A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #1)(9)

“No…” I pushed forward gleefully. “Is she going to propose?”

“Women don’t propose, Finley. I think she wants to ask me to propose to her, though. She’s not been subtle about her…desires.”

I could feel my toothy grin. Hannon was not like most guys in our spit-wad of a village. He didn’t chase skirts and visit the pubs after dark to fornicate with succubi. He liked to get to know a lady before progressing to the next level. Because of that and his stout frame and gingerific good looks, he did seem to get to the next level (banging) every time he put the effort in. He just didn’t put the effort in very much.

And that drove the ladies wild.

“Women aren’t supposed to hunt, either. Or wear ill-fitting men’s trousers. Yet here I am…”

“You’re different.”

“You just think that because I’m your sister. Boys aren’t supposed to cook and look after their families, and yet you excel at that better than most women. Maybe she’s your true mate.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. True mates aren’t possible.”

“You know what I mean.” I recited it as if to a dunce. “Maybe she’d be your true mate if the curse hadn’t suppressed all our animals, and we could actually function like real shifters.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t think true mates ever existed. I’ve read the histories, same as you, and none of them confirm they’re real.”

“First of all, our library is small and limited, and before the curse, people weren’t looking to learn about their shifter traits from books. They learned about that from their peers. So it makes sense that we wouldn’t have many volumes on shifter functionality. I know that because I whined about it, and that’s what I was told. Second, those that are carried are histories focused on the nobles and kings and queens and important people. They marry for money and power. They don’t give a shit about love. Common people like us have a better chance at finding our true mate.”

I didn’t actually believe that, but I loved to play devil’s advocate. I knew for a fact that my brother did wish to meet his true mate. That he would honor his animal’s choice (should he ever meet his animal, locked inside of him), and mate her as nature intended.

I, myself, did not believe in destined anything. I wasn’t the type to allow anyone to push me around, even if it was my own primal side doing the pushing. Nor did I give a crap about love and mating. Not anymore. Not since I’d gotten my heart ripped out and stomped on two years ago. My ex had dumped me and then quickly gone on to mate a toothy girl dedicated to needlepoint and looking after him.

His reasoning for the breakup? He needed someone ready and able to run a house. He wanted a “proper” wife.

Apparently in his eyes, and in the eyes of most of the people in the village, a proper wife didn’t hunt better than her husband, or at all. She didn’t tan hides, play with knives, and wear trousers. Nor did she look after villagers ailing from the curse’s sickness more than she would tend to her husband’s less-than-dire needs. This was because she would’ve (apparently incorrectly) assumed her husband was an adult and didn’t need a nursemaid to wipe his mouth and assure him he was the master of the universe. Silly her.

Clearly I would be single forever. It really wasn’t a huge loss, though, given the dickfaces in this village. It was just too bad about the dry spell for the last two years. That wasn’t so easily borne, especially with lust demons wandering around.

“I think true mates are incredibly rare,” Hannon murmured.

“Well, yeah. There is one person in all of the magical world meant for us? And they have to be the same type of shifter, same overall power level, and same general age… Lots of ‘ands.’ But it is doable, or else we wouldn’t have a name for it. Besides, Daphne is very pretty and very willing. I know how you like them curves, too.”

I could see his cheek and ear turn bright crimson. He was very easy to embarrass. I made it my goal to do it at least once a day.

“I’m too young to marry,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, right. That’s not even remotely true, and you know it. Not since the curse. None of us have a long life expectancy anymore—we need to get life rolling. Hell, if that donkey hadn’t dumped me, I might be mated with a bun in the oven right now.”

“Still,” he muttered.

I ignored the pang in my broken heart and tapped the counter. “Do you have a list, or should I guess what we need?”

“We don’t have enough coin for you to guess.”

“This is true. I’m pretty hungry. I go crazy when I shop hungry. Hurry up with that bread.”

He glowered at me, the red in his cheeks just now starting to seep away.

“Oh hey…” He pulled the slip of oddly shaped, overly thick, beige-splotched handmade paper from the edge of the counter and held it out.

We didn’t have normal paper anymore. We couldn’t power the machines to make it. Instead, we either had to make it by hand from wood pulp, plants, and any paper left over from before the curse, or trade for it. Parchment could be made, as well, though that was more expensive and reserved for special situations.

In this house, we received it as a thanks for helping with the everlass or elixir. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.