Page 9 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

Gatlin looked confused at the action. Isaac cleared up the issue. “Slide in, sir.”

Gatlin paused, turning to me, and I raised a brow.

“Of course,” Gatlin murmured, scooting stiffly into my roomy vehicle.

Isaac didn’t have to ask where to take us. My estate was located south of town.

We sat in silence as we left the busy city streets. I combated the silence by scrolling through my cell phone. I knew better than to force a man to speak. I hoped for the days when we would be past the side glances and the superficial topics. Many of my previous relationships and I had never reached that point. I hoped Gatlin would be different. But I never bonded with the others. Only betrothed… I ruthlessly shut the door on one of the biggest mistakes of my life so far.

“You live in a nature preserve?” he exclaimed, his voice loud and unsure as we turned into the exit for the protected site.

I lowered my phone to my knee, allowing a smile to grace my lips. Gatlin’s blush stained his cheeks and the tips of his ears like the faintest rose of sunrise on the pale sands of the beach.

It is a mercy he doesn’t seem to know how attractive he is. “Yes, a hundred and fifty-six acres have been reserved by the government for those of us too monstrous to blend in to inhabit. This sounds gracious, except my family owned the acreage first. The locals think that the surrounding universities use the nature reserve to study. They have ten acres to fiddle with, with my blessing. We even have designated tours for the natural-minded. Beyond that human buffer, we have our dwellings.

“Some have houses or huts, and some prefer to live in nature as their ancestors did. There is a separate entrance for vehicles on a seemingly closed access road. It appears to the nonmagical as inaccessible thanks to the charms and wards set on the road. I wonder what you will see.”

“What do you mean?” He looked a bit startled, his blue eyes wide.

“In your sister, it shows a bit more. She has more classically Irish features than you do. I suspect that you have just a drop of fae blood in you. Not enough to taste and not enough to wield magic, but perhaps just enough to see something out of the corner of your eye?” I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs as he thought.

Most humans do such an excellent job of ignoring things that don’t fit within their comfortable ignorance that it is easy for them to explain away the things they thought they saw. I suspected the artist saw things—once upon a time. Then he forgot, but the little scholar, she never forgot. I blame gender norms for that. Little boys can chase after fairies just as well as little girls.

“Why did you decide to learn a few signs for Gemmy?” he asked, throwing me from my thoughts.

Bewildered, I shifted in my seat, our knees almost touching. “Am I not supposed to address her in her preferred mode of communication?”

Gatlin was silent, mulling over my answer. He remained that way for a time. Only his eyes gave me the impression that this was not the typical answer.

"It's not that she minds when people speak aloud to her, it's more how excluded she feels when people choose to shut her out because she doesn't 'talk back.' Hell, even I get pushback from people, like I should back them up on this being the speaking twin. We learned to sign from infancy because our parents taught us both. It felt cool to have a language that only the four of us knew. Growing up, I signed as much as I spoke—my mom said it was the best way to learn. Later, when I saw how hard it was for Gemmy when people wouldn't even try to understand her, I knew I couldn't let her face it alone. I started signing with her more in public and made it a requirement. If you wanted to know us, either of us, you had to try. We both learned the hard way that meant more superficial relationships than real ones. The fact that you are willing to try when you are already doing so much means a lot."

“I’m sure I was terrible, but…” I paused, thinking of how to present this. “My father didn’t speak English when he immigrated from Italy. It was taboo then to be Italian, especially from southern Italy. He had the hardest time learning English until he met my mother. While I don’t know what it’s like to struggle to be heard, my father did, and watching that struggle left an impression.”

Gatlin nodded.

A sheepish look crossed his face, and I had to ask, “What is that look for?”

“It’s… good to know you have parents.”

I guffawed. I laid my head back onto the headrest. “What, did you think I emerged from the sea fully formed?”

Gatlin's laughter filled the cab, and I turned my head to look. I thought him handsome before, but with the lightness of his features, the attractive crinkles by his eyes, and his smile, I felt my heart tumble.

Oh boy. “Yes, I do have parents.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled, relaxing further.

“I do want to learn how to sign. I wasn’t just putting on a show for your sister.” I offered the truth, hoping to keep the door to his good feelings open a bit longer.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

The silence in the car this time was contented, and I once again found a diversion in my cell phone. It’s best not to push things.

Twenty minutes later, we took a left into our section of the preserve, and Gatlin’s attention was fixed out the window. I wondered if he hoped he would see something. We take the closed road, and I know the illusion is just around the curve. I don’t hear Gatlin’s heart beating out of his chest, though my hearing isn’t as finely tuned as a vampire or Rougarou. “You don’t see it?”

“I don’t,” he confirmed, shifting back into his seat. “How could you tell?”

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