Chapter 2
S everal days later, Lily spent her Saturday night as she usually did: with a glass of wine in hand and a fantasy show on tv. Sure, she occasionally went out with friends, but she didn't have too many of those. Not because she wasn't liked or didn't like people, she was just a bit of an introvert. She enjoyed solitude or easy companionship and lived her life accordingly.
The drink, crackling fire, and show worked well for her on this cold Saturday night. This one included a werewolf and witch romance. A bit of a stretch, as every human knew supernatural beings almost always stuck to their own, but that’s what tv was for, right? To add a little romantic fantasy to the world, make it all look and feel so easy, when romance was anything but.
Humans knew little of werewolves or witches or vampires, to be honest. And for good reason; history books were littered with the horrible things people did to supernaturals when they decided to expose themselves and tried to live alongside, if not among, humans centuries ago. Werewolf hunts, vampire stakings, witch burnings. Bad, bad things, all in the name of fearing some new monster. It was often the way with people, Lily thought with more than a touch of sadness. They hurt what they don’t understand.
Now, however, things were different. More progressive and far less bloody. Supernaturals kept to themselves, sure, but there weren’t all out wars against them perpetrated by humans. In some cities, supernaturals and humans even lived side by side, or at least vampires and witches did. Still, in small towns like hers, the supernatural beings of the world usually didn’t stick around if or when they showed up for any reason.
The forests of Appalachia, however, were vast and held many secrets. Maybe there was a supernatural man out there for her with a strong body, rough voice, and kind soul who’d sweep her off her feet like no human man had done in her over three decades of life. She snorted at the absurdity of the idea, even as a not so small part of her wished it might come to pass during some solo walk in the woods. The silly romance show, which she loved, got to her head sometimes, but it was a good thing she could think on something different for a spell.
After the week she had, the distraction of wine and story and random romantic daydreams eased the tension. Madison's software conversion proved more difficult than she thought, which went double for Betty and Ralph, who she helped through the process, as Madison liked to talk down to the older couple and Lily liked to spare them from it where and when she could. She had a notion to give the woman piece of her mind about customer service, but all of them needed her on some level, and they all also knew her. How she acted.
Isa had been at choral rehearsals for their Christmas performance most nights that week. Lily happily cheered her on when she discussed it, would cheer even louder when she went to the show, but Isa being busy left her short-handed in the store. Sadly, she could handle it because it just wasn't as busy as it should be. Which is why she sat alone, with wine and TV, worrying.
As more delicious supernatural romance picked up on the screen, her mind drifted to what she would do. What she needed to do. The week past had gone about the same as it had all season: a steady influx of in-person and online sales, but nothing at all like her Christmas season usually went. As this sales period usually made up the bulk of her annual revenue, she worried. She’d had grand plans: her own website sales, a wider national reach for her products, and more people to help her out so she wouldn’t be so damn tired come Saturday nights. If she didn't do something, and soon, those ideas would fizzle and die. She’d survive, sure, but it’d be a lot of scrimping and saving and casting her hopes aside for at least another year or two. The years stacked up quick when people hit their thirties, and Lily didn’t want to see them dissolve like the first winter snow, leaving dingy, disappointed dreams in their wake.
Equally disappointing in the day to day was the look on her customers’ faces when they discovered she didn't have a new candle for Christmas. She’d become known and she wanted to deliver what they expected from her, for them and their Christmas hopes as well as for her own pride. Dreams and pride so often mingled together, and Lily didn’t want to prick either one of them.
Sadly, all her ideas misfired. Call it her inspiration, lighting, muse, whatever. She'd lost the thing that gave her products their unique spark. Lily had spent weeks now in her little lab, mixing new scents and ingredients, but nothing hit right for this season. She'd found some interesting combos for other candles, but nothing rang in the Christmas spirit just yet.
She shook her head to clear it and focus back on her tv. She needed a break. Something outside herself to jump start her creativity. Betty'd given her solid directions to her blackberry patch in the deep forest. Lily hadn't ever gone in that far. One, she didn't want to unknowingly get into the national forest and come afoul of some ranger who wouldn't appreciate her picking things. Or inadvertently wander onto someone's patch of land and get called out as a poacher, or worse. People didn't take kindly to trespassers around here.
Betty'd told her it'd be easy. She'd had no problems, and if a seventy-three-year-old woman could wander around that hollow, by God she could too.
