25. Sedrick
Sedrick
I slept like the dead. I hadn’t planned on helping in the mine yesterday, but Oliver came across a stubborn, rocky barrier that needed to be tamed.
He hadn’t asked me to help, but I’d been around when the news came, and I needed the physical outlet.
I’d stayed and worked a lot longer than I’d initially planned.
We finally got through the hard ore a little after eight o’clock.
A good night’s sleep had done wonders for my tired muscles.
I’d been on the verge last night of telling Phil that he didn’t need to sleep in Dillon’s room, that he was more than welcome in my bed.
I wasn’t sure if I would have slept better or worse with him beside me.
Something told me that no matter how exhausted I was, a certain part of my body wouldn’t have been able to rest with my pixie so nearby.
Freshly washed and dressed, I opened my bedroom door.
Ruthie’s door was still closed. I stood still, listening to the sound of Ruthie’s and Dillon’s even breathing, their hearts beating in synchrony.
It was a soothing sound, something that eased my wolf.
The sound of Phil getting breakfast ready in the kitchen went a long way to soothing my wolf too.
Phil was dressed in another one of his pink outfits.
Barefoot, he glided around the kitchen. A shower of pixie dust occasionally sparkled in the air when his wings fluttered.
He was humming a tune I didn’t know, and his hair was completely down.
I flushed, remembering how I’d run my fingers through it last night.
Phil hadn’t pulled away, which made me think he hadn’t hated it.
I’d had so much dusty ore shoved up my nose last night that I hadn’t been able to scent Phil to know.
I hadn’t minded the diminished sense of smell when it was just me in the house alone. It was an issue now that I had a pack to care for. I needed to invest in a mask if I planned on working in the mine beside my dwarves.
Phil turned when he heard me, a bright smile tugging at his lips. His cheeks flushed peach, and he quickly looked back at the eggs he pulled from the fridge. “Good morning, Sedrick,” Phil greeted politely.
“Mornin’.”
“I thought I’d make omelets today if that’s okay.”
It was more than okay with me. Before the gnome incident, Phil didn’t get to the house until after breakfast, and I was responsible for preparing that meal. I did a fair job, but omelets were beyond my skill set.
Moving into the kitchen, I checked out the array of ingredients, noting that Phil had pulled out a lot of ham and bacon. I was glad the scent of cooking meat wasn’t too much for him. His omelet would be devoid of the meat, but he’d go heavy on it for the rest of us.
“That looks great,” I finally answered after figuring out that I hadn’t responded yet. “Where did you learn to cook?” I didn’t think all home-and-hearth pixies were good at it. I could’ve been wrong but wasn’t sure.
“My mom and dad.” Phil cracked a couple of eggs and whisked them. “They’re like me and have a great home.”
“Do they live around here?” I realized I didn’t know much about Phil’s family.
Unfortunately, he’d had to learn plenty about mine.
After I asked the question, I realized I just assumed they were still alive.
Pixies lived longer than humans but not as long as other species.
From what I understood, their lifespans were slightly longer than werewolves.
“No.” Phil shook his head, and his pink hair shifted, showing off the different shades.
“They live in California. I don’t speak to them as much as I’d like.
” Phil glanced my way and looked embarrassed.
I had no idea why. “I made myself a promise when I moved across the country that I would make it on my own. Used to, if I called them too much, I got homesick, and the pull to go back was too big, so I stopped calling them as often, and they respected me enough to do the same.”
I grabbed a piece of ham and shoved it into my mouth. “Did it work?”
Phil stilled for a minute before he added ingredients to the eggs. “It did. It was difficult, but then I met Peaches, and things got better.” Phil’s voice always softened when he said his friend’s name.
My wolf’s jealousy had dimmed slightly, but it still didn’t like it when Phil talked about his friend.
Inhaling deeply, Phil said, “Speaking of Peaches…”
I wasn’t sure I’d like where this was going but kept silent. “I flew over the back garden yesterday and—”
“It’s a catastrophe.”
Phil nodded. “To say the least. The ground is a mess. I’m not sure if Peaches can do anything about that or the thorn hedges he placed around the perimeter, but if you don’t mind, I can ask him.
Except for manual labor, I’m afraid that level of work is beyond my capabilities.
