Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SELENE
Iremained frozen in place as I stared at the pile of ash that had been a horrific creature only seconds before. I could barely breathe. And then I began to shake. Violently. My mind fought to make sense of what had taken place, and it couldn’t.
The hush of metal slicing through the air drew my gaze to Bren, and I caught sight of the tip of his gleaming silver blade before it disappeared in a flash of moonlight. He crossed the clearing in three strides and suddenly stood before me.
I lifted my gaze, wide-eyed and searching, and found the man who’d arrived at my door hours earlier. Not the powerful sword bearer who’d defeated an otherworldly creature.
He gently took my chin in his hands and examined my face. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, the movement feeling as if it belonged to someone else.
Concern darkened his features as his brows drew inward. “You’re trembling.”
Without warning, he drew me into his embrace and crushed me against him, holding me tightly. “I told you not to look,” he whispered against my hair.
I closed my eyes and leaned into the warmth and safety he offered. I focused on his strong heartbeat and let it ground me.
By slow degrees, the tightness in my chest eased, and I could finally draw a normal breath. With that normalcy came the memory of the creature lashing his arm, and I pushed away from him, turning to grab his right arm. “Wait. You’re hurt.”
My fingers found the rip in his coat and, beneath that, the blood-soaked rip in his shirt. He gently pulled his arm from my grasp. “I’m fine.”
I quickly shook my head. “No, you’re bleeding.”
“It was merely a flesh wound. I’ll care for it.” His gaze hardened as he focused on my hand where the monster had lashed. “Bloody fucking hell.”
The moment he reminded me of the monster’s slash, the wound began to sting again. I dropped my gaze to find a swollen welt with a thin line of blood at the center where the creature had cut me. “It’s okay,” I said without knowing if it truly was.
He grasped my uninjured hand and tugged me. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I glanced at the remnants of chaos surrounding us as I cradled my injury to my chest again. “Please.”
Bren wrapped his fingers around mine and led us from the clearing. My heart broke that the beautiful, peaceful place he’d introduced me to had been desecrated by that thing.
As we walked swiftly through the moss-covered fairy forest, I wanted to ask about that creature. That horrific, awful thing, but I couldn’t. It was so far out of the realm of reality that I just couldn’t go there.
We reached his pretty car, and he settled me in the passenger seat, even buckling my seatbelt for me. A minute later, we were headed down the dark road toward home, leaving the craziness behind.
The drive passed in near silence.
I kept my hand against my chest and my gaze fixed on the road ahead, where moonlight laid pale ribbons across the blacktop. The engine hummed steadily beneath us, an ordinary sound, and I concentrated on it.
Bren didn’t speak.
Now and then I felt his attention shift toward me, brief and assessing, before returning to the road.
I tried and failed to keep my mind blank. It kept circling back through the same images. The tear. The dark mist curling through it with horrible intent. The creature assembling itself out of thorn and bark and cold green light.
The sword forming in Bren’s hand out of nothing but moonlight and whatever he actually was. The tree, and the way it had moved when I’d lifted my hand toward it.
I tried to speak and couldn’t until I cleared my throat. “Was that real?”
My voice came out steadier than I expected. Almost detached, as if I was asking about the weather.
“Yes.”
One word. No elaboration.
I nodded once and filed his response somewhere in the back of my mind where I could examine it later, when my hands had stopped their faint, betraying tremors.
The car slowed. Gravel shifted under the tires as Bren turned onto the narrow drive I’d traveled over every morning for nearly two weeks. I was about to ask why we were headed to the castle, but he turned toward the house, half-hidden by old growth pressing close on both sides.
I frowned. “I know this drive.”
“You should.”
The trees opened, and he stopped the car in front of the stone house sitting back from the road beneath several tall oaks. A single warm light burned in one of the front windows, amber against the dark.
I stared at it, my mind still struggling to process in the aftermath of what had happened. “This is the house I pass every morning.”
“Yes.”
“You live here.”
“Yes.”
I sat with that for a moment. I’d driven past this house dozens of times without registering it as anything more than a part of the landscape, never wondering where Bren went after work. Where he slept.
Bren came around and opened my door before I’d managed the handle. Cool air moved in, carrying the same damp earth smell as the grove, and I had to push past the association before I could step out.
He led me up the stone path and held the door open.
I lifted my gaze to him in question. “Why here? Why aren’t you taking me home?”
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tugged me inside. “Because I need to be certain you’re okay.”
I pulled from his grasp once I crossed the threshold.
His house held a warmth that surprised me. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and books lined the shelves of the sitting room. So many books.
Bren took my hand again and led me to the couch. I wanted to complain that I could walk on my own, but found that I appreciated the steadiness he offered. I sat where he pointed, and he turned on the lamp sitting on the small table beside the brown leather sofa.