A different scene, different ingredients. Those might do it for her. At least, she hoped it would.
The internal circles she walked herself around were interrupted not by the show on her screen, but the shrill sound of her phone. Her landline in fact, the one she kept for emergencies as her grandma always taught her. She'd not used the thing in ages. Hadn't heard it ring in twice as long. The sound rang clear and loud from the old-school housing and twirly cord blaring from her kitchen wall.
She rose from her couch, a straight, open view of the kitchen before her interrupted by a small wall with her TV above a wood-burning fireplace insert. Skirting the short wall and crackling fire, wineglass sloshing slightly at her double-step, she moved around the head of her small kitchen table and over to the black, vintage phone she paid maybe a little too much for on Amazon. It looked so much like the one she'd grown up with she’d just had to have it, a small black box with the earpiece nestled in a hanging slot. The weight gave an odd reassurance as she wrapped her fingers around the skinny body and brought the big, round earpiece up to the side of her head.
"Hello?" Nothing. No sound there, not even the creepy breathing she'd get if she were in some horror movie.
"Hello?" She asked again, this time an edge of annoyance in her tone. She figured they could say something, at least, even if they dialed the wrong number.
Again, nothing. Then a click, and after a second, dial tone. She moved the handpiece in front of her, stared down at it and muttered "weird" to herself before giving a slight shrug and hanging it back up.
People often changed their cell numbers. Hell, you could even get an internet phone number from the area even if you didn't live there. Could've been anyone, really. Still, something wiggled in the back of her mind, a little piece of something she thought she should remember but couldn't quite reach.
Didn't matter in the moment. She swiped her wineglass back up from where she'd deposited on the kitchen counter, and turned back to her living room. Back to brothers fighting monsters. Hopefully enough of a distraction to clear her head and give her space to think on her forest trip in the morning.
"A t least there ain't snow," Lily spit out from chattering teeth as she picked her way down a steep embankment. The woods were thick there, dark and deep, and she marveled again at the idea of Betty getting herself down here.
She'd followed the directions to the T. Or, as to the T as she could when Betty'd written down things like "Hook a right at the stump that looks like a bench seat and stay going north until you find the big old fallen pine on your left."
"Shit," she yelped, as her foot slipped on the icy dew still covering the untouched forest floor and she stumbled down a few steps before righting herself by grabbing onto a sturdy but thin birch tree. Her nerves calmed with a few deep breaths, and she kept going, her big gathering basket, the same one she'd used with her granny when they went foraging together decades ago, dangling from the crook of her left elbow.
Eventually, she made her way down into the bottom of the small hollow. The ridge line loomed above, large enough to keep the low-lying winter sun from making an appearance at the bottom. Lily let out a gust of breath thinking about how much she didn't want to climb back up to the top, but it was what it was. Nothing for it at the moment.
She turned in a circle, looking at the strip of lowland littered with branches, leaves, and other frosted forest debris. Down a good bit she saw the brambles where Betty must've picked those blackberries. A small creek-bed meandered off to the left but the little running water barely bubbled and Lily figured it was most likely frozen. Frozen as she felt, despite bundling up in sweats, a puffy down coat, and the thick wool gloves and beanie Sarah, the owner of the knitting shop a few spaces down from her candle store, made for her a few Christmases ago. Lily blew into her hands now cupped over her face, partially to warm the wool and partially to warm up her nose. It was colder than a witch’s tit out there, so she needed to be about her business.
She moved closer to the creek bed, exploring with her eyes and a few nudges of her hiking-boot clad feet. Twigs, rocks, small bones, mud. That was all she really found under the leaves there. Made sense, as not much could grow in a hollow this dark, but she'd come to find some inspiration and she'd be damned if she left emptyhanded.
Then, something across the way caught her eye. A lump of a plant, no longer in leaf but still intact enough to show the distinct heart-shaped leaves of wild ginger. Her mind spun.
Wild ginger. Mace. Molasses. Nutmeg. Warm ginger cookies.
A wide smile broke across her cold face as she moved toward the ginger. Just what she needed. One of the only reasons she'd never done ginger before was because there were laws about how much you could harvest based on the size and age of plants, and ginger poaching caused a whole lot of problems. The plant across the creekbed looked safe to harvest without any worries, a rare find for sure.
