Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
He severed our bond. Six generations of mage meets monster … gone.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Westley sat at the kitchen table across from Winter. Everything in the house was so … clean. Even the windows were free from fingerprints. She’d mentioned magicking the mess away, but he hadn’t been expecting a full service.
Between them was a large pot and he wasn’t sure why she was hiding behind it.
He would try to make eye contact; she would slip beyond his sight.
It confused him. She’d helped him get downstairs, maneuvered his shaky limbs to the table, and served him this meal, but he’d been met with resistance ever since.
It wasn’t like her to be so quiet. And from what he remembered, it also wasn’t like her to skip a meal.
He slid the pot out of the way, forcing her attention. “Did you already have some?”
Lips pressed shut, she shook her head.
He squinted. Asking her what was wrong would backfire—she’d insult him or tell him to stop speaking. However, she did like to teach. He could trick her into an impromptu lesson. It didn’t really matter what they talked about, as long as she was talking to him. “What kind of soup is this, again?”
Her nostrils flared and flames ignited where her eyes should be. All she had to do was open her mouth to let the fire out. What was happening inside her head? Maybe her patience with him was limited, reaching a threshold.
After an uncomfortable pause, she said, “Alphabet soup, apparently.”
Was this safe to eat? “What’s that?”
“A soup for kids. You can try to spell out any words you want, no matter how ridiculous.”
Did she have a vendetta against the alphabet? Maybe all future librarians were like this—burned out by their own trade. “Well, it’s very good …” He moved the spoon around the bowl. “Hmm. I don’t see any letters?”
“It’s chicken and rice, okay. Chicken and fucking rice.” She crossed her arms and sat back, tapping her head against the frosted window pane behind her. The look in her eyes turned distant.
There was clearly more than the soup bothering her, but he wouldn’t ask any more questions. She didn’t have to tell him what was wrong if she didn’t want to.
He stared beyond the expanse of evergreens that made up his property, wondering what he’d done to deserve her grace. The setting sun cast a warm glow over her skin, revealing a golden shimmer along her cheekbones. Was there anything about her that wasn’t magical?
Thanks to her witchy break-in, he’d gone a full day without binge drinking.
Whiskey had been his only crutch since Xavier died.
All in one night, he’d lost everything. His sister had disowned him and Winter had vanished into the future.
Losing them both had tossed him into a black hole where he’d clung to the edges, blending in with the darkness ever since.
But then Winter came back.
The same way the sun would.
Again and again, she returned.
So instead of clinging, he climbed.
Towards her—his light.
West had responded well to Winter’s mage remedies.
She shut the door on the way out of his freshly cleaned room, confused as to why he was giving her puppy eyes.
What exactly had he been expecting when she’d told him she would be staying the night?
That she’d snuggle with him? She wasn’t sure what to make of his pouty face, or the wind’s behavior.
The two of them had to be conspiring against her.
She made it to the far bedroom unscathed. The sheets were clean, thanks to magic, and the dresser still had some of Mellie’s rose-scented clothing in it.
Winter removed her armor to change into one of Mellie’s extra-long tunics, then recast it. The good thing about her shield was that it was fluid. The material didn’t itch, poke, or suffocate. It was simply there. Taking it off would require a lot more than puppy eyes.
After placing her wand on the nightstand, she tucked herself into bed. Adjusting to the spring mattress took her a few rolls. The coils bounced along with her thoughts.
True mate?
That couldn’t be. In fact, she refused to believe it.
She wanted to help Westley as much as she wanted to bolt away. Her broom was still in the basement; it would be really easy. Hop on and skedaddle. But despite her confusion, she stayed put. Leaving him while he was in this condition didn’t feel right.
The question Everett had posed back in the archives played back in her head.
Why did she care? Westley had hurt her more than once, but were his failures his fault or a reflection of the burdens placed upon him?
He was also half-human, technically, and the mortals were master mistake-makers.
They would mess things up, try to fix them, and fuck more things up in the process.
She hugged the blanket closer to her chest and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Winter awoke. Rather than feeling like she got a solid eight hours, her heavy eyelids told her it’d been more like three or four. What time was it? Too early to care. She curled to her side, ignoring the symphony of squeaks her mattress made.
“No. I will not.”
She jolted upright and reached for her wand. Bringing the tip a breath away from her mouth, she whispered, “Illuminare.”
Hmm. There were no monsters in the room. At least, none that she could see. She bent over the edge of the bed to check beneath it.
Phew.
Nothing.
“Of course you’re beautiful. Why do you keep asking me that question?”
Oh, fuck.
She blew out her light, set the wand down, and burrowed under the covers. West could talk to himself all night long if he wanted to. As long as he wasn’t screaming or throwing up, she’d be going back to sleep.
Unless—
Was someone else here with him? But who would be visiting in the middle of the night?
A lover.
Sex would be absurd in his condition. Surely, if he was having trouble shifting, his dick wouldn’t be working either? Then again, there’d been enough crusted cum on his sheets to open up a salt factory.
Ugh.
She groaned into her pillow. If he wanted to have an evening guest, he was allowed to have an evening guest—it was that simple. She could fuck right off with these thoughts.
Just as she was about to nod off again, Westley let out a blood-curdling scream. There was nothing euphoric about that. Winter was up and out of bed, her wand in hand. Whatever he was doing would have to wait until he was feeling better.
She stormed down the hallway, ready to bang on his door, but paused, laying an ear against it instead.
There was no skin slapping. No moaning. Not even a whimper.
Hmm.
She knocked softly. “I can leave, but I just want to make sure you’re okay?”
