Chapter 33
Alice
Fallon’s the first to turn around as we drag ourselves through the heavy door and onto Lucky’s roof. It’s a delightful scene. They’ve got lights strung up on the stucco walls and a little firepit with a crackling flame.
Wanda and Barnes are doubled over laughing about something.
Mona and Julius are slow dancing to “Drive” by Incubus, which is impressive.
Caden’s sprawled on a blanket with half a pizza in his lap, feeding the crusts to a very pleased-looking Fern.
I recognize some of the witches of Foxglove Coven from the preparations in the gym, gathered by the edge of the roof.
They have their arms linked and appear to be singing to the moon.
Marion’s sitting up on the half-wall with a beer in her hand, her dark hair glinting in the firelight as she explains something to Janey and Mac with lively enthusiasm.
My heart swells so big that for an irrational moment, I’m scared it’s going to burst right through my chest. Tears spring to my eyes, and I roughly shove them away with the back of one hand, plunking the bag filled with s’mores goodies onto a worn plastic table.
“The hell happened to you two?” Fallon demands as she stalks over, her eyes wide.
To my surprise, Fern abandons Caden—and, even more surprisingly, the pizza crusts—to bound over to us. She shoves herself between Wyatt and me, her tail thumping hard against my legs.
“Oh,” I say with a strangled laugh.
“Sector. Not-Cookie-Grandma. Hellhounds. Nymphs,” Wyatt says with a heavy exhale. He turns to look at me. “Did I miss anything?”
“Mrs. Cheng has a bazooka,” I add, feeling like that’s important.
“Yeah, I know,” Fallon says, crossing her arms. “About the bazooka, I mean. We got a two-for-one deal.”
“Can we please find a better place to source our damn guns?” Wyatt demands, exasperated, as he hands Fallon the bag of ice. She passes it off to Caden, who wordlessly dumps it into the battered cooler tucked against the wall.
“You’re both alright, though?” Fallon asks, stepping closer, clearly going into hedgerider matriarch mode. “’Cuz you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I snort, stepping forward to pull her into a tight hug. “We’re okay. I just want a bath.”
“Believe it or not,” she whispers into my ear, like it’s some kind of secret, “Wyatt’s got a hell of a clawfoot tub at his house.” She pulls away from me, though her hands still grip my shoulders, to give me an exaggerated lusty wink.
“What is wrong with you?” Wyatt demands, sinking down to let Fern kiss his face, which is a very important part of her routine.
“You didn’t get bit by anything, right?” Caden asks us in a weary tone, looking over his shoulder from where he’s crouched next to the cooler, loading more beer into it.
“A nymph shoved her fingers into my spine,” Wyatt offers.
Fallon blanches, and Wanda’s suddenly at her side, expression sharp with interest. “A nymph did what now?” she wants to know.
“Nope,” I say with a hard shake of my head. “Tomorrow. We’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Promise. Or go ask Mrs. Cheng. I’m surprised she’s not here.”
Worry prickles me, but then the heavy door at my back bangs open. I jump a mile into the air, whirling to find Mrs. Cheng coming around the corner. Her face is red, her arms full with a big cardboard box.
The rest of the party goes quiet as she drops it onto the ground. Then she puts her hands on her hips and surveys everyone. “I thought we should have fireworks,” she finally says, gesturing to the box.
“Fuck yeah,” Caden exclaims, jumping to his feet with unabashed glee. For a moment, I see the little kid he used to be, and emotion chokes off my throat.
For so long, I’ve only had my parents, and—even though I understand why, and even though I know they love me—they left me, too. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears falling freely from my lashes. These past few years, I’ve had no one.
Out of nowhere, the memory of seeing my neighbor in their yard, everyone gathered around the firepit, comes barreling into my mind.
That unbearable loneliness I felt wraps its arms around me in a stifling embrace.
