Page 24 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
“Those are not for your eyes.” Shadows fall across his face.
“But I’ve touched them.” I spent all night trying to imagine what they looked like. Just how big are they? The first time I saw him was such a blur. All I know is that they’re black. That much is evident from the feathers that have appeared on my pillow so often. But I want to see them up close. I want to touch them again.
“Consider yourself lucky. You’re the only mortal who ever has.”
“How did you get those scars?” An instant irrational fear takes hold of me. That he’ll ask me about my scar in return. It’s a silly worry. He doesn’t even know my scar exists. I decide to backtrack. “If you don’t want to tell me…”
“I made a mistake. A monumental error. I failed in my duties and in order to make it right, I had to ask for help from someonewho never does anything for free. I wish it hadn’t been my wings, but there was nothing else they wanted.”
“Someone tore off your wings?” I can’t mask the horror in my voice.
He lowers his eyes. “Cut…”
The chill atop my skin sinks into my bones. Someone cut off his wings? A pit forms in my stomach. “What did they do to help you? What could have been important enough to give up your wings?”
Harrow sighs. “There’s a balance that must be kept between life and death. I took souls outside of the natural order. In doing so, I violated that balance. The repercussions were felt here in the mortal world where thousands of innocents suffered at the hands of those who should never have been allowed to step foot here again.”
We sit quietly as his words sink in. The concepts he speaks of are so large. I’m fighting to wrap my brain around them, but it’s a struggle. I stare at his white shirt. His wings are missing. Does he feel the need to hide his scars as I hide mine?
“I’m sorry about your wings.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Don’t waste any of your human emotions worrying about me, Roseheart. I’m not worth it.”
I want to ask what he means by that, but a loud chirping draws my eye across the pasture. My animals have gathered and are patiently waiting for my attention.
“They’re always around, aren’t they?”
“Would you like to be introduced?” I offer.
“No.” I’m startled by the sharpness of his reply.
“You don’t like animals?”
He runs a hand through his hair again. Is it a nervous habit? “Animals don’t like me.”
“Maybemyanimals, as you so fondly call them, are different. Come.”
I reach out for Harrow’s hand without thinking. The moment my fingers touch his, he snatches it back. The sting of rejection burns, matching the heat in my flaming cheeks.
“Sorry.” Harrow clears his throat, offering me back his hand.
I take it. This time, he doesn’t pull away. I’m surprised his fingers are so firm. I’ve touched his wings, but I had still wondered for a moment if my touch would pass right through his hand, like a ghost. Touching him reaffirms that he’s real. His skin is icy, but so soft. I pull in a surprised breath as Harrow slides his fingers between mine. A hum of energy passes between us, as if channeled by our interlocked hands. My heart beats faster than the wings of a ruby-throated hummingbird. Giddiness spins through my center. I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning like a fool.Get it together, Lenore.
Pulling him behind me, we stroll through the pasture gates and to the small clearing where my furry friends reside. It’s grown warmer. The fresh scents of spring are laced into every bit of melted snow turned flowery dew drop.
Harrow tenses as we approach the animals. He expects them to scurry off in fear. They won’t. They trust me. “Relax.”
He does the opposite, his hand stiffening in my grip. “Relax, right.”
“Hello, everyone.” My greeting is met with cheerful chirps and yips. “I’d like to introduce you to Harrow.”
I can’t deny the wave of nervous energy that spills out from around the group. They must be able to tell that Harrow is different. Animals always seem to be able to sense things people can’t. They’re more sensitive in that way.
“Harrow, this is Snowflake and Snowpuff.” The twin rabbits sit together, their thick white fur rubbing against one another. I found them trapped in a hunter’s snare, the likes of which wastruly barbaric. I’d thought only one was going to be able to be saved, the damage had been so severe, but both flickered back to life. They’re inseparable and do appear to be actual twins.
“There’s Bitterman.” The black-furred otter is quite out of place here. He was carried untold miles in the jaws of a traveling wolf pack before one of them dropped him. I am particularly proud of his recovery. He’d been almost severed in two. Now he enjoys the castle pond and its many fountains anytime he likes. The pond is kept fully stocked with a variety of fish year-round so Bitterman never needs to worry about his next meal.
“Bundle and Lemon.” A small black and white woodpecker and sunny yellow finch flap their wings in acknowledgment. They were caught up in a terrible storm that resulted in them both passing from terror and exhaustion.
