Chapter Sixteen
Night came and went, sleep aided by magically enhanced chamomile. The question of when to bring up the final hag ritual to Gudarīks was a pesky little thorn in Astrid’s mind, but it was too soon to lose sleep over it. Not until final preparations began, at least.
They should take things at their own pace. Savor the early days of what was beginning to feel like a courtship and not let outside pressures dictate what they did and when. Time wasn’t in short supply for either of them, especially once Astrid achieved her lifelong hag goals.
Sitting at the edge of her bed, she brushed out her hair in long, measured strokes from root to tip, musing whether Gudarīks might like a clipped lock for himself. A little keepsake tied neatly in ribbon.
But Astrid was no shy Victorian maiden.
The way he ran his fingers through it the first time they met, and again last night, lingering with the touch each time...there was nothing casual or accidental about it, and she’d sooner invite him to do so again.
Claws curling around her hair, taking it by the fistful before tugging her head back...bloodred eyes staring down at her, hungry and wanting.
Shaking her head, she set the brush on her nightstand. She was getting ahead of herself. Wooing, first, then seduction. Savor this. Savor him.
Any more romantic daydreaming would have to wait. There was more kindling to gather.
Astrid climbed down from the loft that was her bedroom and donned her winter gear.
As she trudged out into the snow, ax in hand, a flutter of black wings caught her eye, and she looked up just in time to see a crow flying off into the tree canopy. Whether it was the same bird as the night before or another, she couldn’t say.
She set off into the woods, pulling a wooden sled behind her.
For the next hour, she hunted for small, fallen branches and twigs, brushing off the snow and loading them onto the sled in neat stacks. Soon she’d have enough to refill her kindling box.
A quiet jingling brought her efforts to a stop.
Mutter’s sleigh? No, too tinny.
Then what...
The tinkling bells grew louder.
Her warning spell.
Someone was on her property.
Leaving the sled behind, Astrid ran as fast as the deep snows and awkwardness of snowshoes allowed. If it was one of the poachers, what were they doing at her cottage? Looking to steal supplies? Food? Whatever the case may be, she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass by.
Capture, question, and depending on how gracious she was feeling, release to Johanna’s custody or...
Hack to little pieces.
Drawing near, Astrid circled her home in a wide perimeter, scanning the area for movement amongst the trees, in her yard, her cottage, anything to indicate the trespassers were still there. Fritz and Liesel were in their pen, contently munching hay. At least her unwanted visitor had left them alone.
A neat little row of gray flecks led right to her front gate like dirty breadcrumbs. She crouched down, touching a finger to the material, coming away sooty. Ash . And there was a new set of footprints, too. Booted feet bigger than hers and treads she didn’t recognize.
Rising to her feet, she went to unlatch the gate, only to find that a cigarette had been put out and left behind on the gatepost. The footprints continued straight to her front door.
Frost coated her palms as cold, hard anger steeled her nerves to a knifepoint.
How dare he.
Ax held at the ready, Astrid silently followed the cigarette-smoking poacher’s footprints inside her house, and finding it empty, crept up the ladder to her bedroom loft, quiet as a mouse. If he was dumb enough to stay...
She peeked over the edge, scanning the length of the room. Also empty.
What was he doing up here?
Astrid climbed the rest of the way, mildly disappointed he hadn’t stuck around to experience her wrath, and followed the wet, slushy footprints to her nightstand. There was a set leading to it and then away.
But what was the point? She looked through her drawers, checked the chest at the foot of the bed, trying to figure out what was amiss.
It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed. Was it just that he wanted her to know he was there, looming over the vulnerable place where she slept? That if he wanted, he could come back and murder her or some other vile thing?
But no, the footprints weren’t even turned toward the bed. If the poacher was here to gloat about such a thing, he’d have stood and stared, rifled through her belongings.
Something picked and pulled at the back of her mind. Something about the nightstand.
She went back for the only thing she’d left on it.
As she lifted the hairbrush, she realized what was off.
What was taken.
What he came for.
The bristles were clean, utterly devoid of hair.
And why? To keep as some sick souvenir? To taunt her? For magic they couldn’t possibly wield themselves? Whatever the reason, he certainly had her attention.
Downstairs, the poacher’s wet, slushy footprints exited out the back door.
Hefting her ax, Astrid stormed out into the forest, tracking the trail he left brazenly in the snow. He couldn’t have gotten far. She had to have missed him by mere minutes.
His prints led toward the pond, and that infuriating campsite that was active one moment, abandoned the next. But as the trail led on, the heat signature left behind got colder and colder. Which, given how the heat signature magic worked, made no sense. These prints were newer, fresher, and should be faintly warmer, but they weren’t. The poacher’s tracks led her round and round in a circle until they abruptly stopped.
Howling with rage, Astrid kicked at the snow.
She knew better than to come out here expecting to find something, and yet, she’d fallen to the bait. The poacher and his buddies were probably having a good laugh at her expense, somewhere out here, cloaked in powerful magic.
“Astrid?”
She shrieked, whirling around, ax raised.
Long, clawed fingers closed around the ax shaft, stopping its trajectory before it could slam into Gudarīks’s skull. Breath caught in her throat as the Paleolithic being towered above her, blocking out the sun and casting her in deep shadow. His chest heaved, every hard exhalation steaming from bony nasal sockets. As if he’d run here. And yet she heard no sound, had no warning. Just a second ago, the space had been empty. Death came on swift wings, but staring up into Gudarīks’s red eyes, their usual intense glow seemed softer, gentler, somehow. Not bright and feverish with the fervor of a hunt.