I clamp down on my jaw, not really wanting to fall to my knees and sob at the “yay, we survived the Hunt!” party, because I feel like that would ruin the vibe.
When I force my eyes open, I see Julius dipping Mona low—to “Save Tonight” by Eagle-Eye Cherry this time, which is somewhat more appropriate.
To Fallon smiling at Mrs. Cheng. To Wanda gleefully accepting a bowl of mac ’n’ cheese from Janey’s outstretched hands.
To Wyatt kneeling so Fern can kiss every inch of his face.
The loneliness dissipates like I never felt it at all, like I never knew its name better than my own, like my family was just always here, waiting for me to have the courage to take the leap.
“Your turn. Gotta keep the baby happy,” Wyatt says, brushing my arm as he rises.
With a tear-choked laugh, I let myself fall to the ground, burying my face in Fern’s fur as she yips excitedly.
My body aches terribly, and I have a feeling it might hurt even more tomorrow.
I’m worried I’ll dream about that Sector agent’s grin, about how she dragged me with such surprising strength, about how I shoved a knife into her gut without a second thought.
But not tonight, I tell myself as I rise to my feet. “Hey,” I whisper to Wyatt, lacing my fingers through his. “We got our dog. Take me home, please.”
“I just think Fallon could’ve done without the ‘ew, you’re old married people, go home and have your old married people sex’ comment, y’know?” Wyatt tells me as he strips off his jacket, tossing it into the woven hamper in the corner.
“I think expecting Fallon to have a filter is a foolish endeavor,” I reply with a laugh, peering out the large bay window into the darkness of the forest that curls around Wyatt’s cottage like a half-moon.
“Nah, sweet girl,” he says, suddenly beside me, his hand on my elbow to pull me away from the window and into him. “You can have all the daylight hours you want to look out the windows. Not at night, though.” He reaches above me to pull the curtain closed.
“Oh, is that true, too?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“That you shouldn’t look out the windows at night?
” I dozed off on the drive home, Fern draped over me like a heated blanket, and my mind came back to life a little.
Enough that I’m tempted to search for a notebook—but then the light from the crackling hearth in Wyatt’s bedroom catches the curve of his bicep.
I realize he’s shirtless and we’re finally alone all at once.
“Do you ever just turn that beautiful brain off?” he asks with a laugh, sliding his arms around my waist.
I lean into him, our bodies slotting together like the last two pieces of a puzzle, finally whole. “No,” I reply, tilting my chin to look up at him. “Do you think you could distract me?”
His mouth curves into a smile that makes heat simmer low in my belly. “Is that a formal request?”
I barely manage to nod before he scoops me up into his arms. I let out a shriek, Fern answering with her own excited bark.
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck as he leaves the cozy bedroom.
I take one last look over his shoulder at the antique headboard of dark wood, the Eastlake dresser topped with framed photos, the little marble fireplace, and the battered chestnut leather-covered Eames chair in the corner.
The bed’s dressed with a vintage quilt that I swear looks just like something out of my Nan’s cedar chest.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck to hide my smile, as though I’m seeing it all for the first time.
I am, sort of; I could barely take my eyes off Wyatt last night, if I’m honest. If he’d taken me back to a leaking storage unit with inflatable furniture in weird colors, I would still happily make it my home.
But this? It’s like we’ve gone hunting together for years, pulling old furniture out of abandoned buildings or bartering in the early-morning sunshine of a flea market for the perfect pieces.
It’s like it’s always been ours.
Wyatt flips a light switch and then leaves the narrow hallway, ducking into the bathroom. Gently, he places me onto a wooden bench as I gape at the space I didn’t even register last night.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper as Fern shoves her head between my knees.
I absently stroke her head as I peer around, taking in the tall ceilings and gleaming tile that climbs halfway up the wall.
Rich green ornamental trim separates the tile from a cottage-style floral wallpaper that reaches to the ceiling.
