Falling for the Beast (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 2)

His opponent was George Evans, professor of Greek Archaeology. Evans shook his head. “Goddamn. Are you hustling me, Morris?”

Blake snorted. “I wish.”

Though his game had definitely improved. The first shot had been embarrassing. The cue had ricocheted around the table, somehow managing to miss every single goddamn ball.

His eye had escaped the blast unscathed, but his depth perception had been affected. Something about the way the skin formed around it, or rather didn’t form, made a subtle but unmistakable difference.

This was his first time playing pool since the explosion, his first time being around people in a social setting. These men, privately, were kinder than the ones who’d questioned him at the party. They made no comment on his ineptitude and still included him.

Slowly, he learned to compensate for the change. Even when he suspected the others were tired, he’d wanted to continue playing. To keep improving.

To finally learn to deal with his injuries instead of avoiding them.

He circled the table and nodded to the side pocket to signal. Bending at the waist, he lined it up. There was his usual aim, the straight line between his stick, the cue, and the glinting side of the black eight ball. But that was wrong. If he made this shot, the cue would skate past the eight ball entirely and probably end up in the corner pocket, costing him the game.

He tilted the stick a few degrees. He preferred to change his aim rather than angle his head, he’d found. Now it appeared as though the cue would hit the eight ball dead-on, sending them both in a useless arc across the table. He pulled back and made the shot.

The cue brushed the eight, changing its course enough to head for the middle. The eight ball rolled slowly into the side pocket and landed with a clink against the other balls.

“Good game,” Evans said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I mean that. You’re welcome to come back and kick my ass anytime. At pool, that is. I’ll wipe the floor with you about Knossos anytime.”

Blake chuckled. “I have no doubt.”

They’d had something of a debate about the ancient Greek citadel. Blake had been less informed than his opponent, and it had felt damn good. Evans had given him a few recommendations for journal articles to read as well. There was something exhilarating about talking with someone, the connection. The energy in the room.

Evans brushed the chalk from his hands. “I’m going to head out, actually. Don’t know if the missus has been calling while we’ve been down here. There’s never any cell coverage down here. I should probably head home either way.”

Blake waved him off but stayed near the pool table instead of joining the other men for a cigar. Something about Evans’s words niggled at him. What if Erin had called him? He pulled out his phone, relieved to find the screen blank. No missed calls.

Then he noticed the bars were missing. No signal either. Don’t know if the missus has been calling… Damn. These old buildings had horrible reception to start with, and they were in the basement. For all he knew, this was some sort of old bomb shelter.

He ignored the men in the corner and took the stairs up to the building.

Still nothing, and he didn’t stop walking. Pushing outside, he waited impatiently for his phone to regain signal. Like the piece of dumb machinery it was, it continued to show no signal, and like the dumb outdated guy he was, he didn’t know how to tell it to check again.

A sudden sense of panic overtook him.

Irrational. Erin knew where he was tonight, and they already had a plan to meet tomorrow. Still, he couldn’t deny the warning bells going off inside his head. Instinct had kept him alive and relatively safe all this time. Even the painful scars were a blessing when he considered the alternative.

He’d learned to trust those damn warning bells.

He pressed the button to restart his phone, but he didn’t wait for it. He strode in the direction of his car. It was late anyway, time to go, and he would apologize to the guys later for leaving so abruptly. He needed to check on Erin, to make sure she was okay. Because the bells told him something was wrong.

He was halfway to her apartment when his phone decided to buzz and beep at him. His heart dropped from his chest. Thirteen missed calls. An unlucky number, he thought uselessly. All from Erin. What could have happened? He’d missed her. He’d failed her. Grimly, he pressed the voicemail button to find out exactly how.

Chapter Seven

Erin

Erin woke up with her heart pounding.

She turned to her mother, who was sleeping peacefully, the machines beeping in steady reassurance. Someone had dimmed the lights since she’d last been awake, leaving only a soft lamp above and a soothing blue from the machine monitors. Squeezing the limp hand she held, Erin turned toward a soft scuffing sound.

A nurse gave her a sympathetic look. “I have to kick you out before the nurse shift changes. You can come back in after she’s been seen by the doctor.”

“Oh. Right.” They had snuck her in against the official visiting hours. She was so grateful for the nurses’ tired smiles and gentle words. The doctor, too, seemed kind and knowledgeable. Even the room was welcoming, more like a modern-styled bedroom than a hospital room—if she didn’t count the bed. At least her mother was receiving excellent medical care. Her pallor still scared Erin. Blue veins whispered beneath her skin. Her mother’s eyes had fluttered open for a few minutes in the middle of the night.

“Erin,” she’d murmured. “You came.”