Without much in her head beyond candle scents and packaging, she moved to jump over the small creek bed. A normal feat at the best of times, but she should've thought of the frosty dew and the frozen water. She didn't. Lily cleared the edge easy enough, but soon discovered the slick remnants of frost, which didn't give her much traction. For a moment, she thought she’d made it. She caught herself on her second foot when the first slipped, but it wasn't quick enough. Her ankle bent odd, twisting right out from under her. With a cry, she went down to one knee, then rolled onto her butt to check the damage. She rolled her ankle in a circle, wincing as it stretched. Not broken, so some good news. She'd twisted it for sure, but hopefully not much.
Wild ginger now forgotten, she threw her head back and screamed, letting her pent-up frustration at her shit luck release with the sound. She'd had a time of it lately, and this may well be the straw that broke her back. The pain in her ankle meant she'd have a hell of a time getting herself out of the hollow.
Of course, her cell didn't work. Hadn't had service for a good bit out in these woods. Nothing for her to do but attempt to claw her way out on her own.
Gritting her teeth, she went up to her knees, breathing in and out to prepare herself to take on her weight. She'd find a big stick or something to help get up the embankment, but she'd have to get on her feet first.
However, before she could get to her feet, she heard a distinct sound from the edges of the dark woods in front of her. The sound of a large thing letting out a huff of air. A thing like a bear. She’d dismissed the stories of white bears from earlier in the week, now the idea made her freeze. There may be bears in these woods, but white or black, they shouldn’t be out and about in winter. If it was a bear in winter, that meant real bad things. They'd have woken from hibernation for some reason and wouldn't be happy about it.
Could be anything, or at least, that's what her brain told her.
Other beings walked this earth; she knew that much in her bones as a good daughter of Appalachia. Never whistle in the woods. Never answer to your name being called in the night. And, apparently, never go to a winter hollow alone, early on a Sunday morning.
A shuffling sound reached her next, and the hair on her arms stood up under all her layers. That was most definitely the sound of something's feet moving through dead leaves.
"Hello?" she croaked out, much less assured than when she'd asked the phone the same question the night before.
Stillness, another huff, then a deep, gruff voice. "Do you require help?" The question sounded nice enough, though she detected a definite note of aggravation in the voice. His voice. Sounded like a man for sure. Which, to be honest, didn't exactly make her feel any better. What was some dude doing out there all quiet and hidden while she stumbled around the hollow?
She thought about it. Maybe a little too long, because she heard shuffling feet again. Afraid to be left injured and alone, she made her mind up real quick. "Yes. Please."
A deep sigh drifted from the forest, along with a word muttered under his breath in a way she knew it was a cuss word even if she didn't recognize the language. "Okay. Okay. I suppose..." Nothing else came from the man for a few heavy beats until he said, "Do not be alarmed. I am simply going to help you. Nothing else. Yes?"
"Okay?" She didn't sound so sure, but what else could she do? Why warn her like this? Maybe the bear would have been a better choice?
"Fine." Silence for a beat then, "Try not to scream."
She jolted at those words, which meant her body locked up when he stepped from the shadows and she understood why he’d said what he did.
He towered tall, well over six and a half feet. As she looked up, up, up his body, which was clad in a toga, of all things, she noted the devastating beauty of his bronzed chest and face. Deep muscles showed to full effect in the little he wore. He sported cut cheekbones, a strong and straight nose, and ice blue eyes. White brows topped them, and a leather band pushed back long, thick winter-white hair from his gorgeous face. His lips were full, though pursed in a hard line. Those lips looked a bit odd, as if they stretched over something more in his mouth, but the hard clinch of his jaw was her immediate concern. It signaled loud and clear he was unhappy about something here.
Even with the sign of annoyance, she saw nothing to outright fear at first, or at least nothing more than any large man. Then she noted the claw-tipped, overlong fingers on his massive hands. The bare, claw-tipped toes of his massive feet digging into the cold earth. The white-feathered wings at his back. And a flash of wicked sharp teeth when he opened his mouth. Explained the shape of his lips she noted moments before, but this knowledge wasn’t comforting. For a split second, he looked shocked, fanged mouth hanging open for a beat and icy eyes wide, but his face smoothed over quickly, surprise replaced with determined concentration.