Across from me, a sturdy, antique oak nightstand with tall, spindly legs has been converted into a vanity with a farmhouse-style sink set into it.
Warm light glows from the frosted glass sconces on either side of a carved mirror as Wyatt cranks the faucet on the tub.
The goddamn tub.
Adorned with brass filigree above its clawfoot feet, the massive ceramic tub sits in the corner, its spout filling the room with steam. In the corner, a wooden plant stand hosts a big pothos vine that trails down to the floor, draping across a braided oval rug.
“You have good taste, Hayes,” I manage as Wyatt turns around to face me. His jeans hang low on his hips, the sharp V of his muscles making my breath catch. With a smirk, he prowls over to me.
“I sure do,” he says just moments before sliding his hands into my hair and bringing his mouth to mine.
I moan into the intensity of his kiss, hooking my fingers into his belt loops to pull him closer.
I’m so tired, and there’s part of me that just wants to throw myself on the bathroom floor and scream.
But I kinda like this better.
He gently pulls my sweater over my head, leaning away for a few moments, his eyes trailing down my body.
“I don’t think I have any real injuries,” I assure him as I glance down at myself.
But then I notice a wicked bruise on my shoulder and a raw, red mark encircling my wrist—from where Not-Cookie had dragged me, I realize.
“I’ll be doing the lookin’-after, Blythe,” he tells me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he kneels before me. “You just relax for the time being.”
“A nymph shoved her fingers into your spine,” I protest, reaching around his waist to skim my hands over the small of his back.
“Sure did,” he agrees, unbuttoning my jeans. My mind goes blank and white with need. “And I’ll let you take care of me real soon.” His eyes meet mine, glittering in the warm light. “But I’m a firm believer in ‘ladies first.’”
“Fern,” I say, looking over at her. “I think there’s a squirrel somewhere.”
Her ears perk up at the word, her head canting to one side. “Go check the wards, girl,” Wyatt laughs, pointing to the door. Her claws ringing out on the tile, Fern wheels and takes off down the hallway. I reach over and shove the door closed.
“Finally alone,” I breathe, tracing my fingers along his stubbled jaw.
“You like it here, Alice?” Wyatt asks me, gesturing to the space. “The house, I mean?”
I want to play coy, to tease him, but I can’t stop my mouth from splitting into a grin. “I love it.”
His breath catches, and then mine does the same as we both realize we’re creeping closer and closer to saying those first two words with a very different third one. My heart thumps against my breastbone and I feel like my entire body has been filled with effervescent warmth.
He kisses me again, and I throw my arms around his neck, lifting my hips as he pulls my jeans down my legs. Slowly, I trail one hand down his chest, sliding lower until I find where he’s hard and wanting. I play with him, pulling a low groan from his mouth.
“Take my damn pants off, Blythe,” he rasps with a laugh, moving my other hand from his neck to the fly of his jeans.
I laugh, too, happily unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down to his knees.
He undoes the clasp on my bra, slipping it off my shoulders as his hands run up my sides to cup my breasts.
With a contented sigh, I wrap my thighs around his hips, pulling him closer. He trails his lips down my neck, peppering my skin with open-mouthed kisses that would leave me weak in the knees if I were still standing.
“I’m yours, Alice,” Wyatt murmurs against my collarbone, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic of my underwear. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on my breast, his fingertips pressing against my clit. I let out a gasp, my back arching. “You’re stuck with me,” I tell him, reaching into his boxers.
“Gods,” he exhales as I stroke him. “Nobody’s ever touched me like you do.”
“And if somebody else ever tries, I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em,” I reply, meaning it as a joke, but it comes out with a fierceness that surges up in me like a tide.
“I’ve got no doubt about that,” he murmurs, shimmying my underwear down. I lift my hips eagerly, pulling his mouth back up to mine. Then I’m drowning in his kiss, in the caramelized bonfire smoke of him, the crackling warmth that feels so much like home.
Like I’ve finally come home.