Chapter 10
brODERICK
Not to sound like a total creep, but I’ve been watching Ophelia since the moment she walked into Knives & Fangs.
Some hidden force alerted me the second she pushed through the door.
My body immediately wanted to abandon my dinner party and go to her, but the beautiful firebird was with a group.
The siren Georgiana, her human doctor husband, and another man.
A good-looking one, I guess. If you’re into Clark Kent vibes.
What soured me on him was the way he stared at Ophelia.
His gaze was assessing.
And possessive.
She’s her own fucking firebird! I wanted to shout across the restaurant. You don’t own her!
But I don’t know that Ophelia would have appreciated my defense, and my colleagues would have started asking questions about my sanity.
“I think we need to reword the rubric for the 102 midterm paper,” Sherry, another professor in the English department and a mermaid, says, leaning across the table to make sure everyone is listening.
“That’s the one I got the most emails about.
” She pushes her long braids away from her plate and continues eating as the table debates how to update the assignment.
There are six of us here, including Delta Novac—the previous owner of Mor’s library and the newest faculty hire. The dragon shifter eagerly adds her point of view, drawn from years of teaching online college composition courses.
Normally, I would be all in on this discussion. Some professors dread teaching intro courses, but I enjoy getting the chance to encourage students at the beginning of their college careers. That first year is when they’re most vulnerable. When they doubt themselves.
My need to soothe anxieties has lots of opportunity to come into play.
But my entire attention stays trained across the restaurant, where Ophelia sits. She has her back to me, blocking her expression. But the longer I watch, the surer I am she isn’t saying a word.
So? She barely said anything at happy hour, I remind myself.
Just because the firebird isn’t chatty doesn’t mean she’s having a bad time.
But there’s orange in her aura. Darker than normal … right?
It’s hard to tell in the mood lighting of the restaurant.
I’m jealous. I know I am. The setup looks suspiciously like a double date, and the idea of Ophelia getting romantically involved with anyone who isn’t me feels like swallowing glue.
I robotically chew the rest of my food and reassure myself I’m not missing anything super important in my distracted state.
This is just an ideas meeting. We’ll get together later in the summer to iron out any solid changes for the fall semester.
I can continue to not-creepily watch the woman I’m obsessed with.
To make up for my distraction, I pick up the bill for everyone.
It’s not a big deal for me. My parents, horrible as they were—and still are—left plenty of money to their four children.
Mor used her inheritance for the library.
Anthony doesn’t need his, having made a fortune during his years as a model and influencer.
Ame … honestly, I have no idea if my younger sister has touched the money.
She lives a frugal life. I wouldn’t be surprised if she donated it years ago to an animal shelter.
As my group rises, I consider if I could sit here on my own. Slowly sip the rest of my water and wait for Ophelia’s party to be finished with their meal as well.
No. That would be weird.
But maybe I could hang out at the bar—
Suddenly, Ophelia shoots up from her chair, throws money on the table, and hurries for the exit.
Working on instinct, I dive after her. But, misjudging the way the table arrangements might hold her up, I end up directly in front of her.
The firebird plows into me.
Ophelia has plenty of strength in her deceptively thin body. I wobble from the collision, then steady us both with my hands on her upper arms.
“Ophelia? Are you okay?”
That didn’t look like a happy, planned departure, and now that we’re close, I can see the sickly orange anxiety twisting in the air around her.
She jerks her chin up, gaze meeting mine, and I spy golden flames dancing in her irises.
“I need to burn something.” Her voice is soft and desperate. Shudders rack her body.
Is this the state she was in before almost lighting up her father’s house?
“Okay.” I wrap an arm around her, fighting my urge to magically soothe her. “Let’s find something to set on fire.”
We hurry out of the restaurant, and Ophelia allows me to guide her to my car. Hopefully, she can hold on to her internal inferno until I get her to a safe location. Once I’m behind the wheel, I dial a number I never have before.
“What?” Jack says on the other end of the line.
He sounds grumpy. But that’s his norm, so I ignore the tone.
“Hey. It’s Broderick.”
“I know. I have caller ID,” he growls.
Jack has never been the kind of guy who feels the need to impress the brothers of the woman he loves.
“Great. Anyway, Mor mentioned something about a few dead trees that fell near the library. She said you were planning on chopping them up for firewood.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, could you drag them to the lakeshore instead?” I glance over at Ophelia, who sits hunched in the passenger seat. “Right now. Please. I’ll take care of them.”
There’s a pause.
“Fine.”
Grumpy or not, the wolf can still be helpful when he wants.
The line clicks off, and I gun it toward the library.
When we arrive, I spy the werewolf disappearing around the side of the house, a massive tree gripped in his clawed hands.
Jack is in his half form. Part human, part wolf.
Wolfman, some might say. And apparently, it’s a rare form only guardian werewolves can access.
