Falling in Love with the Man of My Nightmares (That's [Para]Normal #4)

by Camilla Evergreen

“Thank you for your time.” Pollux’s breath catches. Staring at me, still as death, he swallows. Something red hot filters into my veins—suffocating. One hand lifts from his bicep, drifting my way. My throat constricts. Before his fingers reach me, I step back—chilled through with foreign sensations. His hand twitches. His fingers close. He swears. And then he marches from the room without another word.

No one wanted to dart through the rain and into the stinky gym building today. Nope. They all wanted to have story time with Andromeda instead. My eleven children sit around their leader and hang on her every word as though she’s the oldest kid here. She isn’t. Not even close.

While my littles explain the concept of one of the most common holidays in this entire country to Andromeda, I try not to picture myself wringing Pollux’s neck. Again. To be fair, I get the image stuck in my skull at least once a day lately. Usually about the time Andromeda comes to school. In the same outfit as always. Without a lunch. Unattended.

When I tried to ask if Andromeda had contact information for Willow, she simply told me Willow doesn’t like her ringtone. It’s best not to call. Or show up. Except on movie nights. But only if I’ve been invited. And Willow doesn’t really invite humans. Because Willow doesn’t really like humans. And, you know, Willow might think I’m human. Because Andromeda hasn’t told her directly otherwise. Because Andromeda has been taught not to meddle in people’s relationships. She’s already played a main role in a story; now she’s committed to being everyone’s favorite side character. Which, apparently, is difficult. Because her friend Pila exists. And, for context, Pila is the youngest dryad she mentioned a moment ago…

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, “please don’t encourage the other kids not to thank people. It might upset their parents.” Her lips curl in a mischievous way. Leaning toward me, she whispers back, “You’re lucky.” “I’m… Why am I lucky, sweetie?” “My daddy isn’t a bad unseelie. He behaved himself and didn’t take your soul when you thanked him at your parent-teacher conference. And, yes, he told me about it. Practically chastised me for rambling about my adventures but not educating you on the importance of not thanking us. I’m pretty sure it’s all he remembered after meeting you.”

Does it matter to you that we’re unseelie? I’ve been doing my best to make sure things aren’t too scary for you, haven’t I?” I search her blue eyes. “Yes, sweetheart, you’ve been good, but please don’t teach the other kids to be impolite…by human standards. We can’t upset their parents. Okay?” Perfectly serious, Andromeda whispers, “I just want my friends to stay safe.” “I understand, sweetheart.” I fix a smile on my face. “Thank you for looking out for them.” Worry siphons into her eyes as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then murmurs, “Maybe Daddy should have taken your soul…” Her gaze drops. “If there’s a holiday like this Halloween coming up…I’d feel better if he were keeping it safe for you.” Touching my hand, she says, “Please don’t thank the fae, Ms. Role. Not unless you love one enough to belong to them.”

For starters, even though we’re the same height, I am many pounds lighter, several tones brighter, and severely allergic to stepping on toes. She’d stomp and grind if the situation called for it. Merciless.

Maybe I should call the cops right this second, wait for them to arrive, and shove their faces in the most obviously not child-friendly home I have ever seen…? Opening and all but slamming my car door, I forfeit that idea in favor of strangling Mr. Strakh myself.

Shall I alert Pollux?” Andromeda folds her arms. “I am certain he is already well aware and having an existential crisis right now.” “Ah, would that be why I heard a distinctly hushed—” He swears. “—a minute ago?” “Yup.” “Charming.” Turning sharply on his heel, the man starts down a hall beneath the two staircases, disappearing slowly into the shadows. “I’m going to go bully him.

My brain turns to static in the same moment heavy footsteps draw my awareness to Pollux. He comes down the stairs beyond the kitchen archway, marches into the gaping space, fills it completely, and stops. A swallow moves through his throat. My vision bleeds redder than my hair as I picture stuffing his arm into the guillotine his seven-year-old daughter shouldn’t be playing with. Standing, I smile. Then I stalk. Planting my hand in the center of his broad chest, I push him out of the kitchen, across the foyer, and behind the set of stairs nearest the kitchen entrance. He swears when his back hits the wainscoting.

