18. Storm #2
"Are you a witch?" I ask, my voice raw, strained. The adrenaline from the storm and the herd still races through me, muddling my thoughts. They're jagged, fracturing in directions I can't control.
Her head snaps up, her eyes blazing, a flame in the rain. "No, I'm not a witch. How dare you, Silas?"
"Then what did you say to that bull?"
"I told it to trust me," she says, her jaw tense.
"Bullshit," I snap as my chest tightens. "What kind of spell did you cast on it?"
Her anger flares hotter than I thought she was capable of in her small, rain-drenched frame. She steps forward, her palms pushing against my chest with surprising force. “I cast no spells. My mother taught me how to handle animals, Silas. I did what I was taught. Nothing more.”
She tries to take a step back, but I don’t let her retreat, closing the space between us until there’s only a breath between us.
Her rain-slick face reflects the glint of lightning as a bolt pierces the sky, her defiance undimmed.
“I think there’s more to you, Ms. Toth. It’s not just the animals, though, is it?
You’ve got everyone around here under your spell. ”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Her voice cuts through the rain, edged and dangerous.
“I know enough to be wary.”
Her lips part as if she might hurl the same anger back at me. Instead, she stares at me, unflinching, as the storm bears witness. Her silence only fuels my unease, the words clawing at my throat. I hate that she holds her ground, that she doesn’t crumble or try to flee.
I step closer. The brims of our soaked hats touch, and the air grows heavy and charged. It’s like I can feel the storm buzzing through the inches between us, the current waiting to break.
Don’t do this. The thought flashes through my mind like a desperate flare in the dark.
This is reckless— foolish. She’s not my wife.
She will never be Caroline. She’s my employee, for Christ’s sake.
She’s a puzzle I can’t solve and a fire I can’t put out.
But I can’t deny the way she draws me in.
My boots are rooted to this mud-slicked ground, caught in her gravity.
The heat forming in my chest makes me sick because I know where it’s coming from. And I know where it’s going to lead if I’m not careful.
I wrench myself back, stepping away. The space between us feels like an open wound.
Rain beats down, masking the sound of my ragged breath.
But my eyes don’t leave hers. Her face is upturned in the storm, framed by dark tendrils of soaked hair.
She looks half-wild and untouchable, as though she belongs to this chaos.
“You terrify me, Helena,” I utter, the truth scraping raw as it leaves me.
Her brow pulls together, the fire of her anger warring with disappointment. "I—terrify you?"
“Yes.” My fists clench at my sides, aching, aching to touch her and pull her back to where I am.
“You walk into storms like you belong there. You whisper to beasts like they owe you something. And you—” My voice falters as the words leave my mouth.
“You’ve made a goddamn mess of my mind. You make me feel like I’m breaking apart. ”
For a beat, she doesn’t say a word. But I see her resolve waver. The sharpness around her begins to blur, the fight cracking just enough to show the softness beneath it. When she finally speaks, her voice slices through me, clear and cutting. “You think I’m trying to break you?”
The laugh that slips from me is acute, bitter, more desperate than I’d like to admit. “Little dove,” I say, meeting her gaze head-on, “I know you are.”
Her breath stutters, catching in her throat, and for the first time, I see the truth hit its mark.
But before I can feel any victory in it, she steps toward me.
Not softly. Not timidly. Her boots squelch in the mud as she closes the gap, her chin lifted in defiance.
The movement breaks something inside me.
My one last thread of sanity snapping in the dark.
“And what if I told you I want to mend ?” Her voice is quiet now, the storm swallowing the edges of her words, but it might as well have been a shout.
I flinch. “Don’t—” My voice breaks, a plea laced in every syllable.
“Don’t lie to me. Everything you’ve done since you got here…
” My words falter because suddenly I don’t trust them, don’t trust my anger.
I’m not sure of anything anymore. Not of her, not of myself.
My voice drops into a rasp. “Everything tells me otherwise.”
Her lips part, a harsh retort already poised, but I can’t hear it. I won’t.
Enough. I can’t hold it in any longer.
I step into her, my hand sliding to her waist, dragging her against me.
I feel her gasp, her hands lifting to shove me, but it’s no use.
My other hand cups the back of her neck, fingertips grazing the soaked strands of her hair.
She’s warm beneath my fingers despite the rain, impossibly soft where my grip is hard and unrelenting .
Her breath fans across my face as her eyes lift to mine, wide and uncertain, rain running down her cheeks. I shouldn’t be this close. I shouldn’t be touching her. But the restraint that’s held me back for weeks shatters into dust, burned away by this madness.
“Silas—” she whispers, my name a warning on her lips.
Her voice doesn’t stop me. I close the last fraction of space between us and kiss her.
Not softly. Not sweetly. It’s fierce and reckless and wrong, but I can’t stop.
I kiss her with the fire she’s been stoking in me from the moment she walked onto my land, into my life.
It’s every frustration, every unspoken word, every wild, forbidden feeling poured into one unrelenting moment.
She stiffens against me, her hands pressing hard at my chest. Good, I think, fight me, damn it.
But my lips catch on hers, rough and desperate.
My teeth graze her bottom lip, both a warning and a plea, and suddenly the tension snaps like a rope under too much strain.
