Page 32 of Whispers of Helena
“Helena! Back off—go to the barn!”
She doesn’t respond, her pace steady, closing the distance between herself and the agitated animal.
“Goddamn it, Helena!” The words are a curse and a plea as the herd surges between us, cutting me off from her.
Time seems to slow. The bull is pawing at the ground, its breath misting in the cold rain, muscles twitching beneath its soaked hide. It tosses its head, dirt and water flying as its haunches bunch like a coiled spring. I can see the charge building.
But Helena doesn’t stop.
Her steps are sure and steady, as if the deluge and frenzy don’t exist. She extends one hand slowly, fingers splayed, her lips moving. The bull freezes, its eyes locking onto her. Its muscles go still, the wild energy draining away.
I watch, breath caught in my chest, as her hand presses gently to the bull’s neck. Trembling but subdued, the beast exhales in the rain, its breath forming steam as its huge form quivers. Helena doesn’t flinch. Her movements are still so damn calm. Whatever words she’s speaking, they seem to sink into the bull, her touch anchoring it.
And I can only stand there, helpless, as something inexplicable unfolds before me. Helena’s lips keep moving, her hand sliding from the bull’s neck to its massive shoulder. The beast shifts as if compelled, its hulking frame relaxed now, compliant. Step by step, it follows her, moving toward the gate with a steady grace that defies its earlier rage.
The last of the herd filters through, the drag rider bringing up the rear. And then there’s Helena, leading the bull like she’s known it all its life.
I drop from the rail, boots hitting the ground with a splash, mud sucking at my steps as I prepare to shut the gate. The riders pass by, their eyes locked on the bull, the same bewilderment mirrored in their expressions. Eli stops beside me, rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
“What the hell was that?” he breathes, his voice taut with disbelief.
“Fuck if I know,” I mutter, my pulse still pounding. “Like a witch.”
Helena pauses, resting a hand on the bull’s broad neck as if saying goodbye. The animal huffs, then turns to join the others in the paddock. She starts walking toward us.
Eli shakes his head, casting me a sidelong glance. “I’m soaked through. I’m heading up.”
“Go on,” I reply absently, eyes fixed on Helena. “I’ll be in soon.”
He nods and trudges toward the house, leaving me alone to face her. She stops in front of me; the rain carving rivers down her face, but she won’t meet my gaze.
"Are you a witch?" I ask, my voice raw, strained. The adrenaline from the storm and the herd still races through me, muddling my thoughts. They're jagged, fracturing in directions I can't control.
Her head snaps up, her eyes blazing, a flame in the rain. "No, I'm not a witch. How dare you, Silas?"
"Then what did you say to that bull?"
"I told it to trust me," she says, her jaw tense.
"Bullshit," I snap as my chest tightens. "What kind of spell did you cast on it?"
Her anger flares hotter than I thought she was capable of in her small, rain-drenched frame. She steps forward, her palms pushing against my chest with surprising force. “I cast no spells. My mother taught me how to handle animals, Silas. I did what I was taught. Nothing more.”
She tries to take a step back, but I don’t let her retreat, closing the space between us until there’s only a breath between us. Herrain-slick face reflects the glint of lightning as a bolt pierces the sky, her defiance undimmed. “I think there’s more to you, Ms. Toth. It’s not just the animals, though, is it? You’ve got everyone around here under your spell.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Her voice cuts through the rain, edged and dangerous.
“I know enough to be wary.”
Her lips part as if she might hurl the same anger back at me. Instead, she stares at me, unflinching, as the storm bears witness. Her silence only fuels my unease, the words clawing at my throat. I hate that she holds her ground, that she doesn’t crumble or try to flee.
I step closer. The brims of our soaked hats touch, and the air grows heavy and charged. It’s like I can feel the storm buzzing through the inches between us, the current waiting to break.
Don’t do this.The thought flashes through my mind like a desperate flare in the dark. This is reckless—foolish.She’s not my wife.She will never be Caroline.She’s my employee, for Christ’s sake. She’s a puzzle I can’t solve and a fire I can’t put out. But I can’t deny the way she draws me in. My boots are rooted to this mud-slicked ground, caught in her gravity.
The heat forming in my chest makes me sick because I know where it’s coming from. And I know where it’s going to lead if I’m not careful.
I wrench myself back, stepping away. The space between us feels like an open wound. Rain beats down, masking the sound of my ragged breath. But my eyes don’t leave hers. Her face is upturned in the storm, framed by dark tendrils of soaked hair. She looks half-wild and untouchable, as though shebelongsto this chaos.
