Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m almost in a trance as I unpack my clothing—I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed.
When everything is put away, I decide I need to check on Bob.
I also need to prioritise finding my boy a safe new home.
It’s a shame that I can’t imagine equestrian facilities into being—the book said the changes had to fit in the original footprint.
If I could imagine a few acres for Bob and a friend, I’d probably never leave the pocket dimension again. That would be, I guess, unhealthy.
I change into my stable stuff and step straight through the tack room door.
I grin. Not the smartest thing to do, but no one is about.
Bob’s head comes up when he sees me. He whinnies and charges across the field.
I’m relieved to see that Munchkin is still here.
I grab both boys’ head collars and get them in.
Their stables are all ready for them. I brush both boys and leave them to chomp on their small nets of hay.
I take advantage of the late-afternoon sun and slump on the floor outside Bob’s stable.
I stab at my phone, which had been rescued from the car and conveniently left on my bedside cabinet, and search for a livery yard with a vacancy.
Gosh, I also need to find myself a job. The money I have will not last forever—keeping one horse even in a basic do-it-yourself livery yard is expensive.
Also, bad things happen to people with idle hands.
If I’m planning to keep myself on the straight and narrow, I need to keep myself busy.
Bob’s head pops over the stable door to nosy at what I am doing. He sprinkles the hay from his mouth into my hair. “Oi, Bob, stop it.” He disappears to get another mouthful.
I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. The little pieces of hay stuck between the strands remind me of Sam and my heart aches.
I feel lost without my cheeky friend, and I can’t help worrying about her.
I might have been too hasty. Was I too harsh?
Mean? I didn’t try hard enough to find out what was going on in her head.
What kind of selfish cow does that make me?
But I can’t go back, I can only go forward.
If she needs me, I will try my best to be there for her…
if she ever needs me. Our friendship wasn’t about what she could do for me.
Being her friend made me feel good, and I’m going to miss that.
I allow another thought to whisper through my head. I miss…Riddick. Isn’t that pathetic? I close my eyes and take a sharp breath as I’m hit with a boatload of pain. I miss him so much, those bright green eyes always watching, keeping me safe.
Ha, the silly things he used to do…My smile fades.
I can’t get my head around the fact that he was John.
Who knew that John had that level of fun…
that level of kindness inside him. Perhaps the wolf and John are distinctly separate entities.
I don’t think that’s the case, but the disparity between the pair of them is so disconcerting.
So confusing. Unless I ask John, I’ll never know the answer.
I’m never going to ask John.
Gosh, all these changes. My life has changed so much in such a short space of time.
I wiggle my bum; it’s going numb with me sitting on the concrete floor.
I guess I have to embrace my new life, and unfortunately, at this moment it doesn’t include my friends from the old one.
I hear a muffled snort, a stomp of a hoof, and finally, a lip-smacking, crunching sound above me.
I tip my head back and close my eyes as more hay sprinkles down on me.
Well, not all my friends. I reach up and tickle Bob’s soft nose. “I still have you, Bob-cob.”
I eventually find a few wonderful choices of livery yards. Most are in the northwest of England. I don’t need to stay in the area where I grew up, but I think it’s better to stick with what you know.
There is one expensive stable yard that stands head and shoulders above the others.
It’s posh and the facilities available are on par with the estate’s.
It’s an all-singing and all-dancing yard, which means it will have an all-singing and all-dancing price tag.
I gulp. It has outstanding reviews and fantastic security.
Not messing about, I ring and make an appointment with the manager in the morning.
“Emma, I didn’t know that you’d returned,” Eleanor says, appearing from around the corner.
“Where have you been? You left like a thief, telling no one where you were going. You need to allow us to do our jobs. We didn’t even know if your healing was successful,” she chastises me, her hands firmly planted on her slim hips.
I avoid looking at her directly; I am still sore about her involvement in the whole fake kidnapping.
I’m back to not liking her, and this time I won’t allow my stupid empathy to make me feel bad.
I also don’t want to lie about my estate adventures this morning.
If I look at her straight on, I’m sure all my sneaky endeavours will be written right across my forehead.