Astrid let go of the weapon as if it were on fire.
Clapping her mittened hands over her mouth, she sank to her bottom on the snow, trapped somewhere between terror and relief. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
Setting her ax aside, Gudarīks sat cross-legged beside her, not quite touching but close enough to feel his radiating heat. “Who were you hunting?”
Exhaling raggedly, Astrid lowered her hands. “A poacher. The one with the cigarettes. He was in my house. He took...”
Lambent eyes flashed, their fierceness returned. Gentle one moment, ready to eviscerate and slay the next. “What did he take?” His roughened growl sent a shiver up her spine, but it wasn’t fear or a chill that caused it. “Tell me.”
“My hair. Pulled it out of my hairbrush.” The only reason she’d steal someone’s hair would be to hex or charm them.
The poacher couldn’t know magic, could he? She would’ve sensed it. No, it had to just be some sick attempt at intimidation. But just in case, she’d make an anticharm to wear as soon as she got home.
Gudarīks tilted his head in her direction, taking a small, tentative sniff. “I don’t smell fear on you.”
“No, I’m furious. Not only did he come into my house and steal from me, he escaped!” She punched a hole in the snow. “Would really like to rearrange his insides.”
The corner of his mouth where flesh met bone quirked upward. “I understand the feeling.”
“I don’t like being bested,” she continued, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face with a frustrated huff. It stubbornly fell back over an eye. “Especially not by some random creep.”
Gudarīks delicately whisked away the wayward lock and tucked it behind her ear, the rounded side of his claws brushing her cheek. “If he thought he could best you, he would’ve met you head-on.”
Frustration was quickly replaced by riotous fluttering in her belly.
Choosing touch rather than words, Astrid scooted in close to rest her head on his shoulder and took his hand, so large, she could only wrap her hand around two of his fingers. If he wasn’t going to be shy about showing his affections, neither would she.
Gudarīks’s heart threatened to burst straight out of his rib cage. And his stomach right along with it. What funny things the weight of Astrid’s head on his shoulder did to his insides. Lust he understood. It was so much like hunger. But this was something else. Something new but just as thrilling. “So small,” he murmured, enclosing her hand in both of his. “So fierce.”
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Astrid could protect herself. But there was also a fathomless well of rage simmering just beneath the surface and a need to shield her from any being who might wish her harm.
He inhaled deeply.
All that kept him from a merciless rampage was the witch herself. The firm, exploratory touch of her hand—the one he didn’t hold in his—was an icy balm to his overheated flesh. Her fingers danced over his knuckles to the veins that lined the back of his hand, mapping out each one. If he left to hunt, he would miss this, and he wanted every second she deigned to give him.
“I think you like that about me,” she teased, meeting his gaze with her pretty, mismatched eyes. One slate gray, like the water beneath thin ice. The other so pale its color was little more than swirls of smoke and mountain fog. Oh, how quickly he was coming to adore them.
“There’s nothing I don’t like about you.” Starting at her temple, Gudarīks traced a slow path with his knuckle down to the curve of her mouth.
Her lips parted slightly.
Those little bows of flesh were mesmerizing in a way he could not explain. He wanted to kiss them, and the desire struck him all too hard for something done with parts he did not possess. Half scolding, half in wonder, he growled, “What are you doing to me, little witch?”
Her gaze dipped, then met his eyes again. “Could ask you the same.” Her voice was a breathless whisper.
Carefully, so not to strike her with his antlers, he tilted his head and leaned in. Just a little taste.
Jingling sleigh bells, rapidly approaching, broke them apart.
Astrid shot to her feet, ax back in hand, and he crouched on all fours, ready to lunge.
But it was Mutter’s sleigh that came into view.
The ashen tendrils of Perchta’s hair whipped back, her cheeks rosy, as her sleigh team raced across the snow, but when she saw them, she drew up short with a surprised expression. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Astrid relaxed her stance, and so he did, too, and listened while she recounted the break-in.
All light and warmth vacated Perchta’s gaze. Very little else had changed about her demeanor, her posture remained relaxed, but between the steeliness in her eyes and the sharp spike in her scent, the esteemed hag was livid. And yet, perfectly calm, and even toned when she asked, “Would you like to sleep at my place tonight?”
Astrid shook her head. “I appreciate the offer.” Her grip tightened on her ax, anger flaring. “Maybe I should be scared, but I dare him to come back.”
“Be careful, Tochter. Humans have a wicked bite.”
“I know,” Astrid said. “I’ll use his cigarettes to make new wards. He’ll burn before he even feels the swing of my ax.”
What had stung and irritated Gudarīks’s own skin just days ago would be lethal to the human.
“Good. And a protection charm for yourself, too. If he took your hair, you can be sure there’ll be spell work to follow.” With a tug of the reins, Perchta turned her sleigh team around. “The hag potion will be ready tomorrow morning. Come bright and early. The sooner we get started, the better.”
“Yes, Mutter.” Astrid bowed her head.
While her daughter’s eyes were averted, Perchta’s yellow, wolfish gaze met his. “Watch over her,” she mouthed.
He nodded.
The sleigh team shot off, leaving them alone once more. Astrid muttered something grumpily about her mother’s timing. Ah , yes, they had been getting close to something.
Cupping the underside of her chin, Gudarīks tilted her head, drinking in the sight of her unique eyes. “If you didn’t have work to do...” He brushed his thumb lightly across her lips.
Her tattered sigh warmed his skin. “Tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow evening,” he agreed, though he’d not venture far from her side in the time between. He’d a promise to keep.
That night he kept vigil outside Astrid’s home.
And the mountains were silent.