Chapter Nine
The Witch Hunter’s Tale
She shot to her feet and whirled around wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Only after realized who it was did she relax a little. In the dim firelight, he saw her cheeks darken somewhat alluringly as she stared up at him through her lashes.
“I…I was just looking for some firewood,” she replied. “I guess I got a little curious and decided to look around.”
In her hands, she clutched the wallet. August’s heart immediately began hammering in his chest. What was she doing with that ?
He’d been worried when he awoke to find her gone. For a moment, he’d entertained all sorts of troubling thoughts about what might have happened to her. But here she was, snooping around. He scowled at the sight of Alaina’s wallet.
“Give it to me,” he said thickly, holding out a hand. “Now.”
She handed the wallet to him, and he stared at it for a moment, pulling out the plastic card. Alaina’s face stared back at him, unsmiling. For a split second, August felt like he’d been lanced through the chest as the memory hit him again—that distant yell, Alaina’s eyes widening in terror seconds before the explosion…
Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. In just a few weeks, it would be the anniversary of his wife’s murder at the hands of a witch. This card was a painful reminder that he didn’t need it. He considered slipping it back into the wallet but instead tossed the wallet into the box and slipped the card into his pocket. Then he faced the witch who was staring back at him.
“You must be tired,” he said.
She seemed to realize she was leaning against the table and nodded, her cheeks darkening some more. Silently declining his offer to support her, she headed for one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and plunked down on it with a soft sigh that made his insides flutter.
After what had happened between them the other day, he’d been unable to get her out of her mind. How much time had passed? A week and some days? He’d gotten used to feeding her and holding her as she slept. Time seemed to pass more quickly while she was unconscious. And when she wasn’t, it stopped.
“You must be cold,” he told her, and without waiting for a response, he headed for a stack of wooden logs tucked by the side of the fireplace, practically obscured from view in the dim light. He tossed a couple of logs onto the fire, watching it flare and brighten the room. Satisfied with the heat from the flame, he took the seat opposite Daphne, who didn’t meet his eyes.
“How are things on Earth?” he wanted to know.
“Terrible,” came her reply, and he finally caught her grey-eyed gaze. “They think I’m a terrorist.”
“Who?”
“The feds.” When he frowned, she gave a wave of her hand. “The FBI. They’re…authorities. And they’ve got my grimoire. I don’t think they’re going to let me go anytime soon. For now, I’m their prisoner.”
He stared at her, unsure how to respond. It was one thing to be stuck slipping between worlds. It was another to be a prisoner in both.
“You know,” she said, staring into the flames, “I wonder if I could have avoided all this. If I’d just stayed home, if I hadn’t tried to open a portal, maybe none of this would be happening. I know it wasn’t my magic that opened that portal, but I can’t help feeling a bit responsible for Flight 18. Maybe if I hadn’t boarded that flight…”
I wouldn’t have met you.
The thought crept into his mind just then, startling him. If she hadn’t arrived on Frost Mountain, he would never have met her. It was an idea he should have relished. Instead, he found himself brushing it out of his mind.
He surprised himself by speaking. “Do you feel responsible because you survived the plane crash? Not many people do whenever a plane appears on Frost Mountain.” When her eyebrows furrowed, he added. “Or is it because a part of you gets to stay back on Earth while everyone else on that flight is either dead or struggling to survive on Frost Mountain?”
The shrug she gave him was noncommittal.
With a deep sigh, August leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the bearskin rug. “I understand that kind of guilt,” he said after a moment of silence. “I know what it’s like to see people suffer a fate they shouldn’t have. I know what it’s like to feel helpless to do anything about it.”
“You’re talking about Alaina,” she said.
His head snapped up so suddenly he thought he might have injured himself. How had she figured that out?
“It was a lucky guess,” she added. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
He stared at her for a few seconds. Tired though she looked, she was an appealing sight. Her blonde hair was tucked carefully over her ear; her lips puckered slightly. The sight of her seated barely five feet away caused a stirring in his trousers, and he wondered if she would object to him sliding his fingers through her hair.
Or between her luscious thighs.
Slowly, he nodded.
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
The stirring died down almost instantly. He blinked at her, trying to come up with an appropriate response.
“Witch-hunting has been a part of my family ever since the first of us was exiled to Frost Mountain.”
By your ancestor and her coven, he refrained from adding.
“My ancestor, Andrew Kane, was embittered by the shifters’ treatment at the hands of the witches. He had a gift of foresight that revealed to him whenever a witch was nearby, and he swore to use it to destroy any witch who set foot on Frost Mountain.”
He paused, then said, “Witch-hunting has been a tradition in my family for centuries. My mother was a witch-hunter. I am the last Kane.”
“I’m the last Emerson,” she said and suddenly stiffened like she hadn’t meant to utter those words.
“Alaina,” he went on, “was my wife.”
He turned his gaze to the flames, his jaw clenching as the memories he’d struggled to keep at bay for so long broke through the dam in his mind.
“She was from Earth,” he said. “A human, to be precise. I found her one evening, many years ago, after one of your vehicles—a car, she called it—crashed onto the mountain. I brought her back to my cabin and allowed her to live with me for weeks and months. By the end of the first year, we’d fallen in love.
“She became my wife the year after,” he went on, his eyes narrowing at the memory. “What we had would have lasted much longer than it did had I not…hesitated.”
Daphne leaned forward. “Hesitated? What do you mean?”
“I had a vision.”
“Oh.”
“It was Valentine’s Day. A witch had just arrived on Frost Mountain. It was up to me to stop her before she caused any trouble. So I went out in search of her. Alaina insisted on coming along.” He swallowed. “She promised that she would take cover when the time came. She was merely a healer; she had no business joining my battle with the witch.
“When we did find the witch, Alaina went back on her promise. The witch seemed to be in distress. She was bleeding heavily from a gash in her side, barely moments away from death. The crash had severely wounded her. Alaina rushed to help her. And that was when…it happened.”
Daphne blinked, apparently eager to hear the rest of his story.
“The witch attacked her. Drained the very life out of Alina to heal herself. By the time I reached them, the witch was gone, and Alaina was…Alaina was no more than a corpse. I hunted the witch down and took off her head, but a heavy price had already been paid. And all because I hesitated. When I saw the witch, I could have struck her down immediately. But she looked like she was hurt. My hesitation caused Alaina’s death.”
August was aware of the next few seconds ticking by slowly in silence. Finally, she said, “I’m really sorry about Alaina.”
He might have been imagining the look of guilt in her eyes or not. He sighed. “It’s why I didn’t hesitate to try and kill you when I first laid eyes on you. I couldn’t afford to make the same mistake.”
“Yeah, I think aiming for my neck made that pretty clear,” she replied. A shrewd look flickered in her eyes. “But I’m still alive. What changed?”
Her question struck him like a lightning bolt. What had changed?
“You must be hungry,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll prepare some food.”