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D
Deryn watched Cáit’s eyes grow more and more hooded as she nibbled at some cheese. He had a feeling she hadn’t slept at all last night and instead had cared for him through his first, and hopefully only, fever. Soon the cheese was forgotten as her eyes slipped closed, her head landing with a whispered thump on the bed. He knew it was not the best position for sleep for her so he cautiously shifted.
He was still fairly unsteady and tired from the ordeal, but he managed to move the tray off the bed and tuck Cáit in properly. He lay beside her atop the covers and watched her sleep, unaware his own eyes were steadily drooping.
A gentle touch coaxed him from the comfortable warmth of slumber. He lay unmoving as the soft fingertips brushed along his cheek and jaw then explored his delicately pointed ear. The fingers soon ventured into his hair and began carefully combing his shaggy black locks. Pleasure skittered along his scalp as her nails gently scratched with each stroke and he couldn’t help the deep, rumbling purr it pulled from him.
The stroking paused at the sound and he knocked his head into her hand to try resuming the motion. An amused giggle reached his ears, but he paid it little heed as the fingers resumed their ministrations. He reveled in this rare moment of peaceful bliss, savoring the softness of the blankets, the plushness of the pillows, and the warmth of the sunshine on his back.
He sleepily opened his eyes and found himself practically nose to nose with Cáit. Her expression was relaxed, a soft smile curving her lips. Her scent echoed that calm and he felt his heart rejoice at the lack of fear. Her eyes met his and he watched her smile widen. He felt his own lips curl upward as he studied her. She had a soft, rosy complexion that complimented her grass green eyes. Her cheeks and slightly upturned nose were dusted in freckles and that beautiful smile brought his attention to her plump, pink lips.
He snapped his eyes back to hers before his mind ran further with those thoughts. They were lighter than his and this close he could see the subtle variations in shade and flecks of amber and blue in them. He found himself wondering what she thought of him in this form, if she found him attractive. Fae, especially high Fae, were ethereal beauties, with flawless skin and figures. At least, they were supposed to be. He had not been so gifted. He was often sneered at for being a runt compared to others in his father’s court, especially in regard to his malk form. His brother’s malk, like their father’s, was almost the size of a bear. His lightly tanned skin was hardly flawless and was littered with dark freckles. His unruly hair was another sore point, with its shaggy, somewhat curly locks at odds with the silken manes of the other Fae.
Still, he found himself curious if his appearance was pleasing to Cáit. He wondered at why he felt it mattered. He knew a relationship between them would never work, not when he would barely age while she grew old and withered. If she were half Fae there would be a chance she’d Settle once she matured, but he should be able to scent any Fae lineage on her.
A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts and Cáit went into a mild panic. He watched her scramble out of bed and attempt to smooth out her rumpled clothes. She glanced back at him and he caught her silent command to hide, her eyes flitting around the room to find a suitable spot. He shifted into his malk, grateful he was so small, and slipped under the bed.
A man’s voice could be heard in the other room and Deryn listened closely to the conversation. The voice was warm, like Cáit’s, but held an authority that brooked no argument. As he listened, he learned the man was her father, the lord of this village and outlying farms. It had been brought to his attention that Cáit had not attended her daily morning lessons and was instead in bed. He listened as Cáit explained she had not been able to sleep last night and had ended up sleeping instead of attending her lessons. Deryn waited for the lecture and the punishment to be doled out, but none came.
Instead, he heard the man’s voice filled with worry and sympathy as he asked, not for more details or reasons, but for a way to help her. Deryn felt his heart ache at the trust and love so evident between father and daughter, wishing he had that with his own family. He heard the rustling of fabric and softly spoken affection and knew her father was likely hugging her. Deryn squeezed his eyes closed as the ache grew sharper. Such acts of affection had been seen as weak to his father so he had never received hugs from anyone. He was so wrapped up in his own misery he did not hear when the man left or when Cáit returned to the bedroom.
C
Cáit closed the door after her father and let out a shaky breath. She hated having to keep even more secrets from him, but she knew she had to. Fae were reportedly attacking the northern farmers and their livestock so it would not go over well that she harbored a Fae in her bedroom. Worse, she mused, she had a boy in her bedroom all night unsupervised, fever notwithstanding. She knew that alone would have resulted in plenty of punishment, probably even more than the Fae part.
She swallowed thickly, remembering waking up to him slumbering beside her. It had been a shock seeing a young man instead of a cat, but she had calmed when she noticed he slept atop the covers while she was beneath them. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but knew she had not been tucked into bed. Her cheeks warmed as she realized he had shifted to his other form to do so, likely still weak from the fever. She imagined he had fallen asleep shortly after he had laid down, exhausted from the exertion.
