Briar: A Reverse Harem Romance (Midnight's Crown Book 1) Page 7

  The street got busier, people heading to work, or school—or hell, what day was it?——Sunday? Church, maybe. He wouldn’t be able to stay here much longer without someone spotting him. He was great at blending, but at six feet, three inches, leaning against a house for hours on end was going to get him noticed.

  The curtains in the window didn’t so much as twitch, and after a while, he straightened and headed into the street. As he turned the corner, the front door opened, and a figure emerged, bright blue shirt meeting white gloves with a floppy brimmed hat.

  Briar.

  Whirling around, she startled and jumped back. “Holy cow, you scared me!” Dark sunglasses hid most of her face, but the hat shadowed what wasn’t covered. “I don’t expect anyone to know me! You’re Sylvain’s buddy.”

  He chuckled. Buddy. It sounded as if he and Sylvain were youths who had, what did humans call them nowadays? Playdates.

  “…And Marcus’s brother.”

  Her words had him choking. He’d been so distracted by the vision of a playdate with Sylvain, he’d missed that she was still talking. “Marcus told you?”

  “Sylvain is his brother, yes. He told me.”

  Ah. Even so. Marcus was confiding in her. Interesting.

  “I’m Valen Larrsen,” He resisted his old habit of bowing slightly at the waist. “Where are you off to?” he asked when she shifted from side to side.

  “School,” she answered. “I’m going to the bookstore.”

  He nodded, then scraped his hands through his hair. This was harder than he expected. “You eat?”

  “I do,” she answered slowly. “Do you?”

  No. But he could fake it for her. “I can.”

  She lifted one brow, reminding him of Sylvain. Her lips curled as he remained silent, waiting.

  Finally, he understood she waited for him to ask. “Do you want to have breakfast with me?”

  The smile disappeared, and he winced. He’d moved too fast, come on too strong. He should have known.

  “Why?” Briar lifted a gloved finger to the glasses, scooting them down her nose a tiny bit to peer at him from beneath them.

  Shit. Why? Weren’t girls supposed to blush and bite their lip and nod coyly? Instead she was looking at him confused. She really wanted to know.

  “You seem nice.”

  “I seem…” She paused, pushing her glasses in place. “Nice?”

  “Yes.” If he spent time with her, he could answer her question even more honestly. Something about her drew all of them to her, but he was determined not to do what he’d done with Annie. They’d never gotten to know her, and maybe that had been the time. Then, people married after weeks, not years. Lifelong commitments were made without any second-guessing, but it was probably due to the short life expectancies.

  White teeth dug into her lower lip, gnawing nervously. She was waiting for him to speak. “What’s wrong with nice? Kindness is an under-appreciated quality.”

  Now, she smiled, and there was the blush he’d been expecting “I’d like to have breakfast with you.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. Contentment and anticipation filled him. He’d done it. He’d gone out on a limb, and she’d said yes.

  “Do you know Boston well?” she asked, as they began to walk.

  “Yes,” he answered. He couldn’t tell her about arriving before the Pilgrims, albeit, further north and in a longship. “I know it quite well.”

  The hat she wore grazed his arm, the wide brim tickling his elbow. “Why do you wear the hat?” He scanned her, taking in her clothes. It was a warm day, not uncommon for September in New England. By midmorning, it would be what the Bostonians called a scorch-ah. “And gloves?”

  If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he’d have missed the way her shoulders squared before she spoke. “I have a condition called EPP. I’m sensitive to ultraviolet light.”

  This sounded like something Hudson would understand. “You mean the sun?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Allergic?”

  “In a sense.” She shrugged and stopped, facing him. “I have extreme reactions to the sunlight. If my skin is exposed, I’ll burn.”

  Burn. The word echoed in his brain, and he saw Annie, the fire whipping her hair into red flames.

  “Want to skip breakfast?”

