Page 95 of Heart of Dawn
Orion’s warmth kept me strong. I reveled in his cherry scent, everything about him. Holding onto the wonder of him.
Eventually, at the end of a long road called Buckwood Road, becoming Buckwood Lane for the final stretch, we made a right turn and crossed a roundabout.
We passed under trees, swaying in the wind like a bunch of enthusiastic concert goers. The sky darkened, more rain clouds washing the light away.
Poor Ori shivered against me, pushing himself harder into me to soak up my warmth.
“You alright back there?” I checked.
“Fine.” He rubbed his cheek on my back.
After a winding ride amongst the trees, they gave way to more open space. The sky lightened to a murky gray, sunlight trying to break through, revealing a spectacular sight.
“Wow…” Orion said.
The road curved around a sloping ridge of chalky grasslands, a vista of rolling fields beyond it. What a great spot for kite flying and picnics, for wolf runs and long walks.
“You got that right,” I responded to my mate.
“What a view,” he added.
I approached what looked to be a carpark with two rusted cars, weeds growing around them up to the windows.
I pulled in, bringing the fae bike to a stop. Now that had been one smooth ride, a million times better than any Earthly bikes.
“Right. What are we dealing with here?” I said, scanning the area.
On my left stood a grayish modern silver building, every one of its glass windows broken.
“Doesn’t look like an old café.”
To find the heart of Dawn, I had to find a bench beside the old café.
The heart of Dawn lies deep within the Chiltern Hills. Dunstable Downs, Bedfordshire. The bench marked with the name of Rose Dale beside the old café is the door to the secret depths. Open the door, step into the heart.
I didn’t see any benches over by that building, but there were plenty in the distance to my right near a smaller, stone box building.
Ori leaned against me as he climbed off the bike.
“Maybe that way,” I said.
“What for?”
“That bench.” My poor cute-as-fuck mate was dripping wet. “We need to get you inside.”
“I’m fine. Let’s find the bench first.”
My pack arrived, joining the search, all of us with one eye on the corpses littering the downs.
I found the bench next to the stone building—the old café. A dead rabbit rotted beside it, a brass plaque on the bowed wood read:
In loving memory of Rose Dale (1972 – 2013)
Mother. Daughter. Wife.
Have one for us up there!
“Who do you think she was?” Paige asked, back in human form.
