Page 40 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 40

A rm linked with Ansel’s, Gretta trotted between stone columns, down the train station’s front steps and toward the congested street. Vendors pushed carts outside the station, loudly hawking maps and cheap souvenirs. Hooves clattered on cobblestone, and carriage drivers shouted curses at each other. As tourists gaped, clogging the sidewalk, locals briskly wove around them.

Gretta stopped on the bottom step and inhaled the chaos. The familiar noise and bustle usually invigorated her. This homecoming jarred her.

The city was the same—Gretta wasn’t.

She no longer had a job. A powerful weapon against witches had fallen into her lap. Her captor had turned out to be her best friend, and he’d blown into her life like a tornado, uprooting her so thoroughly she barely knew herself anymore. In less than a week, she’d become a foreigner in her own life.

Ansel stopped beside her, observing the havoc. He swallowed uncertainly, and an achy tenderness stung Gretta. Another persistent, pesky side effect of forgiving him.

It was getting out of hand. It felt like a sickness, a physical wringing of her guts. And underneath that tenderness was dread. As they’d gotten closer to the city, the morbid premonition she’d lose him again grew.

Their journey wasn’t reality. The benefits of forced proximity couldn’t last forever. Even if Nat invested, that didn’t mean Ansel would stay in the capital. Judging by his expression, her home left much to be desired.

“I know it’s a lot,” she said. “Other parts of town are quieter.”

“I thought weekend nights in Antrelle were anarchy. This…” He gave his head a shake. After a long, loaded pause, he turned to her. “So.”

“So.”

“I suppose I should find a hotel.”

Gretta weakly nodded, grasping for something to say.

It’s been real? See ya when I see ya?

On the train, she’d no-big-deal offered to let him stay with her, but he’d declined, saying something about a little distance being good for friendship. She’d told herself he was right, that she needed a break, too. A return to her status quo would get her back to normal.

Now the reality of separating made her want to throw up on his boots.

He’s going to a hotel, not dying. Get your shit together.

There’d be plenty of time later to examine how swiftly and intensely she’d grown attached to him again.

“Lodging is expensive downtown,” she said. “My neighborhood has a hotel that’s cheap and clean. We can share a hack.” A dash more proximity wouldn’t devastate their friendship.

He nodded, and she led him through throngs of jostling bodies.

“Watch out for pickpockets,” she said. “And don’t make eye contact with vendors, or you’ll never get rid of them.”

At the corner, she hailed a hack. After giving the driver her address, they got inside and trundled from the chaos to stately Richmond Boulevard. Ansel gaped out the open carriage window, and a warm breeze tousled his hair.

Spring had come earlier here than at the lake. Tiny leaves sprigged the elms lining the boulevard, and ornamentals scattered pollen and petals like snow. They passed greystones and townhouses, shops and cafes. The breeze carried the scent of chocolate from the Blumner candy factory. Also, a whiff of horse dung.

“The capitol building is that way,” she said, jerking her thumb. “You can see the spire from here.”

Ansel briefly glanced in that direction. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and stretched his shoulders. His bicep flexed, and he winced.

“How’s the arm?” she asked.

“Fine. Tender is all.”

Gretta frowned. “You should get it looked at. There’s a hospital a couple miles away, I can ask the driver to take us.”

“No, thank you. I’d have to be on my deathbed to visit one of those cesspools.”

Gretta chewed her lip. He was eager for space, and she needed to go see Nat. But health came first, right?

“I have medical supplies at home,” she said, careful to keep her tone light. “You could pop in before the hotel.”

He hesitated. “I suppose that would be wise. I wouldn’t want it to infect.”

She hid a smile. This only meant a brief delay of the inevitable, but she’d take it.

Outside the carriage, tidy homes gave way to older, crumblier buildings. When they stopped at an abandoned paper mill, Gretta paid the driver, and Ansel followed her to a brick alley lined with peeling wheat-paste advertisements and rusty metal bins.

“Left here,” she said.

Suddenly alert, he took her arm. “Why are we going this way?”

“It’s where I live. We’re almost there.”

“You live in an alley ?”

“My door does.”

He scanned the area. “Light from the street lamps wouldn’t reach this far. How do you get around at night?”

“I can fly, Anse. And I’ve lived here for years. Besides, I’d be more worried about getting jumped in the classy part of town.”

As they continued on, he eyed every trash bin like assassins lurked behind them, then she plugged her key in a door and led him into the dingy stairwell. The stairs groaned under his weight as she floated ahead of him.

They reached her landing, and Gretta hesitated, key poised. She’d never brought a man to her apartment before. The place may be a rattrap, but it was her sanctuary, and she was used to fiercely guarding her privacy.

“I’m letting you into my home,” she said. “I don’t want any commentary or judgment, got it?”

“I’m intrigued. Do you collect their heads as well as their hair?”

“I mean it.”

