Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Tempest
No one had ever called me lovely before. No one had ever looked at me the way Fender was, the way he often did, either.
He was watching me now, waiting for me to reply, and I had no idea what to say. What did lovely mean to him? Did he think I was lovely, like a friend? Or did he think I was lovely, in a “more than a friend” kind of way?
There was no way for me to know without asking, and I couldn’t do that. “Thank you,” I said, because I had no idea what else to say. “That’s…so nice.”
His throat worked. “You’re nice.” His gaze dropped to my lips before his eyes, now gold and glinting, slid back up.
This whole interaction was beyond the scope of my experience. This felt more than friendly, but I’d been wrong before. I placed his prosthesis back in place and rolled the leg of his jeans down. “Does that feel a little better?”
“What?” he said roughly.
“Your leg. Has the pain reduced?”
He looked down as if he’d forgotten I’d been massaging oil into it. “Uh…yeah,” he said. “Yeah, much better.”
I smiled. “I’m so glad. Just because we’re…
out here,” I said, motioning to the forest around us, “doesn’t mean we stop the work we’ve been doing.
You’re making such great progress.” And blurring the lines between us wouldn’t be wise.
I had to remember that. Fender’s recovery was more important than anything else.
“I have the potion that helps with sleep in my bag as well—”
“No,” he said. “I need to be alert while we’re out here.”
I took his pain elixir from my bag. “Fine, I’ll let that go, but you have to take the one I made for your pain.”
“You’re stubborn, has anyone told you that?”
“Yes,” I said. “Ma…Maria said it to me many times.” Slipping up and saying Matilda would be really bad, and I already had a habit of saying way too much around him.
Fender knew a lot of witches, if he mentioned the name to any of them, my cover could be blown.
Fender made me feel safe, and that was a rare thing.
Because of that, I tended to blurt things I’d never told anyone else.
He might not know who or what a Matilda was, but Willow and Magnolia and any other witches the hounds knew could.
I busied myself serving up our meal, and we settled in around the fire.
At least one Matilda, the only one I knew of, had tried to break out and live a normal life, and she’d been condemned, despised, and chased back into hiding.
Witches only wanted Matilda for one thing, to do their job, then leave.
They didn’t want a reminder of what they’d begged us to do.
They certainly didn’t want us sitting on their couch during their movie nights or working in a clinic healing their loved ones.
No, they wanted nothing to do with us when we were done with the job we were bound to do.
And it was one of the reasons we were forbidden to even try.
I had no choice. If I wanted to continue with the life I was building, I had to keep my secret. At all cost.
“So, after you went to live with Maria, I’m guessing somewhere in the forest, you both hunted and kept to yourselves?” he asked me.
He really wasn’t letting this go. “Yes,” I said. If I kept my answers short, there was no chance of me saying more than I should.
“Where did you live before that? You said your mother died, what about your father?” he asked in that low, calm voice, gently pushing me for more information.
Had I done something to make him ask me all these things? Did he suspect me of something? “We lived on a kind of farm, I guess. He died as well.”
“How?”
Fear spiked through me, hard and fast. “I realize you have limited emotions, Fender, and might be missing it, but I don’t like to talk about my childhood at all, okay?
It wasn’t good. It was the very opposite of good.
I’m not sure why you’re asking me all these questions, or why you’re looking at me like that, but I assure you I can be trusted.
I am trustworthy,” I blurted before I could think better of it.
He lowered his fork, an intense expression transforming his face, his eyes darkening as that gold shimmer slid over his amber irises. Danger. He was broadcasting a whole lot of danger. “Did your father hurt you?”
The growl in his voice sent ice down my spine. I shot to my feet, everything in me screeching for me to run, alarm bells ringing through my skull so loudly I struggled to hear anything else. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I said.
“Tempest,” he stood.
I backed up.
“Talk to me, peaches. What’s going on?”
No one had asked me these questions before, not ever.
When Mags had asked about my family, I’d said they were dead and she dropped it instantly.
Not Fender. I felt like a cornered rat. Did he know something?
Did he somehow know what happened to my father, did he know that I’d used the fire inside me, that I’d used my powers in a way that no true healer ever should?
Could hounds see things that others couldn’t?
Could he see what I was? I took another step back.
Slowly, he put his plate down beside him and lifted his hands. “Tempest.” He took another step toward me. “If your father hurt you, I’ll find him in Hell and I’ll make him pay. I promise you that.”
No. No, no, no. I shook my head. I didn’t know what to do, what to say.
This was too much, too many questions. He was going to find out, he was going to find out what I was, and he’d never look at me like that ever again.
I thought I could do this, that I could leave the cottage, that I could be like everyone else, but I couldn’t.
I wasn’t like everyone else. I wasn’t normal.
I didn’t know how to do this.
“Tempest?” he said, taking another step toward me.
Panic seized me, hot and horrific, but even as I turned to run, I didn’t really want to. I wanted to be here with Fender, but I didn’t know how to be. I didn’t know how to be like everyone else.
Before I knew it, I burst through the trees, not sure where I was going. I couldn’t go to the cottage, I couldn’t lead him there. I had to find somewhere to hide.
A huge three-legged hound burst through the trees, running right past me, then doubled back and planted himself right in front of me, forcing me to stop.
Oh gods. I froze. He was huge. His fur was a rich burnt umber, a couple shades deeper than his auburn hair when he was in human form.