  Shaking his head, he came back to the present and found her staring at the ground, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the sidewalk. “No,” he answered. “I want to get there faster. What are you doing outside if you can burn up?” He touched her back to guide her, hurrying toward the first place that looked like it had food. “A place in back, please,” he told the hostess, while positioning Briar directly in front of him so his body blocked the sun coming through the plate-glass window. He angled her seat against a back wall, and made sure his shadow would provide the cover she needed before seating himself.

  She followed him with her gaze, her lips turned up. “I’m not going to catch fire,” she joked.

  “I don’t know what could happen. Now, please. If you don’t mind, explain.”

  Her smile only grew wider. “I like you, Valen.” Honest. He liked her, as well.

  “When I say burn, I mean my skin burns, like the worst sunburn you could ever have. And if I stay too long, I won’t catch fire, but my skin will…” She pulled off her glasses and placed them on the table, glancing up at him while touching a scar on her cheek. “It isn’t pretty.”

  The length and width of his thumb, the scar was white, old. “The sun did that?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “If I’m not careful.”

  “You were burned at Hud’s lecture.”

  A flush stained her cheeks, pink on one side, splotchy on the other. “Yeah. I was dumb. Dropped my glove and reached for it with bare skin.”

  An alarm went off on her phone, and she peered down at it. Valen read it from his seat across from her. Wear your gloves! Put your hat on!

  “Not dumb,” he argued, gesturing with his chin to the phone.

  “I’m not used to the daylight,” she admitted, fiddling with the buttons at her wrist.

  Valen sat back, taking in her outfit. Now that he knew what it was meant to do, it looked different. What he thought was merely a long-sleeve shirt, had to be more. “What’s it made of? Your suit of armor?” He smiled, hoping to lighten her mood, and it did the trick.

  “This old thing?” She plucked at the fabric. “Polyester and titanium dioxide.”

  “Titanium dioxide?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “It’s a chemical that refracts light. So I won’t get burned.”

  A waitress appeared by the table, pad in hand. “What can I get you two?”

  Briar grimaced and grabbed the menu. “Sorry. Um. Yogurt and granola please.”

  “And you?” the woman asked, while writing down Briar’s order.

  “Toast, please.”

  “White, wheat or rye?”

  Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t taste it anyway. “White, please.”

  “Anything else? Coffee?”

  “Yes, coffee, please,” Briar replied.

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” he answered.

  “Toast and water?” The waitress’s brows went to her hairline.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She walked away, shaking her head.

  “You have nice manners,” Briar observed. “I like the way you talk to people.”

  It didn’t come easy to him. Actions were how he communicated. Staying near Sylvain was how he showed his brother he cared. He didn’t know how to respond to Briar, and so he stayed quiet, tapping his fingers on the counter and studying the restaurant.

  “Do you think I can take my hat off?”

  “Why?” He studied her. If it kept her safe, there was no reason to remove it.

  “It’s pretty dark back here, the light’s not touching me. I think I can do it.”

  “Why would you take it off? I don’t understand.”


  Studying the walls and the window, she didn’t seem to hear him. She stuck a gloved hand into the space between their table and the one next to them. “Hmm.”

  He snagged her hand as she brought it back and folded it onto the table, snug between both of his. His giant paws dwarfed hers, made him feel freakish, and he drew them back, sticking them in his lap. “Don’t risk it, please, Briar.”

  She made a moue, and waved her hand. “Look around, Valen.”

  Twisting, he did. The chair creaked beneath his weight, reminding him of how huge he was compared to most humans. He half-expected all eyes to be on him, but they weren’t. No one was watching them.

  “I’m getting the side-eye. It’s weird for someone to wear a hat in a restaurant.”

  The side-eye?

  He studied the humans closer, and didn’t see any eyes staring at them. As for hats, there were at least two different male humans wearing backwards baseball hats, and one female wearing a flat-brimmed cap. Understanding coursed through him. “Briar,” he said carefully, “so what if they look at you? I see three more people wearing hats.”

