Disclaimer: I do not own the Tairen Soul Series by C.L. Wilson. I do own Angela. Asterisks (*) mean I am referencing something. See below for citations.

This is an intense chapter. It will make sense going forward why Angela is the way she is and fleshing out the storyline.
For the record, all my FanFiction stories will end happily. I do not write sexual abuse stories.

Reviews are my motivation. As are questions to keep me on-track. Enjoy!


Ch. VII: Trying

Angela shifted in her sleep. Her eyes opening. For once, she did not feel ill. Angela slowly turned toward Cyr and stilled.

He's shimmering…? Angela thought, now fully awake.

Cyr's skin was glowing faintly from the moonlight. Angela had never seen anything like it before. His hair like a shadow across his shoulders. He looked almost boyish, he was so peaceful.

Angela's hand began to trace the lines and planes of his face. His eyelids fluttered; but remained closed.

He leaned into her touch and his leg wrapped around both of hers.

Angela's gasp stayed in the back of her throat.

What do I do? She thought frantically, her heart pounding.

Cyr frowned, pulling her so close she saw his individual eyelashes. Blinking, she realized they were the only feminine thing about him. They're so straight and long.

"Kem." Cyr mumbled. His arm tightening around her back and waist.

OK Angela. She thought trying to calm her heart. Just settle down. It seemed to be working. Cyr relaxed somewhat attuning himself to her.

Angela's hand continued her untutored caress on his face. It settled him. Although, his other leg wrapped under her foot. One of his arms locked around her waist.

For some reason Angela felt a sense of calm and peace surround her. It was as if she siphoned his emotions from his sleep-induced state.

Well if I'm going to be here awhile...I may as well continue, shouldn't I? She thought dryly, rolling her eyes.

His glow intensified due to the moon rising from their window and its rays spreading over their coverlet. Awed by his ethereal appearance she focused on his features. His lips appeared somewhat translucent. His skin flawless. His thick, arched eyebrows looked black against his skin. She thumbed away his frown. His skin felt smooth to her.

Just like expensive suede leather.

Cyr muttered something in Feyan she did not understand.

Then he moved.

To settle himself against her neck and chest.

Angela's face lit up like a cherry.

Oh my gods. Angela thought, trying not to hysterically giggle.

At the very least Angela would been slapped for such unladylike behavior in Norban. If anyone saw her...she would have been publicly humiliated and then some.

But you're not in Norban anymore. Angela thought soberly. Her hand remained on Cyr's head. And it doesn't look like you'll be returning anytime soonnot that you want to. She frowned.

Cyr's a gentleman. Angela reflected upon his behavior and her conversation with Lady Marissya when she first arrived. The very least you could do is follow the healer's orders and try for him...to get well...to get to know him better. He's been good to you...the best anyone has ever been to you.

Angela's family had been decent to her. But it is not the same as having a suitor. Angela thought about this for a long time. He is my first real suitor. Cyr nestled into her skin. Her heart flutter anew.

She hesitated. She pulled him closer to her and rested her face atop his head. Suddenly very tired, she drifted asleep. Somewhat less confused and more resolved.

I don't have anything you could use or want. Angela thought soberly. Other than my body. Angela shuddered. Causing Cyr to upturn his face in concern. She gulped. I don't have a dowry or even a skill to bring in bread. But...I could at least try to be your friend...and if the gods are truly kind...I won't get hurt like those other Norban women. The Fey seem to highly regard women for some reason. Her grey eyes widened with a flicker of hope amidst her anxiety. I hope Cyr is true and not like what I've seen from those Eldan or Norban men.

She gave herself a little shake Go to sleep...you'll think better when the sun's out.


Cyr took a deep breath. His nose scenting a floral fragrance and he opened his eyes. His cheek brushed the softest pillow he had ever lain on.

That is when he noticed a few things. His limbs tangled around a smaller, lukewarm body. And he felt a delicate hand nestle his hair as he raised himself slightly.

His shei'tani is lovely to look at. Her breath soft and her eyelashes long and curly. More red than brown crescents against her freckles; which splashed across her nose and cheeks accentuating her high cheekbones. Her thick curly hair cascaded across her shoulders.

Cyr gulped. Utterly taken by her. He did not want to leave her sweet embrace. Carefully, he disentangled himself. Angela frowned slightly and Cyr pressed his lips against her small frown.

He rose from their bed and noticed she immediately took his space and shivered. Cyr placed the coverlet closer to her.

She's still unable to get warm. Cyr thought perplexed.

He headed to his bath and mulled it over. In the interim, Angela awoke confused and she slowly propped herself on her elbows. Searching for Cyr.

