Page 62 of Enchanting the Elf
“What’s wrong?”
The cat’s ears flick forward and backward and his tail picks up speed as it lashes against the floor.
“I find your behavior alarming. I do not know what to do with you. Go find Florence,” I say and wave at it, trying to shoo it out the door so I can wallow in peace.
The cat yowls again, stretching the sound to a frightening degree and stalks off to the window, pacing up and down in front of it while a beastly sound rumbles from him.
For the first time, I notice how dark the afternoon has gotten. The rain starts to batter against the window panes and lightning flashes in the distance.
How did I not notice this earlier?
With an icy hand squeezing around my heart, I turn back to the cat.
My pulse races and my eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets as I shake my head, already refusing to acknowledge the truth.
“Where is she?” I scream at the cat who looks just as distressed as me, hair rising on the back of its neck as it keeps up its pacing.
“Sir Purrington, I swear—” I don’t manage to finish my sentence as Sir Purrington darts out of my study and races down the hallway. I chase after him, searching the wards and finding the answer I fear.
I’m out the front door faster than I’ve ever moved, instantly soaked as I run for the edge of the clearing that Florence favors. The icy rain intensifies with every breath that saws in and out of my lungs and I will my limbs to move faster.
Another bolt of lightning splits the sky and illuminates the grounds, helping me spot her white dress through the sheets of rain pummeling down on me.
The wind whips against me and harsh drops lash me from all sides as I fight my way across the clearing toward Florence, rumbling thunder urging me hurry.
When I get close enough to her that my voice can carry above the downpour, I shout, “What are you thinking being out here?! It’s a storm!” I’m furious and I don’t care about sounding nice. She can get hurt.
Florence’s clothing is plastered to her skin, her long hair clinging to her face and arms as she bends forward to cradle her embroidery to her, doing her best to keep it dry.
“My dress… is snagged… on something. I’m… trying… to untangle… it,” she stutters with chattering teeth while tugging gently on the skirt.
“Fuck your dress!” I shout.
“But—”
Florence doesn’t get to finish her sentence as I bend down and fist the fabric, ripping it free from the underbrush.
“Your life is more important than a fucking dress.”
Lightning flashes again and thunder follows way too soon, mimicking my racing heart, intensifying everything I’m feeling, as Florence stares at me in shock. Before she can say anything else, I surge forward and kiss her.
I kiss Florence with everything I’ve got.
All my frustration.
All my passion.
Chapter thirty-one
Florence
Adelbert is kissing me.
He’skissingme!
And I’m kissinghim.
Chapter thirty-two
