Page 43 of Hollyhocks

I won’t go back. I refuse to go back.

A soul-draining scream shreds my throat when I use all my strength to move my wings against the heavy gust of wind. Feathers are ripped from my harpy wings, floating all around me.

Rain begins to pour. I fight the pull of my trauma trying to suck me down. Those memories of being in a sunless room, hearing nothing but the harsh beat of rain, the wicked howls of wind, the rolls of thunder, and loud cracks of lightning nearly make me immobile.

I’m too unstable to fly. I can’t get my wings to work. Not in this rain. My eyes burn from tears. The storm is about to rage, and it nearly has me in its claws. With an unstable formation, I’m able to tumble into my backyard. I’m not sure if I was seen and there is a part of me that doesn’t care.

I roll through the wet grass and mud, skidding to a stop just before my back door.

“Gross.” I pluck a few blades of grass from between my fangs.

I don’t bother waiting around for lightning to strike me. I get to my feet, open the back door, and run inside before the storm can get me.

Slamming the door, I lock it for good measure. Gulping, I watch how the light fades from the sky, darkening with the bad intentions of the storm. Rain begins to pour so hard, that I can hear it beating against the roof. The wind smacks the rain against the side of the house, and I jump, staring at the wall where the pummeling noise is coming from.

Water slings from the ends of my hair as I spin around. Between all the noises, I can’t seem to breathe. I cup my ears and fall to my knees, squeezing my eyes shut until it’s over. I’ll sit in this empty living room that has no furniture for the rest of the night if I have to.

I don’t even have a bed. I only use the bedroom to watch Fitz out the window when he is in his kitchen.

The doorbell ringing surprises me, startling me so much, I fall on my ass. My tail wraps around my leg, my wings wrap around my body, and all I want to do is sink into the floor.

A loud pounding on the door happens next. It sounds too similar to the thunder outside. It all reminds me of being on that table, the pounding of a hammer to break my bones just so the scientist could see how long I took to heal.

A sob catches in my throat. I lift my knees to my chest, burying my face between my legs, and try to take a deep breath.

“Holly? Are you okay? I heard you scream,” Fitz shouts from behind the door.

I lift my head from my hiding spot, staring at the door for a moment to see if I’m imagining things.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright,” he says again, his tone soft with a hint of worry. “Holly?”

I’ve waited too long to answer. I hurry to stand, realizing I’m soaking wet and muddy. I toss my damp tangled hair over my shoulder, slip and slide to the door since my feet are wet, then cloak myself in my human disguise.

I wonder if they ever found the camper’s body.

Another worry for another day.

“I’ll be right there!” I shout, dashing to the bathroom for a towel. I dry myself off, needing my chameleon ability to work.

I dry off the best I can, practically rubbing my skin raw. “Shit!” The towel gets caught on my fins near my ankles.

The cotton tugs and pulls on the sharp ends of the fins. That’s when I notice how dry my scales are. A piece of a fin just broke onto the floor.

I haven’t been soaking myself in the lake as much as I should, even though it’s in my own backyard.

“Okay, let’s see if it worked,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror.

Focusing on my human disguise, I’m relieved when the camper comes into view and all of my monstrous features disappear.

Sprinting out of the bathroom door, I rush to pull on clothes and then I run down the hall. I take the corner too quickly, and I stumble, smashing my shoulder against the wall.

“Ow,” I growl, snapping my teeth at the corner as if it bit me.

“You okay?” His tone is more curious than earnestly worried now.

I yank the door open to see a soaking-wet Fitz standing under the awning. His shirt clings to his body, the damp material leaving nothing to my imagination. Every abdominal muscle is outlined. His pecs are firm and defined with a slight curve to prove his manual labor.

There is nothing like the body of a man who does physical work. His hat is on backward, the wet ends of his hair curling. His freckles are most pronounced right now for some reason. I’m lost in the perfection of my mate.

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