Page 43 of Evidence of a Folktale

“Semantics.” Bel swatted his chest. “The point is, I don’t want to wake up and realize you’re a stranger because we weren’t honest. This isn’t a fairytale where the couple meets and lives happily ever after. We exist in reality, and if we want a healthy relationship, we need to confront difficulties head-on. It’s why Ewan needed to tell Olivia himself. You can’t love a lie, and thankfully, I don’t. When I told you I loved you on Christmas, I knew who I was confessing that to. He’s the same man standing in front of me.”

“I love you.” Eamon pulled her lips to his, kissing her as his hands trailed down to her thighs to hoist her up his body. He wrapped her legs around his waist, and for a breathless minute, he showed her how desperately he loved her.

“But if we’re being honest, there’s one more confession I need to make,” he whispered against her mouth as he carried her to bed.

“I can’t take any more confessions today.”

“It’s not like that.” Eamon rubbed Cerberus’ head before pulling the sheets around the trio. “It’s about what I tasted in your blood. It’s what made me save your life instead of killing you that night in the city. It was love.”

“But you said we weren’t fated mates.”

“Not ours. Your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Little is known about it,” Eamon explained. “Mostly because people like you have an incredible power flowing through your veins. If you think hate is strong, you should see the strength of pure love. Unfortunately, most of what’s known about the offspring of true love is rumors because beings like me spent our lives hunting them down. When a couple’s love is unadulterated and pure, their children are born with the sweetest blood. It’s believed to be the strongest magic known to mankind, but there’s little proof. Witches hunted them down and slaughtered them as sacrifices. My kind sought them out to feed on them. Historically, humans like you don’t survive long enough to prove the rumors. I’ve killed every child of love I’d encountered and drank them dry until you and now your sisters.”

“Why me, though?” she asked, curling into the safety of his chest. “If you killed all the others, why did you let me live?”

“My friend from World War II,” he answered. “He thawed something inside me. For the first time in my life, I cared, and then I met you. Through my drunken haze, I realized you were special. You were the product of a love so rare it birthed a sort of magic, and I couldn’t kill you. I wanted to. Your blood is my drug of choice, but I couldn’t go through with it. All I could think was no one had ever loved me, and I fantasized about what being loved would feel like. I craved your presence. It was intoxicating… Why are you crying?”

“I can’t imagine living for centuries without someone loving me.” Her tears tickled her nose as they dripped down her face, but before she could wipe them away, Eamon drew her head against his chest, his cool skin erasing the dampness.

“You’re lucky in that respect. So many people love you.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore because I love you… we’re the couple that makes it, right?” She gazed up at him in the darkness, desperate for him to agree, to confirm that every ugly truth and painful moment they’d suffered would lead to triumph in the end.

“Yes, we make it.” He pulled her into his arms, practically suffocating her against his chest, and for the first time all night, Bel relaxed. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“It feels so good being warm,” she whispered against him, her exhaustion shifting gears as her mind slowed, and she savored the way his skin twitched as her lips formed the words against him.

“I know, Detective.” Eamon tucked the blankets tighter around them, his muscles tense at her meaning. “It’s why you should live with me. I’ll keep you warm every night.”

Bel laughed, the stress from the past hours escaping her body with her voice, and she smiled at the realization that she never wanted him to stop asking her that question.

“You can’t go more than five seconds without suggesting that, can you?” She yawned. Without anxiety fueling her erratic heartbeat, she could barely stay awake.

“I figure if I keep asking, the answer might eventually be yes.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Bel teased, falling into hazy oblivion, so she missed his response. “And Eamon?” She regained consciousness for a moment. “Talk to Ewan and make him fix things with Olivia because I stand by my belief. These secrets aren’t mine to tell. I love her, but I love you more, so my loyalty lies with you. I’m not responsible for Ewan’s mistakes, so talk to him. I want my friend back.”

“Based on the traffic,I take it the producers didn’t listen to you and cancel the fan events?” Bel asked Griffin the next morning as she leaned against his office doorway.

“No, they didn’t,” her boss groaned. “It’ll cost them too much money, and without proof that Orion Chayce is guilty or in town, they have no intentions of halting production.”

“I don’t understand why they don’t care,” Bel said. “Their writer was murdered.”

“On Eamon’s land,” Griffin said. “Not on set or in the bed-and-breakfast or at the hotel hosting the events. Her death unfortunately has no actual connection to the show. Until we can prove Chayce is here and guilty, we can’t force them to be rational.”

“I can’t imagine money being more important than a woman’s life.”

“Don’t ever let that change.”

“I have no intentions of letting it.”

“Good.” Griffin stood from his desk. “And we’ll just have to be vigilant. If Chayce is in town, we have to find him before he hurts someone else.”

“Olivia and I should look into Gwen Rossa,” Bel said. “If Chayce is here to exact revenge, there’s a reason he started with her. Did she cause the accident and blame it on him? Was she merely a witness? If we find a connection, we might be able to predict his other targets… if there are any. It also might help us locate Chayce.”

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