As bright as the blinding, burning, cancer-giving sun, I say, “Mr. Strakh.” I clasp my hands daintily in front of my dress skirt and all the little veggies I embroidered onto the material. “Good evening.” Ever the articulate one, he grumbles, “H…hi.” My lashes flutter. “I was just in the neighborhood. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.” His chest trembles, just slightly. “You’re…welcome here.” Innocent as a puppy, I tilt my head. “Great! I’m so glad I’m not intruding. Can we chat?” “Sure…?” “Awesome!” It takes everything in me not to listen, friend him as though he’s a child throwing a tantrum. “Are you aware that your seven-year-old is taking pies out of the oven with her bare hands?” Like a layer of sleet, the stiffness in his body drops out of him in a slushy mess. His eye twitches. Then he picks me up by my shoulders and sets me aside.

“No but.” He crouches, blocking all of Andromeda from my view. “Focus on me,” he growls. “Do you think your Uncle Cael would approve of you acting like this?” Defeated, she whispers, “No.” “Correct. And if Uncle Cael wouldn’t let you do something…” “I absolutely shouldn’t do it.” “Correct again.” He lets her head go, rises, and folds his arms. “So what are you not going to do anymore?” Andromeda’s shoulders sag. “Take hot things out of the oven with my bare hands.”

My brain is choking on everything I’ve just seen and heard. Who is Uncle Cael, and why does he determine what is or isn’t appropriate for Andromeda? Why does Pollux have a drug lab? And why, why, why is Andromeda allowed to try the drugs?

“I… Of course. Ice cream. Vanilla is perfect, thank—” “Ms. Role. Please stop thanking people. I’m monitored, so I can’t take your soul without Daddy’s permission, but Alexios isn’t. He’d try to take your soul just so he could bargain with Daddy.” Pouting, she shakes her head and serves up some scoops. “He’s gotten very mischievous the more he grows into himself.”

I wasn’t supposed to overhear, but I’m excellent at eavesdropping. He wanted to meet me, probably take me away to his castle beyond the Desolate Caverns, but Daddy reminded him I’m not old enough for the kinds of things he was suggesting.”

She giggles, running to Pollux and jumping on him. Somehow, she scales his body, twists a fist in his hair, and perches on his shoulders like a frog.

He turns on his heel so she’s facing me and grumbles, “Say goodbye to your teacher and stop being an imp.” Waving both hands, she beams. “Bye bye, Ms. Role!” Her expression darkens. “Do not let Alexios steal your soul while we’re gone. But stay as long as you like!” She shrieks when her father lets go of her ankle, and she barely catches herself on his shirt. “Daddy!” Something almost akin to laughter rumbles in his chest as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Make yourself at home, Kassandra. We’ll be back in about five or six hours, so let yourself out if you don’t want to stay that long.”

After Pollux and Andromeda left, the entire house went eerily quiet and still. Like a morgue. If a morgue had multiple cabinets dedicated to hosting liquor bottles around every corner. Because, yes, apparently someone here is an alcoholic. I’ll just add it to my list of reasons to cry myself to sleep tonight.

“Are you insane?” “Perhaps.” His smile returns, laced in humor. “If I am, I wholly blame genetics.”

This is hilarious. Just drag Alana through the mud, why don't you?

“Meda’s told you about our new faerie princess. I came from her, and she is, quite often, delightfully bonkers.”

Pollux swore the second he entered his bedroom. Of all places, why had Kassandra gone into his bedroom while he was out hunting with Andromeda? In a moment of utter nerves, he had told his beautiful soulmate to make herself at home. It didn’t matter that ever since he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been imagining this home as hers… By stars and light, they weren’t married yet. Having her scent in his room was cruelty of the highest degree, a taunt he did not believe he deserved even if he had yet to find the courage to tell her what she was to him.

Ultimately, Andromeda’s lack of meddling meant Pollux had to take Kassandra aside on his own and tell her that he wanted her. Deeply. Intrinsically. Perhaps a touch inappropriately. Pollux swore again, closed his eyes, and remembered how it felt when she’d shoved him against the stairs earlier that evening. He could have kissed her then, wrapped her up and claimed her for all eternity.

He exhaled a curse, pictured Kassandra’s raging eyes, her too-perfect smile, the heat of her hand. On him. Touching him. Fearless and hard despite the innocent brilliance she’d used to mask all her true emotions. “Kassandra…” he whispered into this space that smelled like her. Rolling his neck, he cut his fingers through his short dark hair and went to inspect the damage her perusal had caused. As far as he could tell, the woman had touched everything. His drawers. His books. His bed. She’d gone into his bathroom. Looked through his towels. It was like she’d been searching for something. But what?

