Page 83 of Hunted in the Shadows
Meanwhile, Jon rifled through his bag for the salve. He hadn’t touched it in weeks, seeing as I had taken over as the resident healer. I settled on the edge of the nightstand and allowed him to apply a fingertip of the salve. I didn’t dare complain about the sharp, menthol scent, though I burst into giggles when his sloppy coordination made him smear it up the side of my neck, too.
His medicine brought a coolness to the heat of the burn. Not the instant healing I had known all my life, but far sweeter than any magic because it washis.
15
Jon
Hannah’s living room was a testament to her penchant for local art. Canvases ranging from palm-sized to four feet wide hung on every inch of wall space—eclectic abstracts, colorful nudes, and landscapes of marshes and bayous. The room was a mismatch of decades-old wallpaper and thrifted furniture. Vintage stained glass lamps perched on end tables crowded with picture frames, housing a seemingly endless array of family moments. Many of them were of Gwen and Hannah, but a large portion showcased Hannah’s expansive family. I wondered wryly if Hannah kept all these pictures around just to keep track of everyone. To me, having so much family alive and well and speaking to each other was a small miracle.
I barely noticed Hannah’s unusually clipped voice as she promised coffee and ushered us to make ourselves comfortable. My mind still raced with the same agonizing thought since waking.
Te amo.
I love you.
Some of the night before was foggy, but I rememberedthatwith painful clarity. I’d said it in Spanish, and Sylvia wasn’t any wiser to its meaning as far as I could tell. I was spared immediate consequence for that admission, but that didn’t change the fact that I’d said it. That I’d meant it.
“How’s Gwen?” Cliff asked.
Hannah strode for the kitchen and didn’t look back. “Well, she refused to go to the ER. She’s in bed, resting.”And not to be disturbed, her tone implied.
Cliff gave a little scoff, glancing toward the bedroom hall—impressed. “How’d you convince her to do that?”
Hannah met his gaze with tentative levity. “You’d be surprised how convincing I can be.”
I stepped toward the couch, squinting a bit as the morning sunlight shone through the green floor-to-ceiling curtains. My head throbbed slightly from the remnants of the bourbon last night. Cliff slouched onto a velvet armchair while I sank into the deep cushions of the sofa. An old, sleepy German Shepherd was curled up on the seat beside me, its tongue lolling eagerly and happy to accept my absent-minded pets.
Most of the other animals were on the move, snuffling around the floor for crumbs. I hadn’t noticed until then, but there were various baked goods strewn across several surfaces in the living room, making me wonder if Hannah’s garage doubled as a bakery: cookies, muffins, scones, cinnamon rolls.
I stole a glance at Sylvia, whose delicate figure glided across the sunlit room, moving from place to place as she excitedly noted each cat and dog roaming the space. She stole crumbs of pastries here and there. Her smile was radiant as ever, her cheeks flushed with a natural glow as she caught my eye and lifted her eyebrows.
I grinned back, hoping it was enough to quell the lingering worry that surfaced when she looked at me. It was remarkable she could crawl out of bed after the shitshow at the outpost yesterday, but once again, Sylvia proved she was made out of steel, not some damn pixie dust. Somehow, she was still here with me after I’d frightened her—and she still chose to see the light in me anyway. It was simply her nature.
Fuck, I wasn’t good enough for her.
How could anyone see the kindness and wildness in her and not want to burn the world to give her anything she wanted? A heaviness settled in my chest—a slow, building panic. What if I wasn’t strong enough to let her go at Aelthorin?
If you find a gemstone first, maybe you don’t have to. The words were like claws teasing the back of my mind.
There were plenty of reasons not to bank on that—first and foremost, Sylvia’s grasp on transformation spellwork was hypothetical at best. No matter how she tried to spin it, we all knew it would be risky without a guideline. A botched spell could mean injury—or far worse.
And if it works?
The voice at the back of my head sounded smug, and I grit my teeth, glancing toward the kitchen. That coffee would be a godsend.Jesus, my head was pounding.
At my feet, a small Yorkie wriggled between my boots, tail wagging furiously. I reached down to scratch its head, noting the bone-shaped tag dangling from its collar.
“Theodore? That’s your name, huh?” I said to it. “Kind of a weird name for a dog.”
“It is,” Sylvia agreed. She glided down, letting the dog sniff her outstretched hands. She giggled at the wetness of his cold nose. “Theodore.Aren’t you sweet?”
I tensed, ready to chuck the dog halfway across the room if it tried to bite her, but to my great relief, the Yorkie was as docile as most of the others that had made a home here. He licked Sylvia’s hands and face—much to her audible delight—before nudging my hand for more pets. The dog made no reaction at all as Sylvia landed on his collar and began to stroke the soft fur between his ears.
“I wish I was an animal affinity,” Sylvia sighed, shooting me doleful eyes.
“You’ve mentioned before,” I said, unable to mask my fond chuckle. I stroked under the Yorkie’s chin.
“I know. But then I’d know what you were feeling, wouldn’t I?” She directed her attention back to Theodore, her voice shifting into an affectionate singsong. “I bet you’re such a happy boy. Do you like the pets from the scary man?”
