Page 15 of Veiled Yearning

So I’m scared.

No. Not just scared. Terrified.

I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack for hours. I sat in my bed and tried to distract myself with videos of puppies and kittens, but it didn’t work. My eyes kept jumping to the time, instead, reminding me of our upcoming departure.

Northern Maine all the way to Buffalo? In the winter? It would be bad enough without this whole Custodian slash Nicolas slash Veil thing. But with it?

Why couldn’t I have gotten the ability to teleport, instead?

Right now, I’d do just about anything to put this off. Even though I know, rationally, that getting it over with is smarter, I still don’t want to. I’m clinging to the stubborn hope that maybe the Sentinels will miraculously catch Nicolas and I won’t have to leave.

But I’m committed to this, so once the sun is up and filtering between my bedroom curtains, I reluctantly take a shower and get ready to face the day.

Do I take an extra long shower, complete with a deep-conditioning hair masque and all-over exfoliation? Maybe.

Do I spend an inordinately long amount of time packing my small suitcase, changing my mind at least a half-dozen times? Perhaps.

But it’s still only seven A.M. when I make my way into the kitchen, where I spot Gavril standing at the window, his face in profile, glowering.

My stomach leaps into my throat. “What’s wrong?”

He turns, and a strange expression moves across his face. Not angry or frustrated, but sort of… startled. But he smooths it away, working his features into something more neutral, and says, “It’s snowing. A lot.”

“Well, it is Maine. In February.”

“I know. But this—” He steps to the side and gestures out the window. “I wasn't expecting this.”

In my attempt to ignore the inevitable, I hadn’t looked outside since before I went to bed last night. So I didn’t realize that the Nor’easter is still going strong, there’s a good three feet already on the ground, and more snow is coming down steadily. More than steadily, really—it’s more of a white-out, cutting down visibility to less than ten feet.

“Hmm,” I answer unhelpfully. “I guess the storm is bigger than predicted.”

Gavril huffs, his brows pulling into a deep V. “I don’t like this. Traveling in a storm like this, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Someone could come up on us and we wouldn’t even see them.”

“I thought you said it was safe?”

“It is. But still. I’d rather be prepared, just in case.”

“So… Are we going today?”

He glares at the snow again before looking back at me. “No. I think it’s better to wait until the storm is over. We can spare a day.”

“Oh.” I try to tamp down my enthusiasm, since Gavril looks so aggravated. “Okay. That makes sense.”

But inside, the relief is overwhelming. An unexpected reprieve. And a huge snowstorm, which is one of my favorite things. I head over to the fridge and pull out two blood bags, then hold one out to Gavril. “There’s a warmer next to the coffeemaker. If you want.”

“Thanks.” As he takes the bag from me, his gaze moves across my face. His lips twitch. “Don’t look so unhappy about being snowed in.”

Am I smiling? Not exactly, but close to it. Rather than admit my relief about not having to leave yet, I settle on the other truth. “I love the snow. Especially big storms like this.”

Gavril takes a seat at the kitchen table, his large form dwarfing the hand-crafted chair I bought from a local craft fair a few years ago. He opens the blood bag and takes a swig. “Thanks. You use bags all the time?”

“No.” I sit across from him, and my knee bumps into his, sending a little rush of heat up my leg. Ignoring the reaction, I continue. “I go into town once a week. But I like to have a small stockpile, for times like this. I could still make it to Millinocket, but finding someone out in this weather… and I wouldn’t break into someone’s house.”

He nods. “I understand. I wouldn’t either. That’s why my home is close to town, too.”

“Manchester, right?” I remember Frederick mentioning it on a visit, when he was telling me the story about how he met Cait. He and Cait had briefly stayed at Gavril’s place in Vermont, though Frederick was vague on why they left so quickly.

“Yeah. It’s not bad there. I have a lot of property, so it’s private. And quiet.” His eyes wander over to the window again. “We get a lot of snow. But not like this.” After a pause, he asks, “What is it about the snow that you like?”

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