Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

“Why don’t we sit down tonight, grab some dinner, and strategize?” If I were going to be serial killer bait, we needed a plan. And Alex and I really needed to talk about personal stuff.

His jaw tightened—the only hint that he was still upset. “We’ll sit down with Ken tomorrow at your office.” His voice softened, even though we both knew Rene could hear. “Just give me a little time.”

“Sure.” Disappointed, I watched the shotgun houses of Mid-City give way to the shotgun houses of Uptown.

I wanted to fix everything and make it right, but if Alex needed time to think, I’d stop pushing. The current crisis had exposed a flaw that had been in our relationship since Hurricane Katrina, when he’d been forced to choose between helping me and doing his job in the way that made sense to him—with clean, clear decisions that fell within the rulebook. My life had no rulebook.

When Alex parked in the back lot between our houses, he left me with a wave that felt more like a kiss-off than a kiss- you-later.

“Give him time.” Rene patted my shoulder before climbing into his pickup. “Shifters and weres, most of us like things straight and simple. And nothing personal, babe, but you ain’t either one.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with it.” Rene liked my chaos. He didn’t even seem upset that it had almost gotten him killed today.

“Big difference between me and Alex.” He grinned at me out his truck window. “You aren’t my woman. Later, babe.”

Great. Relationship advice from a merman who bought questionable sexual-potency tonics. Life had come to this.

The pungent, nutty smell of Thai food hit me as soon as I opened my back door. I looked at the array of takeout boxes on the kitchen table and followed the sound of a male voice into my front parlor. Rand sat on the floor, fondling my cat and talking to him in that weird, guttural language. The wretch (feline variety) gave me a cross-eyed, baleful look before yowling once and running away.

“You want a cat? He’s yours. I inherited him and he’s never liked me.” I considered myself a dog person, Alex notwithstanding, and thought the fact that I ended up with a surly feline proved God had a sense of humor.

I threw my phone and keys on the kitchen counter, thankful I’d had them in my pocket instead of in my backpack. It would take me hours to re create all the base charms and potions I had in that pack. I kept the staff in my hand. With any luck, I could threaten Rand without him being able to tell it was broken.

“Tell me how you got in here, and then go home. I can’t deal with you right now.”

He looked up and froze when he saw the staff in my hand. “I picked up dinner—had to guess at what you might like.” He frowned. “What happened to the staff?”

Of course the freaking elf would have perfect vision. “None of your business. How did you get in here?”

Rand followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the doorway as I dumped cat food into Sebastian’s bowl and refilled his water dish. “Sebastian, you unfaithful ingrate—come here!” I yelled loud enough that Rand winced. “Dinner!”

“I got chicken pad thai, spring rolls, red curry. You want extra nuts?”

Good grief. The elf was dense as week-old bread pudding.

“Rand.” I held up the Meow Mix–coated spoon. “I’d rather eat this than sit down with you. It has been a bad day. I don’t want to talk about weird elven politics. I don’t want to talk about the Axeman. I don’t want to talk about bondage. Go home.”

“Do you want beer or soda?”

I rinsed off the spoon and stuck it in the dishwasher, listening to my stomach rumble. And I did need to find out how he’d gotten past my wards. Still, it set a terrible pre cedent.

“Get out of my house.” I glanced at the kitchen table. “Leave the food. I’ll pay you for it later.”

He got both beer and soda out of my fridge, and I walked to stand beside him. With a hard poke, I stuck the staff against his arm. “It might be cracked but it’s still going to hurt like hell when I burn you.”

He looked down at me, but his face lacked the fear I wanted to see. “Do it.”

Damn it, he was calling me out. I wouldn’t really shoot at him unless it was in self-defense, and he knew it.

“Fine.” I jerked a chair away from the table and sat down. “Soda.”

He slid a diet soda in front of me and took the other chair, looking from my ash-smudged cheeks to the tear in my jeans just above the ankle. I’ve had doctor’s exams less thorough than Rand’s visual inspection. If I had tires, he’d be kicking them.

He nodded. “You’re okay, then.”

“Except for the staff. And how did you get in my house?” I’d keep asking as long as he kept not answering.

“I jimmied your back lock; you need a stronger one. Your security wards don’t work on me now. How did the staff get broken?”

Great. The person I most wanted to keep out of my house, other than the Axeman, and he knew how to pick locks.

“Something heavy fell on it.” I held up the crooked, cracked piece of wood that glowed only faintly now. I didn’t add that the heavy thing was me. “Think it would work with duct tape or wood glue holding it together?”

“Let me see it.”

I hesitated.

“It won’t work for me—only for its master.” He held his hand out, and I reluctantly let him have it. Rand examined the cracked wood. “The core is damaged so glue or tape wouldn’t work. Can you fire it at all?”

I poured my soda in a glass, trying to decide whether it would be safer to let Rand know my power boost from the staff was diminished, or to let him think nothing had changed. It all came down to whether or not I trusted him to be loyal to me rather than the Synod.

This would be his first test—and if he failed it, his last. “I can use it at maybe a quarter of its normal strength, and only at short range.”

Rand held the staff up to the light and studied it more closely. “Since it’s the staff of the fire elves, I should be able to repair it, with your permission as its master. I’ll ask my mother . . . No, on second thought, better not mention it to her.” He thought a few seconds. “I’ll slip into Elf heim tomorrow and pick up what I need.”

“You don’t trust your mother?” I didn’t trust his mother. I didn’t even trust him. But he should trust her.

“Her, yes, but no one else.” He handed the broken staff back to me. “I’ll get what we need and we’ll try to fix it tomorrow night.”

Uh-huh. I’d believe that when I had a repaired staff in my hand, shooting ropes of fire at something—maybe him.

I sighed, hunger and anger and exhaustion fighting for dominance in my heart. I didn’t have the energy to fight with him anymore, and if he really could repair the staff, it wouldn’t kill me to eat dinner with him. “Go ahead and start eating. I need to wash up.”

I dragged myself to the guest bathroom and scrubbed the smudges off my face. I thought about going upstairs and changing into clean clothes, but what the hell. It wasn’t like I needed to impress the elf. I did stop to examine my motivations, to make sure I wasn’t, even in some deep, prehistoric recess of my mind, spending time with Rand to get back at Alex for distancing himself from me.

But I wasn’t. Alex’s issues with me— with us—had nothing to do with the elf. He was just a symptom of a bigger problem we had to work through.

When I got back to the kitchen, I stopped and watched Rand for a moment, his back to me as he rifled around for silverware. He usually moved with a fluid, long-limbed grace— not that I noticed such things—but his actions tonight seemed stiff and minimized.

An overwhelming need to touch him set my fingers twitching. Not in a sensual way, but because I knew something wasn’t right. It was that bonding crap.