Chapter 3
CLEMENTINE
“Occupied!” I screech at Griffith, the blundering oaf who decided locked doors didn’t apply to him.
“You’re hurt.” The infuriating wolf comes farther into the cramped space, his focus entirely on my exposed stomach. “What happened?”
“Well, I was in here, minding my own business, and then a nosy fuckwad burst in,” I snarl, pain making me meaner than I’d like to be.
Although being anything but sarcastic to my brother’s judgmental best friend is a Herculean task.
I knew it was a mistake to come here. But I need to find Carl sooner rather than later. I truly debated just finding a pay phone and calling 911 instead of darkening Griffith’s doorstep. But there was no guarantee Carl would be the one answering the call.
So, I showed up here and immediately got into it with this man because he’s insufferable.
Unfortunately, angrily snarking at the annoying bartender didn’t help with this wound that won’t fucking heal.
As a mermaid, I’ve always been blessed with rapid healing. A characteristic shared by all mythical creatures.
But not this time. And the cause of this wound is exactly why I need to speak to my brother.
Griffith drops to his knees, startling me with his proximity as he brings his face level with my wound.
“This looks fresh. How did you cut yourself like this?” Griffith’s voice is harsh and has me bristling.
“I didn’t cut myself, asshole. Someone else had that pleasure. Now, if you would kindly fuck off, I’ll wrap myself back up and get the hell out of your bar to hopefully never see you again.”
Griffith, instead of following my very clear instructions, flares his nostrils and tilts his head enough to spot the used bandages bundled on the sink.
The ones that are almost soaked through.
“You’re not healing,” he growls. “Why aren’t you healing?”
“Griffith”—I grind his name through my clenched teeth—“get out.”
He hesitates for another moment, then straightens. Standing, he looms over me in an aggravating display of genetics. I’m tall compared to many women, clocking in at five-ten, but Griffith still has a handful of inches on me, and he’s not afraid to use them.
“I will wait outside the door. When you’re bandaged, we will go see Madeline.” He names the local healing witch, who I’m briefly relieved to know is still practicing. “I’ll call Carl to meet us there.”
“No.”
“No?”
Confusion twists the wolf’s face, and I hate how even though I despise his personality, I still find him attractive. He’s all muscles and dimples and strong fingers, and when he’s talking to anyone other than me, he’s got a grin that could melt an iceberg.
“The whole reason you showed up here was to find your brother,” Griffith points out.
“To tell him something.” I hedge. “Not to talk about the injury.”
As I watch, the skin of his jaw goes white from how hard he grits his teeth.
All the while, my side throbs fiercely, the torn skin a small fire of agony I can’t fully ignore.
“I don’t lie to Carl. Nothing you can say will make me keep this from him.” Griffith leans closer, his slightly too-long dark blond hair brushing his cheeks. “We’re going to the healer. And I’m calling him. That’s final.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m a child.”
“Then stop acting like one!”
“I’m not the one breaking shit!” I wave at the door behind him.
Griffith pinches the bridge of his nose as he breathes in deep once, twice, a third time.
Then, surprising the hell out of me, he speaks calmly. “Clementine, you’re hurt, you’re bleeding, and I want to take you to a healer. Please, gods, just let me take you to the witch.”
And damn that please. The word is an axe, sinking past my defensive exterior.
Then Shrimp whines, as if in agreement, and my last bit of resistance evaporates.
“Fine.”
Griffith blinks. “Really?”
“Yes. Fine. You can take me to a healer.” I planned to go anyway, just on my own.
“And we’ll go in my truck?” The fact that he asks instead of demands helps his case. “You’ll let me drive you?”
“Shrimp is coming.” I glare up at the werewolf, daring him to try dismissing my dog again.
“All right. He’ll come.”
“Fine,” I repeat. “Now will you get out?”
With a tight nod, Griffith turns on his heel, closing the door behind him. The lock might be broken now, but at least the latch still works. I throw out the bloody bandages and pull another package of gauze from my bag, along with a roll of medical tape.
Once my wound is as dealt with as much as I can manage, I exit the restroom to find Griffith waiting for me.
He probably thought I would try sneaking out the back way.
I might or might not have considered it.
“Carl is going to meet us at the healer’s.”
“You called him already?”
“I said I would.”
Shit. I can only imagine how he’s freaking out. Probably has his sirens going as he books it through town.
“Let’s go then.”
The sooner my brother sees I’m alive and mostly well, the sooner he can stop panicking.
On our way out, most of the bar watches us. I ignore them, only catching a quick exchange between Griffith and another worker, who I guess he’s telling to handle closing.
Carl and I have weekly video chats—he’d prefer they be daily, but a girl needs a break, and he needs a life—in which he updates me on all the small-town gossip.
Our Sunday teatime, I like to call it. And during those many exchanges, he’s mentioned his best friend plenty.
I know Griffith bought the town bar and that he renovated the place.
I know the wolf bartends most nights. I know he bought a house and is letting Carl rent a room.
I know Griffith has dated a few mythics, but never anyone for the long-term.
I also know I didn’t want any of these updates on the judgmental douche, but I try not to let on how much I despise my brother’s best friend. Carl has gone through enough because of me, and bad-mouthing someone he cares about is a boss level of bitch I plan never to reach.
When I left Folk Haven behind me, I vowed I would also leave my screwup habits in the past. That I would build a life for myself that allowed Carl to sleep easy at night.
Now I’m back in town, bringing him a potential shitstorm.
World’s Worst Sister award once again goes to me.
Outside, the rain is coming down in heavy sheets, but at least the thunder seems to be gone.
When I step into the downpour, I can feel Griffith’s heavy gaze on me.
He’s probably wondering why I’m allowing every inch of my hair, skin, and clothing to get soaked when I’m the type of mythic who should be able to bend the raindrops around myself with magic.
He doesn’t know I tried to use my power to manipulate water on my way inside, only to get lightheaded and nauseous. All magic use is on hold for the moment.
“Here.” Griffith lowers the tailgate on his truck and waves toward Shrimp. “He can jump up, right?”
I gape as I wipe rain out of my eyes. “No way is my dog riding in the back of a truck. Do you know how many dogs fall out of those? How many break their legs so bad that they have to get them amputated? And that’s if they’re lucky enough to survive.
” With a scoff, I turn toward my vehicle, mud squelching under my sneakers.
“Fuck that noise. I’ll drive myself, with Shrimp safely in the backseat. ”
Griffith mutters a string of curses, slams the tailgate closed, then wrenches open the passenger door. “Both of you,” he barks, “in. Now.”
Gods, I want to argue back, but the rain is chilling my skin, and my teeth start to chatter. I snap my fingers for Shrimp to jump up ahead of me, then slide in after him. I expect Griffith to slam the door shut, but he closes it gently.
A waterfall spills off of Shrimp’s coat as he sits, panting, on the middle of the bench seat.
How long will the scent of wet dog linger?
As if having the same thought, Griffith glares at my dog after settling behind the wheel, then gives a shake of his head and starts the engine.
Admittedly, it’s a relief not to have to focus on the road. The pain has sharpened my temper but fuzzed my ability to concentrate. When I lean my forehead against the cool glass window, the temperature feels good on what I realize is feverish skin.
It’s okay, a voice whispers in the back of my mind as Shrimp lies down with his big head on my thigh and drapes his tail over Griffith’s lap. This place is safe.
My thoughts are too fogged for me to figure out if that soothing reminder refers to being in Folk Haven.
Or being with Griffith.