Page 42 of Whispers of Helena
I see her smile. How it's simultaneously quick, knowing, and maddeningly genuine. It digs under my skin, twisting the parts of me I’ve fought to keep numb. Unwillingly, my mind strays, to the shape of her, to how her skin might feel under my hands, how her breath might sound close to mine. My hand clenches against mythigh, heat curling low in my stomach as I picture that infernal braid wound tight around my grip, binding her to me in a way I shouldn’t even consider.
She isn’t meant to be here. In my thoughts, in my blood, pulling me toward something I don’t understand. I’m furious at the thought, yet powerless against it. I wanted the silence to clear my head, but instead, it’s given her a place to thrive.
It’s a betrayal, isn’t it? To think of Helena this way when Caroline’s memory still feels so raw, so present. But I can’t ignore that Helena is here, alive, impossible to ignore. And Caroline...Caroline is gone. The ghost of her touch, her smile, her voice, have slowly grown static, fading slowly each day.
My jaw tightens, breath sharp as I drag a hand over my face. Maybe it isn’t my choice anymore; maybe I’ve already lost the battle. Maybe I’ve been losing since the moment Helena stepped into my house and shattered the fragile shell I’d built around myself.
The horizon stretches out before me, but it offers no answers, no solace. Only her. Helena, in my thoughts, in the spaces I’ve refused to share with anyone else. I feel like a man dragged toward the gallows, fighting against a surrender that already feels inevitable.
Maybe it’s not about what I want anymore. Maybe it’s about the pull I can’t escape.
The pull toward her.
The sun hangs high,casting its light over the barn as I lead Shadow into his stall. I swing my leg, planting my feet on the floor before I uncinch the saddle. Eli’s horse is gone, and from the silence of the yard, I guess he’s with the herd. Shadow shifts, his muscles rippling as I pat his neck.
“Thanks for putting up with me the past couple days,” I murmur, running my hand along his coat. He huffs softly, ears swiveling to catch my voice. “You’re a good boy, Shadow.”
I digin my saddlebag for my soap and toothbrush. After I wash up in the tack room, I busy myself with filling Shadow’s water and feed, letting the routine steady me, but the tranquility splinters as his ears perk and he lets out another huff. I freeze, listening. A beat later, faint footsteps greet me, growing louder with every step.
I glance over my shoulder as Helena steps into view. She stops at the edge of the stall, arms crossed, sunlight spilling over her shoulder, illuminating her like she belongs in another realm entirely. Her dress catches the light, simple and unassuming, but on her, it becomes something else. Sunday’s sanctity personified. Strands from her loose braid shimmer like spun gold in the light. Like she came here to bring my thoughts to life, to brighten what simmers so close to the surface.
“You’re back,” she deadpans.
“Still watching me, Ms. Toth?” I drawl, trying to steady the tension gnawing at my edges as I return to tending Shadow.
“Kiran will be happy,” she offers, her arms tightening.
I set my things on the hay bale, the motion grounding me before I face her again. “I’ll be glad to see him. Missed him.” I take a single step forward, eyes locked on hers. “What about you, Helena?”
Her arms fall to her side, her gaze wavering before returning to me. “I was just worried about you.”
Another step. The space between us shrinks, heat building like a crackling ember ready to ignite. “I’m fine. All in one piece.”
Her feet shift uncomfortably, betraying the ease in her tone as she turns her eyes away. “I can see that. Well, welcome back. Lunch will be ready soon if you’re hungry.”
I close the gap, stepping into her space, and lift her chin with my hand, forcing her to look at me. My fingers linger on her jaw, a boundary crossed yet not fully breached. “I might be hungry,” I say.
Her lips part, the breath between us thickens. Her chest rises and falls more rapidly now. “Good,” she manages, voice unsteady but brave.
“Helena?” My voice softens, her name holding more than just a question.
“Yes, Silas?” she murmurs in a hushed tone, as if afraid of what might come next, the silence between us suffocating.
Our eyes lock, the air crackling with tension, a palpable third presence in the stall. My thumb brushes her jawline, an act of defiance against my own restraint. She’s staring at me now, unblinking, caught somewhere between steel and surrender.
“Why’re you always looking after me?” I ask softly, voice pitched low.
“Somebody has to,” she shoots back, her words bite, but I see the way her lips tremble, the faint hitch in her breath.
“I’m not helpless, you know,” I state, stepping even closer, so close the scent of her soap hangs in the air between us, elusive but intoxicating.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Her retort is quick, but the tension beneath her words betrays her.
I tilt my head, my grip on her chin firm but not forceful. “That so?”
Her eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth. “It is.”
“Maybe I’m only helpless when it comes to you.” The words leave my mouth before I think better of it. Her pupils consume her eyes as I slide my hand to the back of her neck and draw her lips to mine. I tilt her head to accommodate me and push my tongue against the seam of her lips. Her body tenses under my touch, and for some fucking reason, it only fans the flames running through my veins.