Not that I mind hard work,” Phil needlessly hastened to add.
“But if you want to plant anything useful this year, then I think the only way that will happen is if we can get some help to smooth out the land and the planting beds.”
“If you think Peaches can help and he wouldn’t mind, I’m happy to have him back out to the house.” Happy wasn’t exactly the right word, but I didn’t mind it as much as I once had.
“I’ll call him later and ask.” Phil sounded happy, or maybe relieved. “The ground looked too treacherous to let Dillon and Ruthie in, so I flew them over the garden yesterday so they could see what it looks like.”
I was in the middle of sneaking another cube of ham when Phil’s words hit home. “You flew them over the garden? Your wing is still healing, Phil. I don’t want you to do anything that will—”
Phil silenced me with a well-placed finger over my lips.
I had the overwhelming desire to lick that finger and barely refrained.
“It’s okay,” Phil assured me. “I won’t lie. It was probably a bit much for my wing, but it feels better today, and Dillon and Ruthie were over the moon about it.”
I wanted to protest more. The idea of Phil causing himself pain, even for the benefit of the children, didn’t sit well with my wolf or me. But as I’d said before, I didn’t think Phil could help it. Pleasing Dillon and Ruthie made Phil feel good, and feeling good was a powerful drug.
Sneaking a glance at Phil’s damaged wing, I was relieved to see it had mended.
There was no longer a tear, but there was a mark.
I wasn’t sure if pixie wings scarred or not.
It was one of those questions I wish I didn’t need to know the answer to.
Kind of like the question that had been swimming around in my brain since Hamish McIntyre’s visit to the mine yesterday.
Swallowing my latest bite of ham, I leaned back on the counter.
I wasn’t sure how to ask Phil what I needed to know.
The most obvious path was to be blunt, but it was more than rude to question Phil’s heritage.
At this point, I didn’t give a shit if Phil had more than pixie blood in his lineage.
That didn’t mean the courts wouldn’t care.
“Something on your mind?” Phil asked, pushing the egg batter away. “You’re being unusually quiet, and you’ve got a crease on your forehead.”
My fingers skimmed over the skin Phil pointed out, and he was right. “Just thinking about something.” I tried to relax my face and offered up a smile. I didn’t think Phil bought it.
“Anything I can help you figure out?” Phil’s wings fluttered and a light sheen of pink filtered through the air.
I casually shrugged, the tension in my shoulders far from relaxed. “Just wondering how you, I mean, why you’re so . . .” I swallowed hard. “You’re not typical pixie size.”
Phil’s motions immediately stilled. Even his wings were quiet. I took that as a very poor sign.
“Is that a problem?” Phil tensely asked, voice hushed and barely audible.
“No,” I hastened to reassure. “Just wondering if . . .” What exactly was I wondering? And how did I put it into inoffensive words?
“If I’m all pixie?” Phil had a bad habit of rolling into himself as if trying to look smaller. This time, he didn’t do that. His shoulders went back, thrusting his chest forward.
Shame, deep and breath-stealing, stabbed me in the chest. I couldn’t look Phil in the eyes. With a simple nod, I said, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Phil poured the egg batter into the pan. He was quiet while tending the omelet. The silence was oppressive. Finally, he asked, “Am I doing a poor job? Is that why you suddenly asked?”
“What?” My head snapped up. “No. That’s not it at all. You’ve turned this house around, and it looks great. I just . . . I was curious, that’s all.” It was far from the whole story, but my answer relaxed Phil, at least to a degree.
“I understand.” Phil added more ingredients to the omelet. “I’m surprised the question didn’t come up sooner, and I guess I’d rather you ask than speculate or whisper behind my back.”
I got the distinct impression Phil was used to being gossiped about.
“To answer, not that I’m aware of. My parents are both typical-looking pixies.” Phil shrugged. “I suppose anything is possible, but as far as I know, I was just born bigger than most.” Phil tilted his head enough for me to see a hint of a cautious grin.
“I see.” I wanted to say more, to tell Phil I thought his size was perfect. But the words wouldn’t come.
Phil lifted the plate with the perfectly formed omelet, a wide grin on his face, pride beaming from deep within. “I put a lot of extra meat in it.”
