I Thought It Was You: Grimm's Circle, Book 2.5 Read online

  The events of this free short story take place between the events of No Prince Charming and Ren’s story, Crazed Hearts. It turns out both Ren and Elle had some loose ends they needed to tie up…and that’s what this story is about. It’s not Ren’s happy ever after. That’s in Crazed Hearts.

  Warning: the following story contains some unfinished business, some unrequited love and a whole lot of action between 3 somewhat debauched guardian angels.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  I Thought It Was You

  Copyright © 2010 by Shiloh Walker

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-211-0

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  I Thought It Was You

  Shiloh Walker

  Dedication

  For all of those who’ve fallen for Ren. I kinda fell for him too, and I usually don’t do that.

  And for my family. Always for you. I love you all so much. Thank God for you guys.

  Chapter One

  “Oh… I thought it was you.”

  “Well, it looks like you were right.” Ren smirked through the open door at Michael’s face. He tried hard not to feel too much resentment at the look of satisfaction in the man’s green eyes.

  It wasn’t easy. His gut instinct was to hate the bastard.

  After all, in a few more weeks he’d be marrying the woman Ren was still half in love with.

  “Ren!”

  Speak of the devil.

  She came through the door, a blonde bombshell, a towel barely covering her, her hair hanging in wet ropes down her shoulders. He caught her in his arms, wet and naked—the fucking towel, it might as well not even be there.

  Her name was Elle. A few hundred years ago, she had lived in a small country. She’d fallen in love with a prince, and although no glass slipper had been involved, their story had helped inspire some of the Cinderella fairy tales.

  A number of the fairy tales involved people who had actually lived. Many of them still lived. They weren’t really people though. Not any more. They were angels…guardian angels. Or at least that’s how they ended up.

  Will had a rather twisted sense of humor.

  He’s a sick, cruel bastard, doing this to me, Ren thought darkly as Elle tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, princess,” he said softly. A fist formed around his heart, rising to lodge somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He stroked a hand up her back, remembering to keep the touch as fraternal as he could, considering how precious little she wore.

  Fuck me, a towel.

  Looking at Michael over her shoulder, he set his jaw and hoped the hell raging inside him didn’t show.

  The last thing he wanted was for his rival to realize just how much he envied him.

  Pride was a bloody cold bed partner, but it was better than no bed partner at all, Ren supposed.

  “Elle,” Michael said, with just the faintest edge to his voice. “Perhaps you could stop strangling him long enough to let him come inside.”

  She laughed, a happy gurgle of sound and gave Ren one last, delighted squeeze before she bounced away, grabbing at her towel before it could start a slow descent.

  Ren couldn’t decide if he was glad of that or not.

  Not that he needed to see those sweet curves—he’d held that lovely body against his time after time, and the memory of it was emblazoned on his mind. As she moved to lean against Michael, Ren tucked his hands inside his pockets.

  Easier that way—lessened the temptation to reach for her.

  “So,” Michael said, his voice still a little cool, and little too edgy. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  Chapter Two

  “Exactly why did Will send you again?”

  Seated on the couch, staring into the fire, Ren heard Michael’s question, but it took a moment or two to filter inside his mind.

  “Ren?”

  Frowning, he glanced up and looked at the other man, then sighed. “Will. Now, you have met the man, right? You have noticed he doesn’t always seem to have reasons for the things he does? Or fathomable ones, at least?”

  “So he sent you here just to say hello?”

  “Well, likely not.” He flashed Michael a sharp-edged smile. “Because the bastard knows I’m more inclined to tell you to get fucked than say hello.”

  “Thom…be nice.” Elle scowled at him from a fat, overstuffed chair placed just under a large window. She held a glass of wine in her hand and there was a frown on her face. “And yes, we all know Will can do… Well, weird things. But if he sent you here, I’d think there was a reason. I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

  She shifted her gaze to him.

  A hundred years with her had taught him what it felt like when she was…prying. As he felt that light, deft touch, Ren lifted a brow. “You’re being rather rude there, poppet.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Ren smirked. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He wasn’t—darkness hung in the back of his mind, a waiting thunderstorm, but he’d hold it back, hold it off for as long as he could, for as long as he had to.

  There had been times when Will had sent him to Elle because something about her gift had always helped him level out in the past, but that…that was in the past now.

  Feeling the weight of an intense stare, he shifted his eyes to Michael. “So, about this wedding… I got the invite, heartbroken you didn’t ask me to stand up with you.”

  Elle, in the middle of sipping from her wine, choked and started to sputter.

  Michael settled on the back of the chair, rubbing her back. “Well, it might have occurred to me, but you know, when Will asks if anybody has any reason why these two should not be wed, I’d rather you not be standing front and center when you shout out your answer. From the back, maybe you’re less likely to be heard.”

