Page 22 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 22

T he hammer’s rhythmic banging grew louder as Gretta rounded the cabin. Out back, a ladder stood propped against the roof with discarded shingles scattered around it. A wooden crate sat near the base, and a shirt lay crumpled in the scorched grass. The air was so sweltering it shimmered. Even the cicadas sounded lazy.

Gretta trudged on, already drained as if she’d sprinted five miles. “Ansel!”

The banging stopped. He leaned over the roof’s edge, silhouetted by sunshine.

“Are you finished?” he called, wiping his forehead on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

He swung a leg over the ladder and climbed down. As he left the glaring sunlight, his naked torso came into view. It was broad and tanned, suggesting he was used to working outdoors. Sweat dripped down his neck, sliding between his rolling shoulder blades and along his spine. It disappeared into the narrow space between his lower back and waistband.

Gretta’s already parched throat refused to swallow.

He hopped off the ladder, skipping the last rungs, and swiped his shirt off the ground. He dried his face with it, biceps flexing. Dense thatches of black hair peeked out from his armpits, but the hair on his chest was sparser. It condensed in a trail on his taught abdomen, going lower until it reached—was she leering at him?

Gretta dragged her eyes anywhere else.

“How did it go?” he asked, approaching.

She stumbled back a step. “For fuckssake, put your clothes on!”

He froze. His arm dropped, trailing the shirt on the ground. Jaw clenched, he stalked to the pump beside a shed, and after drinking from his cupped hands, he rinsed his chest and hair. When he came back, he snapped the shirt out, jerked it over his head, and spread his arms. “ Better ?”

The damp white fabric was more indecent than his bare skin.

To distract herself, Gretta eyed the pump. She could drink her weight in water.

“How did it go?” he curtly repeated.

“Fine, I guess.” She would not stare at the droplets slipping down his neck. “Isobel is the one I’ve been looking for.”

“So what now? Does this remove her from your hit list?”

“Yes.” It placed her squarely on Gretta’s capture list. “I tried convincing her to meet Nat willingly, but she’s cagey. I wouldn’t mind help on that front.”

“No one can convince Isobel to do anything she doesn’t want to. I hope you’ll honor her decision, whatever it is.”

Gretta shrugged.

Ansel sighed and looked at the roof. “I’m pretty far along, I have an hour or so left. Do you mind if I finish?”

Part of Gretta minded very much. She’d never spent this long at a witch’s hovel, but it might not be a bad idea to collect her thoughts and fill in her notes while the conversation was fresh.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be out front.”

He nodded and walked away. Gretta lingered, watching him climb the ladder like the desperate letch she’d apparently become. When he was out of sight, she guzzled water from the pump and wandered to the rickety bench on the porch.

She flipped through her notebook, trying to revive her excitement from before. Now that the rush had worn off, she just felt tired. Coming back to capture Isobel seemed more exhausting than exhilarating.

It didn’t make sense. Gretta’s obsession had finally been caught, and the only thing left was to reel it in. She should be vibrating with elation. Instead, the logistical hassle and another trip south made her head throb.

What the hell was happening to her?

No—wrong question. This was about what had already happened. She’d had a ridiculously fucked up week, and anyone would be out of sorts. For godssake, she’d just ogled her captor like she was starving and he was carved from gingerbread. Next, she’d probably find herself marching inside to swap cookie recipes with Isobel.

Gretta closed her eyes and dropped her head back on the bench. An image of a muscled chest dripping with sweat intruded.

Okay, fine. Ansel grew up hot. Should she beat herself up for acknowledging the obvious? Besides, she was deprived. Sentient pond scum would grab her attention. The real crime was that someone like him should come in such a fine package. She might have even succumbed to him if they’d reunited under different circumstances.

The prospect startled her. What would have happened if they’d met with clean slates on neutral ground? If they’d actually recognized each other? Considering her real-life reaction, chances were good she’d have thrown herself at him.

Would she have let him hug her as long as he wanted? Fallen into his bed that very night?

Grief knotted her stomach, followed by self-disgust. Pining over the impossible was a waste of time. Really, she ought to be grateful she’d seen behind the good-looking veneer before discovering his identity. In a way, his ‘shenanigans’ had saved her a lot of trouble. While never reuniting at all would have been ideal, at least she hadn’t learned his true nature via a messy, drawn-out relationship.

Not that Gretta did relationships.

