Monsters of Coldwater Springs
Chapter 1
Clara
The kitchen sits frigid and shadowed as I sip my tea.
Steam ascends, warming my nose that's flushed from the bitter chill, my gloved fingers clutched firmly around the cup, soaking in the warmth.
Shutting my eyes, I calculate in my head how many logs remain before the supply is depleted.
The chair grates harshly against the ground as I push it backward.
Heading into the bedroom, I layer on most of the clothes I have, along with another pair of outdoor gloves and a scarf that I tuck along the lower half of my face.
My feet are encased in heavy snow boots with thick treads.
I dread what I have to do, but there isn’t a choice, and no one to call.
The cell phone towers have been down for days, and there is no landline in this rustic cottage.
Reaching for the door that leads into the forest, I take one last deep breath before swinging it open, revealing a slowly rising sun that sets the tree line into a glittery backdrop.
The instructions Kate had given me four months ago, when I showed up at her house, said the axe for wood chopping was tucked behind the wood pile.
At the time, I had no need for finding it, as the wood pile was full to the top, and I used it sparingly, preferring to bundle up instead.
But now the time had come. Rooting around the remains of the wood pile, I bemusedly think about how cumbersome all the clothes I’m wearing are, but also that despite them, I’m still cold.
Finally, a glint of steel catches my eye, and I drag it out from its hiding place.
The weight of it catches me off guard, and I sigh heavily at the fact that I will need to drag this into the forest with me.
Snow compacts and crunches under my feet as I trudge along to the tree line, watching those glittering trees come closer and closer.
The sun has fully risen now, but I am too late to absorb any of its weak, warm light.
A sense of foreboding envelopes me as I hesitate just outside the forest, peering in.
The trees are dense here, branches touching each other, creating a canopy so thick that barely any snow has made its way to the ground at all.
Birds quietly chirp and flit about looking for food.
I envy their fluffy feathers, and wonder at what morsels of food could possibly be found here.
Taking a tentative step forward, I begin to look for any trees that might be a good candidate for firewood.
If I could just chop enough to get me through the next few days, then I could risk driving the ancient truck into town and buying more.
As I walk, I try to recall the weather broadcast from the radio I heard yesterday, saying that more snow was expected this evening and into the next two or three days, and that it would be another day after that before the main roads would be clear.
The main roads. I sigh again. Kate’s cabin was far from any main road, and the street leading to her cabin would probably be cleared last.
The stuttering of my heart makes me stop abruptly by a large fallen tree that is so large it's taller than I am. This has been happening a lot with my heart, and every time I wonder if I might be dying from anxiety. I bend forward, leaning on the axe for support, trying to breathe deeply. It becomes too much at times, but then the memories flood back to me, reminding me why I am here at all. Despite my predicament, I’d rather freeze to death than go back.
It’s when I’m straightening up and my heart is slowing back down that I hear it.
The branch snaps somewhere in the distance ahead of me, and I freeze, my poor heart now quickening back into a place of panic.
Glancing behind me, I see the tree line is now far behind me.
I didn’t realize how far I had been walking.
Another branch snaps, and my body moves before my brain can catch up, turning clumsily in my snow boots back toward the tree line.
Axe forgotten, I sprint as much as I’m able to the house that I can barely see the outline of.
I am so weak from the cold that my legs don’t seem to be working right, the effort to lift each foot sending out waves of pain, but I am mentally urging myself to go faster, not even thinking of whether I hear anything chasing me, just that I need to run.
I take one glance behind me when my boot gets caught in something, and I go flying, sending me into blackness.
???
CONSCIOUSNESS SLOWLY returns to me, and the first thing I hear is the roaring crackle of the fireplace.
My body is cocooned in warmth and wants to pull me back under into sleepiness, but my brain is too anxious for that.
It nudges my eyes to open, revealing the blurry outline of something towering, sitting on the bed next to me, peering at me.
A scream catches in my throat, my body attempting to push backward but getting nowhere except deeper into the pillows propped behind me.
“Shh.” The thing looks at me with sorrow, its deep golden eyes seem to glow in the light of the fire. A broad brow ridge is crinkled with concern, but it continues to simply sit by me, making no move to leave or placate my panic.
It occurs to me how weak I am, that I am already tired from this rush of panic. My breath is still coming in puffs as I try to calm myself while also staring at the thing.
“I have to call you something other than ‘thing’ in my mind,” bursts out before I can stop it, and I instantly feel my cheeks blaze red with shame. That came out rude.
“Asterion.” He says, his voice low and smooth, but with a hint of rasp, like a swallow of finely aged bourbon.
“Asterion,” I repeat. He nods. It’s then that I notice the horns, curved and scarred crowing his head.
Ears slightly larger than an average human, pointed, and covered in soft mahogany peach fuzz sit next to the horns.
A rough, but short beard is sprinkled with grey, suggesting that he’s a wise creature.
“You have horns…?” I blink several times, possibly thinking this might be an illusion, or a dream.
He only nods. His wide, dark lips move as though he is going to speak, only to close again. He continues to gaze at me with interest.
It’s all too much, and I reach up to cover my face, only to discover it bandaged.
How did I not feel this before? I bring my hand away, expecting to see blood, but nothing is there.
Movement from the windows catches my eyes, and I see the sky is now darkening, with snowflakes drifting down.
Tears threaten to spill, panic filling my chest at the thought of the firewood and that I failed.
