Chapter 25
Renata
The question flies out as soon as I see him.
The entire way downstairs, I told myself to stay calm. Though I have felt anything but in the couple of minutes since Clementine barged into my room to tell me who was downstairs with Rowyn. She ran off to grab her sister and Esme, probably still sleeping.
Something dark and inky slithered through my veins when I saw him talking to Rowyn, even smiling at her.
That makes me feel crazier than any hallucinations or nightmares ever have.
I trust Rowyn, and I don’t know this man. No matter how much it feels like I do, for my sake, I have to constantly remind myself that I don’t.
When he turns toward me, his small, friendly smile grows into a wider, happier grin. He slowly takes me in, and suddenly I’m self-conscious in the short satin nightgown I haven’t changed out of.
To be fair, everyone knows it’s rude to disturb someone before nine in the morning, and it’s only an hour after sunrise. I’d just gotten out of bed to open the window for Hexate, and was on my way to shower when Clementine came to tell me about Archer.
Without thinking about it, I didn’t bother grabbing a robe or anything else. Now my nightgown and socks are far too exposing, and my skin heats under his appreciative gaze.
I told myself I was in a rush to get him far away from the property, and Nestor.
Now that I’m looking at him in his fitted white t-shirt and jeans, I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m also not ready to be honest with myself about why I felt so desperate to get to him, either.
“Good morning,” he says easily, ignoring my question.
My eyes quickly glance to Rowyn, and she must understand the silent question.
Have you seen Nestor?
She shakes her head, and we both look back at Archer.
When I don’t say anything, his smile doesn’t falter—if anything, it looks more mischievous than seconds ago.
“I’m meeting my boss’s favorite granddaughter,” he finally answers in a light tone and gestures toward Rowyn.
“Oh no, Lover Boy, you can’t blame this on me,” Rowyn chimes in.
We both look at her. To my horror, we have different reactions to her new nickname.
I give her a look that more than communicates my displeasure with it. He chuckles and slips his hands in his pockets, not denying it.
“Did I hear someone say ‘lover boy’?” Esme’s smooth voice filters in from around the corner before she, Clover, and Clementine, walk into the room. The former two are still in their pajamas, which makes me feel less ridiculous.
Clover bumps her hip against Esme in a silent command to stop. We are all aware she’s only getting started.
The walls are closing in around me. The unrelenting attention from Archer, coupled with the curious, giddy audience is prickling at my skin. I do what I always do when I feel cornered.
“What are you even doing awake?” I snap at Esme. “I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence until at least ten.” My sharp words don’t wound her. If anything, her lips rise at my small outburst.
A true instigator.
Esme ignores me and turns her attention to our guest. “What brought you here? A grandparent, or a whisper on the wind?”
To my horror, Archer answers, “More like a dream.”
“Oh, Mother Earth,” Rowyn murmurs in a traitorously love-struck tone at the same time I mutter, “Dear Gods.”
“Lover boy indeed,” Esme muses and crosses her arms, throwing me a teasing look.
“That’s enough,” I blurt out and step forward, grabbing his arm. “Archer is leaving now.”
“How do you know my name?” he asks.
The question startles me enough to stop and turn toward him. I consider letting his forearm go, but can’t quite bring myself to break the connection.
“Rowyn told me,” I tell him.
I catch her eyes rolling, and he looks back at her.
“Gale,” he says without any further explanation.
Rowyn nods, and so does Archer, like that’s explanation enough for him.
I don’t question it. Tugging on his arm, I’m about to turn back toward the hallway when he stops me again.
Archer asks, “What’s your name?”
My mouth pops open, ready to answer and tell him any other secrets he may want to know, but I have enough sense to stop myself in time.
As I close my mouth, his brows lower in disappointment.
We stare at each other for a long moment, aware of our audience, and I hate the reservation that slides over his handsome features.
This time when I turn and drag him, he follows without a fight. My own disappointment floods through me. I push it down and make my way to the front door.
A small scream spills out of me, and I jump backward when a coyote casually walks out of the den and stops in front of us.
Archer gently grabs my waist so I don’t fall. Even with the dress, it feels like his hands are directly on my skin. Slowly, I look at him over my shoulder and find him staring intently at me.
It’s such a heated look—so full of hunger and longing—that it almost breaks my resolve. The bitter reminder of what our fate looks like makes all of the warmth drain straight out of me. “That’s Whisper,” he murmurs.