He held up his hands. “No judgment. Hell, you saw where I live.”

She swung the door open, and he looked over her cramped apartment. His humor morphed into horrified fascination.

“Dear god,” he said. “It’s immaculate.”

“Yeah. I’d like to keep it that way.” She dropped her bag and tossed her key in a porcelain bowl. “Boots off.”

They both removed their boots, and Gretta placed them neatly on a rack.

“The bathroom is that way,” she said, pointing. “I’d offer you a tour, but you can pretty much see it all from here.” Her living room and kitchen were the same room separated by a counter.

While he used the bathroom, she heated water and gathered clean rags. After taking her own turn in the bathroom, she grabbed a brown bottle and white tin box from the medicine cabinet.

She came out to find him sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, head on the backrest. His lips parted on a light snore. Seeing Ansel Wallenfang conked out in her living room had to be the most surreal moment of her life.

His head twitched, sending a lock of dark hair in one eye. A tiny snuffle escaped him. The poor guy was beat.

From their morning? Or from their night?

Graphic memories dropped in uninvited, dragging her attention from the tenderness in her belly to the one between her legs. The one she’d been doing her damnedest not to think about. The one that had just become all she could think about.

She shut it down. They’d had their one-off, now they were friends. That was the agreement. It was for the best.

If those memories chose to pop up later, whil she was alone in bed, well…

Ansel startled awake. Gretta marched to him and sat. All business, she arranged her medical supplies on the coffee table, and with a no-nonsense clearing of her throat, she turned to him, back ramrod.

“Take off your shirt.” Her voice came out huskier than if she’d gargled whiskey.

He hesitated. Then he took his shirt off and dropped it on the floor.

Gretta busied herself with the antiseptic. Legs folded underneath her, she draped his scarred forearm across her lap and untied the makeshift bandage. She gently dabbed his wound.

The cold peroxide brought goose flesh to his skin, puckering his nipples. She shifted as the wrong kind of tenderness flared up again.

It was only a medical procedure. She’d treated him shirtless that morning. But doing it in her home, on her couch, without a corpse cooling nearby landed differently.

“The stitches held,” she said. “I don’t see signs of infection.”

He twisted to look, and his hair feathered her cheek. Instead of pulling away, she got in closer.

“I can replace the sutures if you want.” Her breath grazed his shoulder.

“It’s fine for now. I’ll make sure to keep them clean.” Did his voice get deeper?

She brushed the cloth over an old scar, traced it around a solitary freckle. A smear of blood had found its way to his inner arm, and she stroked it away.

He grunted and crossed an ankle over his knee. It did little to hide what was happening between his legs. Fingertips frozen on his bicep, Gretta held her breath to keep from panting.

“Ignore it,” he rumbled. He hiked his ankle higher.

She’d have an easier time ignoring a meteor crashing through her window.

The agreement, Gretta.

The fucking agreement. Maybe she’d been hasty in setting those parameters?

She pulled back and tossed the cloth on the table. They’d set those parameters for a reason . Nothing had actually changed. This version of their friendship was new and fragile, and she wouldn’t let her runaway hormones fuck everything up.

She dribbled iodine on a fresh cloth and clinically daubed his stitches. “You should clean this twice a day, and change the bandage each time. You can take the supplies with you.”

“Thank you, Gret.”

Nodding, she placed a folded square on his wound. He yawned deep, and his head settled on the backrest. Gretta unraveled white gauze from a roll and carefully wrapped his arm.

Finished, she got up and returned to the medicine chest in her bathroom. It held a laudanum tincture, but because of his aversion to alcohol, she didn’t think he’d want that. Oil of cloves wasn’t going to cut it. She settled on a bottle of mild pain killers.

Gretta came from the bathroom to find Ansel asleep again. He had his hands tucked in his armpits, and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. He lay still as a cadaver, barely breathing.

She tiptoed closer. Crouching at his feet, she lightly squeezed his knees. “Anse.”

He didn’t move. She crawled up beside him and cupped his cheek. “ Anse .”

Nothing.

She moved his head to a more comfortable position. When his eyes flew open, she stroked his hair. “You fell asleep.”

He blinked fast, sitting straighter. “How long was I out?”

“A few minutes.”

Once his eyes focused, he slumped into the couch. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

She continued petting him, and he leaned into it without seeming to realize. Her heart twisted worse than her stomach.

“I have an errand to run,” she said. “Do you want to nap here while I’m gone? I can walk you to the hotel after.”

He considered. Then he relaxed his arms and splayed his legs. “Maybe a quick one.”

With a final stroke of his hair, she collected a pillow and a glass of water. She made him swallow two pills and finish the water, then he let her lower him to the pillow. His eyes were shut before she finished tucking a quilt around him.

“Wake me when you get back,” he murmured.

“Mm-hmm.” She brushed hair off his forehead. When she was sure he was out, she kissed his hand, lips lingering on his knuckles.