Instead, I take a leaf out of her fae playbook and don’t answer her question.
“My healing went fine, thank you. I am glad to see that you’re all right,” I say instead, then smoothly change the subject. “I’m going out tomorrow; I’ve got an appointment.”
Eleanor huffs and shakes her head at me with obvious exasperation. “Speak to John. He isn’t impressed that you disappeared today. How can we protect you if you don’t give us the courtesy of letting us know where you are going?” I can’t help snorting at that comment. Wow, really?
I raise my eyebrows and shake my head at her. She hasn’t got a clue about how hypocritical she sounds. She wasn’t protecting me when the vampires knocked us off the road and the car flipped. That stupid stunt could have killed us.
“Excuse me,” I say as I jump up and head for the house, “I’m going to speak to John to ask for permission.” This will be interesting.
He’s in the kitchen, making some food. The smell of cooking makes my stomach growl, and I remember then that I still haven’t eaten anything today. It’s a silly move; I need to take better care of myself.
Don’t look at his face, Emma.
Yes, I will keep my eyes away from him. I don’t trust myself. When I look at him, my brain short-circuits, it goes all gooey with my hormones.
Every. Single. Time.
Every time it happens, I hate myself a little bit more. So I will avoid looking at the hellhound. If I don’t look into those sad green eyes, my hate can go entirely onto him, it can rest on his massive, broad shoulders instead of on mine.
Thinking of his shoulders…the man still has a body that belongs in a different time.
There is a beautiful, brutal kind of efficiency about the way his muscles cord his frame.
I forgot how large he is, not having seen him in a normal setting; he dwarfs the kitchen.
There is no way to ignore it, the sheer physical power of him. I shiver.
He turns towards me and the eyes that I should avoid light up when he sees me. The hellhound has a mug of coffee in his hand. The mug has a pink, cutesy unicorn on it.
He is making dinner…something so normal. In my head, I’d expect him to be in his hellhound form in some forest somewhere catching and killing and eating raw meat. But no, here he is, charming and untroubled, making food as he sips coffee. In a pink unicorn cup.
“Are you hungry? I made enough for you.” Somehow this new John-on-his-best-behaviour version is scarier.
Abort-abort-abort, my instincts helpfully scream.
He smiles.
And my mind goes right into the gutter.
A man has no right to be so fiercely sexual without even trying, and now I have the hellhound’s undivided attention, and it isn’t frightening.
It is…flattering. The way my body lights up when he turns his attention onto me.
He turns me on by looking at me. I enjoy all that overwhelming masculine intensity focused on me.
I’m some special kind of idiot. Alone-time with the hellhound hasn’t turned out so well for me.
I laugh under my breath, snort, and then laugh some more. I chuckle to myself like a loon. Perfectly mentally fit. I drop my eyes and I stare at the centre of his chest. Yeah, the hellhound will love that, he’ll think I’m all submissive.
The wanker.
“How are you feeling?” I shrug; it’s none of his business.
My blasé shrug looks silly when I glance down to find I’m rubbing at my right wrist. If that isn’t a reminder not to trust the handsome bastard, I don’t know what is. I can sense his eyes on my scars, so I snatch my left hand away and put both of my hands behind my back.
He tries again. “The healing was successful?” I can’t stop my polite head from nodding in response.
Instead, I should swear at him. Scream. Smack him. Rage. But I can’t force myself to do that. Screaming and shouting won’t get me anywhere. I have to be smart, bide my time.
I know I need to let things go, move on. If I don’t…I nibble on my lip, my eyes still firmly planted on his chest. I am not sure I will like the person I will become.
Pure hate is not an emotion I want to feel constantly. It rots. John Hesketh is not having that power over me.
“Yes, thank…you,” I mumble.
He puts his coffee down and pulls off his hoodie.
The white shirt underneath tugs up to reveal smooth abs before he pulls it back down again.
The grey jogging bottoms he is wearing sit low on his hips.
Forearms flexing, he tosses the jumper onto a nearby kitchen chair.
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest. His top stretches tight across his broad shoulders and energy rolls off him, ferocious, alive.
I want to run my hands down that chest and feel the hard ridges of his abs.