Page 2 of Entwined

“It’s okay, this is fine. Let me out here.”

“But…miss. There’s no one here…you’ll freeze.”

“I’ll be fine. Here.” I shove the notes into his hand and fling my backpack over my shoulder as I get out.

The cold air bites my face.

I’m home.My soul whispers.

The cabbie shrugs, mumbles under his breath but I shut the door on him, transfixed by the sprawling mansion that was home. I’ve been in London less than a week, but it feels like I was gone much longer than that.

Walking to the gate, my fingers gently touch the lock. Then my finger traces the pattern on the chains. He roped them into a heart across the gate with a big, fat lock at the bottom. It’s beautifully symbolic and so him. My bruised heart slows at the message he left me: His heart is locked. Bound and chained—closed off to me.

For now.

Sighing, I walk the perimeter of the iron fence, until it blends in with the shrubs. Tilting my head back, I calculate the odds I could scale it and land on the other side. I decide to go for it.

The once caged bird, is about to break back in. With my backpack fastened tight, I pull on my gloves, double tie the laces at my boots, and grip the iron fence with each hand. Slowly, I climb, shimming up like an inch worm. When I reach the peak where the sharp bars point into brass arrows, I grip the fence hard with one hand and unclip my backpack, swinging it around and dropping it over the other side—praying my laptop won’t smash as I aim to land it on a tall hedge.

“Here goes nothing,” I whisper to the wind. One leg swings over. My hips straddle the top of the fence the way I would a saddle. But I grip the icy metal poles hard with my legs. Getting stabbed in the crotch with the pointy tip of a fence is far beyond my limit of BDSM shit. Gingerly, I lift my other leg swinging it over as well. I slide the rest of the way like I used to on the fireman pole at the playground.

The one back in California.

Shit.

My parents.

My old life.

Does Christos really expect me to just pop back in? As if the better part of the year I spent with him never happened? That he never faked my death?

My resurrection is going to be a real shit-show if it ever happens. Finally, the heels of my boots land in iced-over snow, landing with a crunch.

I gather my backpack, slide it over one shoulder and jog over the lawn to the side door of the house. The very one I snuck out of, geez was it only a few months ago? Time gets lost here in these woods next to the enchanted royal forest at Exmoor.

The door’s locked.

I thought it would be, but part of me still thrives on the hope this is just another one of his mind games. A test of sorts. Moving to the side of the house, I press my hands to the glass, peering inside.

It’s an empty shell.

Just like I was when I first arrived.

The lights are all off.

The halls are silent.

He’s gone.

Rounding the back of the house, I stop. My heart starts beating again.

I was wrong.

There is life here.

Horses covered in blankets huddle close together in the field beside the barn. Warmth starts to fill through my heart again.

“Hey there,” I greet one, who nuzzles my hand for a treat. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t bring any with me.” His breath creates hot puffs of white mist as he nudges me again, insisting I must be wrong.

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