Page 32 of Through the Wicked Wood

A small groan escapes me as I press my palms into my eyes, attempting to block out the natural light flooding the room. The pounding in my head is incessant, my throat coarse and dry. My desperation for water outweighs the harshness of the light so, reluctantly, I sit up and force my eyes open.

I’ve spent the last several nights in Eviey’s guest room. Her small four post bed faces a lone window and the walls are made of stone. I’ve become comfortable and familiar with the space. Only now, my blurry gaze rests upon a wooden planked wall, not a window. The window sits slightly off-centered and is much larger. The wall before me is adorned with a small canvas and several other pictures pinned neatly in a row. I tilt my head to the side and squint my eyes to get a better look. Is the canvas a constellation or a map?

Already giving up my attempt to make out the pattern of the canvas, I close my eyes again, using my fingers to massage my temples. The pounding in my head is fierce and unrelenting, likely the result of that last cup of huckleberry wine. I agreed to one dance, and it ended up being at least an hour of swinging and laughing under the moonlight. I don’t remember the last time I let myself have that much fun.

The night was beautiful despite the now glaring consequences. Forcing my eyes open again, I refocus on the room. The bed is similar to the one at Eviey’s but no nightstand. The quilt is a deep gray rather than her vibrant patchwork. My eyes draw forward toward the fireplace in the room and a small settee that sits in front of it. Covering my mouth to muffle a gasp, clarity hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m in Sorin’s room. In Sorin’s bed. And there is Sorin, asleep on the settee near the fireplace.

Glancing down at myself, I drop my hands from my temples and pat over my chest and stomach. Fully clothed in breeches and a tunic, certainly not my own. Regardless, I slump back on the pillows, relieved that I’m dressed. After the last cup of wine, the rest of the night is a blur. We danced and ate and sang. But do I remember even walking home?

This isn’t your home.

Clasping my hands over my mouth, I suppress a laugh because for once, the voices are right. This isn’t my home. I’m a guest. A guest who is in the bed of her host while he sleeps cramped up on a small settee.

I pull back the quilt softly before dropping my feet to the ground. The ivory gown I’d worn the night prior is discarded in a pile near the end of the bed. A memory from the night before forces itself behind my eyes. Diluted images of Sorin and myself come into view as I struggle to find my balance.

“I don’t need help,” I hissed as Sorin offered his hand to unlace the back of my gown. Except, I definitely did need help. Samaria and Jarek left us, turning in early long before dawn. I’m not sure what brought me to Sorin’s room and not Eviey’s, but I didn’t question it at the time. All I could focus on was removing the corset still cinched around my waist.

Pulling his hands away, Sorin took a step backward. “As you wish, Enchantress.”

Fumbling with the strings for a few moments, my shoulders slackened in defeat. “Fine,” I mumbled, dropping my hands to my sides. “Can you please undo the back of this Mother forsaken gown?” Gripping the end of the bed to steady myself, not trusting my own ability to balance. The room spun as Sorin’s laugh filled the air. His fingers worked the laces slowly down the back of my dress with expert precision.

I ignored the small touches of his skin on mine, focusing all my energy on keeping myself upright. But as he got to the final lace, he stopped. Tracing a line up my naked spine with his finger. Goosebumps erupted over my exposed skin, but I didn't move.

Then, before I could urge him to continue, he removed his hand, undoing the final lace before turning the opposite direction. I slipped out of the gown and into the borrowed breeches and cotton tunic. My mind wandered momentarily, as I studied Sorin’s back. I pondered how it might feel to run my fingers through his dark hair. How his hands might feel wrapped around my thighs. I debated whether or not I should pull him closer, just to feel the energy of his touch again.

Instead, I bit my tongue and clasped my hands together to keep them from doing something impulsive. Curling into the bed, I tugged the quilt up to my chin and pressed my eyes shut, hoping the stars that danced behind them and the ghost-like lightning of Sorin’s touch would soon subside.

The memory creates a tight knot in my stomach and the need to leave this room is now desperate. Darting my eyes around for my boots, I spot them laying by the door.

Convenient.

