Loving Ean (The Fae Guard Book 2) (4 page)

“He’s going to have his hands full. We’ll see what happens.” I sling the bag with my gear over my shoulder and give him a head nod in farewell. I head out of the large, ornate, and wooden, double doors of the training room and follow the hallway to the right, passing a large, homey common room and grab a ride on the elevator to my apartment on the twelfth floor. When the doors glide open, the hallway is empty. I breathe a sigh of relief when I remember that Laila is down in the training room, so I won’t run into her on the way to my place, three doors down from her. I’m reminded of one of the reasons I need to move out of the building; the awkward meetings in the hallway are getting exhausting. But, for some reason, I just haven’t been able to get myself to do it yet.

Once I’m inside my apartment, I toss my keys onto the small table in the entry way and walk into the master bedroom. My apartment, like all of the others in the building, is full of floor to ceiling windows on any exterior wall. Being a corner unit, I have two full walls of glass. To the left is a doorway that leads to a spacious kitchen, the cabinets ending halfway along the counter so that its open to the large L shaped dining/living room. The sunshine streams in through all of the clear barrier and the rays often bring me warmth when the coldness in my soul threatens to bury me.

My bedroom is to the right, and has a wall of windows as well, but rest the of the space is painted light gray with black and white photos of sports action shots evenly spaced across the length. The headboard, end tables, and long dresser on the left wall are all wood, painted a muted shade of steel blue. A deep, navy recliner sits in the corner, facing the bed. The little, dark grey table next to it holds the remote control for the large, flat screen hanging above my bed. It is—without doubt—a bachelor pad. Laila used to give me grief incessantly over the lack of color. I sigh and push thoughts of her away as I throw my bag onto the bed. I sit on the end and gaze out the windows opposite it, lost in the view of leafy, green woods with bright colored fruit, shimmering grass (seriously, it shimmers), and a river that is unlike any blue I’ve ever seen.

I’d gone to see Fate about the shit going on with my kids, but she’d hijacked the meeting, and made it all about Laila and me. I scoff and shake my head.
There is no you and Laila; you’ve seen to that, haven’t you?
Apparently, my heart is siding with Fate—the traitor. But, my head knows better. It knows that after what happened, I am irreparably damaged. I cannot have another focus besides my job. I cannot dwell on what should or could have been. I’m losing the battle to keep my mind from the past, so I stand and strip, heading for a shower that will hopefully cleanse my mind, along with my body.

“DELICIA, DON’T LET YOUR
feet get so far apart or you’ll be unbalanced, and leave yourself with only the choice to run away. Don’t allow your opponent to put you in that position; don’t give them the opportunity to chase you.” I walk up to the young woman I’m training and fix her stance. “You need to have stability, especially once they start using the elements against you.”

She nods in understanding and I walk back to the edge of the mat, then motion for the other instructor to come at her. The door to the room slams shut and I flinch, unable to keep myself from sneaking a look to see who has entered. Logically, I know it won’t be Ean, but my stupid heart races at the thought that he might have returned. I want to give inner me a good shake and tell her to knock it off. Even if he did come back to the room, it wouldn’t be to speak with me.

Ean has gone out of his way to avoid me lately, and when he’s forced to endure my presence, he never says more than a couple of words to me. I still don’t truly understand how everything fell apart. We’d been together a couple of months (celibate months, because the asshole wanted to “make sure our relationship isn’t based on sex”) when he lost a boy he was protecting. He took it harder than most and retreated so far into himself that even I couldn’t pull him back out again. The first time we talked, after it happened, plays like a movie in my mind.

“You’ve been avoiding me the last week, what’s going on?” I follow Ean into his apartment, having been waiting in the hall so that he couldn’t ignore me. He drops his stuff by the door and enters his kitchen, not answering. I watch silently as he grabs a glass from one cupboard and a bottle of scotch from another. He steps to the corner of the open counter and stares out the expansive windows as he pours a drink. I let him finish the glass, practically gulping it down, the burn in his throat obvious in his pinched expression.

When he pours a second glass, I walk over to him and slip my arms around his waist, laying my head on his back and soaking up his warmth. The minute I touch him, every muscle in his body becomes taut and ridged. Grabbing his glass, he shrugs me off and stalks over to a window, gazing out at the scenery. Since he isn’t looking at me, I don’t even try to disguise ache that I know is showing on my face.

“I need some time . . . some space.” His voice is hard, but so quiet that I almost miss it. The hurt expands to a suffocating ache in my chest.

“From what?” Somehow, I keep the hurt from seeping into my tone. I know what he’s saying, but in a last ditch hope that I’m wrong; I want him to confirm it.

He swigs down the last of his drink, and then sets the tumbler down on the dining room table, before facing the view once more. The stiffness in his shoulders drains as he places one hand on the window, leaning into it, and its then I realize his posture is now one of defeat.

“I just need a little time to deal with this, Laila. I can’t concentrate on you and me until I get my head on straight.”