She had not planned to touch him as he slept beside her, but a lock of his hair had fallen across his face, tickling his nose. She had tucked it back in place, marveling at its softness. It reminded her of his fur, soft and fluffy, with a playful curl to it. She had felt emboldened then, daring to touch his tanned cheek, the dark freckles scattered like stars. He had shown no displeasure at her touch so she continued on, tracing his ear, its gentle point covered in a fine down. He had moved then, nuzzling into the pillow, a soft sigh escaping. Tentatively, she had run her hands through his hair, much like her mother had done. His response to her stroking had been immediate, a deep rumbling purr that she could feel along her entire body. She had giggled, pausing her stroking briefly. Without opening his eyes, he had headbutted her hand, a silent demand for more. The purely feline behavior eased her nerves and she found herself smiling. He had opened his eyes then and her heart had done somersaults in her chest. Deep, emerald green with hints of blue at the edges gazed at her sleepily and she felt her smile widen. She watched his lips mirror the smile and she found herself wondering if they were as soft as they looked.
Cáit shook the memory away, chiding herself for a fool. Fae could live hundreds of years, she knew. She imagined her brief lifespan was little more than an eyeblink to him. She made her way back into the bedroom and peered under her bed. Deryn was curled up, eyes shut tightly, distress clearly etching his features. She did not know what was wrong, but the sight of him had her acting on instinct. He was far larger than a normal cat, but she managed to scoop him up into her arms anyway.
She sat with her legs crossed, his body tucked tightly against hers. She checked his wound first, but it seemed to be healing well now. Her hands checked for any signs of a new injury, but she found none. A shudder went through him at her touch and his eyes opened, the sorrow in them painful to see. Without a word, she began stroking him and dipped her head to nuzzle his cheek.
Cáit had no idea how long they sat there as she comforted him. She had read that Fae were unable to feel sorrow and could not cry like humans, but at least part of that was wrong. Deryn was definitely feeling sorrow and she began racking her brain trying to understand what had caused it. She hadn’t been gone long and the conversation with her father had been warm and sympathetic. She paused, remembering how Deryn had insisted he was not his father. Her heart ached as she realized the warmth and trust her father had shown her was probably not how his father treated him. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
D
He startled at suddenly being scooped up, but he quickly realized it was Cáit and relaxed. He felt her check his wound and comb his fur, scanning for any injuries. He shuddered at the touch and knew he’d have streams of tears down his cheeks if he could cry. He opened his eyes, ready to lie and say he was fine. She must have seen his sadness in his eyes because she began stroking him. He felt his heart skip a beat as she nuzzled his cheek. He wondered if she understood the significance of such a gesture, the intimacy of it. He didn’t want her to stop so he stayed quiet and let her hold him tightly to her, her fingers a soothing caress down his back.
He didn’t know how long she stroked him, but he soaked up every second of the affection. He felt a twinge of dismay as she eventually stopped, but it quickly turned to surprise as he felt her hug him. Without thinking, he shifted out of his malk form and hugged her back. She tumbled back slightly at the change of weight, but did not pull away. Instead, she hugged him even tighter, her face tucked into the base of his neck. He felt giddy from so much physical affection and he nuzzled her neck. The gasp that resulted had something deep in him stir awake. It whispered to him to do more than nuzzle, encouraged him to kiss and lick and claim the female in his arms.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he felt greedy for affection, namely her affection. Hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to her neck and waited for her reaction. Her head snapped up and he readied himself for rejection. He saw no anger or disgust in her eyes and her scent turned sweeter. He watched as her eyes darted from his eyes down to his lips and back and he instinctively ran his tongue over his lips. Soft, warm lips met his and he felt like he was soaring.
Deryn had never been involved with females like his brother, who seemed to always have at least one female draped over him. He wanted something more meaningful and with his less than ideal appearance most females saw him as not worth their time even with his status. He was not a virgin, though he preferred to forget that abysmal disaster his brother had insisted on.
Lack of experience did not seem to matter to Cáit as he let his instincts guide him. With every gasp and moan he pulled from her with his kisses, his pants became tighter and more uncomfortable.
“You know Cáit,” a female voice drawled lazily, “you’re supposed to do that sort of thing on the bed, not next to it.” He felt Cáit stiffen beneath him as he glanced at the female in the doorway. She appeared roughly the same age as Cáit, her coppery red hair in a thick braid that hung to her waist. He ignored the eyes twinkling with mischief and helped Cáit stand.
