Chapter 19 #2
She closed her eyes and listened to the storm rage outside. The wind howled and snow battered the windows. Something else crashed in the distance—another branch probably, weighted down by snow and ice.
The cabin held firm though. The walls were solid and the roof was strong. She was safe. They were safe. She repeated it like a mantra until the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
The soup grew cold in the bowl beside her but she didn’t have the energy to get up and reheat it.
She didn’t want to leave her cocoon of blankets and firelight.
Instead she let her mind drift, thinking about the archives, and about her ancestor who’d delivered babies and then disappeared from the records.
About Victor’s great-grandfather writing about guardians and protection.
About bloodlines and connection and the strange sense that she was meant to be here.
In this town. In this moment. Even alone in a cabin during a blizzard.
The baby kicked and she smiled despite herself. “You’re right, little bean. I’m not totally alone.”
She must have dozed because the knock on the door made her jump—three sharp raps loud enough to hear over the wind. Her heart skipped a beat as she pushed herself off the couch. Who on earth would be out in this storm? Had someone from town come to check on her?
She crossed over to the door and peered out through the small window. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood on her porch, covered in snow. A very familiar figure. Victor.
She fumbled with the lock, nearly dropping the candle in her haste. The door swung open and snow blew in along with an icy wind that stole her breath. He stood on her porch looking half-frozen, snow caked his coat and hair. His face was red from the cold, and the green fire burned in his eyes.
“Chloe,” he said roughly. “Are you—” He broke off, looking her over with the intensity of a medical examination. “Are you all right?”
She should be angry. She should demand to know what he was doing here after a week of silence. Instead she pulled the door open wider.
“Get inside before you freeze.”
He didn’t move. “I just came to check on you and make sure you were safe. I can go if—”
“Victor, it’s a blizzard. Get. Inside.”
He stepped over the threshold and she pushed the door closed against the wind. The sudden absence of howling made her ears ring. They stood in the candlelit room staring at each other as the snow melted off his shoulders.
He looked terrible. Exhausted and half-frozen and wound so tight she thought he might shatter. He looked beautiful.
“You came,” she said.
“I had to.” His hands clenched at his sides. “Flora said there was a storm and you were out here alone and I tried to tell myself you’d be fine but I couldn’t—” He stopped, his jaw working. “I couldn’t stay away.”
Her throat tightened. “The power’s out.”
“I noticed.”
“I was going to wait until morning to start the generator.”
“That’s a good idea.” His gaze hadn’t left her face. “Are you warm enough? The baby—is everything okay?”
“We’re fine.” She curved her hand over her stomach. “Just a little lonely.”
Something cracked in his expression. “Chloe, I’m—”
“Cold.” She cut him off gently. “You’re freezing. Take off that coat before you get hypothermia.”
He obeyed mechanically, shrugging out of the snow-covered coat. His sweater underneath was damp. His hands shook—from cold or emotion, she couldn’t tell.
“There are towels in the bathroom,” she said. “And I found a few old flannel shirts in the closet when I moved in. You should change.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Victor.” She waited until he met her eyes. “You drove through a blizzard to check on me. The least I can do is make sure you don’t get frostbite.”
He nodded stiffly and moved toward the bathroom. She watched him go, heart doing complicated things in her chest.
He’d come. She’d told herself she was fine alone, that she didn’t need rescuing, but he’d come anyway. The medical bag he’d dropped by the door made it clear that he’d come prepared for emergencies, but she was sure it was more than that.
He came because he couldn’t stay away.
She moved to the kitchen and reheated soup, grateful that the old-fashioned gas stove didn’t require electricity.
He emerged from the bathroom wearing a flannel that was slightly too small, stretched tight across his chest. His hair stuck up in damp spikes, and his feet were bare. He looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the controlled doctor who’d told her goodbye.
“Sit,” she told him, gesturing to the couch. “Eat something.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She handed him the bowl of soup. “Now sit before you fall over.”
He sat and accepted the soup with shaking hands. He took a sip and his eyes closed briefly.
“It’s very good,” he said.
“My great-grandmother’s recipe.”
They sat in a silence broken only by the fire’s crackle and the storm’s distant howl. He ate mechanically, like he was running on autopilot, and she curled up next to him on the couch, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching.
“How bad are the roads?” she asked finally.
He set down the empty bowl with a sigh. “Impassable. I barely made it here and that was an hour ago. We’re not getting back to town tonight.”
“We?”
“I can sleep in my car if—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You’re not sleeping in your car during a blizzard. You can sleep on the couch.”
His hands clenched. “I don’t think—”
“I’m not asking you to stay forever, just through the storm.” She met his eyes. “Unless you’d prefer freezing to death in your car to spending the night under the same roof as me?”
“That’s not—” He broke off, jaw tight. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not.”
“After what I said. What I did—”
“You were scared.” She shifted around to face him fully. “I understand being scared. I don’t like it and I think you’re wrong, but I understand it.”
He winced. “I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, but he didn’t, and her hand settled over his. “But sorry doesn’t mean much if you’re just going to run again as soon as the storm clears.”
“I don’t know if I can be what you need.”
“I don’t think you know what I need. I think you’re running because it feels safer than trying—and that’s not fair to either of us. Or to Hyde.”
He stared at their joined hands. Even without the transformation, his was so much larger than hers, but it was the hand of someone who healed and helped and tried so hard to be good.
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, and she blinked back the tears.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Every day. Every minute. Like a vital part of me was missing.”
“Victor—”
“Hyde won’t stop,” he said, his voice raw and tired. “He’s been fighting me constantly because he’s grieving. And I keep trying to suppress it with the formula but it’s not working and I’m so tired of being at war with myself.”
Her free hand went to his cheek, turning his face toward her. His eyes glowed faintly green in the candlelight.
“Then stop fighting,” she said.
“I can’t. If I lose control—”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.” His voice was an agonized whisper.
“I do know that. I know you and I know Hyde. He’s never touched me with anything but gentleness. I know that you’ve never hurt anyone despite being terrified of yourself. I know that you care too much to ever truly be dangerous to the people you love.”
“Love.” The word came out strangled.
Her pulse thundered in her veins. It was probably too much, too soon, but it was true.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Love.”
His eyes blazed brighter. “Chloe—”
She kissed him. She leaned forward awkwardly around her belly and pressed her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. He froze for a heartbeat.
And then he kissed her back.