Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
B esides the single lantern Eleanor provided us, there was nothing to provide light or heat inside the stable. It forced me and Arwyn to sit almost face to face, blankets wrapped around our shoulders, sharing heat from one another’s bodies. Which made it really awkward, because Arwyn was currently giving me the silent treatment. He was colder to me than the night air around us.
I turned to the alcohol Eleanor provided for warmth, since it was that or asking Arwyn to take me in his arms again, and clearly we were beyond that.
Turned out, drinking did the opposite at making me not care. I hyper-fixated on whatever issue he had with me, to the point I was boiling over with the need to break the silence. Since returning to the stable, his mood had been thunderous. Although he’d not said a word, from the looks he gave me to the impenetrable silence he was forcing us to sit through, I could tell he was angry about something. And frankly, I didn’t have the patience to deal with a grown man throwing his toys out of the pram.
I was almost a whole bottle of mead down when I finally asked Arwyn what was bothering him.
‘What’s up with you?’ I asked, hiccupping after downing two gulps of mead.
‘Nothing,’ Arwyn snapped.
Liar . ‘You’ve had a face like a slapped arse since we left Eleanor’s house.’
‘Then stop looking at me.’
A deranged laugh bubbled up inside of me. I fought the urge to smack the glass bottle over his head. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Arwyn.’
He stared me down, drinking me in. At least I was suddenly something worthy of his attention. ‘It takes more than a boy like you to flatter me.’
Boy like me? Now that pissed me off. ‘You couldn’t even begin to understand what type of boy I am, Arwyn. Don’t kid yourself.’
In the dark, his eyes had a dark navy hue, like the deepest parts of the ocean. I wished I didn’t care about that minute detail, but with the little space between us, there wasn’t much else to distract myself with—besides the grimoire stashed in my pocket, the one I’d not shown Arwyn yet. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone back to treating me like a rival, I would’ve shown him. For now, it’d be my little secret.
‘I don’t intend to figure it out,’ Arwyn said, gritting his teeth, eyes shifting, all suggesting otherwise.
‘Seriously, what is your problem?’ The mead was talking. It gave me confidence. Sober me would’ve found a space on the straw-covered floor and slept. But drunk me enjoyed the tango of an argument. It was almost too natural to get into it with Arwyn.
Enjoyable, perhaps. A distraction, certainly.
‘Ever since we left Eleanor, you’ve hardly said a word to me. And don’t give me some shite excuse, if you expect us to see this trial through together, start being honest. If something is bothering you, say it.’
‘You.’
‘Well, fuck me. If that wasn’t already obvious.’ I rocked back where I was sitting, almost tipping over the bale of hay. ‘I know I asked for honesty, but sugar coating it a little wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘I don’t sugar coat anything, Hector. You asked, and now I’ve told you. Get back to keeping that bottle of mead to yourself and leave me in peace.’
I thrust the bottle towards him, so hard it smashed into his chest with a thump. Not to my surprise, Arwyn didn’t react. He simply looked down the perfect point of his nose to the bottle and my hand, then took it from me.
‘Dare I ask what exactly I’ve done?’
‘Where do I even begin?’
‘Twat,’ I spat.
Arwyn glowered over the neck of the bottle as he tipped it back. I wished I was strong enough to hold his gaze, but the second a dribble of alcohol ran down the corner of his lips, my eyes drifted. I watched it run over his chin, catching in the days of stubble growing on his jaw. The droplet rolled down the plane of his neck and then disappeared into the neckline of his tunic.
‘My eyes are up here,’ Arwyn said, bringing me back to the moment by placing two fingers beneath my chin and lifting my face up. ‘Not down there.’
So now he was flirting with me again?
‘You’re a puzzle,’ I snapped, flustered by his ability to shift from disdain to, dare I say it, playing. ‘And I fucking hate puzzles.’
It took Arwyn a moment to retrieve his fingers from my chin. Then it was his lingering warmth that pissed me off more. Normal me would not jolt forwards and push someone— actually who was I kidding. Yes, normal me would.
Arwyn slumped backwards, the rest of the mead spilling over his shirt. He landed on his back, sprawled out, whilst I stumbled to my feet and hovered over him.
‘You ignore me,’ I sneered down over him. ‘You tell me that I’m the problem. Then you touch my face like I’m some long-forgotten lover. Either continuously treat me like your enemy, or don’t. This game is fraying my last nerve.’
A hand clamped my ankle as I stepped back. The room turned on its axis as I tipped and ended up on the floor. There was shuffling, straw being crushed beneath the weight of a body. By the time the dizzy spin stopped, Arwyn was straddling me. ‘I’d argue that this game is only just getting interesting.’
‘Get off me.’
Arwyn leaned down, like a shadow blanketing me. ‘Make me.’
I strained my neck up as much as his weight allowed. ‘You really want a repeat of what happened the other day?’