“You tell no one, Maeve,” Cáit whispered furiously, “promise me.” He watched the female, Maeve, nod then turn her hazel eyes to him. He had been appraised openly by Fae females over the centuries, but the results were always negative. Maeve, however, seemed to judge him acceptable.
“Not bad, Cáit,” she praised, “please tell me he’s got a brother.” He choked on a laugh at her boldness. Pedr would certainly approve of her fire, but he doubted his brother would be interested even in a brief dalliance with any human, no matter how bold. Maeve looked at him, an eyebrow raised in question.
“I do actually,” he explained, “though he’s a complete snob.” He watched Maeve grin, the look almost feral. He found himself honestly questioning which of them would win a battle of wills. He had a feeling it would not be Pedr.
“Deryn,” Cáit said softly, “this is my best friend, Maeve. We grew up together.” He watched her turn to Maeve. “Maeve, this is Deryn, he is the son of a lord.” He noted the missing information with interest and wondered if his hair hid his ears well enough.
“And brother to a snob,” Maeve added, smirking. He chuckled, relishing the exchange. “It’s nice to meet you, Deryn. I wish I could say I’ve heard good things about you, but someone has neglected to keep me informed.” Cáit winced beside him. He slipped his hand into hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Unfortunately,” he deflected, “my brother is not the only snob in my family and if word got back to them…” he shrugged, letting Maeve draw her own conclusions. She nodded, crossing her arms haughtily.
“Cáit is more than worthy,” she snipped, “now whether you are worthy remains to be seen.” He dipped his head, conceding the point. He watched as Maeve turned to Cáit. “I came by to make sure you were alright, since I heard you missed your lessons, but it looks like you’re in good hands.” She gave him another once over and winked before striding out the door. Cáit sagged beside him, still clutching his hand.
C
Cáit sagged as the door clicked closed behind Maeve. She knew her friend would interrogate her the moment they were alone, but she decided to worry about that later.
“I had one secret,” she griped, “just one before you waltzed into my life. Now I feel like I have dozens.” She tried to glare sideways at him, but the sight of those eyes gazing at her beneath his tousled hair evaporated her ire. He smirked, leaning close.
“Cat Sith are collectors of secrets,” he crooned softly, his voice pitching lower, “share yours with me, won’t you?” She felt a light tug, an encouragement to share. She straightened, anger flaring.
“Don’t you dare compel me!” She snapped. His eyes widened and he threw his hands up in case she attacked.
“It wasn’t a true compelling! I wouldn’t do that to you,” he countered emphatically, “I just… I was just curious what it was. I’m sorry.” She saw genuine remorse in his eyes and decided to forgive him. “How could you even tell? Humans aren’t supposed to notice it. Even most of the lesser Fae can’t tell.” She wondered if that ability had something to do with her secret.
“Does the name Gwythyr mean anything to you?” She watched his eyes widen comically.
“Gwythyr was one of the greatest Fae high lords in history,” he said, “There’s not a Fae alive that doesn’t know that name.” She blinked, making connections she hadn’t considered.
“What about,” she paused, swallowing, “Arianwen?” She tried to stay calm, but her whole body shook from her nervousness. Deryn just seemed confused by her questions.
“His youngest daughter,” he replied, “she vanished for a time, some say she lived amongst humans, but when the Great War came she returned to fight at her father’s side.”
“This… this Great War,” she stammered, “was ten years ago?” She watched him nod and the weight of her secret became too much. She felt her legs buckle beneath her as if the weight were a physical one as well. She remained standing only thanks to his strong arms wrapping quickly around her. She let him help her to the bed and she took a deep breath.
“Ten years ago I had a nightmare,” she began, “my mother came as she often did and comforted me. That night however she told me a secret, made me promise to tell no one, not even Maeve or my father.” She watched Deryn carefully as she continued. “She told me Aria was not her full name, that she was Arianwen, daughter of Gwythyr. She said she had to go somewhere dangerous and might not return.” Cáit felt tears streaming down her cheeks. “She told me she loved me with all her heart and that she would do everything she could to return to me. She… she never came back.” She let the sobs out, ten years of pain ripping through her as she cried.
Continue Reading: Part 4
I certainly seem to put my characters through the ringer, don’t I? Not just with the story events, but their pasts too. To be fair, they say write what you know and my childhood was not exactly the rosiest so for me perfectly happy pasts seem unrealistic. How about you guys? Does knowing a character’s past help you relate to them? Do they feel more real if they have emotional scars? Share your thoughts!
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Shadows & Secrets part 3
I think characters are definitely more interesting if they have some emotional scars, whether we know exactly what caused them or not. We're all a product of our past, the good and the bad...