I reached for the plate. My fingers were so numb I was surprised I didn’t drop it. My stomach had hungrily growled when it realized what Phil was making this morning. My shame hadn’t silenced my hunger, but it had dimmed it.
Phil’s face fell, and his lips pulled down into a worried frown. His wings fluttered, not with joy but with unease. That concern echoed in his voice when he asked, “Is something wrong with it? I should have asked what you wanted in your omelet. I—”
“It’s perfect.” I hadn’t tasted it yet, but I had no doubt my words were accurate. I didn’t think Phil was capable of doing anything that wasn’t perfect.
Phil blushed, and his eyes dropped. Soft, pink lashes partly covered those grass-green eyes. “But you haven’t even tasted it yet,” Phil protested weakly.
“Don’t need to. I know I’m right.”
Phil’s beaming smile lit up the room. The previous uneasiness vanished as his happy, fluttering wings scattered pixie dust, turning the early morning sun into a magical, pink haze. I didn’t sneeze. Phil’s dust didn’t even tickle my nose.
“Why don’t you head to the table and get started. I’m going to make myself the veggie version and I’ll join you,” Phil said, already cracking eggs into a fresh bowl. “Dillon and Ruthie will be asleep for a bit longer. I’ll make theirs when they get up.”
Robotically, I did what Phil told me. I walked to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Somewhere along the line, I’d managed to grab my coffee and a fork.
Or maybe those items were already on the table.
I could barely remember the trip to the table, let alone what had or hadn’t been there.
All I knew was that they were there when I reached for them.
I shoved piece after piece of my omelet into my mouth. I’d have to ask Phil to make them again sometime when my gut wasn’t churning when I’d remember to taste what went into my mouth. Instinct directed me to chew and swallow. The taste didn’t factor into the equation.
“Wow, are you done already?” Phil asked as he pulled his chair out, hovering but not sitting. He placed his plate on the table, a glass of grapefruit juice in place of my coffee. “Would you like me to make you another one?” Phil sounded so hopeful; I almost said yes.
Instead, I patted my belly and gave a watered-down version of a smile. “Maybe next time. I’m all good for today. It was delicious. Thank you, Phil.”
My pixie blushed again before he settled into his chair. We’d had a new kitchen chair delivered. It was more like a stool and didn’t have a back. It had a floral, cushioned seat with lavender and pink roses patterned across the top. It should have looked out of place in my rustic home. It didn’t.
“I’ll be happy to make more in the future.” Phil’s flushed cheeks darkened. “That is if I’m here in the morning. I mean . . .” Phil’s voice trailed off, and he stuffed a bite of omelet into his mouth.
It was the perfect opportunity to bring up that I wanted Phil to live here permanently. I’d planned to have that conversation, and it was on the tip of my tongue, even now. But I remained silent as worry wiggled deep within my gut.
If Phil was disappointed, he hid it well. After taking another couple of bites, Phil set his fork down, twirling it within his fingers before releasing it. “Something happened yesterday.”
I didn’t think my stomach could drop any farther. I’d been wrong. “What?” That single word came out far gruffer than I’d intended.
Phil glanced up at me before his eyes landed on his food. Picking up his fork, he started pushing the remnants of his omelet around. “We had a visitor.” Even from the side, I could see Phil scowl. “An unwanted visitor,” Phil huffed. “He said his name was Hamish McIntyre, and...”
I listened with half an ear, static filling my head with a loud buzz that almost drowned out Phil’s words.
Hamish McIntyre had come to the house. After he’d left the office at the mine, he’d walked onto my property and demanded things he had no right to.
He’d obviously frightened Phil. Maybe he hadn’t said anything threatening, but his presence had been threatening enough.
My wolf silently howled, clawing at my insides, desperate for release.
But my wolf had a one-track mind: to destroy Arie Belview, maybe try to take out Hamish McIntyre too.
Moon Goddess, fairies were too smart for anyone’s good.
Hamish had placed his barbs expertly, riling up my instincts and hoping I’d do something stupid.
My wolf certainly wanted to play into their hands.
Going off now, allowing my wolf the freedom it wanted, would be a death sentence for me and condemn Dillon and Ruthie to a life of misery and manipulation.
I fought instinct with everything I had, pushing my wolf down and placating him with promises of blood later. Only when that time came it wouldn’t be our blood but Arie Belview’s.