She was his antithesis. His cure. His soul’s mate. And…he was sniffing a washcloth she’d touched. So, clearly, he was painfully at her mercy even in her absence. Lowering the cloth, he sighed and looked at himself in the mirror. “You’re not a creep.” It was a very compelling pep talk. And, technically, he couldn’t lie, so logic demanded the words were true as they had indeed managed to leave his mouth. Alas, he also desperately wanted to take the washcloth to bed and cuddle it, which felt like a somewhat substantial argument against him.

He had to find a way to have a decent conversation with Kassandra. Discover why she hated him. Tell her he was more than ready to go to war in order to earn her affections. He simply required her consent before he began his chase, for pursuing a woman against her will was incredibly indecent. Unfortunately, Pollux was starkly unprepared for this…fear inside him that suggested she would not provide consent, that suggested she might turn him away completely, that suggested something he did not even know he had done would end everything before it could begin.

Weakness was not a sensation he found himself familiar with often. And the way she looked at him… The barely restrained hatred in her deep brown eyes kind of activated his fight response. Because he did not know what he’d done to be hated, he really wanted to grab her wrists in one fist, push her into the wall, and ask. The way she weakened him made him want to assert dominance. Like an animal. Like a tiny puppy barking its head off in an effort to say actually, my dear, I am big; don’t let the fact I’m cowering fool you. Yeah. Pollux had literally no idea what to do with himself or his feelings. He was unaccustomed to experiencing them like this. The way he wanted her was violent. The way she didn’t want him made him want her more. And, truly, he didn’t like the way that idea tasted in his brain. Kassandra was his soulmate. She deserved respect. Unless she also expressed a clear desire to fight, he would not give in to any of his depraved wishes. Part of having a soulmate was understanding that while soulmates were impeccably crafted for one another, they also served as a means to better each other.

Having insufficient data for things he could not ethically test made him itchy.

Pollux was much too aware she could reject him in favor of her human life. And he would have to respect that. Already, he found himself consumed by the mere concept of her. The level of adoration he held for her existence alone could be nothing short of the first buds of love. So if there were things in humanity that he might steal her from, things in humanity that she loved more than she may ever be willing to love him, he would have to come to terms with accepting that.

Kassandra was part human, raised human. He would propose to her in the human way to show his earnest intentions, and he would absolutely, completely, and entirely not bite her, grab her, or press her into anything until after she agreed to either court or marry him.

“Daddy?” Pollux cussed and turned on his heel, finding his little girl soaking up the shadows behind him. “Meda.” His heart was on the ceiling. Just a red, oozing glob. “What’s wrong, dear one?” Andromeda’s big blue eyes stared at him as she inched across his black carpet, cautious. “Did I…scare you?” “At the very least, you startled me. I was thinking inappropriate things about Kassandra and was sorely unprepared for a minor to appear behind me.” “Oooooh.” Andromeda’s beautiful shining eyes sparked as she planted a hand in front of her curling lips. “Tell me everything.” “Absolutely I will not.” He coughed. “You’re not old enough to comprehend these matters.”

“What’s it like having a soulmate?” “You’ll find out when you’re five hundred. Minimum.”

Andromeda grinned daggers at him. A smile of his own tugged on one corner of his mouth. “What?” “You’re such a daddy.”

“May I please take Ms. Role’s soul?” Andromeda asked. Pollux blinked and drew his mind from his wandering thoughts once again. “Why would you ask something like that, dear one?” “I don’t trust her with it. There’s a holiday of some kind coming

“Does she not want me there because she’ll be flirting with all the men?” she chimed. “What?” Pollux growled. “And probably thanking everyone. What if Castor is there? What if she thanks him?” Pollux’s heart hit the ceiling again as his stomach ripped itself in two. “Meda. Are you being devious?” “Entirely.” “It is not kind.”

My mind drifts, and I picture a certain someone’s father popping out of a Whac-A-Mole. Zahra grabs a gold and black helmet with cat ears off the corner of her daybed. “Are we ready to go, or are you going to keep picturing death-bonking Meda’s dad with one of my anime hammers?” I straighten and fix my little bee-tennae. “Um. Excuse me. Get out of my head.” She snorts. “Nope. It’s cozy in here. Lots of fifth-grade facts to soak in. Makes me feel smarter.”

Thank you.” Zahra tsks. “Don’t disappoint Meda. What if I’m fae? Teacher souls are the yummiest. I bet they do taste like chicken.”

