Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Chadfuck Dennison could fuck right off to hell. His twin brother, Malcunt, could go fuck himself, too.
The way both Bale and I would love to put them both in the corn maze hunt was borderline psychotically obsessive. There wouldn’t be a word strong enough to describe the torture we’d subject them to.
However, the Town Council made sure with their enchantments that we didn’t do our murderous duty to the protected few. Though if ever given the chance, it would be the bloodiest chase through the maze we had ever taken part in.
What a glorious day that would be.
Long after Harlow had left the festival, Bale and I kept a close eye on the mayor’s pride and joy. If Chad so much as smiled in the direction she had gone, I’d peck his eyeballs out, then shit in the gaping holes.
After an hour of not bothering to conceal the fact that we were staring, it seemed that our girl was in the clear. Perhaps the Dennison bloodline had some common sense after all.
Damn, there was that “our” bullshit again.
With my hands comfortably nestled in my pockets, I headed for the courtyard exit.
“Where the hell are you going?” Bale gruffed out. He had already turned towards the cornfield.
I smirked, shrugging my shoulders with coy innocence. “Midnight snack. The town’s full of delicious treats tonight.”
His expression darkened, and it should have deterred me.
Nobody said anything about going to visit a pretty little kitty-cat. He just assumed as much. And that? Oh, it told me everything about his little “hate me or fear me” stunt he had pulled earlier.
I preened with a shit-eating grin, feeling victorious that he was agitated. His jealousy was masked as both indifference and irritation in one complex bundle of emotions.
“You know, all those apples left out on everyone’s doorsteps aren’t going to eat themselves,” I remarked casually.
He shook his head and flipped me off before walking off, tension heavy in his shoulders. Bastard was probably going to brood on his cross frame all night, pretending he didn’t have it as bad for Harlow as I did.
Either he’d come around, or he wouldn’t. Regardless, it didn’t change what I felt for my one true mate.
Walking towards the old Faust homestead, I looked down at my makeshift bandage around my hand. The bandana came from Bale’s back pocket, probably dirty as hell, too. Asshole still found digging around in the fields occasionally to be a form of relaxation.
Masochist.
There was something that warmed me deep in my chest that Harlow had marked me and drawn blood. Knowing a part of me had been in her mouth had me fucking hard and ready to see what else she could take from me.
Without breaking my stride, I loosened the knot of the bandana to see that the wound was almost fully healed now. The small punctures were barely even noticeable now. Swift healing was one of the few perks of whatever it was that kept Bale and me alive all these years.
At the corner near the library, I paused to deposit the scrap of fabric into a public trash bin.
Looking up at the lamppost shining down on me, I saw the outline of one of my brethren.
The subtle shift of wings, the distinguishable outline of its head and beak, and the tainted air that came along with recognizing one of your own.
My body blended into the shadows as my bones shrank and restructured, flesh tore and reknit itself together, and darkness consumed my form. There was a seamless transition into my crow form as I immediately found myself taking flight.
I swooped around the lone crow perched on the metal arm of the streetlight. A friendly warning of whose territory this was.
Watching the other bird take off, the message had been received.
Continuing to fly over the rooftops and trees, I headed straight toward the woman dominating my mind.
Landing right outside the front door of the smaller secondary home on the old Faust property, I unfurled my winged body using the shadows to expand back into my human shape.
Looking down at the welcome mat, the apple had toppled over onto its side like she had placed it there hastily.
Taking the offering, I rubbed it against the sleeve of my hoodie just to see the color shine before taking a preliminary bite. The sweet flesh exploded across my tongue, but it still left me craving something else. Something a little more carnal.
Knocking on the front door, I couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw me here.
However, no answer came.
There was a mystical connection that ran deep in my bones, telling me she was here. Whatever minuscule amount of my blood that had been left inside her practically pulsed from behind the door. My mate was definitely here, her presence a steady call to all that I was.
Knowing the bedroom was located at the back of the house, I wasn’t surprised that she may not have heard me.
Being the considerate gentleman I was, I walked around to the small one-car garage that used to house carriages back when this building was first erected.
At the back of the garage, there was a boarded-up entrance.
It was large enough for a child to fit through, or for an adult to crouch through.
In its former life, it served as a sort of doggy door.
Mr. and Mrs. McKenna, the caretakers who lived here over a hundred years ago, were known to have many of the farm’s animals coming and going from this carriage house. Dogs, cats, goats, the occasional rogue pig, and even a few birds looking for breadcrumbs.
Lodging the apple between my upper and lower teeth, I freed up both my hands to work on dislodging the nailed-in door.
One, two tugs on the small black handle, and the wood groaned before releasing with a squeak louder than I would have liked. Crouching through the door, I slipped inside the darkness of the garage.
I took another bite of the apple as I straightened up, and I assessed the current state inside the former carriage house.
Well, this was less of a garage and more of a godsdamn minefield. I hit my shin on several ill-placed boxes, and a metal bar jutted out and jabbed me in the kidney when I tried to avoid a nest of extension cords.
I grunted with the prodding impact, but it was a small price to pay to answer the call of her soul beckoning mine. The jolt had knocked my grip on the apple loose, causing it to fall onto the dust-ridden floor, where it rolled off into the abyss.