Soft amber light filled the area, and I focused on the hearthrug that wasn’t properly aligned. “Your rug is crooked.”
He expelled a soft snort. “After everything that happened, you’re worried about a rug?”
I shrugged, giving him a sincere look. “You should fix it.”
The man blinked and shook his head, entirely dismissing my advice as he pulled a thick woven throw from the back of the couch. He said nothing else as he unfolded it and tucked it around my legs and then under my arms. “You’re in shock, and you need to stay warm.”
I wasn’t about to argue about either.
He narrowed his gaze and pointed a sharp finger at me. “Stay here, and I mean it this time. Do not move from this couch.”
A sliver of fear curled through me, and I raised my brows in concern. “Where are you going?”
“To get something for your hand and to make tea.” He strode a few paces before turning back. “Don’t move.”
With that, he strode away, apparently into the kitchen.
I sat snuggled beneath the blanket, ignoring my hand. It no longer hurt, and if I didn’t look at it, I could pretend it hadn’t happened.
After several moments, my curiosity grew. If Bren had only told me to stay once, I likely would have accepted the command without question. But twice, along with the fierce point of his finger, made me wonder what might be around that he didn’t want me to see.
I cast a quick glance toward the kitchen before I stood and readjusted the throw so that it was around my shoulders.
The mantel drew me first. I strode closer, allowing my gaze to drift across a handful of framed photographs, mostly of the castle and surrounding area, and several figurines carved from stone. I reached out to touch one and then pulled my hand back.
Certain things in Bren’s life couldn’t be trusted.
My gaze landed on a wooden frame that appeared older than the rest, but it was the pencil sketch it held that intrigued me the most. It was of Bren and a woman. He was much younger, and she was older than me by far.
Beautiful, though, with dark hair and sharp features. Her eyes reminded me of Bren, and I was certain she must be his mother.
They stood together at the edge of what looked like the castle’s lake, and they were dressed for Halloween or some other costume party.
His coat had a high collar and several buttons.
Her gown was fitted with embroidery along the sleeves.
The detail was so intricate that I was certain it would have cost a fortune to recreate the period dress.
But I already knew money wasn’t an issue for Bren and likely hadn’t been for his mother.
“I told you to stay put.”
I squeaked in surprise and whirled around. “Sorry. I was just…looking.”
He held a mug in one hand and a little plastic box in the other. He pinned me with a stern look before jutting his head toward the couch. “Sit.”
I tightened the throw around me and returned to the sofa. Steam rose from the mug he held out to me, carrying an herbal scent. I wrapped both hands around it and felt the warmth work its way through my palms. “What is it?”
“Tea.”
I narrowed my gaze as I peered at it and sniffed. “What kind?”
“Chamomile.” He sat on the couch near me and opened the box. “With something to settle your nerves.”
I sent him a sideways glance full of suspicion. “That’s an extremely casual way to describe drugging someone.”
Bren watched me for a long moment as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Spiced tea is not drugging someone.”
I took a sip on principle. The flavor was warm and slightly sweet, cinnamon underneath something floral I couldn’t name. The heat spread down my throat and into my stomach, loosening my tight muscles almost instantly. “That’s very good.”
He nodded in agreement, still watching. “The witch I purchased it from is highly skilled in the art of tea-making.”
I mouthed the word “witch” but couldn’t speak it. Doing so brought me too close to that other reality. The one that simply couldn’t be real, and yet…was.
I dropped my gaze to my mug of tea and took a long drink.
Bren lifted my injured hand, pulling it toward his lap. I looked away, not wanting to watch.
He worked quietly while I sipped tea and glanced around the room to distract myself. Something cold stung my skin, and I winced. He said nothing and began to massage my injury with something smooth. The pain instantly evaporated.
When I felt him applying the bandage, I dared a glance. “Do I need to be worried about it?”
Bren answered in a quiet voice. “It’ll heal just fine.” He lifted his gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I shook my head and took another sip.
It surprised me when he put his hand on my forearm, drawing my attention. “That’s fine. We won’t until you’re ready. For now, tell me if you’re not okay.”
The tender way he watched me tugged at my heart. He truly was worried. I slid my gaze to his arm, to where he’d been wounded. “What about your injury?” I blinked, my eyelids suddenly so heavy. “Show me.”
He remained still and quiet.
I reached for his arm, but he was faster and pulled it away. “Show me.”
My words came out slurred, and I knew the tea had taken hold. A sudden fear of being vulnerable while I slept wrapped around me, and I reached out for him. “Don’t leave me just yet. I…I don’t want to be alone.”
Bren took the mug from my hand before it spilled. “Just rest and don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe, A stór.”
My mind stumbled over the word. He’d said it to me once before, but I didn’t know what it meant. I opened my mouth to ask, but things grew fuzzy.
That thought drifted away, and then I didn’t think anything at all.