She bit back a yelp of surprise and tried to school her own face, which was likely bug-eyed. She needed help, he’d offered, and the little experience she did have with the occasional supernatural in her store eased her mind after the initial shock. They were all living on this planet, if not all humans, and what she knew from popular media and limited interactions said they were all more alike than not. She was no supernatural bigot. The man in front of her might not be human, but she could give him the same benefit of the doubt she’d give a human man in the woods. Which was, admittedly, not much benefit and more than a little doubt. That is, until he spoke again.
"As I said, I will not hurt you."
All she could do was nod, unable to speak after the way his words landed a soft blow to her gut. Not from the words themselves, but the sound of his voice registering somewhere in the dark recesses of her brain. Lily knew she should be nervous, should experience the cold tendrils of fear or at least hesitation because they were alone out there together. Except her gut told her he didn't lie, so it wasn’t really fear making her freeze in his presence. Actually, her gut tugged towards him, and a small but persistent word echoed in her mind: MINE . The absurdity of it made her shake her head, to dislodge the odd word, but it stayed stuck right there.
He moved closer, and the hit to her gut tightened into something low and pleasant and unknown. His jaw tightened as if he gritted back something but he continued on with cautious movements, the way someone might approach an injured animal in the woods.
When he crept close enough to kneel beside her, a frown pushed his white eyebrows into a deep, wrinkled V. "What happened?"
After a few failed attempts to vocalize something without “mine” trying to push its way free, she finally got out, "Twisted my ankle." She held it up in the air like a toddler demanding someone tie her shoe. Ridiculous, but what else could she do? He appeared to be a supernatural of some sort, like nothing she'd seen before, but she felt a comfort with him from deep in her gut. She’d been taught to trust her gut, in life and business, and it’d never steered her wrong before, so she went with it.
He knelt there in the frozen dew, cocking his head in a way she’d seen birds of prey do on nature documentaries, studying the ankle she wiggled at him. "May I?" he asked, gesturing with a claw at her leg.
She nodded as he reached a long, strong arm out and oh so gently gripped her calf. Even through the sweatpants, his fingers seared into her skin, hot and strong on her flesh. Need for him welled up suddenly and inexplicably. Like nothing she’d felt before, with any man, let alone one she just met in the deep woods. She shuddered, trying to push down the moan she wanted to let rip at his touch, and he whipped his head to her, too fast for a person, staring for a moment into her eyes. His icy blues didn't blink, didn't waver, but his nose quivered as he took deep breathes in and out. As if steadying himself, finding his calm. Or scenting her.
Finally, he turned back to her foot, and a wave of disappointment washed over Lily for no reason she could explain. She was all feelings without reason, but she trusted herself enough, to go with it.
One clawed finger slowly exposed her ankle from beneath sweats and thick hiking socks. "Does this hurt?" he asked, his deep voice filled with more gravel than before. He slowly rotated her ankle, and she winced at one point, answering his question.
He lowered her leg, putting his hands on his massive, muscled thighs. He shook his head, and a sigh left his chest. "I might need to carry you out."
Lily's breath caught. This beautiful man, carrying her around the woods. Those strong arms around her, those wicked sharp claws so close. Her heart raced, but not from fear. She’d thought her secret desire from the last night too absurd, but it had become fact, at least in her mind. Quickly and irrevocably. "Very well," she said, as if she were some snooty princess and he was a servant. She internally cursed herself but didn't say more; she couldn't trust herself.
A gasp bubbled up from her, more sensual than surprised, when he scooped her into those strong arms with ease and hefted her up to his chest. Something rumbled there, a growl so primal she shivered in anticipation. Lily looked up into his face, her mouth slightly open. His was, too, his fangs exposed. A swirl of visible breath mingled between them, stretched like slowed time, like the thing in her gut she felt lock into place when he stepped toward her. Like he was hers. And she was his.
He broke eye contact first, turning his head to the side and giving a vicious snarl. It didn’t frighten her, but it was enough to break whatever mood had fallen between them, so she turned her head to look ahead as he walked. He somehow knew where she'd been and headed toward the same path she'd taken to get into this whole mess. Strong, silent steps and body heat were all that existed between them for several minutes.
He reached the crest of the hollow in no time at all. Superhuman time, for sure. She'd kept her eyes on the wings over his shoulder—the slight shimmer to the stiff, sharp-looking feathers was mesmerizing—or she might figure he flew up that embankment.
Pausing at the top, just past a tree line, he asked, "How far is your vehicle?"