  “He won’t say anything,” Elle said, wheezing a little. She wiped the tears away and sat her glass on the table by the chair. “Damn it, Ren, are you trying to kill me?”

  “Takes a bit more than that to do us in, princess.” Unable to take sitting here, aware that she was watching him far too closely, he rose. “All I can tell you is that Will wanted me here, and he said for us all to wait until he decided to grace us with his presence. Well, those weren’t the exact words, but you get the point. Now then, I’m worn out. Is there a place where I can crash?”

  He wasn’t tired. But he knew Elle wasn’t going to call him on it, even if she did know otherwise. As she slid out of the chair, she stroked a hand down Michael’s arm, smiled at him.

  Ren looked away. Just seeing that affection between them…it hurt.

  It wasn’t quite dawn, but Ren had slept for about two hours.

  He would have liked more—needed more, but it had taken until midnight to even fall asl
eep. And sometime after two his dreams had taken a dark, dark turn and self-preservation had dragged him into wakefulness.

  Knowing he’d wake them if he remained inside, he’d slid out through the window—bless Elle, there were woods. And where there were woods, he could find some semblance of peace.

  It wasn’t much, but he’d wandered in the darkness. A couple of raccoons had followed along behind him. Their presence had soothed him somewhat, but once he’d slid back inside the house, that warmth had faded.

  Now he was alone in his thoughts again—alone in them and feeling too tight, too drawn, and the darkness was…too much.

  Come on, Will, you bugger. What in the hell am I doing here?

  He reached down and touched the cuff on his wrist, scraped his nail over the etched silver wings. A hundred years old and the silver never tarnished, the wings never faded.

  Answer me, you bastard, damn it.

  But there was no answer. He hadn’t really expected one.

  Will rarely gave anybody any answers. Not even when they really needed them.

  Brooding, he fetched himself a soft drink and wondered why he felt so…drained. It wasn’t physical.

  Their kind didn’t really get physically tired. After all, guardian angels wouldn’t do much good if they suffered such mortal maladies, would they?

  They might not be so prone to physical exhaustion, but Ren was so mentally drained, so emotionally worn thin…and so damned empty. He felt so achingly empty.

  Hearing the soft, quiet tread of footsteps, he lowered his drink and looked up just as Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

  “Can’t you sleep?” Michael asked.

  Isn’t he observant? Ren thought, smirking to himself. “Well, seeing as how I’m here in the dark, it would seem not.”

  Michael sighed. “You ever get tired of being the smart ass?”

  “Hmmm. No. No, I don’t think I do. Are you going to get tired of pretending to be the polite host when we both know you want to boot me out on my arse?” Ren replied, kicking back and propping his feet on the table. Even as he said it, he told himself to shut the hell up.

  But for some reason, he couldn’t.

  He had an angry, edgy beast in his belly, and he couldn’t shut it up.

  It wasn’t just jealousy, but that sure as hell was part of it.

  Even though he knew in his gut, in his heart, that he didn’t love Elle the way Michael did. Even though he knew in his heart that Elle hadn’t ever loved him the way she loved the man before him.

  Jealousy, loneliness, rage, it was a bad, ugly mix and it prodded him to uncoil from his chair and move to stand in front of Michael, cocking a brow at him and giving him a wide, taunting smile.

  “Come on, mate—can’t be easy having me here, after all. You just got her back after how many years? A few centuries? And she’s spent much of the past hundred years with me…”

  “If you’re trying to pick a fight with me, it’s not going to work,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I might not much like you, but I know she does—you matter to her, and I’ll be damned if I do something to hurt her.”

  Those words were as effective as a sucker punch—or a splash of cold water.

  Spinning away from Michael, Ren snarled.

  Fuck. One hand curled into a fist, and if he hadn’t been the middle of what he could tell was a pretty, rather new kitchen, he might have punched a hole through a wall.

  Darkness edged in on his mind, pushing at him, hard, fast.

  Too hard.

  “My apologies,” he bit off, his voice harsh and brittle. “I’m…not myself.”

  It took every last bit of his control just to force those words out before he started for the back door. Yes, he fucking knew he was supposed to be waiting here for some so-called assignment, but Will was out of his mind if he thought this was a safe arrangement for Ren’s state of mind.

  It wasn’t like his state of mind was stable even in the best of times.

  “Damn it, Ren…”

  Abruptly, a hand touched his arm.

  It was a smaller hand, softer, yet strong.

  Familiar.

  “Thom.”

  Looking down, he met Elle’s brilliant blue eyes.

  Swallowing, he shook his head and said, “This was a bad idea, me coming here, princess. Go back to your prince charming and leave me be. Will can find me when it’s time and I’ll trot on back here like the good angel boy he wants me to be. But for now, just leave me the fuck alone.”