The guy is properly terrifying. Luckily, he’s in love with a Shelly, so I’m safe from him.
Probably.
“Time for a bonfire.” I keep my voice light, but I’m not sure if Ophelia hears me.
She seems far away as she scrambles for the door handle and stumbles out of the car.
I meet her in front of the hood and gesture toward the lake. “This way.”
Just when I’m sure she’s going to race past me, the firebird sidles close, slipping her hand into mine. Her skin is fever hot. I hold tight and draw her forward.
On the rocky lakeshore, Jack is just finishing setting a tree on top of two others. Decent-sized trunks—each could have provided a year’s worth of firewood. Something tells me they won’t last the night.
Jack backs up on his lupine legs and uses a clawed hand to point at the pile. “Yours,” he growls through a gaping maw full of fangs. Then, he lopes off, back toward the house.
“Thank you!” I call after him, determined to show gratitude whether he acknowledges it or not.
“Stand back,” Ophelia commands, her voice strong now.
She detaches her hand from mine and uses it to push my chest. Then, in moves so quick that I almost miss them, she toes off her sandals and tugs her dress overhead.
In only her panties, the firebird strides toward the kindling, flames sparking from her skin, feet scorching the grass with each step.
The moment Ophelia stands among the wood, she emits a shriek that reminds me of a hunting hawk.
And just like the night we freed her, the gorgeous shape of a majestic bird overtakes her.
But this time, she doesn’t fly away.
Ophelia simply burns, the logs around her catching to build a huge bonfire on the shores of Lake Galen. Even at my distance, the heat spills off in waves, stealing the moisture from my face until my skin feels tight. But I don’t retreat.
In the rising temperature, I can sense her pain. The orange of anxiety is masked by the fire, but I feel the emotion through my magic. The fear and hurt she tries to hide under soft words and ducked eyes.
Behaviors I’m beginning to believe were taught to her by that hellish father she told me about.
My parents were terrible, but at least they left us to our own devices for the most part.
Ophelia lived under the constant oppression of a man who told her this wondrous part of her was wrong. Then, he—her own flesh and blood—traded her to a monster who caged her even further.
We’re lucky she hasn’t set this whole town on fire with how much furious despair is pent up inside her.
I settle in the now-dry grass, ready to wait as long as Ophelia needs. There’s a small log a few feet from me, and without warning, a large barn owl glides down to settle on the makeshift perch.
No, not an owl. The owl. The one that keeps appearing, as if following me around town. The one that feels oddly familiar.
Tearing my eyes from Ophelia’s pyrotechnics, I take a moment to study the bird. For now, it stares straight ahead, keeping vigil over the firebird.
Is the owl here for me or for her?
Either way, I find I appreciate the company as I turn back to watch Ophelia burn. Her fire mesmerizes me, lulling me into an almost-drowsy state. Which might be why I blink and feel like I’ve only woken up when all there is before me is a cluster of charred wood. And a naked woman.
She crosses her arms over her chest self-consciously.
I scoop up her dress and keep my eyes on my toes as I jog up to her, the sound of flapping wings at my back alerting me to the fact that the owl has taken to the air at my departure.
The silky material slips over the skin of my fingers like a tease as she accepts it.
“I’m covered,” she says.
When I glance up, Ophelia stares back at me, an expression of uncertainty on her face.
“Will I get in trouble?” she asks.
“For what?”
She tilts her chin toward the smoldering embers. “For letting my fire out.”
“No. Of course not. Is that what Georgiana told you?”
She shrugs. “Not in those exact words. But yes.”
I spread my arms wide, a silent ask. With a hesitant smile, Ophelia steps into them. Hugging me.
Gods, each one of these is better than the last.
“You didn’t hurt anyone. That’s all that matters.
” I breathe in her smoky cinnamon scent.
“If you caught on fire in the middle of town, there probably would have been some PR damage control and a stern talking-to from the Mythic Council. But in Folk Haven, our kind isn’t punished for what we are.
I’m sorry if that’s what you were led to believe. ”
“I don’t want to live with Georgiana anymore,” Ophelia confesses. “She’s not near as bad as my father, but sometimes, she reminds me of him.”
Fuck. One more person in the firebird’s life causing her pain.
“We can find you another place to live.”
I consider asking Mor about a free room in the library. There should be one since I moved out.
But as if she can read my mind, Ophelia shakes her head. “I can’t live here.” She tilts her chin toward the Victorian structure. “With my fire and the books, I’d be too worried all the time.”
“Mor would still have you.” She’d probably just start frantically researching fireproofing spells.
“But there are other places to rent in town, I’m sure.
” Just as I say the words, an idea comes to me.
“Actually, I might know of a place. A temporary one, but if they agree, you could use it while you search for another.”
Ophelia stares up at me, an adorable streak of soot on her face. “What place?”
I grin. “How do you feel about selkies?”