His breath tickles my cheek, and I pick up his woodsy, vanilla scent from the other day. It was hard to pick up in the gardens, but my body was drawn to it more than anything around us.
“Your familiar?” I ask embarrassed, turning to look back at Whisper. Despite him being named, I should’ve guessed based on his size. He’s large for a coyote.
His head tilts curiously when he looks at me, and his tail slowly sweeps along the floor calmly. He’s not worried about his Bonded being so close to me—and I can’t help but think, you should be.
“Where’s your familiar?” he asks as he lets my waist go, taking a step back.
“She’s hunting,” I tell him and glance at the grandfather clock in the den. “She should be back soon.”
“What’s her name?” he asks with genuine interest as he and Whisper follow me.
I glance briefly over my shoulder before answering.
When I was young and eager to have a familiar of my own, my father taught Agatha and me that we could learn a lot about someone based on the relationship they have with their animal.
At first, we thought he simply meant the type of animal someone is fated to. His familiar was a sweet cottontail rabbit named Ash, and my father was one of the kindest men to ever live. It felt fitting.
My father was quick to explain what he actually meant was how a witch treats their familiar says a lot about the person they are—and especially how someone treats another witch’s familiar.
It was hard for either of us to grasp the concept of someone being cruel to any animal, much less their familiar. As I got older, it added to the confusion I have toward my mother and Agatha.
I’ve seen them prove love lives inside their souls, yet they are so stingy with it.
Shamefully, younger me would have been disgusted to be paired with a snake, but I couldn’t imagine my life without Hexate.
Archer mindlessly reaches down to pet Whisper as they walk side by side, and the soft smile he wears while waiting for my answer affirms that Archer is a very kind man himself.
“Hexate,” I answer, and look forward again. We’re only a few feet from the front door.
Once we get to it, I put my back to the wood, blocking the exit. From the smile he bites back, he’s clocking every move I make.
“She’s a prairie rattlesnake,” I offer. “She found me at the town market when I was twenty.”
“So, just to confirm,” he asks in a light tone, “You and Hexate have been together for…?”
A small smile breaks through at the charming way he rolls through an awkward situation. I’m interested to learn more about him, including his age.
“Seven years,” I answer dryly.
He laughs and slips his hands in his pockets, leaning against the stair bannister.
“Got it. It was almost ten years ago when Whisper found me on a hike with my twin sister,” he offers in response. “I was nineteen.”
The confirmation that the woman with him is his twin sister makes me greedy for any new bit of information, but I’m stuck on something else he said.
“You go on hikes?” I ask, genuine surprise dripping from my tone. Even in our dream state, when I couldn’t see his face, I never took him as the outdoorsy type.
Rowyn was right, he kind of looks like the universal, “bad boy” stereotype with his leather jackets, silver rings, and black boots. The ear piercings he has don’t surprise me, but not seeing any visible tattoos does. It would fit his entire vibe.
He laughs easily. “I do—it’s pretty common in Junimere.” My ears perk up at the new information.
Doing my best to not visibly react, I try to convince myself that it’s a coincidence that’s where Hexate is from.
I stopped believing in those the moment I stepped into Briarhollow.
“My sister and I loved anything that got us out of the house though,” he adds.
Crossing my feet and playing with the hem of my nightgown, I ask, “Where else have you been?”
He leans on the bannister, content to carry on our conversation. “Not a lot of places. Sybil and I always dreamed of traveling, but our parents like being home. This is the furthest I’ve been.”
“Same,” I admit. “I’m from Hemlocke, which isn’t far from here. Before Briarhollow, the furthest I went was New York City.”
“Wh—” Archer abruptly stops, turning back to the den area and standing straight.
I tilt my head to the right, not surprised to find Nestor floating nearby. However, how calmly he’s watching us isn’t expected.
His damn wife can’t seem to keep her head on when she makes an appearance in our dream state, one of the reasons why I’m still trying to avoid him there. Nestor’s track record at the mention of the Vexleys isn’t great, either.
“Archer,” I start dryly. “Meet my great-great—” I quickly count how many on my fingers, “—great grandfather, Nestor.”
“Why is he here?” he asks, curious.
“Still figuring that out—I’ll make sure to fill you in once I know more,” I snark.
It’s not fair to take my anger out on him, and the response leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue.
“Maybe I can hel—” he says, taking a step toward him.