Page 38 of Hell Hath No Fury
It needed tending, I’d informed him. And I needed my feet and hands in the earth. A connection I craved, one that was essential to the health of my soul and strength of my magick.
I’d ordered him to sit on the comfortable wicker sofa and drink the pain-relieving tea I’d brewed for him while letting the sun shine on his wounds. There were many things that were helped by sunshine.
It may or may not have been my way of making him take off his shirt so I could ogle his abs, but he did it without hesitation.
And he happened to do some ogling of his own… I felt his every blink on my back, hips and nape of my neck.
Though the earth usually calmed me, I was wired and uncomfortable after a short amount of time. Especially when Max knelt beside me and began weeding.
His scent and presence both infuriated me and calmed me.
We worked side by side for hours until both of us were breathing heavily and tired from the sun.
The afternoon—after a lunch of salad and sandwiches—passed lazily on the sofa, each of us reading to ourselves.
Once evening came, I poured us each a glass of wine and cooked a vegetable casserole for dinner.
“You don’t eat meat,” he observed as we sat on the patio eating, fireflies emerging as the sun descended to make way for the moon.
I put my fork down, swallowing. “Not unless it is … necessary,” I answered honestly. I would not educate him on the occasions I did eat meat. I tilted my head to regard him. “Will you expire, being here without being able to gnaw on a bloody steak?” I teased.
He sipped his wine. “I think I’ll survive,” he murmured.
Our eye contact lingered for much too long. Something passed between us … unspoken and too complex for two strangers yet there nonetheless.
Eventually, I stood, clearing the table, declining his offer to get up and help.
By the time I was in the kitchen, stacking plates, he was there, refilling my wine.
Something cracked inside of me that instantly healed over with the simple gesture.
We wordlessly went back out into the balmy night, with the cicadas singing to us, with the fireflies swirling around us. We might’ve been the only two people in the world. The coven full of complications, power struggles and death seemed far away.
“I don’t think I was a good person,” he stated, staring off into the forest which was now cloaked in darkness and contained untold creatures that would likely scare even the bravest mortal.
I regarded him and his impossibly perfect profile, tucking my feet underneath me so I was sitting cross-legged in my chair.
His voice was hard, but there was a vulnerability there.
“Of course, you weren’t,” I agreed. “I picked you up on the side of the road, where someone had dropped you expecting you to die. Now, sometimes shit like that does happen to good people, but I get the sense from your muscles, your jawline, tattoos, scars and general temperament that you didn’t live a life of peace.”
He glanced back at me.
“But if you ask me, peace is overrated,” I added. “But take that with a grain of salt because that’s coming from a warrior soul with many battles in her future.”
He stared at me for a long time. “Whoever in this world tries to hurt you, I will hunt them down and tear them limb from limb,” he promised fiercely.
I believed every word, struck dumb by my reaction. I did not need such proclamations from mortal men… I was no damsel. But nonetheless, it did something to me.
We spent the last of the evening in silence… What else was there to say when a practical stranger—who wasn’t really a stranger—promised to rip apart anyone who hurt me?
And though I didn’t have the uniquely male urge to utter such a thing out loud, I knew in my soul that if anyone tried to hurt him, I would grind them to dust.
When we retreated to bed, it was tricky.
The cottage had two bedrooms. One belonging to the mistress, where Max and I had slept last night, and another room that was smaller and cozier yet on the other side of the house. Though the cottage was small, that room felt altogether too far from him.
But…
