A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [69]
The only problem was, Mace still didn’t understand how such a thing could be possible. He wasn’t human, and he couldn’t be human, no matter how he refined his shape. He hadn’t even been shaped as a human when he’d loved Sally. All he had was her word that he was the father.
“I believe your mother,” he said. “If she says I’m your father, then I am.”
Travish gaped at him, obviously not expecting such a calm, assured reply. His tension returned a moment later, though, and his mouth firmed. “That wasn’t a yes.”
“Do you want me to put you over my knee and spank you to prove it?”
Travish blinked at him and then laughed, the sound of it open and honest, amused. The reaction seemed to catch him by surprise. Mace blinked and continued to watch, his hands flat on his knees. He pulled back more of the hate and saw Travish relax.
“It’s crazy. It can’t be.”
“How did your mother explain it?” Mace asked.
Travish shrugged. “She just said it was a gift.”
“It’s the Winter Festival. It’s all about celebrating the magical gifts the Gift Giver gave and that you humans now give each other, isn’t it?” It made sense to say this, even though he’d never thought of the festival that way before.
Travish glanced around at the stacks of goods. There weren’t any Winter Festival ornaments in the stable; the entire camp was bare of them. “Yeah, well, this certainly isn’t the place for any magic gifts.”
He fell quiet, as did Mace. Travish was lost in his own thoughts, and Mace reeled the hate back even more, struggling to get the trick of not sending it to this man even as he projected it to everyone else. The trick seemed to be working, though he was certain Travish wasn’t entirely spared. Mace didn’t want to stop projecting to the rest of the brigands, though, and he frowned, wishing for once that he’d bothered to learn it in the first place.
“What is it?” Travish asked.
“I’m trying not to push my hate aura at you,” Mace told him. “It’s not simple to avoid a single person.”
Travish flashed surprise. “Why would you bother?”
Mace lifted his hands, palms up. “You’re not my enemy. Your mother asked me to bring you home.”
Travish stared at him, surprised. Then his anger flared up again. “Home? If I’ve got a home anywhere, it’s this place. I’m accepted here. If I’m the bastard son of a whore, then so are half the men here. No one gives a shit.”
“No one would give a shit in Sylph Valley either,” Mace told him.
Travish blinked. After a moment, he spoke again. “Sylph Valley is full of nothing but whores.”
He sounded unsure.
Mace shrugged, though he loathed the use of the word whore and once would have been driven to violence by it. “Only to men who think a woman should have no choices in her life.” He leveled his gaze at Sally’s son. “Or do you think your mother was happy in that kitchen for your entire childhood?”
Travish had to look away again. He felt guilt for that, but there was a young man’s bitterness and rage mixed in there as well, a desperate need for someone to blame.
Mace didn’t know if he was going to reach the young man. He didn’t know if Travish’s bitterness was too deep for him to see any better path than the one he was on now, or if he could—or should—be forgiven for having taken it. Mace didn’t know what his crimes were among these bandits. He’d held Jayden’s arm until it bruised, and he was in a camp filled with stolen goods. How many of the original owners had Travish helped kill?
Yet Sally wanted him to get Travish out, and Lily wanted him to save Jayden. That was enough—for now.
“I want you to help me rescue Jayden,” Mace told him.
“Why would I do that?” Travish sounded incredulous.
“Because he’s now in the same position you were,” Mace said. “And he doesn’t deserve it any more than you did.”
Travish laughed, his voice bitter and mocking, but Mace felt his pain as he backed