I’m not one to be clingy, or whine and complain, no matter how much I might want to inside. So, I go to him and put my hand on the side of his face, bringing it around to look down into my eyes. “Ok.” Surprise registers on his face. “If that’s what you need, I’ll step back and give you some . . . breathing room.” My voice hitches just the tiniest bit. He is like fresh air to me and the fact that I need to give him room to breathe, tears my heart in two. “I’m here for you, when you’re ready.” His eyes soften for a moment, the blue lightening the tiniest bit. Taking advantage, I slide my hand to his neck and bring his head down to my level, then place a sweet kiss on his lips. At first, I feel his gentle emotions responding, but all too soon, he stiffens once again, and abruptly pulls away. His eyes have hardened, the color now dark, and he’s put up an impenetrable wall between us.

Shoring up my courage and sucking back the pain, I walk away. I can feel his intense stare, watching me, but I don’t turn back. I exit his apartment, shut the door, and dash into my place to cry in solitude.

My attention snaps back to the girl I’m training when the instructor yelps, having been taken down. “Nice job, Delicia!” She hops back onto her feet and gives Delicia a high five.

They both look at me expectantly and I smile, giving them a thumbs up. “Fantastic, Delicia, I’m proud of you.” She beams at me with a huge grin, her cheeks turning a sweet shade of pink.

I give her a homework assignment and send her along to work with another instructor on her magic. The people I train are the reason I chose to leave the field and become an instructor. I was great at my job as a leath leanbh guard. I would have excelled as a hunter with the Ohtar faction of the Mie’Lorvor, but I found no greater satisfaction than when I was helping a new trainee reach their potential, creating more highly trained, and competent assets to protect the vulnerable. I was a force to be reckoned with, when protecting the halfs—one of the best. I’m not being vain, just realistic and stating fact. I loved my job, but when the council had asked me to become the head of their training program, I was excited about the opportunity to guide other Fae and watch their talent grow, so I accepted.

I’ve developed strong, and respectful relationships with my students. I demand their best and, in return, I give them everything I have. How could I not love what I do? With so few years outside the facility, people often underestimate my power and knowledge. The only ones who matter, though, are the ones I release from my program. So, I let the others misjudge me. There is no greater tool than the element of surprise.

I have never regretted my decision and I still don’t, but there was one moment when my choice was used against me. It was the only time I ever questioned my decision, because it came from the only person who had the ability to destroy me—Ean.

The pain is as strong now as it was then . . .

It’s been three months. How much more time am I supposed to give him? I’ve waited for Ean to come to me, tried to be patient and give him his space, but every day that he avoids me, the ache gets stronger. We’d kept our relationship on the down-low; we didn’t want to share this time with the group, and constantly be under their microscope. So, it had been extremely difficult to hide my breaking heart, and even harder to explain it when I couldn’t keep up the façade. Why won’t he let me in? If he would open up to me, I could help him to heal. This question plagues me daily, and I’ve had enough.

I, once again, find myself waiting in the hall at his door. He’s reduced me to stalking him. Great. Anger has slowly been building inside of me and right now, its beating down the apprehension and despair. The elevator doors open and the object of all my tumultuous emotions steps out. He looks gorgeous as usual, his perfection almost blinding in its intensity. My body heats up at the sight, an ache settling between my thighs, and my stomach clenches with need. When he lifts his head and his penetrating blue eyes meet mine, the air between us crackles with electricity, and for a moment, I see a depth of hunger in them that steals my breath. Then the shuttered walls drop into place so quickly, I almost question if the need was even there. He sighs as he moves gracefully toward me and I bristle at the sound. It’s the frustrated noise of an adult about to scold a child. What the hell is going on? My anger is rising, but it’s swirling with confusion, and I’m not sure which feeling will surface first.

“Laila.” Ean’s greeting is short and dismissive.
Anger it is.
He unlocks his door and steps inside. Flicking a glance at me, he attempts to close the door.
Oh hell no, jackass.
Without much thought, I bring a burst of sharp wind that hits the door and it almost slaps Ean in the head. Perhaps I should have let it, maybe it would make him come to his senses.

“We need to talk.” My voice leaves no room for argument.

Ean sighs again, and I clench my fists, the nails biting into my skin to avoid smacking him. He steps back and sweeps his arm out arrogantly, inviting me in. When he turns to shut the door, I slam it shut with a little gust of air, causing Ean to stumble, and throw me a wary look. Juvenile, I know. But, if he’s going to treat me like a misbehaving child he is being forced to deal with, perhaps I should give him a little fodder for his attitude. The thought only lasts for a moment before the real me takes over; childishness and petty attitudes are not my style.

I turn and make my way into the glass encased living room, drawn to the windows where I stand in the sunlight, its warmth calming me. His keys clink as he tosses them onto the entry table. I listen to his quiet steps until they reach the couch, and then the whisper of air leaving the cushion as he sits. The silence is deafening. I don’t want to start this conversation, but it seems he is content to keep quiet, probably waiting for me to either speak, or give up and leave.

I need to see his eyes, so I turn and run my gaze over him, the heat returning to my body, longing for his touch and, even more, his smile. “I’ve given you space, Ean. For three months I’ve stepped back and let you handle your demons on your own. Why won’t you let me in . . . to help you, to fight them together?” I wince inside at the pleading in my tone. Ean’s wall doesn’t move, his emotions carefully masked, his eyes empty. He watches me for a while, his jaw working slightly, belying his unaffected air.