Chapter 23 Chloe
CHLOE
She woke to the smell of coffee.
Chloe stretched beneath the quilts, her body pleasantly sore in ways that made her smile. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting golden squares across the bed, and somewhere downstairs she could hear Corin moving around.
She was in his house. In his bed. After spending the night wrapped in his arms, learning every inch of his body while he learned hers.
She found one of his flannel shirts draped over the chair and pulled it on, rolling the sleeves up past her wrists. It smelled like him. She buried her nose in the collar for a moment, breathing deep, before padding downstairs.
Corin stood at the stove, shirtless, his broad back to her as he flipped something in a pan.
The bandage on his shoulder was fresh, changed sometime during the night or early morning.
She watched him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him, before crossing to wrap her arms around his waist from behind.
"Morning."
He turned in her embrace, his hazelnut eyes warm as he looked down at her. "Morning yourself. Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She rose on her toes to kiss him, soft and unhurried. "What are you making?"
"Pancakes. With honey." He grinned. "My own, obviously."
"Obviously."
They ate breakfast at his kitchen table, their feet tangled together beneath it, trading easy conversation and comfortable silences. Chloe felt lighter than she had in weeks. Clearer. Like something that had been knotted inside her had finally loosened.
"I should check the orchard today," Corin said, pushing his empty plate aside. "See if anything's changed overnight."
"I'll come with you."
His expression softened. "You don't have to."
"I want to." She reached across the table and took his hand.
The smile he gave her was worth every wall she'd ever built.
They walked the orchard hand in hand, checking beds and hives, taking notes on which areas looked worse and which had stabilized. The damage was spreading, but slower than before. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
"The north section's almost gone," Corin said quietly, crouching beside a row of dead seedlings. "But the beds near the barn are holding. I don't understand the pattern."
"Maybe the contamination is weaker the further it spreads from the source."
"Maybe." He stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "I need to check the apiaries."
The hives were arranged in neat rows at the eastern edge of the property, painted white boxes that hummed with activity even in winter. Corin moved between them with practiced ease, checking frames, noting which colonies looked strong and which were struggling.
Chloe hung back, watching. She'd learned early on that she made the bees nervous. Something about her druid blood, maybe. Or just the simple fact that she wasn't their keeper.
She was studying the tree line, trying to sense anything in the soil from this distance, when she heard Corin swear.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer. She hurried to his side and found him staring at one of the hives, his face pale.
The bees were dead.
Not struggling, not sluggish. Dead. Thousands of them, piled at the bottom of the hive like fallen soldiers. The frames were coated in something dark and sticky, a residue that smelled sharp and chemical.
"This wasn't the sickness," Corin said, his voice flat. "This was deliberate."
"How can you tell?"
"The contamination kills slowly. This..." He pulled out a frame, and the dark residue dripped from it like tar. "This is poison. Someone came here and poisoned my hive."
Chloe's stomach turned. "Who would do that?"
"I don't know." But his jaw was tight, his eyes hard. "But I must find out."
A voice called from the direction of the road.
"Corin? Everything alright?"
They both turned. Jasper Mince was walking toward them from the gravel drive, a toolbox in one hand and a concerned expression on his weathered face. His sandy hair was ruffled by the wind, and he wore the same work boots and heavy jacket he always did.
"Jasper." Corin's voice was carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?"
"Dropping off those hive tools you ordered. Left them at the Mercantile last week, remember? Rufus asked me to bring them out since I was passing through." He held up the toolbox as evidence, then frowned at the open hive. "What happened there?"
"Someone poisoned it."
Jasper's expression shifted to shock. Genuine, convincing shock. "Poisoned? Who the hell would poison a beehive?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
"Jesus.” Jasper set the toolbox down and moved closer, peering at the dead bees with what looked like real distress. "I've been doing deliveries in this area for fifteen years. Never seen anything like this. You think it's connected to all that trouble with the soil?"
"Probably."
"Damn shame." Jasper shook his head slowly, his eyes flicking to Chloe. His expression was sympathetic, nothing like the cold accusation she'd seen at Freya's shop from Paul. "You doing okay? I heard you had a rough time the other day. Collapsed or something?"
Chloe forced herself to nod. "I'm fine. Just overworked."
"Glad to hear it. This whole mess has been hard on everyone.
" He turned back to Corin, his manner open and friendly.
"Listen, if there's anything I can do to help, you let me know.
I've got contacts with some beekeepers over in Asheville.
Might be able to get you some replacement colonies once this all settles down. "
"I appreciate that."
"Course." Jasper picked up the toolbox and handed it to Corin. "Hope you find whoever did this. Sick bastard, poisoning bees. What kind of person does that?"
He nodded to both of them, then headed back toward his truck.
"Nice of him to offer help," she said.
"Jasper's always been like that. Reliable." Corin's voice was distant, his attention still on the dead hive. "He's been running deliveries around here since before I took over the orchard."
Chloe nodded, filing the information away. Jasper Mince seemed like exactly the kind of person every small town needed. Steady. Helpful. The sort who showed up without being asked.
"You think this is connected to whoever's been watching me?" she asked quietly.
"Has to be." Corin's jaw tightened. "First the well, then your collapse, now this. Someone's escalating."
"Paul Whitmore was pretty vocal about blaming me. And he's been making deliveries around the affected areas too."
Corin was quiet, staring at the dead hive. "Paul runs his mouth, but I don't know if he's got the knowledge to pull something like this off. Breaking old seals, using concealment magic..." He shook his head. "That takes more than grudges."
"Then who?"
"I don't know. But I need to find out. And when I do, they're going to answer for it."
"We'll find out," she corrected.
He looked at her, and some of the hardness in his expression softened. He pulled her against his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
They spent the rest of the afternoon documenting the damage, taking samples of the dark residue, searching for any sign of who might have been on the property. There were no obvious clues. No footprints, no dropped items, nothing that pointed to a specific person.
Whoever had done this knew how to cover their tracks yet again.
By the time the sun started to set, Chloe was exhausted. The clarity she'd felt that morning had dimmed, replaced by a gnawing worry that wouldn't let go.
Someone was escalating. Whatever game they were playing, the stakes were getting higher. And she was starting to think they were at the center of it.
"Stay tonight," Corin said as they walked back to the house. "I don't want you alone right now."
"I wasn't planning on leaving."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. They were both thinking the same thing.
Someone in Hollow Oak wanted to hurt them. And they had no idea who or why.