“She doesn’t want you to come in.” His voice took on an unfamiliar shade, like he was hiding something or someone. It was hard to place, but clearly he wasn’t alone in there. Her heart pounded like it had opinions on the matter. Why did she care? She didn’t—this was merely a wellness check.
“Are you okay or not?”
“She doesn’t want me to say.”
What?
“Tell her we’ll be fine and tell her you love me more. Do that and I’ll let you get some rest tonight.”
“I’m not saying that.”
The queen sighed and strolled over to the door, twirling her wrist. “Fine. I’ll kill her then.”
Westley was out of bed faster than she could touch the handle. Face-to-face with his nightmare, he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ll make you regret that.”
“How so? I’m dying to know.” Her lips curled into a serpentine smile.
He glared at her while speaking through the door. “Winter, I’m fine. You can go.”
The queen put her head on his shoulder, grazing his scar with her pointed nails. “And that you love me more.”
He slapped her hand off his chest. “Don’t touch me.”
“Excuse me?” Winter barked.
No. He pressed a palm to the door and said, “Not you, Winter.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
The queen stepped in front of him, blocking the door. “Tell her you’re more than okay. Tell her that the night would be better if she left us alone.”
Westley swallowed his disapproval and did as his master bid. “I’m very much fine, Winter. The queen would like you to leave us alone. The night would be better that way.”
The queen? Winter hardly registered her foot before it plowed through West’s door, knocking it off its hinges. Concern swirled through her. She was strong, but that was a different type of strength—one she’d never experienced before.
Aiming her wand, ready to shoot, she asked, “Where is she?”
He was wide-eyed and speechless, staring at the splintered remains of his bedroom door.
Winter whipped her head left then right. “Where the fuck is she, West?”
He stilled, caution lining his features. “She’s standing right next to you.”
Fuck, fuck.
Based on the texts stolen from the archives, the queen certainly had access to Invisibility Spells. The object—or in this case, the queen—still existed, Winter just couldn’t see her. With blatant disregard for his freshly cleaned room, she cast a Confetti Spell. “Celebramus.”
Pink, blue, green, and yellow flakes exploded from her wand. She waved it back and forth, covering the entire space. In theory, the pieces would land atop the queen, revealing her whereabouts.
A few streamers popped out at the end to finish off the spell. Winter spun around, her confusion mounting. “Where’d she go?” There was no one else in the room.
West ignored the multicolored flecks dusting his head and shoulders and spoke quietly. “You don’t see her?”
“No, I—”
Wait a minute.
Winter froze as the thought occurred to her: if the queen was using an Invisibility Spell, how come West could see her?
“Stop asking me to tell her to leave.” He paced to the wall beside the door and pounded his fist into it. The cedar cracked on impact. “I won’t.”
And that was when Winter realized he’d entered the hallucination stage of detox. His nightmares had materialized. The invisible friend no one had asked for, whispering not-so-sweet nothings into his ear.
He was hunched over and panting.
She stepped closer, placing her hand on the small of his back. His skin was warm and scarred. Not long ago, it’d been covered with fur and still healing. “No matter how many times she asks you, I promise I won’t go.”
He turned to face her. “She’s always with me, Winter.”
The queen haunted her too. Despite the impenetrable armor, her eyes brimmed with tears.
She’d never told anyone about what happened to her underground, but West had been there—her witness.
She crashed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. She hadn’t realized how much she needed comfort.
The world, despite its beauty, held evil, and they’d both fallen victim to it.
He folded his arms around her, holding her close. There was no space between them and she didn’t want any. “I’ll never let her hurt you again.” His words came out soft and sincere.
In lieu of a reply, her tears rolled down his chest. She was sniffling and could hardly breathe, but he held her tighter. This wasn’t the wolf who’d hurt her anymore, not even close.
They should be spending this time wisely—plotting to kill the queen. Except at this moment, hugging him felt far more important. She needed someone who understood her pain. She needed him. For weeks she’d been running around, staying busy, and pretending she was fine.
She wasn’t.
How long could she hide from her sorrow?
A minute or so passed before she looked up, nudging her chin into his serpent scar. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
“I don’t want to be alone anymore, Winter. Not with her. Will you stay with me tonight?”
She blinked, considering him. “I will. But the armor stays on.”
He squeezed her. “Thank you.”
The corners of her mouth curved up on their own accord, as if little angels had tied strings there and yanked.
West hallucinated on and off for a few more hours.
Winter had been there to remind him of what was real and what wasn’t, until he’d finally fallen back asleep.
Lying on the opposite side of his bed, she stared at the knots in his cedarwood ceiling, memorizing their maze-like shapes until she, too, succumbed to sleep.
She would’ve stayed slumbering if it hadn’t been freezing. Despite her resolve to keep her distance from West, the warmth radiating off his body was enticing. She migrated closer. He was on his back, so she shimmed alongside him, then rolled to face the other way in an effort to appear non-snuggly.
The spring mattress was a traitor. The coils creaked as she resettled, waking the beast. He let out a sleepy grumble and turned towards her. Winter’s eyes shot wide when he wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her against his chest.
Was this his attempt at melting her armor?
She wanted to resist—push his arm away—but his embrace was too comfortable.
Her shield wasn’t built for this kind of attack.
Why would the universe hand her a mate on a not-so-silver platter, then leave her to figure out what that meant?
True mates were rare. She wasn’t sure if this was a ripple effect from time traveling, or if it was meant to be this way all along.
West would be over seven hundred years old in her time period if he was still alive.
There was too much she still didn’t understand about her predicament. Love, especially.
It wasn’t long before his heavy breathing drowned out the noise in her head. She tried to match his rhythm, slow and steady, before closing her eyes to rest.