Page 33 of Hell Hath No Fury
The headboard was wrought iron, black too, twisted in shapes of serpents and vines. Nothing like the soft shades, textures and woods that used to be here.
This was my place now.
And, inexplicably, it was not the sheets or the comforter that gave me that feeling.
It was the man within them.
Again, it made no sense, but the intuition I’d been trained to trust utterly and completely told me so.
Acting on instinct, after I’d treated him, I peeled off my clothes and curled into bed with the stranger, resting my head gingerly on his chest.
Still out in his deep sleep, he moved, like he had on the bike, to encircle my body, holding me tighter than he should’ve been able to.
I didn’t fight him. Instead, I did an unthinkable thing… I curled deeper into his torso and fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
“Good morning,” I offered, leaning against the breakfast bar, cupping my mug in both hands.
He stared at me with unveiled hostility, which I guessed made sense.
Not that I looked like much of a threat. I was 5'6' and curvy in all the ways women should be with ass, hips and tits. My face was freshly washed, my pale skin slightly flushed with the heat coming in from the open doors, and my white blonde hair hung in messy curls down almost to my waist. A black silk skirt was low on my hips, showing off my stomach as the top I wore hugged my torso and finished just above my hip bones. My feet were bare. Though I should’ve looked innocent, vulnerable, I knew there was something about me even mortals saw as otherworldly and threatening.
I didn’t miss that despite waking up in a foreign place, injured and without memory of how he got there, that the man’s gaze turned primal then tracked slowly up and down my body.
Everything inside me heated, tingled, as if he had been running his fingers along my bare skin. That thread between us, the one I’d been doing my best to pretend didn’t exist, vibrated.
I clutched my coffee cup tighter. Wind picked up outside, blowing the curtains inward.
Neither of us looked that way.
His eyes were so gray they were almost silver. Framed by his dark lashes with a tendril of midnight black hair falling over them, he looked almost unearthly. It was only the bruise high on his cheek, the cut through his eyebrow and the definite limp as he moved slightly forward that reminded me he was a mortal.
“Your leg is broken,” I informed him, my voice rougher and thinner than I would’ve liked it to be.
He was leaning on the cane that I’d found beside the bed when I woke. The house had found it somewhere and put it there.
Though magick had many rules, which we as witches were bound by, there were things like a house built on powerful soil that broke all rules. As was the way of magick.
He technically shouldn’t have been able to walk. The break was clean, and I’d been able to fashion a rudimentary and effective splint, but I was no expert.
What I could’ve done was knit the bones together, something I could’ve done in the blink of an eye.
I didn’t do that.
Because that would mean he could and would walk out of there.
He continued staring at me, not speaking.
I didn’t break eye contact, though he had a pretty good, menacing stare. Fortunately, I’d encountered many things scarier than him in the years I’d walked this earth.
“I found you on the side of the road,” I explained. “Dying. You’re not,” I nodded to him. “Dead. If you were wondering.” I tapped a long, black fingernail against my chin. “Though I suppose if you’re into blondes, I get how you could confuse thiswith heaven.” I held my coffee cup outward to the open plan kitchen and living room.
Birds chirped from beyond the open French doors leading to a patio, the breeze carrying smells of lavender and sage. The living room held comfortable, slip covered sofas, welcoming pillows and throws were scattered on them. A nook by the window invited you to stay a while, read one of the many books from the small library on the back wall.
The late morning sun illuminated everything in somewhat of an angelic light.
Still, the man did not speak.