‘It’s all I’ve been dreaming of,’ Arwyn goaded with a smile, infuriating me more. If I had my Gift, this man would’ve been flying through the ceiling of the stable. Although he might have preferred that after my next dirty move.
I brought my knee up, smashing it into his groin. Arwyn’s eyes widened, his mouth parting in a gasp. The weight eased enough for me to roll out from under him. Hekate, I really shouldn’t have drunk that ale. Just the sudden movement made the room spin violently again. Turned out, all my knee to the dick achieved was us both being stretched on the floor beside each other.
I was the first to laugh. Arwyn followed. It didn’t take long for us to be in a fit of giggles, hands clamped to our mouths. The room had not stopped spinning. In fact, I was forced to shut my eyes just so this sudden humour didn’t melt straight into sickness.
‘You win,’ Arwyn announced. He reached out and grasped my hand. The moment he anchored himself to me, the spinning stopped. Everything stilled. I thought alcohol dulled the senses, and yet here I was hyper-aware of everything about Arwyn.
It then hit me that the alcohol was provided by a witch. Who was to say the mead wasn’t spelled for a purpose?
‘Of course I do,’ I replied.
‘Interesting, do you always get what you want, Hector?’
My throat dried instantaneously. ‘Yes, actually. I do.’
Arwyn rolled over to face me. I caught him out the corner of my eye. He watched my profile for a moment, took an inhale and then decided now would be the moment to answer my first query.
‘I’ve been unfair to you tonight, and I’m sorry. I just… I overhead some of the things you were saying to Eleanor and it… uncovered a few memories I try my darnedest to keep buried.’
‘ Thou shalt not fear the truth ,’ I stammered some old verse I’d heard banded around. ‘Or the ability to apologise for being a prick. So, thanks.’
Arwyn mumbled something beneath his breath. I turned to face him, just in time to see him wince.
‘Shit, now I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Does it hurt you when someone is being insensitive?’
He didn’t miss my obvious sarcasm, but I had to admit to myself, I regretted it the moment I saw the clear discomfort in his eyes. Me. I’d caused that.
‘It’s fine.’ Arwyn sat up and hooked his arms around his knees.
I don’t know what drove me to do it, but I followed him, running my hands over his back to comfort him. Where my palm brushed, his muscles tensed. ‘Would this be the moment I stopped being a dickhead, and ask you what you overheard? Unless my prying into those memories you want to keep buried makes me more of the twat?’
Arwyn peered over his shoulder. When our eyes connected, the pressure of a force collided with me. ‘I lost my mother to Witch Hunters as well, Hector.’
He didn’t need to say more. I knew what that felt like. Arwyn’s reaction to the Witch Hunters earlier, the way he panicked and then the distance tonight. It all pointed towards trauma response—fight, flight or freeze. Arwyn had experienced all three in the space of twenty-four hours.
I bit my lip. ‘Lost or…’
Arwyn swallowed hard. ‘Killed. Seems like many of us witches share that story.’
Beyond the stable’s walls, thunder rumbled across the sky. Not but eight seconds later, stark-white light flashed between the cracks in the panels. A storm was brewing. But what I couldn’t ignore, was I’d been accusing Arwyn of being one of the very monsters who killed his mother. If I was accused of such things, it would hurt me more than I could imagine.
‘Then we’ve found out we have something in common,’ I said, trying to distil the brewing tension. ‘At last.’
‘That we have. Although I think sharing a favourite colour or food would’ve been better,’ Arwyn replied.
‘Yeah, I guess that would’ve been a little less morbid.’
Another rumble of thunder sounded, and I felt my skin prickle. Now wasn’t the time to reveal my hatred of storms to Arwyn, although I got the impression that we were beyond hiding our truths from one another. But storms always took me back to that night. The night Witch Hunters broke into my home and slaughtered my family.
‘Can I ask you something, Hector?’ Arwyn spun to face me so we were once again sitting inches before each other. The move forced my hands to fall, and I found them feeling odd without something to touch. Offering Arwyn comfort with words was still not my speciality, but touch came more natural to me.
‘Yes,’ I replied, unable to find another word. That singular answer portrayed more power than a speech could. ‘Should I be worried about what you want to know?’
Arwyn shook his head, bright eyes never leaving me. ‘Where did you go? I mean, when your parents were killed. We all know your story, we all know the speculations and whispers surrounding what happened to you. But the one fact all witches agree on, was you were at that house when the Witch Hunters came. Except they didn’t find you, nor did the witches who came to retrieve you.’
I was sobering up, quickly. Just peaking back through the window of time, to that night, was powerful enough to clear my body and soul of the mead. ‘Tell me what you think, and I will say if you’re right or wrong.’
‘Well,’ Arwyn said, refusing to look anywhere else but me. ‘I think they got you out. You and your… familiar. Now I’ve had the pleasure of spending some quality time with Caym, I understand how you survived for so long alone.’