Tip toeing over the wooden floors, I make my way towards the exit. As I reach down for my boots, I dare a final look at Sorin. Still sound asleep and in his same clothes from the night before, his fully unbuttoned shirt leaves his sculpted abdomen on display. My throat feels thick as I attempt to swallow. His dark brows are furrowed as if in deep thought, and I can’t help but smile at how ridiculously large he looks on the tiny sofa. Peeling my eyes away, I grab my boots and head silently out the door.

Chatter from the kitchen and the rich aroma of coffee and baked bread wafts down the hallway. Raking my fingers through my hair to free it of tangles, I’m greeted by a mischievous grin from Agnes as I enter the kitchen. The smile reminds me of my mother so much that I take a step backward, stumbling slightly on my feet. The all-knowing smile of a mother who knows what you’re up to without being told.

“Good morning, Elora.” Agnes draws out my name as she and Sam share a look. Opening my mouth, I’m immediately defensive and eager to explain nothing happened between Sorin and I, but before I can speak, Jarek hands me a mug of steaming hot coffee.

“Figured you might need this,” he whispers with a wink before settling into the stool next to Sam. His accent is none of which I’ve heard before, and though we haven’t been properly introduced, I already feel a sense of comfort in his presence. He places a quick kiss to Sam’s cheek before taking a sip from his own mug. Sam peers over to me with the same mischievous smile. She looks casual in a pair of dark breeches and a velvety cream blouse. Her eyes ask a million questions but I’m grateful her lips do not.

“Thank you,” I mumble, raising my mug to Jarek before moving and settling into the chair by the window. Agnes bids us all a good day before leaving through the back door.

“So,” Sam says as she moves around the kitchen, pulling plates from different cabinets. “I imagine Sorin’s still passed out on the settee? He’s always been quite the lightweight.” Her laugh is melodic and so intoxicating that even I find myself letting out a small laugh of my own. Though her words are lighthearted, I’m relieved it’s known that Sorin and I didn’t share a bed.

“It’s true,” Jarek chimes in as he bites into a piece of bread. “Once, at a full moon celebration, he barely made it to midnight before he was face first in the dirt,” he says between bites. “Could never handle his wine.”

“I promise you, I can handle my wine just fine,” Sorin grumbles, entering the room with narrowed eyes. Rubbing at his temples he adds, “I’m just tired is all.” He’s changed out of his black attire, and swapped for a pair of dark brown pants and a forest green shirt.

Sam and Jarek exchange a look before breaking out in a fit of laughter. Ignoring them both, Sorin smiles in my direction. “Good morning,” he mouths before swiping Samaria’s coffee out from her hands. The incredulous look she shoots him doesn’t last long before she’s getting up to fill a new mug.

“I appreciate the coffee,” I say, taking a long sip of the thick brown drink. Letting it rest on my tongue a moment before swallowing it down. “I haven’t had it in years.” The slip isn’t intentional, but the words are out before I can stop them. Breaking my eyes away from Sorin, Sam’s grin lights up her entire face, dark curls circling her face like a halo. Placing a plate of jellied bread on the table she motions for everyone to eat.

“It’s our pleasure, Enchantress,” she says. My gut wretches at the kindness in her voice. The sincerity. She lets loose a long sigh. “Besides, it’s my understanding that my brother has a proposition for us.” Her dark brows draw upward as she passes a glance to Sorin then back to me. “If that’s the case,” she continues, “I assume abundant amounts of coffee will be necessary this morning.”

* * *

“Let me get this straight.” Jarek stands to stretch his enormous arms over his head before craning his neck to either side. The dark ink that swirls up his arms is even more defined with his movements.

We’ve gone over our plan three times already, the sun now high in the sky indicating its nearing midday. “Your plan is to find the Awakening Stones on Kirsgard Mountain,” Jarek continues. “Which, by the way, is one of the most notoriously brutal mountains in all of Valebridge, weather so unpredictable nothing survives there.” A crack pierces my chest at his words. We survived there, I want to say, until we didn’t. Sorin glances at me for a moment, then returns his attention to Jarek.

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