"Not... not far," she managed. Squirming a bit, she signaled she wanted out of his grip. "You can let me down. The way is flat, and with a stick or something, I can make it back to the road."
He huffed again, gripped her tighter, and stalked on, right for the small, one-lane gravel road about a mile down the way.
"Um, I said I could make it."
"I can reach your vehicle more quickly."
"Sure, but you don't have to."
"I do," he said, the tone so hard she wasn't about to argue with him.
Instead, her Southern hospitality finally kicked back in. "I'm Lily. Nice to meet you. Your name is?"
He hesitated before saying "Boreas."
"Boreas," she repeated, a habit she'd established long ago to remember people's names. He stiffened and started walking even faster than before, the woods blurring around the edges of her sight at their new speed.
"I sure do thank you for the help, Boreas. I was in a bit of trouble there."
"Why were you in the woods alone?"
"Oh, you know. This and that." A ridiculous answer, but she couldn't think all wrapped up in his warmth.
"This and that? This and that?" His repetition got a little harsher each time. "You could have been seriously injured. You should not be in these woods alone."
"Pish-posh. I've walked these woods alone most of my life."
He stared down at her, eyes hard and glittering. "No more."
"Excuse me?"
"No more walking the woods alone."
She almost gave him a piece of her mind when she remembered why she'd been there in the first place and what she’d left behind. "Oh, no," she squealed.
"What?" Boreas held her tight to his chest, his head turning to survey the area for danger.
"I went and hurt my ankle and didn't even get what I wanted. And I left my granny's basket out in the woods." Tears threatened to spill then. The slight pain, the loss of that special piece of her grandmother, the letdown of having a great idea she didn't know if she could now execute. It all fell rather hard on her heart.
"Shush, Lily," Boreas cooed, calming her with his voice and the soft stroke of one sharp claw along her left arm. "All will be well."
She wanted to argue with him, but they were already at her car somehow. He set her on the ground, and she shifted so her right foot took all her weight. "Ice," he demanded as he stared down at her foot.
"Yep. Will do. I think some chill creeped into it and helped. Good thing it’s winter, huh?" She opened the car door and turned back to him only to see him several feet away from her, heading back from where they’d came.
She wanted to tell him to stop, to come to her, come with her. Be with her, then and forever if possible. Since those were ridiculous things to say to someone she just met, she instead called out "Hey Boreas?"
He stopped but didn't look back at her. She went on. "Thanks again. You know, if you ever need anything, call me. I'd be happy to help." Lily rattled off her number, but he made no move to save it on a phone or even repeat it back to her. She had no idea if he even had a phone, but didn’t everyone these days?
He didn't acknowledge what she said, instead walking away on strong legs at such a steady clip the woods swallowed his massive form in seconds.
Lily let out a sigh of disappointment and longing, then shook the odd thoughts from her head. At least her left ankle was the one hurt. She'd be able to drive home without issue. Then ice it just as Boreas demanded she do. First, of course, now that she had a signal, she fired up her search engine as her car warmed itself. A basic search gave her all she needed to know. Boreas, Greek God of the North Wind, usually depicted as a large white beast of winter. There were no photos of him, because no one knew he existed in real life instead of simply being a myth.
The idea of old gods walking the earth shifted her world view, but only slightly. Knowing about other supernatural beings made the reality jump a little easier. Her own love of stories about supernaturals maybe made Lily herself more apt to both believe and accept. The nature of who she met, the look of him, and the odd wind she’d felt caressing her hurt ankle and keeping it cool added up logically given this new information.
Greek gods walked the earth, even if people forgot; they’d once known this. Hell, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Why else would so many stories about these beings trickle down through the centuries if they weren’t somehow based in reality?
She laughed to herself over the idea of meeting an actual god out in the woods, though she couldn’t shrug off the odd connection and longing she felt for him. Nothing she could do about it, and her ankle was starting to throb. Focusing back on her car, nice and toasty and ready to go, she made a three-point turn in the gravel and headed back home. Where she’d think more of Boreas. Who he was, why he lived in their neck of the woods, the odd yet warm knot in her stomach when he first spoke directly to her, and how safe she’d felt in his arms.
T he next morning, Lily woke bright and early to find her granny's basket, filled with wild ginger, sitting on her doorstep. The faint smell of wind and pine lingered, and “mine” hit her lips once again without warning.