She melts into me with a soft sound, and the surrender makes my chest burn.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want her . But I do. Her hands slide from my chest to curl at the front of my coat, clutching me like I’m the only solid thing in the storm. For one shattering moment, the rain, the wind, the world around us disappears.
When the kiss finally breaks, I’m gasping for breath as though I’ve been drowning. The brim of our hats touch, both of us unsteady, as the storm continues to rage.
I should apologize. I should say something that pushes her away. Something to reinforce the safe distance I’ve kept between us until now. But the words won’t come.
I open my eyes. Hers are already locked on me, searching, and the power of her gaze pins me in place. I know she’s looking for answers, excuses, anything.
But I have nothing left to give her. I’m splintered: half man, half ruin, and the truth hangs between us like smoke. She doesn’t just terrify me, she’s undoing me, piece by broken piece, and I don’t know how to stop her.
Then she steps toward me. Before I can retreat or stop her, her lips are back on mine. When she kisses me back, it’s not sweet or polite. No, it’s need; it’s possessive, matching the raw energy between us. For a split second, it feels familiar, feels too good.
The kiss is a clash of chaos, a battle neither of us is willing to lose. Her arms come up to rest on my shoulders, a gesture so simple yet so grounding it jolts me back to reality.
Abruptly, I end the kiss, my ragged breath and heaving chest betraying the guilt that washes over me. This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
When I back away, pulling her arms from my body, her face changes.
I see her eyes begin to shine as the rain spills over us.
It should be cold and cleansing, but it can’t wash away the wildfire beneath my skin.
Her breath mingles with mine, quick and uneven, and I can feel the tremor in her body, the same trembling that’s seized my chest. For a heartbeat, I close my eyes, willing this to be something simple.
Hoping it can be something I can make sense of. But it isn’t.
I should see Caroline’s face now. Every time I’ve come close to something like this since losing her, her memory has cut through me, sharp as a blade.
But now it’s different. This guilt is heavier, harder, because I don’t see Caroline—I feel her.
Her absence, that terrible hollowness where she should be, pressing at the edges of everything I’ve just done.
I didn’t think I was capable of feeling reckless for anyone else, and yet, here is Helena, scorching the edges of my grief with the heat of her touch, waking up parts of myself that I had buried long ago.
The rawness of it terrifies me.
I don’t want to feel this. It’s too soon—it will always be too soon. I loved Caroline. I love her still , with every shattered piece of my heart. And yet…
My lips burn, and the memory of Helena’s kiss lingers. I ache to go back to it, to dive headfirst into the tempest she’s pulling me toward. But I’m breaking, torn apart by the war inside me.
“I shouldn’t—” The words break as I lift my head.
She’s still so close, her rain-soaked face tilted toward mine, her lips parted, the rise and fall of her chest slowing as she watches me.
Watching me. She always watches me too closely, as if she can see every crack and flaw, as if she isn’t repelled by the ruin I am.
Her hand drifts up, trembling as it brushes against my cheek, and I flinch. Not from her touch, but from how badly I crave it.
“I see it,” she says softly, her voice tentative, breaking through the roar of the rain. “I see what’s hurting you.”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “You don’t know me, Helena. You don’t know half of what’s inside me.”
Her hand lingers, unwavering despite my protest. “Maybe not. But I know pain when I see it.”
Her words strike something raw. It’s a blow to the dam holding back my grief, my rage, my longing. The dam I built the day Caroline died cracks open a little more.
“You’re making it worse,” I whisper, the truth bleeding out of me like an open wound. “The way you’re standing here, looking at me like that, you’re pulling me apart.”
“And you think that’s what I want?” Her eyes glint, fierce despite the softness in her touch.
“No.” My voice cracks, trembling as my chest heaves with too much emotion at once. “I think it’s what I want. And I hate myself for it.”
Her fingers drop from my face, leaving me cold in their absence. But she doesn’t move away. “Then stop fighting it,” she murmurs. “Let yourself grieve, Silas. Let yourself feel.”
I laugh, bitter and hollow. “Grief is the only thing I do feel, Helena. And tonight you’re drowning it out. Drowning her out.” My voice drops, quieter than the rain now. “And I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy as the storm. Her gaze softens, the fire fading. “I’m not here to take her place,” she says, her voice steady. “You’ll see that’s not what I’m here to do.”
I don’t reply because what could I say? She will never take Caroline’s place, but she’s beginning to carve out a space of her own, uninvited and undeniable, and I don’t know how to cope with it.
All I know is that, for the first time since Caroline’s death, the shards of my grief aren’t as sharp.
It doesn’t make the pain any less real, but there’s something— someone —else beginning to fill the void, and it terrifies me as much as it consumes me.
The rain continues to fall, and for the first time in years, I have no idea who I am. I need to remove myself from this temptation. I feel like I’m suffocating. Slowly, I back away, the rain still angry between us.
“I can’t be this man, Helena. I’m not worth your efforts, and you’ll find any attempts to change that will be worthless.”
Her shoulders sink with an exhaled breath before I turn and walk to the house, leaving the storm behind me.
By the time I make it upstairs, I hear the faint creak of the back door closing behind her. The sound is a final note to the chaos of the night, one I can’t seem to shake.