at DolanCo, for example.”

An uncomfortable problem she’d have to solve. He’d been working on building their network. But she had the prize.

“I’ve made my decision.” The words were an echo.