She billowed her tunic. The afternoon heat was brutal, and she didn’t sweat as prettily as Ansel. She gave up and whipped off her tunic. Though the ivory silk camisole underneath wasn’t proper, it gave her a chance to air out.

Swatting a mosquito, Gretta returned her attention to her notes. Talking to Isobel left more gaps in her understanding of witches than before, and there were endless possibilities to work out. Back on track, she jotted questions and theories.

An hour later, Ansel slumped beside her on the bench.

“Done?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hands over his freshly dampened hair. “It’s a damn sauna today.”

“I don’t know how you stand it. The more time I spend here, the more I’m convinced the Radiant Swamps are a festering pustule on Merecia’s asshole.”

He chuckled. “It’s better than freezing your ass off in a blizzard.”

“I don’t know. You can always add layers, you can only take so many off.”

He glanced at her sweaty camisole. Just as quickly, he looked away with a cough.

“Anyway,” he said. “I know you’re in a hurry, but do you mind if I rest a little before we go?”

“I guess not.”

Sprawling, he yawned and closed his eyes. “Wake me in fifteen minutes.”

In a matter of seconds, he was lightly snoring, and the sound reminded her of waking up with him on top of her that morning. Definitely not the mental image she needed.

She settled more comfortably on the bench and ran through all the things she had to do. Most urgent among them: convincing Ansel to follow her to the capital. Since he lacked a gold hoard like Isobel, Nat’s money should do the heavy lifting. She’d have the whole boat ride to convince him.

Yawning as deeply as he had, she spread out.

Only a few more hours. Then she’d finally escape the humid, foul swamp.

“ Fuck !”

The shrill scream jerked Ansel from sleep.

The sun had disappeared below the tree line, and a few stars were out. Crickets had replaced the buzzing cicadas.

Gretta stood under a hanging lantern, oblivious to the colossal bugs tapping the glass as she stared at a pocket watch with all the wrath of a pissed off, pint-sized bear.

Fuck, indeed.

“It’s past seven!” She pulled on her tunic and paced the porch, boards squeaking under her boots. “We should have left hours ago!”

Ansel winced. It wasn’t like him to nap so long, but the heat had drained him, and he’d slept like shit the night before. First, he’d been plagued by particularly grisly nightmares. Then tortured with a dream so sweet he hadn’t wanted it to end.

For once, however, their predicament wasn’t wholly his fault. “I told you to wake me after fifteen minutes.”

She stopped pacing and crossed her arms. “It was hot. I was tired.” When he didn’t respond, she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “We have to go. Now.”

“Gretta…”

“ No. Come on.”

She released him and trotted down the steps. He remained on the porch.

“Come on, we’re — ” She yelped as a snake thicker than Ansel’s bicep slithered by. It moved sluggishly, its bulging middle indicating it had recently eaten. The snake curiously lifted it’s head at Gretta, which sent her clambering up the stairs.

“It’s just a python,” he said. “It’s the smaller ones you have to worry about.”

“How are snakes that big possible?”

“They’re not native. The best anyone can figure is some idiot released a few when they became too cumbersome to keep as pets.”

She warily watched it disappear into Isobel’s tomato plants. A sonorous, reptilian groan rumbled in the distance.

“Th-they’re just lizards,” she said. “And alligators wouldn’t attack a boat, right?”

“Probably not.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Ansel leaned on the railing and pinched his eyelids. “Do you remember what I said earlier on the path?”

“That I’m brave and stubborn?” she asked hopefully.

“That there are worse things than reptiles this deep in the swamp.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and scanned the tree line. “Like what?”

He wished he knew. Whatever they were, they stole livestock at night and left their gored bodies floating in the canals by morning. Ansel had even seen alligators bobbing in the water, their white bellies ripped apart, entrails missing.

“Things with teeth,” he said. “There’s a reason we keep our horses inside the compound.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That day on our walk, you threatened to lock me outside overnight.”

“I was frustrated. I wouldn’t have actually done it.”

She scoffed and resumed staring at the trees. He sat on the bench, dangling his hands between his knees. All he could do was wait for her to accept the inevitable.

“It is what it is,” she said. “We’ll take our chances.”

“…What?”

“The swamp is bright tonight. If we move fast and keep our eyes open, we’ll be fine.”

Ansel cursed himself for not owning a watch with an alarm mechanism. “Gretta. It’s not happening.”