At least up until the moment she sees a shiny person she knows all the way on the other side of the crowded room and abandons me like she’s not my emotional-support extrovert and the single lifeline I have in this mass of bubbling socialization. I’m left with half a chip ration in a large room full of people dressed like monsters all by myself.

I refrain from asking if his entire outfit—the plastic fangs—cost as much as his dignity.

“No means no.” His expression twists. “Don’t tell me you’re a feminist.” Oh, excellent. He’s one of those men. “Well, I do have my own bank account…so…you may make your own conjectures.”

He grabs my wrist. I fight the immediate revolt in favor of straightening my spine. “Hey, friend. That’s not appropriate behavior, okay?” His dumb mouth opens, so I tap a finger to my lips. “Uh-uh. No, sir. I’m talking. We don’t grab people, got it, got it? No. No, we do not. It’s not nice to grab people. How would you feel if someone grabbed you?” His grip tightens until it hurts. “What’s with that tone? Are you making fun of me, you—” He swears. It’s usually my deescalation tone. I’m so tired I forgot it doesn’t actually have the right effect on adults… Hence, I’m left staring blankly at Dracula and wondering if my next course of action—kneeing him in the groin—is a bit too dramatic a response as of yet. I mean.

While I’m mentally thumbing through my handbook on social etiquette, a hand larger than his reaches from behind, closes over his wrist, and pries him off me. Dracula goes more pale than he’d be in a black-and-white movie as Pollux glares down at him—lethal. Dark hair. Darker eyes. Murder. The sheer force of the murder in Pollux’s eyes shouldn’t send an odd tingle up my spine, but it seems to have done just that. Wordlessly, Pollux puppeteers Dracula, putting his massive frame between us. Dracula curses, stumbling the moment Pollux lets him go. “Sorry, man. She didn’t say she was taken. You—you should keep a better eye on your girl in a place like this.” Pollux’s fingers stretch and close. “I know what she said.” Dracula exhales a nervous laugh. “Right? See, so I’m not at—” “She said no. Get out of my sight before I string your entrails around the front lawn.” Dracula bolts while my heart does the tiniest, inexplicable leap, and I squint to make certain this person is Pollux. Sure, I’ve never seen someone quite his size before…but… Yep. No. It is him. He’s just wearing a large black coat this time. I guess everyone needs at least one redeemable quality.

While a breeze skates across my back, Pollux glances warily up at the massive skeleton and grunts. “Interesting.” “What is?” I ask, attempting to find my cordial, pleasing tones. “Does it make you feel small?” He exhales the touch of a laugh and…smiles at me. “When I’m around you? I constantly feel small.” I take a tiny step back. Adjusting his stance, he faces me squarely. “Why don’t you like me, Kassandra?” My smile might turn blinding. “What do you mean? What gives you the idea I don’t like you?” “The droves of hatred that spill off you whenever we’re in the same room, mostly.”

Some people aren’t worth stinging. Unless they are deadly allergic.

His chest provides the tiniest, feeblest meow. Which, to be certain, throws my innocent act off for a moment in favor of sincere confusion. Clearing his throat, he readjusts his jacket, peeks inside, and murmurs a soft curse. “Kassandra, I’m not great with…subtext. I’m…less than eloquent most of the time. I’ve had very limited experiences with…this sort of thing. If I’ve done something to upset you, I apologize. I would, however, also like to be blunt with an understanding I am not trying to offend you.” I do not know what’s going on. Did he just…apologize to me?

What does manage to surprise me…is when he removes a tiny white kitten with a tiny brown spot in the center of its tiny face from his coat. My mouth falls open. The fuzzy little thing yawns, mews. Its little brown-tipped ears flick. It’s brilliant blue eyes peek at me. Sleepy. And angelic. It might just be the most beautiful kitten I have ever seen.

It’s like his brain is shutting down. Just, marvelously frying to bits. Right in front of me.

“We will talk later.” Probably when she’s bailing me out of jail. For putting a steak knife through Pollux’s hand.

Castor knows how young you are, and that is one thing Pollux trusts he will respect.

“I’ve told you about Castor, the bad faerie prince. He’s upset with Uncle Cael because Uncle Cael never told him that he was unseelie, too. It’s all very dramatic, and we don’t know yet exactly what he’s planning.”

Truth be told once I’ve made it up the porch steps, beyond the foyer, and into the kitchen, the last horror I expect to see is Pollux in an apron. My eyes lock with his, and I swear the whites are black half a second before they aren’t. He swears. His gaze falls hard on his daughter before I can so much as choke out a greeting. “Meda, what the—” He curses.