Cyr touched her mind. His presence soothing to her.

«Kem'Angela.» He Spirited. Angela blinked and saw Cyr enter their bedroom fully dressed and he sat beside her.

"Good morning, ajiana." Cyr said kindly.

Angela stared at him. Her hand reaching for his cheek. She tilted her head assessing him.

Cyr remained perfectly still. Amber eyes intent on piercing grey ones.

Slowly, Angela rose until she was closer to Cyr. Her hand remained against his cheek. Her eyes searched his.

"Are you really real?" Angela asked softly, her expression serious. "Or are you a part of the moon? You glowed last night. You didn't seem real. But...you're breathing in front of me now."

Cyr smiled lightly against her cheek and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Aiyah, kem'ajiana I am real." He answered. "We Fey glow when the moon shines upon us. We can dim it at will using Spirit. It's just how the gods made us."

Angela nodded. "Thank you for keeping your promise last night." She said in the same soft, serious tone. She shifted leaning closer to him. "Your heart...it calms me when I hear it." She admitted. Her blush intensifying but she remained steadfast. "May we do that again tonight?"

Cyr was touched. He leaned against her hand. "Aiyah Angela. Every night if you so wish it." He said sincerely.

Angela smiled lightly. Then became serious.

"I have a lot of things I want to tell you...but I don't know how. I don't know if I can tell you quickly enough. Some things I'd rather not be known. And some things...I don't fully remember." She took a breath. "In Celierian, we call it 'having a few skeletons in the closet.'*"

She stared at him before continuing. "I―I may be ignorant, foolish and naïve." Angela said quietly. "I know I must seem very young and stilted to your 550 years. I've never had―had anything close to―to a, er," She rolled her eyes frustrated and scowled. "suitor before―I mean a shei'tan." Angela started seeing Cyr's eyes glowed a nearly amber gold. It is the first time Angela openly said it. "It does mean a suitor doesn't it?" She asked, getting sidetracked.

"Shei'tan means 'beloved, husband, truemate.' But aiyah, its associations start with being a suitor." Cyr said just as quietly. He waited for her to continue. His hand remained atop hers against his cheek. He refused to relinquish their connection.

Angela swallowed. Mama, I wish you were here to prepare me for these things. Doubtless, I'm botching it up.

At least she would be an honest fool.

"I get...easily scared because...well," Angela sighed. "When my family…" Angela scowled, not looking at him. She stared at his other hand on the coverlet. "Died." She said the word like curse. "I...received a lot of…" This is getting too hard. Angela looked befuddled and frustrated. She shook her head.

"I can't talk about that." She said closing her eyes. Breathing hard. She flinched on her left side. Her teeth grounding deep. Drawing instant protectiveness and worry from Cyr.

"I can tell you that...I'm scared of sudden movements on my―on my left side." Angela said slowly.

Cyr's eyes narrowed. He did not like where any of this was going.

"I'll remember that, Angela." Cyr said, his eyes flashing with white sparks. He carefully moved his hand from hers and slowly approached her like he would a wild animal.

Nei, my skittish doe. He thought fiercely. You've been brave enough already. It's my turn.

"You're not the only one who is scared, Angela." Cyr said softly, surprising her as he cupped her cheek. Gazing into her piercing grey eyes, he noted her freckles are a stark contrast to her blush.

"But―that's impossible." Angela protested. "The Fey are fearless."

Cyr smirked at her. He regarded her fondly. "We are taught to appear fearless. And aiyah we are a fierce, magical race. But that doesn't mean we don't worry, have hopes and dreams dashed, or bleed when cut."

Angela frowned slightly. She did not quite believe him...however, he settled her in a different way. She leaned her ear into his chest. Cyr blinked. Then he relaxed and held Angela to his heart.

Angela listened and sighed in contentment. She snuggled into Cyr. He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long moment before she began shivering. Releasing her, Cyr searched her face.

Leaning down, Cyr softly kissed her forehead and moved to trace the left side of her face. She trembled; but did not pull away.

One day, Cyr fiercely promised. you will know how brave, beautiful and lovely you are. I will make sure of that.

She tensed and slowly tilted her face to his lips. Her breathing remained a little erratic. Her eyes moving around the room.

But she's trying. Cyr thought and rewarded her with a gossamer kiss on her cheek. He carefully extricated himself and pulled her from the bed; and led her to their en suite. Flicking his wrist, he grabbed her saffron-and-crimson dress along with his courtship gift wrapped in the sleeve.

He set her things on the marble table in the en suite. He held her and led her to the bath as he refilled it like he did before. Her form tucked into his side. Checking the temperature, he turned to his shei'tani.