“Bullshit, we’re going. I’ll help row.”

“You’re not approaching this logically.”

“ Fuck logic! I’m not spending the night in a witch’s house!” Her voice rose, but her breathing seemed normal, so he remained where he sat.

“Just think about this,” he said. “You’re wary of Isobel, and I understand. But after meeting her, do you truly believe she’ll physically attack you?”

“I have no idea what she’s capable of. All I know is I don’t trust her.”

Ansel sighed. He’d been a fool to think one afternoon could undo years of hatred and suspicion. “Whatever your concerns, you must realize she’s better than the alternative. At least here you won’t end up an eviscerated, bloated corpse.”

“You know what I actually realize?” Her eyes widened, then slitted. “She did this on purpose. She put something in the water to make us sleep.”

“Why would she do that?”

“To push us together for a night. She made it clear she’s clinging to the delusion we’ll be friends again.”

Fucking Isobel. He knew she hadn’t poisoned the water, but he also should have known better than to hope she’d mind her own business when she and Gretta had talked. “Then she’s sentimental and misguided. That doesn’t mean she’d compromise her entire water supply to play matchmaker.”

“There’s something not right about her, Ansel. I feel it. Even if she didn’t poison us, she’s not who she pretends to be.”

He couldn’t exactly deny that. Isobel had secrets, big ones he suspected, and she was evasive about her life before the swamp. However, in the years he’d known her, she’d treated him with nothing but generosity and understanding. And far be it from him to blame anyone who shied from their colorful past.

“Isobel can be enigmatic,” he conceded. “And overbearing. And meddlesome. But she’s well-intentioned. She won’t harm you.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s my friend. She knows hurting you would hurt me.”

Gretta turned her back on him and stared at the yard.

He went quiet. She needed time to work it out and come to terms with the circumstances. Pushing her would only make her feel cornered.

After several minutes, she sat beside him and put her head in her hands. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I know.”

“I can’t shake the feeling it’s a really bad idea.”

Ansel waited without responding.

Finally, she straightened with a long exhale. “But this is my own fault, I guess. I should have tried harder to stay awake.” She faced him, anxiously fidgeting with the braids on her belt. “You gave me conditions for coming here. I have my own for staying.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m starving, but I still don’t trust her. I want you to taste everything she gives me.”

“Done.”

“And I don’t want to be alone with her again. Her magic is weak, and I could probably take her physically, but since I’m unarmed —” He’d frisked her before they got on the boat. “—I want you in the room at all times.”

He stifled a smile. Was she asking him to protect her?

“Absolutely,” he said. “Anything else?”

She thought about it then groaned. “I guess not. Other than I get the couch.”

The realization of their imminent sleeping arrangement set Ansel’s heart pounding. For the first time in over a decade, they’d spend the night close to each other. Technically, he’d been sleeping within feet of her the past two nights, but there’d been a door between them. It made a world of difference. He dried his sweating palms on his trousers.

Fuck…was he nervous ?

Absolutely not because that would be pathetic. It was only sleeping. Isobel’s parlor wasn’t a cramped cage. He’d be on the floor, Gretta would be on the couch, and the arrangement held all the intimacy of a military barracks. He only prayed he didn’t humiliate himself with one of his nighttime episodes. That was, if he could fall asleep at all.

Grateful for the shadows hiding his flush, Ansel stood. He let Gretta precede him into the cabin as she muttered curses to herself.

A furious shriek and a clatter greeted them.

“ Harry , you worthless sack of alligator bait!”

They entered the kitchen to find Isobel dragging a chubby ball of fur from a cupboard. Flour dusted the raccoon’s muzzle, and she held him aloft by his scruff. Harry chittered at her merrily.

Isobel set him on the floor, shooing him with a bop on the rump. “See if I don’t make a cap out of you yet.” She slammed her hands on her hips and gave Ansel and Gretta an exasperated smile. “Well! Looks like a sleepover.”

Ansel glowered at her. “It wouldn’t have been remiss of you to wake us, you know.”

“Aw, honey. You both looked so precious, I didn’t have the heart. I’m dreadfully sorry if I’ve mucked up your night.”

“Uh-huh,” Gretta said, reclaiming the chair she’d sat in earlier. “You sound really put out.”

“Oh, I am, I am. Terrible imposition.” Isobel clapped her hands together. “So! Who wants to play cards?”