  She scanned the room, face flushed, but her smile grew and her shoulders relaxed. He’d done that. “You’re right.” Adjusting, she sat up straighter and folded her hands on the table. “How long have you been friends with Sylvain?” she asked as if dismissing the topic from her mind.

  “A long time, little one.” The name slipped his lips without any thought, but it fit. Compared to his massive size, she was tiny, and while his voice boomed, and he had to make a concerted effort to keep it from carrying across the restaurant, hers was quiet and smooth. The consonants rolled together in an unfamiliar, at least in New England, way. “Sylvain was an explorer. Liked to work on his own. I met him in the Bay of Fundy.”

  “I don’t know where that is,” she replied, leaning forward in her seat and smiling self-deprecatingly.

  “In the Gulf of Maine, between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing as the Gulf of Maine. Is it far from here?” she asked.

  “Very far,” he replied, thinking of the hours it took now, and the weeks, or months it could take when the only means of transportation was horse. Or their feet.

  “Is it near Prince Edward Island?” she asked. “I love Anne of Green Gables.”

  “South of PEI, and a bit east.”

  “Is that where you’re from?” Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. “You have a bit of an accent.”

  Did he? Usually he was much more careful with his speech, making sure no one could identify his origins. How had he let it slip?

  “In a roundabout way,” he began when the waitress returned with their meals.

  “Here you go.” She placed the toast in front of him and Briar’s yogurt next to it. He slid the bowl across to her.

  “You need silverware?” he asked, glancing down at the table.

  “Yes. And my coffee,” she observed, glancing toward the waitress. “Excuse me ma’am.”

  The waitress, who’d been bussing the table next to them, spun. Half a steak and a sharp knife flew away from her. The steak hit the floor with a slap, but the knife nicked the back of Briar’s hand, filling the air with the scent of her blood. Ice and snow, the sea. The most delicious scent he’d ever encountered.

  “Ouch!”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” the woman apologized, slapping a napkin over the shallow cut.

  Valen’s fangs descended immediately, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, and for a second, couldn’t move. The monster inside him woke up and roared, ravenous.

  “It’s okay,” Briar assured her, glancing up when Valen pushed his chair back and stumbled away from the table.

  Keeping his head angled away from her, he apologized. No! The monster clawed at him through his skin. It wanted nothing more than a taste of her blood. “I have to go. Now. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t wait to hear what she said or care if anyone stared at him as he shouldered past the smaller, weaker humans who suddenly became more than roadblocks. With his monster awake, they were prey, and he wanted to hunt.

  Chapter 9

  Briar

  Valen shot out of his seat and elbowed his way through the crowd toward the exit. Not once did he glance back at her in his hurry outside.

  “Probably the blood,” the waitress said, and Briar nodded. That had to be it. Poor Valen. On the sidewalk, his blond head dashed by the window and out of sight.

  “Yes,” she murmured, feeling guilty. “Can I get the check?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. I am sorry.”

  “It was an accident. It’s fine,” she assured the woman.

  Briar had made sure her hat was secure and her gloves in place by the time the waitress returned. As she counted out the cash and tip, she wondered how she could get ahold of Valen to apologize. Marcus would be the answer, most likely. As a friend of a friend, he could at least pass the message onto Sylvain.

  Eyes on the ground, Briar picked her way out of the restaurant, covering her face with the oversized glasses before she exited. No matter what Valen said, she knew she stood out, and the last thing she needed to cement her belief was to catch the sideways glances or confused, but loaded, stare between friends.

  Glasses in place, Briar scanned the street for any sign Valen had stayed nearby. But even on her tiptoes, there was no blond head towering over people, or sunny smiling face.

  Her plan had been a little hijacked, but it was possible to get back on track. She let herself revel in her freedom a second, proud of herself for being out in the daylight and taking risks. In two days, she’d made two friends. Not bad for this West Virginian freak.