Alone. The word felt like a punch.
‘Caym has served as my protector since that night. It was my mother’s last gift to me, a familiar. Without it, I don’t think I’d have made it this far, let alone survived that night. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t run.’
Arwyn’s expression faltered, as though a mask had dropped for a moment, revealing the horror beneath. He did well to re-erect it. ‘If you didn’t run then…”
‘I was there, that night.’ The echo of old screams bounced around my skull. There was no ignoring Hector’s horrified reaction, how his eyes widened and his hands balled into fists. ‘Caym can hide me in the shadows, conceal me from prying eyes, which is actually what he did. I couldn’t see what the Witch Hunters were doing to my parents, but I could hear it. Every. Fucking. Sound.’
Thud. Thud. Thud.
For the second time that night, the tears began to fall. And again, I refused to clear them. I just stared at the ground between us, frozen to the core, as my body felt as helpless as it had all those years ago.
‘You…were in the room?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. I heard the door break open, the footsteps and shouts’ Thud, thud, thud. ‘My parents pleading. Father Tomin… his voice is still loud in my head. Then I heard the athame enter my mother’s body over and over. I heard her last breath. Everything. Every sound, every word, every noise that might not have been important. And it haunts me, even now. And it will until I rid the world of Father Tomin and every Witch Hunter who is blind enough to follow him.’
Arwyn was speechless, his eyes unblinking as he looked at me. ‘I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. That must’ve been hell.’
‘It was,’ I said, teeth gritted together so tight my jaw ached. ‘But don’t pity me. Pity the person who took that knife and killed my parents. Pity Tomin when I repay the favour.’
‘I do,’ Arwyn said softly, laying a hand on mine. I didn’t know I was shaking until he did. ‘I pity them.’
The storm was above us. Thunder boomed, followed by a cascade of lightning. Rain slammed into the stable, like the hammering of fists against wood. Even beneath all the noise, I could hear some drip inside, soaking the straw-coated floor into a damp puddle.
‘We should try and sleep,’ Arwyn said, his entire demeanour hardening before me. ‘Tomorrow we need to leave. Try and figure out how to end this trial, preferably alive.’
Between the storm and the memory, I hardly imagined sleep would be possible. But I nodded, glad the conversation came to an abrupt end. Hugging my arms around myself, I watched Arwyn take spare blankets and lay them out across the ground. He then beckoned me over. ‘This will do.’
‘One bed?’ I asked.
‘More like one blanket. Big spoon or little?’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ I laughed through the tears, clearing them with the back of my hand. ‘Do I look like a big spoon?’
Arwyn shook his head, hand still outstretched for me. ‘Little spoon then. Come on.’
I would’ve refused him, but the clash of lightning and boom of thunder had me springing to my feet. Just from the look Arwyn gave me, I knew he had discovered my fear. My body was shaking by the time I laid on the blanket, his body draped behind me.
I was both comfortable and uncomfortable. I couldn’t help myself but to add one last sarcastic comment to shift the strangeness of the situation. ‘No funny business, okay?’
Arwyn’s warm breath was pleasant as it brushed against the back of my neck. Although the air was cold and damp because of the storm, having his strong arm over my side and his chest pressed to my spine certainly eased the discomfort.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it here .’
‘Here?’ I whispered. ‘Don’t you make love to strangers in stables then?’
‘Firstly, you’re no stranger. Secondly, this isn’t a scene from a gay western romance book. It’s a very real, very frightening trial to test us. And thirdly, I don’t make love .’
A shiver raced over my entire body, encasing my skin in gooseflesh. ‘No, what do you do?’
It was moments like that I wished I could bite my tongue off. What do you do? What was wrong with me! It was the least single sexy response I possibly could have had to his comment.
‘I suppose you’ll never know.’
I closed my eyes and smiled, because for a moment, I didn’t think about my parents or Witch Hunters. Arwyn had a gift for distracting me, and I welcomed it. Craved it, actually, like morphine. He was more addicting than a drug. At least I hoped that was the mead altering me thoughts to think that. Regardless, I nestled in close, all too aware of how close he was, where his crotch was pressed into my arse, how his mouth was inches from the back of my head.
‘I suppose I won’t,’ I whispered. ‘Although, if you haven’t worked out yet, I do like a challenge, Arwyn.’
‘Get some rest then,’ he replied, his voice smooth and sultry. ‘You’ll need all the energy for the challenges we’re going to face getting back to our time. Then once we survive we can discuss what I do instead of making love. Deal?’
My cheeks heated. At least tomorrow I could feign ignorance, pretend this conversation never happened and if it got brought up, blame the mead. But for now, I did as he asked, allowing his touch and words to warm me against the storm.
I slept soundly for the first time in days.
Until the screams began.