  “No.” Then she moved in closer and slid an arm around his waist, pressing her golden head against his naked chest. As she pressed her cheek against him, she said, “What is wrong, Thom? You’re in chaos—I feel it.”

  Chaos.

  The blackness of his mind tried to edge closer, and memories—so unwanted, so unwelcome—tried to overtake him.

  He sucked in a breath, and for some reason he felt something draw tight around his throat, although it had been years—more than a century, really, since that had happened. And he didn’t even remember that, not truly.

  Get a fucking grip.

  He heard a gasp. The hands touching him fell away and he stumbled, his shoulders slamming against the wood and glass of the back door.

  Voices rose, but he barely heard them.

  Swearing, he lifted his hands, pressed them to his eyes.

  No, no, no, no, no…

  Vaguely, he heard Elle, recognized her voice.

  Heard Michael, sensed the fear and concern there.

  “Damn it, would you just stop it? I’m not leaving him like this!”

  But he couldn’t think about that—had to focus.

  Then she was here again, her hands gripping his wrists, forcing his hands down from his face, those large, lovely eyes of blue gazing into his. “Thom…damn it, Thomas, you look at me, right now,” she said.

  Chapter Three

  Thom…

  Thomas.

  No. I’m not Thomas. Not any more.

  He remembered Thomas—remembered the weakling he’d been, how he’d failed to protect the one precious person in his life. Remembered how he’d broken. How he’d failed.

  He wasn’t Thomas.

  He was Ren, damn it, and he wouldn’t break, not here. Not in front of Elle.

  Swallowing, he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m…I’m not Thom, Elle,” he said gruffly.

  She cupped his face in her hands, stroked a finger over his lower lip.

  Ren shuddered, then knocked her hands aside. “Stop it,” he muttered. “You…you need to stop it, now.”

  Stop it, please, he thought desperately. Damn it, would you just stop touching me?

  But that was a very, very bad thing to think around an empath, especially when he was too fucking weak to shield against her. Under normal circumstances, he could, and he could do it damn well. He should, after all. She’d trained him.

  But normal circumstances for him had shattered when he’d been told he was supposed to report for duty here, of all the fucking places.

  As her hands fell away, he saw the pain glimmer in her blue eyes and he could have kicked himself.

  Backing away, Ren sighed, skimmed a hand over his naked scalp. “Damn it, Elle…”

  “Fine. You don’t want me around you,” she said, swallowing. Her voice shook. “I get the point. Shit, Ren. What the hell happened? We used to be friends.”

  From the corner of his eye, Ren saw Michael close his eyes.

  “Friends.” A harsh laugh escaped him. “Fuck me… Friends. I’m sorry, Cinderella, but I didn’t spend the past century chasing you around and getting inside your skirts as often as possible because I wanted to be your friend. I wanted more than that—I always wanted more, and now I’ll never have it. I show up here, you throw yourself at me in a bleeding towel—a towel, for pity’s sake, Elle. Then I’m three seconds away from having a meltdown and thank you for helping, yes. But damn it, you can’t keep touching me, because it’s t
earing my damn heart out!”

  He was shouting by the time he was done, shouting…and shaking.

  And although the pain in his heart was now clawing and free, he realized that darkness that had been edging through him had disappeared.

  Pain…or insanity. What a lovely choice to make.

  He turned away and leaned against the door, resting his brow against the beveled glass and staring out into the lessening night.

  “Ren—”

  “Stop,” he said, forcing the word out through his teeth. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear apologies or platitudes.”

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep, slow breath. He needed out of here. Yes, he damned well knew Will wanted him here for some specific reason—other than torturing him.

  Absently, he touched the leather cuff at his wrist, rubbed the silver medallion set in the center.

  Most of them wore theirs on a chain around their neck, but Ren couldn’t stand the feel of anything around his neck—hated it.

  Pressing his fingers against the medallion, he focused. Why, Will? Why are you doing this to me?

  But there wasn’t an answer, and behind him there was silence.

  For the longest time, there was silence.

  Then he heard the softest whisper of sound.

  Her hands again, resting on his shoulders. Blowing out a breath, he braced his shoulders and turned. He had to get the fuck out of here, before he snapped.

  Oh, shit.

  “Elle, what in the hell are you doing?” he muttered.

  Michael stood behind her with his arms wrapped her around her waist.

  Her naked waist.

  The nightshirt she’d had on lay in a crumpled pile on the floor and she was staring at him.

  As their gazes locked, Elle moved to meet him, her hands coming up to cup his face. He caught her wrists. “I’m not about to become a pity fuck, princess,” he said, his voice ragged.

  Even if he did still want her like mad.

  “Ren.” She leaned and pressed her mouth to his chin. “Not even a blind woman could look at you and think pity fuck.”