11. Chapter 11
Catherine Van Tassel
“Before we head to the lodge, could we travel the road just a bit and see if we can find my car?” I ask, knowing I probably have more than a few messages from my parents by now.
“Of course,” Victor answers, clicking his tongue just before Brom leaps back over the stone wall.
The stallion picks up speed, settling into a steady, comfortable canter as we head away from the county line and turn toward the roadways.
A few minutes later, Brom starts to slow where the grass quickly turns to asphalt and in the distance, I see my car sitting nose down in a deep ditch, crushed against a thick oak tree.
Seeing it now in the bright moonlit night, the dented bumper, cracked headlight, and shattered windshield sends an ominous chill through me, a stark reminder of how I swerved to miss the cat earlier tonight and plowed straight into the tree.
It feels like a lifetime ago, but I still have a question about one thing.
“I don't know how I landed in your pumpkin patch,” I mutter, unsure of how I even made it out of the wreckage in one piece. This is definitely going to need a tow truck.
“I may have an answer for that. I think you got just close enough for the magic to take hold. I'm just glad you fell on my pumpkin when you did,” he says, inspecting the crumpled metal from atop Brom with a sympathetic whistle. “You could’ve been hurt far worse in this wreck.”
“I just need to grab my purse and phone,” I explain. I'll figure out the tow truck and everything later.
“Alright, don’t move.” He slides down from the saddle and opens the car door.
It makes a screeching sound of protest as the crumpled metal groans, but Victor manages to wrench the door open and reach inside, somehow finding my purse and phone easily.
He loops the purse over his shoulder as he walks back to the horse and hands me the phone.
I shift in the saddle to sit upright as I start messing with it.
The screen lights up with about a dozen missed calls, and a new message banner from my mom pops up as I hold it.
Mom: Catherine, please call us if you get a chance. Your father and I are worried and were wondering if you managed to go to your work’s Halloween party after all. Let us know.
I quickly move to type out a reply, my hands shaking a bit as I hit the keys.
Me: Hey! Sorry for the radio silence. I hit a dead zone and the car had a little trouble but I'm totally fine. I'm staying over at a friend’s tonight, will call you in the morning. Love you.
I hit send and let out a long sigh of relief as the message shows as read.
Victor smiles softly up at me before swinging himself back up onto Brom behind me. “We’ll call a tow truck in the morning. The lodge even has an old phone that I think still works.”
“Yeah, that was my idea too,” I answer and lean back into his chest.
He coaxes Brom into a comfortable trot before the big horse starts to gallop, kicking up sparks of fire where his hooves pound against the pavement.
“Wait, will I need my pumpkin mask again?” I ask, sitting up in the saddle.
“No, you shouldn't. We don't have much time until daybreak now. The sun is coming up and most of the spirits will have gone to ground already,” he answers.
I relax back down into his arms while the sharp clop of Brom’s feet softens as the winding roads give way to the grasslands and dirt of the hollow as we veer off the lane.
Victor Crane
More unnamed emotions than I can count have barreled through my chest this night, but the pride I feel at finding my hunting lodge sitting tucked away on the hill, and knowing I won't be turned into a pumpkin tomorrow, is something I'll not soon forget.
The welcoming sight of my home, made up of timbered logs, a wide stone chimney and wraparound porch, looks peaceful, bathed in the light of the rising sun, more breathtaking than I remember.
I slip off of Brom’s large back and turn to pull her from the saddle. Our bodies meet and slide against each other as I set her on her feet, and I don't miss the way her pretty eyes dilate at the motion.
I keep my hand in hers for a long moment before she gives it a light squeeze.
“Let’s get you settled, old friend,” I say, my voice a deep baritone still sounding a bit foreign to my ears.
Taking Catherine's hand in one of mine and Brom’s reins in the other, I lead him to the side of the porch where a large wooden shelter protects a row of supplies from the elements.
I reach out and roll a heavy oak barrel toward me before popping the lid on the giant store of fresh-cut oats and a handful of apples.
“Do we need to remove his tack and brush him down?” she asks, her brow furrowed as she looks at my steed.
“You could try, but it's probably best to just stand back. Brom becomes impatient most of the time and will burn the saddle away when he's ready,” I answer.
She blinks. “Well, I suppose that's one way to do it.”
Brom lets out a low, eager whinny and does just that, burning away the saddle forgoing his chance at belly rubs and a brushing before burying his muzzle into the oats, crunching happily.
I step up beside the great horse and run my palms down his slick neck with sure strokes, murmuring words of affection for him.
Tonight of all nights, looking at them free from the weight of my curse, everything feels right and whole.
“Would you like that cup of cider now?” I ask, knowing it'll take but a moment to get her a hot, sweet drink made.
“That would be wonderful.”