Hopefully, my midnight snack was the only casualty of the evening.
If it weren’t for my exceptional eyesight in the pitch black of the garage, I was certain I could have died in here and never been found for another fifty years.
Finally reaching the door into the main house, I pushed it open slowly. The dimly lit interior of the house was just as I recalled it. Except the details all screamed Harlow. Unapologetically simple. The country kitchen was tidy, or unused, I wasn’t sure which.
Above the coffee maker was a decorative sign that had me stifling my laughter, just barely managing to maintain my silent presence here.
The rectangular signage was made of tin and had pumpkins and coffee cups on it.
On top of one of the larger pumpkins sat a small black cat.
The curly lettering read: Pumpkin Spice is Purrfectly Wicked.
She and Bale could at least agree on one thing: a preference for pumpkin spice. I leaned more towards the flavor of apples, something I had grown up on before the curse of the crow had been cast upon me.
Still grinning to myself, I passed a small alcove. The former space was where Mrs. McKenna used to sew horse blankets, patch up seed bags, and mend Mr. McKenna’s work gloves when they got too worn in the palms from his days tending to the Faust farmstead.
The recessed space now functioned as a place where books were in neat stacks. Bins contained various tools, bottles of various agents, thread, parchment, and swatches of leather and bookcloth.
So, this was where she spent her time when she wasn’t occupied by Bale and me.
I could already picture her sitting here, intently focused, and hunched over a book.
Her small hands focused on every delicate movement, biting her lower lip, a strand of her dark hair hanging freely in front of her face.
The imagery had my cock growing harder in my pants, pressing against the zipper uncomfortably.
Especially when I imagined bending her over this workbench and burying myself inside her cunt.
The idea of hearing her crying out my name with each measured stroke of my dick was something I’d fight a lion barehanded for.
Everything in the one-story home was quiet, except for the occasional rustling of movements coming from the bedroom. Drawn to see her, even if she was fast asleep, was a pull too strong to ignore.
Silently, I crept closer to the bedroom door, which was left slightly ajar. My hand gently eased it open wider as I peered inside. As I suspected, she was curled up in her bed. The moonlight coming in through the window cut through the shadows enough that I could see her face.
Harlow’s eyes were shut; she looked serene as she lay there on her side, blissfully unaware of my presence. Those full lips, the color of early autumn dusk, were slightly parted. The strap of her black camisole had slipped down her shoulder, the gothic purple sheets drawn up to her waist.
I knew I should walk away. I knew I shouldn’t be here. But what I also knew was that I couldn’t survive without breathing in every inch of her. Now, more than ever, whatever this energy was between us sang its loudest melody. Instinct overrode common sense.
Then, as if her body sensed the nearness of mine, she rolled onto her back.
Not waking, just shifting her position. One arm draped over her stomach, with the other remaining tucked beneath her pillow.
The curtain of her long locks of hair remained an obsidian pool behind her head.
Her chest rose and fell lightly, even breaths in the depths of slumber.
I wondered what she was dreaming of. Deep down, I hoped it was of me. Hoped that she craved me as much as I craved her. That she couldn’t fathom this world without me in it, worshiping her.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I admired the goddess before me. She was so fucking beautiful, and I’d make sure she always knew it.
Starting tonight.
Standing at the foot of the bed, I tugged the covers away from her figure. Each inch of the blanket revealed more of her figure in that fitted camisole, past the sliver of skin where it ended a couple of inches above the waist of her charcoal grey sweatpants.
I crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. Hovering over her, not lowering myself onto her yet, I took in the last precious moments of seeing her completely at ease.
Expectedly, she began to stir, and her eyes blinked open several times. When the sleep faded from her and awareness grew, she sharply gasped as she stared up at me.
Immediately witnessing the panic flood her face, I firmly placed a finger to her lips. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s just me, Corbin,” I rasped out in as soothing a whisper as I could manage. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
God, I wanted to do the opposite and make her experience things that would send her a sense of weightless ecstasy. I wanted her to feel how I do when soaring through the air, floating and free.
Wide eyes stared up at me, her quick breaths sending warm air onto my finger pressed to her mouth. At first, her expression was startled, but then it mellowed slightly as recognition registered.
Noticing the rabbiting pulse in her neck, I realized how bad this looked. She had every right to curse me, to bash my head in with a brick, or claw my wings off.
I removed my finger from her lips, my palm moving to cup the side of her face. Barely making contact with the smoothness of her skin, my thumb hesitantly stroked a light caress over the swell of her cheek.
Peering down into her eyes with the dark amber of mine. “Please,” I said in a quiet plea. “I just had to come see you.”
Something shifted in her. Her body showed subtle signs of relaxation, her tongue darting out to lick over her lips, and her breaths evened out.
The slight dilation of her pupils said she felt it, too. This intensity of unnamed feelings between us vibrated like strings on a musical instrument.
Ducking my head down, my long strands of hair brushed against her temple. Whispering into her ear, “Mine. Do you understand me, Harlow? You’re mine. Not because I own you, but because you’re the place my spirit calls home.”
Pulling back slightly to study her face, I continued, “All I’m asking is that you let me in.”
Charged silence stretched between us until she breathed out her response.
“Welcome home, Corbin.”