How much did Asterion use for this cheerily roaring fire in the bedroom?
A large, powerful hand reaches over, startling me from my thoughts, a black, curved claw barely touching my cheek, but enough to draw the tear away. A sigh escapes him.
The shivering begins suddenly, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. His frown deepens, ears twitching as his eyes take me in. Some internal choice must have been made, because he gets up suddenly, the floors creaking beneath him.
I take him in. At least seven feet tall with sleek, well-built muscles and a thick, bullish neck.
His buttocks are round and high up on his back, the firelight reflecting off of his perfect ass.
I blush at the sight of him, walking away on powerfully built legs ending in black hooves.
He has hooves! The thought repeats in my head, growing louder, bouncing around with nowhere to go.
My shivering increases, and my teeth are now clattering.
I cannot control the convulsions of my body as I try my damnedest to wrap the logical part of my brain around the creature inside the house.
I almost don’t hear the door open, or track the time he’s gone, or hear it close behind him.
But through tear-blurred vision, I catch his massive silhouette re-entering the room, arms laden with firewood.
My gaze inadvertently drops to his exposed front, taking in every detail of what stands before me.
The clash of this impossible creature and his very real, very masculine form sends a jolt through my body.
I break completely, dissolving into deep, uncontrollable sobs.
He hesitates at the door, takes a tentative step toward me, stops, and finally goes into the bathroom.
I can’t hear what he’s doing in there over my pathetic sobs.
I’m unable to stop myself, thoughts on a loop in my head.
What is happening? Am I dying? Is this a hallucination?
He has horns! And hooves! Another thought pops into my mind, unbidden, shameful. He has a really nice cock.
I saw it. I couldn’t help but see it. It’s like at the gym, if a random guy has on shorts, and sometimes the outline of his dick is just there.
Of course, Mark stopped letting me go to the gym.
He got so jealous and started coming with me, and started following me around my workout, glaring at any man who dared look at me.
So, I stopped noticing. And finally, I stopped going.
It was just as well; the regulars at the gym would see the bruises pop up here and there, and I couldn’t take their pitying looks anymore.
But Mark isn't here, and Asterion paused at the doorway for so long that even with tears blurring my vision, I couldn't help but notice it.
Long, thick, and almost purple-tinged, his cock lay slightly to the side against the soft brown hair of his muscular thigh.
His balls hung heavy beneath, nearly black in color, large and covered in longer, thicker black hair.
The sight burned itself into my mind despite my distress, so unmistakably masculine.
There was something primal about it, something that made my breath catch even through my panicked sobbing.
I tried to look away, but found I couldn't, my eyes drawn back to that part of him even as my brain struggled to process everything else that was happening.
Suddenly, I imagine my hands trailing in the coarse hair by his thigh, my fingers gently exploring, cupping his large, heavy balls in my palm.
The unbidden thought sends a jolt of heat through my body, and I suck in a sharp breath.
My mind races wildly; can he read thoughts?
Can he sense desire? I panic at the terrifying possibility that this creature, this monster who towers over me with his golden eyes, might somehow know that beneath my fear lies a current of arousal I can't explain or control.
The contradiction horrifies me. How can I be simultaneously terrified and drawn to him?
The shame and confusion mingle with my tears as I try to push the image away, but it lingers stubbornly in the corners of my mind.
What would those parts of him feel like?
Would they be warm to the touch, or cool like his clawed hands?
I shake my head slightly, desperate to clear these inappropriate thoughts that seem to mock my vulnerable state.
The creak of the floorboards tells me he is coming back into the room. My crying slows down, probably from sheer exhaustion.
Tentatively, he makes his way back to the bed and sits by me like before. “There is a hot bath.”
I look up at him, wide-eyed. All I can do is nod.
He swallows. Then he gets up, and I hear the back door open and swing shut.
I wait several moments to see if he is coming back, but the temptation of a bath is too much. I curse the amount of firewood needed for such a luxury, but the violent shivering has yet to stop, despite the warmth from the fire.
As I lift the covers and sit up to remove my clothes, I think back to when I first arrived at the house and the conversation I had with Kate over the phone as I walked through. “I told you it was rustic,” she warned.
“I don’t mind, I’ll figure everything out. I just need to lay low.”
“Well, I at least should tell you how the hot water works for the bath.” She had said with a giggle.
I remember vividly the way my eyebrows scrunched up together, looking at a contraption that seemed to be from the 1900s. “Is that…” I paused, incredulous, “A wood-burning boiler?”
“Ai, that she be!” Kate said, in her pirate voice.
I loved my friend's goofiness dearly; it never failed to lift my mood.
She was the only one whose phone number I had memorized because we had been friends since childhood, and the first call I made when I had finally managed to smuggle a phone into the house.
The fire in the boiler is now filled with wood coals simmering in the box, the hot water already emptied into the tub, and a little more was left inside the tank in case I needed it.
Different tears spring to my eyes this time.
Abruptly, I grab my robe and hurry to the back door, thinking maybe I could catch him and see if he would come back.
All that greets me is the softly falling snow, a sound like no other in the stillness. I turn back into the house when something else catches my eye.
The wood shed bulges with neatly cut logs, each one sized just right for my arms to lift. My gaze sweeps across the tree line, searching for the silhouette of curved horns or the glint of golden eyes among the shadows. Only the empty forest stares back. With a quiet click, I pull the door shut.