"I'll be back in a quarter-bell, shei'tani." He told her. "Please remain inside until then."

Angela nodded. She felt a little out of sorts after their moment and wanted to take a long soak to warm up and clear her head.

Leaving Angela to it, Cyr exited and locked their room by keying it to his magic. It is a standard among truemated males. Every male was taught the same combination before locking it fully with their specific magics. In Cyr's case, he locked it with a combination of Air, Earth and Spirit*.

Cyr walked toward Sol Baristani's bedroom and politely knocked. It surprised Cyr when he heard the clock chime 10 bells.

"Coming!" Sol exclaimed as he fumbled for the door. He had been working on a new block of wood his bond-son gave to him.

"Oh!" Sol said smiling at Cyr. "How are you and the missus doing?"

Cyr smiled back in greeting. "She is preparing for the day. She is well. May I come in?"

"Of course you can, Cyr." The smaller man said, clapping the Fey warrior on the shoulder. "Sit, sit. I'm about to make some keflee. Would you care for some?"

"Aiyah, Master Baristani." Cyr said. Keflee sounded necessary.

Cyr took a look around the woodcarver's bedroom. Not surprised to see everything neatly arrayed and a broom in the corner to gather his shavings. There was a smaller table specifically for eating and non-woodcarving things. Sitting, Cyr politely accepted the keflee and drank it, gathering his thoughts as the woodcarver eyed Cyr.

"Cyr," Sol said. "Your Angela is a very good girl. I knew her when she worked as an apprentice to Maestra Knowles." Sol closed his eyes, his lips thinning making Cyr tense.

"What do you know of mortals in the trades?" Sol asked.

Cyr shook his head by way of answer.

"Maestra Knowles either did this―which would be...cruel and disappointing." Sol said seriously, his dark eyes grim. "Or another apprentice did. Because Angela is―was a dedicated seamstress apprentice."

Cyr straightened. Again, not liking where a certain conversation was going regarding his shei'tani's treatment.

Sol set down his cup and showed Cyr his hand. "Do you see this?" The older man said pointing to the webbing between his forefinger and middle fingers. Cyr nodded.

"Angela's has been cut. Which means she can no longer sew." Sol said bluntly. "It also means, Angela's talent is not only viciously taken from her; but so has her ability to provide for herself―or her family," Sol inclined his head to Cyr. "it also means she feels like a complete burden and a true spinster living off the charity of others." Sol's jaw tightened.

"Norban is a terribly backward town to grow up in if you're a girl or a young woman." Sol said grimly. "And Angela...would have been targeted in particular."

"Why?" Cyr demanded, his keflee cup frozen in midair. White sparks appearing in his eyes for a moment.

"Because Angela Michaelson has been rumored to being an illegitimate child. Specifically an illegitimate daughter." Sol explained patiently. Cyr's jaw popped.

"Why does that matter? All children are a sacred gift from the gods." Cyr protested vehemently. The Fey would kill for such an opportunity. Parentage and illegitimacy be damned.

Sol inclined his head to Cyr. "And I would agree with you. However, in Norban, Angela would have been shunned and so would have been her mother to a lesser extent. Oftentimes, children are blamed for the sins of their parents despite their innocence." Sol continued. "Angela did not look like a Norban. And," Sol sighed closing his eyes. "I recall her father, Vandar." Sol pursed his lips. "He was a good blacksmith. But a hard man. I believe Kyle, her brother, was a very stable influence in her life. And her mother adored her. But Vandar? I have no idea what he was like. My late wife, Lauriana," Sol gulped. "Made me swear that if things got tight we'd remain in any town except Norban―or anywhere north for that matter. In the event our daughters became spinsters, we would instruct them to do just about anything except go to Norban."

Cyr understood completely. His shei'tani would have been abused. He did not get the sense she had been sexually abused in any way. Her innocence and naïveté belied that exposure. Praise the gods.

But she would have been harassed with bodily harm. It explained her skittishness perfectly. It also clued him into her worldview better. Angela felt like a burden as she was made to believe growing up as a child. Obviously, that perception spilled into her adulthood. And, her one talent she felt she had was ruined for her.

We'll just have to find a new one. He thought fiercely.

Cyr drank the rest of his keflee.

Standing, he returned the cup. "Beylah vo, Master Baristani." Cyr said sincerely. He reached out a hand to shake the old woodcarver. Fey senses being what they were, they did not touch lightly. Yet, Cyr did not mind for he deeply respected Sol for informing him of his shei'tani's culture and history.