  The T wasn’t far, and in a matter of moments, she’d swiped her pass, and stood waiting with a crowd of people for the Red Line. She tucked her sunglasses in her bag but left her hat on. There were times when the train went above ground, and she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t need her protective gear, as much as she wanted to strip off the hat and gloves and shove them next to her sunglasses.

  Allowing herself to stare, she noted all the ways people were dressed. One man was in a three-piece suit, shoes shined to perfection. A couple of girls wore crop tops and short shorts with sneakers, while another girl, probably the same age or younger, wore a long dress. Boys wore baseball caps, and one woman had on a straw fedora.

  Valen was right. She could blend. It was up to her to wear her clothes with confidence. This shirt? Boring though it may be, kept her from roasting, and as ugly as her hat was, she didn’t have third degree burns or melted skin on her face.

  Mostly. A voice inside her reminded her, and she touched a gloved finger to her cheek. It didn’t feel like anything there. Most of the nerves were dead, and while she could feel hard pressure, anything lighter was dulled.

  Would she feel a kiss? She ghosted a finger across the skin. Nothing.

  “Attention passengers. The next Red Line train to Porter Square Station is approaching.”

  Briar edged closer to the platform along with the rest of the crowd. The train blew into the station, a gust of wind tossing her hair back. Quickly, she touched her hat, holding it in place. As the train came to a stop, the wind settled and she could let go. Someone nudged her from behind, and she lost her balance, tripping a little.

  The wind blew again, as the doors to the train opened, and the passengers flooded out, tossing her hair around her face and over her shoulders. Something wet and slimy touched her neck and she slapped her hand there, glancing toward the ceiling to see what had leaked on her.

  A voice spoke right in her ear. “I knew you’d taste delicious.” A chill drifted over her neck, and she jerked away, whirling toward the voice. But no one was there. The other passengers were entering the train, and she was at the edge of the crowd, with nothing behind her except the tiled wall.

  Freaked out, she shoved her way on the train, ignoring the an
gry glowers sent her way. As the doors closed, she let out a breath and squeezed her shoulder to her ear, trying to dislodge the slick feeling on her skin.

  It was in her head. It had to be.

  “Next stop, Porter Square Station,” a mechanical voice announced.

  All in my head.

  She needed to relax. She was fine. Everything was fine.

  The train jolted, then moved forward. She grasped the bar next to her, glancing up as she did so, into the icy white eyes of a man who stood outside, on the platform. He stared back, smiling. Unable to look away, all she could do was gasp when he lifted a white hand, fingers curling in a mocking wave, and then he was gone. There was a blur of white and black, and then nothing.

  The lights came up in the train as it entered a tunnel, and Briar was left staring at her wide-eyed reflection.

  She touched her neck, skimming the glove along her skin and then staring at it. Nothing. Gripping the pole with both hands, she leaned her head against it, sighing. This was altogether too much action for a Sunday morning.

  ✽✽✽

  An hour later, Briar arrived at the campus bookstore off of Commonwealth Avenue and was surprised to find she was more comfortable. The city was starting to feel like home. When she’d arrived a week ago, Boston had been overwhelming. A week in, she was discovering Boston had nooks and hamlets.

  BC was its own community, and if she lived on campus, she’d probably not need to leave for anything. All of her needs would be met. She’d live in a dorm and eat at a dining hall.

  There had been graduate housing available, and she’d considered it. But she wanted to be independent, and though she never had a true college experience, she decided to skip it.

  She was twenty-two, and if most twenty-two-year-olds lived in their own apartments, so would she.

  Briar had forgone calling the bookstore ahead to arrange to buy all of her books. Most of the books she’d been able to find online, but there were some, specific journal articles compiled by her teachers and then bound by the college’s printers, only available at BC.

  The bookstore was packed, and Briar had to elbow her way past students milling around, staring at their phones in the middle of aisles to get to the Biology section.