I stared into his eyes now, the brightest of gold.
He didn’t come any closer, he just stared back.
My heart slammed into my ribs, but the longer we stood there, the more my panic began to subside. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, the massive hound lowered his body to the ground, then made a chuffing sound, followed by a low whine.
I stayed where I was. He pawed at the ground and whined again.
“What are you doing?” I rasped, my panic receding as confusion took over. This was Fender, not some beast here to harm me.
He pawed at the ground again and shuffled forward just a little bit on his belly.
“Why are you doing this?”
Another whine, then more belly shuffling. He kept coming, until he was right there, huge but submissive, or at least pretending to be. I should be afraid, but for some strange reason I wasn’t.
His paw, as huge as a dinner plate, slid forward and nudged my foot, then he belly-shuffled again until he was able to press his massive head against my thigh. He whined again.
“Do you want me to…to pet you?”
He stayed where he was, utterly still and staying low.
Why was he doing this? My fingers slid into his fur on their own.
He pressed his big head into my hand and gave me another soft whine.
Was he apologizing? Or was this his way of showing me he wasn’t going to ask me anymore questions, that he wasn’t going to push, because it was impossible if he was like this?
That was it, wasn’t it? It was a silly but incredibly sweet thing to do.
He nudged me then and rose, gently guiding me back to camp. I let him. Exhaustion filled me out of nowhere, and I wanted to go with him, I wanted to feel safe, and like this, there was no risk of him asking me anymore questions I didn’t want to answer.
I walked back into camp and saw Fender’s clothes lying on the ground where he’d shifted.
I expected him to shift back, but he didn’t.
Instead, he followed me back to the campfire and sat, watching as I cleaned up after our meal and packed things away.
He continued to watch as I took two sleeping bags from my pack and laid them out under the tree’s canopy.
“You can have that one,” I said as I slid into mine.
He trotted over to it, picked it up in his jaws, and dragged it over to me, then he plonked down beside me. He was way too close. I wriggled a little farther away, then closed my eyes. He stayed where he was.
The next time I woke was with a scream in my throat.
I’d been engulfed in flames. My father was alive, chasing me through the fire. It was burning, melting my skin, but there was no escape and he’d kept coming.
A heavy weight pressed against me. I wasn’t afraid, I instantly knew who it was, and I reached out in the darkness, my fingers finding thick fur. Fender was still there, but closer now, and he was still in his hound form.
My heart rate slowed. “Thank you,” I whispered to him, then closed my eyes again.
The next time I woke, it was morning. The scent of food drifted into our little shelter. I sat up and pulled back the ivy wall. Breakfast was cooked and plated, but Fender was still a hound. He’d obviously gotten up, shifted, made breakfast, then shifted back.
I got up and he dropped to his belly, watching me.
“This looks good. Thank you.”
He dropped his head onto his front paws.
I took my plate and ate in silence. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed it. The world was noisy. After a lifetime of quiet, leaving my refuge to join the world had been challenging, but I always had my cottage to return to each night, to recharge in the silence.
Glinda and Manny were the perfect companions.
They never wanted more from me than affection and food.
The rest of the time, they took care of themselves.
I missed them now. I never spent more than a night from them, and I hated doing it.
I’d left out extra food for Glinda, though, and Manfred had goat or boar every other day, and I’d fed him yesterday morning. He’d be okay until tomorrow.
I finished my breakfast under Fender’s steady gaze, rinsed off our plates, packed everything up, including Fender’s clothes and strapped his prosthesis to my pack, then slipped it on.
Fender moved surprisingly well in this form. He had a little hop to his step, otherwise he moved fairly smoothly. His one back leg was muscled and strong and his front legs, and those huge paws, gave him exceptional balance.
I started walking, but he jogged in front of me and dropped to his belly, blocking my way, and pawed at the ground. I frowned at him, confused, then walked around him. He did it again, trotting a few feet ahead, then dropped, blocking my path. I rounded him again, and again he did it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He turned his head, aiming his nose at his wide back.
I blinked down at him. “Are you…do you want me to climb onto your back?”
He chuffed.
“No, I couldn’t. I’m far too heavy.” I walked around him, and he trotted ahead again and dropped.
“Fender, I’ll hurt you.” He growled and made a sound like a coughing bark that I was pretty sure was him laughing.
After that, he refused to get out of my way.
I sighed. “Fine, you asked for it, but don’t come crying to me when you throw your back out. ”
I climbed up, and he rose without any trouble.
I squealed and thrust my fingers into his fur.
It was like sitting atop a huge furry horse.
He strode off with ease, occasionally trotting, showing off that he wasn’t in any pain.
I dug my fingers into his fur to hang on and told him where to go as we moved at a faster pace through the forest.
Before long, I was smiling.
I’d panicked last night in a way I hadn’t for a very long time, and somehow Fender had known exactly what I needed to ease my fears and given it to me.
We rounded a cluster of pine trees.
“That’s them,” I said in awe. The blue cliffs never ceased to amaze me.
I’d explored the surrounding area a little, never getting too close, but I’d felt the power that radiated from them, so kept my distance.
Matilda W had never told me to stay away from them, but she always had, and I’d followed suit.
Something was here, though, or had been here, and it had immense power.
Brigid had made these cliffs her home, I was sure of it.
Now we just had to find where.