The bespeckled man shook his hand, with a faint smile. "I'll do everything I can to help your girl, young man." He eyed Cyr for a moment. "You're good for her, Cyr."

Cyr gulped and bowed to the woodcarver. "You bring honor to this Fey." He said. Turning on his heel, the Fey warrior exited the woodcarver's bedroom and made his way to the kitchens. He grabbed several hot things as it is around brunch. Glancing outside he nicked a Sweet Kaidra rose for his shei'tani and made his way to their bedroom. He unlocked the door using his magic and recoded it so they would not be disturbed.

Cyr placed their food on the breakfast table. The curtains were opened by Angela and he looked outside.

It rained heavily.

Cyr scowled at the rain. Really? I wanted to surprise my shei'tani with another picnic.

Speaking of said shei'tani...where was she? The bed was remade. He walked slowly toward their en suite.

She is not there.

"Angela?" Cyr called, frowning. His mind calling simultaneously for her.

He did not brush her mind.

Cyr began to panic. Where is she?! I locked the door?!

The armoire door opened. Angela trembled, her eyes too large for her heart-shaped face. She remained inside it, frozen in place.

Cyr raced to her just as the storm picked up. Angela clutched Cyr making a frightened mewling sound, chilling him. His eyes widened as his mind embraced her memory.

Angela was in Greatwood Forest. It had been a day since her parents' deaths. She had not been hungry. She was grieving. The thunder rumbled and covered her screams of denial.

She was hungry now.

Wiping her eyes she knocked on the first door she saw. She was soaked to the bone. Her clothes form-fitting.

The door opened to reveal a middle-age man. "Well what have we here?" He sneered.

"Please sir, may I spend the night in your barn?"

The middle-aged man grinned. "You could warm my bed for some bread."

Angela ran.

She did not stop running.

She heard the man laugh and say lewd things about her. He did not chase her.

He sent his dogs after her. She climbed a tree. Her scent washing away in the rain. The dogs returned to their master and were struck. She almost pitied them but thought they were dogs and had fur to survive.

It was the first time she realized what the traveling priest meant by 'you poor, orphaned spinster girl.' She believed in the gods...but she was more afraid of the church. She had seen the way the younger priests regarded her and her brother had told her to steer clear or remain at his side when they went for service.

"I'm sure they're not all bad, Angie." He had told her. "But men are still men." He shrugged. "Men have faults. The gods do not. Which do you think would overcome a person, truly?" His eyes showed regret. "I didn't mean it quite like that, Angie. Come on, let's go play Stones, OK?" Her brother had said that three days before his untimely death in a horseback accident.

Now? Angela was not only a poor, orphaned spinster girl...but she had no skill to bring in bread. Not after what happened in Maestra Knowles' shop.

Angela would rather kill herself than be sold or offer herself for a man's pleasure. Her brother and mother often told her she was beautiful; but she did not believe it. If she were so beautiful, then why had all the so-called potential suitors not come near her? Even if she had an overprotective brother, they should have fought for her. It just did not make any sense to Angela.

And all she had for her troubles, were tormented feelings and being cold, wet and hungry.

Damn the gods and damn the thunderstorm.

Angela had found a bear's den and prayed if the bear found her it would be quick.

She left it as soon as she prayed.

I have to live for Lady Marissya and help the Fey. She thought bitterly.

Angela found a thicket and saw a dead doe on the ground. It had starved earlier.

Angela cried bitterly. Her brother promised never to kill a deer in front of her, knowing how much she liked them. It seemed a cruel twist of fate for her to survive on what she viewed as herself.

She ate the venison. All of it. She tore the deerskin off and used it to cover herself.

She lived like that for nearly two years until she met Ravel. Barely a step ahead of her former village neighbors and their wickedness. She was often called the Feral Spinster and would be hunted from time to time. With their dogs. And traps.

Cyr immediately wove Air to close the drapes and gathered his frightened shei'tani in his arms. He wove a privacy weave around their suite to protect against the thunderous sound using Air and Spirit. Anything at all to guide his shei'tani back to him without fear.

He spoke to her in Feyan, forcing his voice to calm when he was anything but calm. He added this current injustice to his desire to torch Norban to the ground. I'll discover everything. He swore as he gathered her and replaced her on the bed. He drew their curtains around them from the large, four-poster bed. He lit candles and guided it with Air keeping it away from the curtains and settling Angela somewhat.

She saw the light and felt the warmth. She is still very much afraid and aware she is no longer alone.


References: I made up the spell around the locking doors. I am sure there are other spells. But, this story is AU. :-). Essentially, anything non-canon is AU.
Ditto for 'skeletons in the closet.' comment.