I motion her to the other side of the porch, up the steps and through the heavy wooden door of the lodge, allowing her inside before closing it behind us. The interior is warm and inviting as I gesture for her to take a seat at the oversized armchair she sat in before.
“Actually, would you like to take a shower?” I ask.
She visibly relaxes, and the sweetest smile crests her lips. “I would absolutely love one.”
I grin and make quick work of grabbing her a clean shirt and toiletries.
“It’s just down the hall there. I’ll take one after making your cider,” I say, stepping into the small rustic kitchen to pull down a couple of mugs before making my way to the back of the lodge, where the bushels of apples are kept, while she heads to the bathroom.
My vines make quick work of them, crushing them to a pulp and filtering the sweet apple nectar into a clean jug.
Several minutes later, I set the mess to the side to clean later and turn back toward the living room, the heavy jug of cider on a tray. I pause before I reach her, noticing how her dark hair shines wet from her shower. “Did you want your cider warm?”
She nods, curling her feet under her and pulling a big blanket across her lap. “We usually heat it up on the stove,” she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips as I unfurl my pumpkin vines again.
From beneath my white shirt, they creep out across my skin and forearms before wrapping around my wrists.
“The witch might be gone, and the pumpkin is smashed,” I tell her, hoping she takes the news well. “But I think a bit of my magic stayed behind.”
I hold the copper mugs in my hands and pull magic into my palms, smiling when twin bursts of fire flare up to begin heating the cider. Within a few seconds, the sweet and crisp scent of spiced apple cider fills the room as steam begins to rise from the rims.
“I think I can definitely live with that, if you can,” she says, her pretty blue eyes round and focused squarely on me. Her cheeks are kissed pink as I move to hand her a steaming mug, and gratitude swells within me at how she’s so accepting of me.
She takes a sip, her lashes fluttering closed as she enjoys the taste, and I grin.
I light the hearth for her, sending the flames crackling to ward off the chill in the air. “I’ll go shower and be right back.”
After cleaning myself, I return to find her looking soft and comfortable as she stares into the fire. She smiles as I approach and my hands fist at my sides with the need to touch her.
“Would you mind if I held you a bit?” I ask, needing to hold her if she’ll let me.
“I think I'd like that too,” she whispers.
“My gods. I’ve waited so long to do this," I mutter under my breath as we sink onto the oversized couch together and the plush cushion easily swallows us up. The blanket is forgotten as we set our mugs down on the low wooden table nearby.
My eyes boldly meet hers and I reach out, my fingers tangling with hers before I raise her hand to my lips to kiss it.
I begin to kiss each one of the petal soft digits, delighted by her reaction to me.
She leans into my body, letting our palms meet and I shudder at the indescribable reality of her skin against mine.
“May I kiss you?” I ask, not daring to breathe as I await her response.
“Please.”
I get to my feet only long enough to pull her into my arms before settling back into the chair with her in my lap.
My arms wrap around her thick waist as I tug her to my chest where she belongs.
Thankfully she melts into me, her small hands sliding up to cup my face while her fingers lose themselves in my damp hair.
“Anghhh. Oh shit, that feels good,” I groan when her nails rake across my scalp, a loud moan escaping me as I sweep my mouth across hers. She tastes of apples and fresh autumn as my lips trace a path across her jawline.
Her tiny gasps send my pulse racing and a vibrant green sprout pushes from my forearm, too unfurling to wrap itself around her.
“More.” The word is a groan as a groan against my mouth and it makes me lose all reason.
I go still.
My arms freeze and I dare not breathe as my cock pulses hard in my britches. “You mean…”
“I’ve not felt this level of attraction for anyone in a long time,” she says, her cheeks blazing with heat.
“It's been a while for me too,” I chuckle and push a bit of her hair behind her ear.
Her brow furrows, and her face turns a deep, tomato red before she bites her lip.
I cup her chin in my hand. “We can take this as fast or as slow as you’d like, and there are no expectations on my end. You freed me, and make no mistake, I want you, but I want you the right way. Even though we may have started out a bit wrong.”
She wets her lips, “Take me to bed, Victor. We can figure the rest out later.”
She's right, of course, and I don't need to be told twice.
In one smooth motion, I get up and pull her into my arms before practically running to the master bedroom, kicking the solid wood door closed as soon as we make it across the threshold.
A simple bed, old wardrobe, and nightstand make up the room. “I’ve not needed much in the way of decorating.”
“It's great,” she says, and I can just make out the soft curve of her smile from the light of the open window.
I bend to kiss her again, running my hands across her waist and sides as her own hands do some exploring. In a few moments, we’re both unclothed and breathing hard. My cock is nearly bursting with the need to be inside her, but there’s something else I want much more.
“Hang onto me, Catherine,” I tell her, smiling when she takes hold of my hair. “There’s a good girl.”