Page 29 of Sasquatch's Claiming

It was just peaceful, like it had been for the last two weeks, before the accident.

She slipped on the little flannel robe that Ben had brought from her home and stood outside on the porch. As she stood there, watching the sun creep through the canopy of the forest, and the mist that clung to the steep hills melt away, she saw Aoife walking slowly up the path, or maybe easily gilding up the steep path was the better way to describe it.

“Good morning,” Aoife greeted. She carried a basket. “I was coming to check on Ben’s wound.”

“Morning,” Bernadette said, hoping her voice didn’t shake.

“How is he?” Aoife asked, climbing up the steps to the porch.

“He had a fever during the night.”

Aoife nodded. “That’s to be expected. The wendigo is not a clean being.”

“Why did it know who I was?” Bernadette asked.

Aoife’s eyes widened. “You’re asking me?”

“You seem to be sort of in charge.”

Aoife chuckled softly. “I suppose. I am the leader of an order of witches, and somehow, I keep getting roped into the leadership of this realm. Though to be fair, the northern realm is quite large and spread out.”

“How large?”

“I think North America.” Aoife grinned. “My half brother Cillian wasn’t overly specific on how this would all function. Hejust severed our ties with King Tiene and Prince Ivar so they would no longer have control on us.”

“It sounds like a lot.”

“It is.”

“Would you like to sit?” Bernadette offered. “Ben is still asleep.”

“I would love that.”

Bernadette pulled out a chair for her and Aoife sat. Bernadette could see the swell in her belly and she stared at it for a few moments. Envious and curious.

It was hard to believe her infertility was because she was meant to breed with a magical creature. It seemed surreal, but she was excited about the prospect of maybe becoming a mother.

“You wanted to know about the wendigo?” Aoife asked.

“I did.” Bernadette took a seat across from her. “I don’t understand this draw to me.”

“You must have witch blood in you,” Aoife said. “You have magical blood. Not all humans do. You ever wonder how some urban legends are born, how myths are born?”

“I suppose so.”

“The wendigo, I think, is someone you know. Or it ate someone you know.”

A shiver ran down Bernadette’s spine and all she could think about was her uncle. He’d always watched her, leering at her, lying in wait.

She hoped the wendigo ate her uncle, instead of it being her uncle. She knew wendigos ate their victims raw.

“You’re thinking of someone who it could be?” Aoife said quietly.

“Yes. My uncle. I’ve been in hiding from him since my parents died. My friend in the south forwards my mail to me. She’s actually the only one who knows where I am.”

Aoife cocked her head to one side. “Well, that explains the mail then.”

“Mail?”

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