Page 15 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Gwendolyn

I shut the door behind Jackson and just stood there, back pressed to the wood as if I could trap the moment inside.

It had been barely a kiss—a brush, really—but my lips still tingled, and my cheek still felt warm where his hand had been.

My heart… my heart was being ridiculous, skipping and stuttering like it was seventeen again and this was my first crush.

“Safe,” he’d said. That word had stuck harder than the kiss.

I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told me I was safe, and meant it.

I had always felt like I was alone in the world, meant to take care of myself and others, not the other way around.

Jackson made me feel like I finally had someone watching my back, in my corner.

Jackson kissed me, but what did it mean?

My phone trilled in my pocket, reminding me that there was a world outside this strange—and getting stranger by the minute—town.

I recognized the sound and wished I could just toss the thing into the flames: Mom’s ringtone.

I stared at it and willed it to stop. Of course, it didn’t.

The first call went to voicemail, and my fingers clenched around the silent phone, waiting for the next round.

It came, and then a third. She persevered and even called a fourth time, like she could sense I was ignoring her and wanted to prove she’d always have the last word.

With a muttered curse, I grabbed it and held the power button until the screen went black.

The fire—someone, possibly this cowboy hat-wearing Kai or the deputy—had left in the hearth had settled to glowing embers, and I went to stoke the flames so the house would stay toasty.

There was enough firewood there to last me a few days; I could give myself that.

Then I poured myself a cup of one of the tea blends the Mayor had brought in her huge welcome basket: cinnamon and chamomile, rich and sweet, though not quite like my favorite.

I settled into the one comfortable lazy chair by the flames.

My ankle ached as I tucked my legs under me, a faint reminder of everything that had happened.

The warmth of the tea, the soft snap and crackle of the fire, the way my body finally—finally—felt like it could rest. I let my eyes close for just a second. The work that was left to be done on the house would wait; I had earned a little nap after all the upheaval.

I blinked my eyes open what felt like only a second later, but all I saw was darkness.

This was not my living room; it wasn’t anywhere I knew.

This wasn’t the soft dark behind closed lids; this was heavy, oppressive, like the air itself had weight.

Cold crept up my legs, which I felt even through the warm, oversized sweats that belonged to Jackson.

I might as well not have been wearing anything at all.

My breath puffed out white in front of me, even though I couldn’t see my own hands—a plume of pale in front of my face—but that was the only distinction against the all-consuming black that surrounded me.

Somewhere ahead, trees whispered. Fear pounded in my chest, hard and fast, bordering on panic.

What was this? Where was I? Why could I hear trees but not see anything?

There was a foul taste in my mouth: sour, acrid—like fear itself had a taste.

I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go, and my feet felt rooted to the spot.

“Gwen…” The voice slid through the dark like smoke, curling around my ears, inside my head.

Low and smooth, with an undertone that made my skin prickle.

It was seductive, and it was insidious, and it made my guts twist up inside.

Still, I turned toward it without thinking, my eyes searching the dark.

That voice was better than the nothing all around me, was it? An anchor point in this blinding black.

The whisper of leaves came again, and I thought it seemed closer.

When I blinked, the darkness finally began to lighten—just a hint—enough for me to make out shapes: thick trunks crowding together, their bare branches clutching at a black sky with only the barest hint of stars.

Between them, a pair of green, soft eyes blinked at me, a friendly point in the dark.

Except they were so large, too large, and their pupils were narrow vertical slits.

“Come closer.” The voice came again, a visceral pull, invisible fingers hooked into my chest, tugging me forward.

My feet moved; the ground was icy wet beneath my toes, soaking my socks.

Something soft brushed the side of my foot, not snow, not leaves.

It was firm and slick, like… the fingers of branches, but too low to the ground—or maybe a tentacle, or a grabbing hand.

Horror at those thoughts squeezed at my throat, refusing to let out so much as a squeak or a sigh.

Branches creaked overhead, but there was no wind. It seemed as if something were shifting, weight moving from one limb to another. I caught the faint sound of breathing. Not mine. Deeper. Slower. All around me.

“Come to me.” The pull grew sharper, almost painful, dragging at me like a tide.

My heart pounded, and every instinct screamed at me to stop, but my body kept moving.

Stop this, go back, my mind screamed at me, but it seemed impossible to make my body obey.

I was having a nightmare; this had to be a nightmare.

Yet, thinking this was a dream did not snap me out of it.

I couldn’t even make my hand move to my arm to pinch myself.

I saw the eyes again—closer now, and higher—watching from above.

Something moved between the trees: a shadow, blacker than the dark or the deep black of the tree trunks with their paler branches.

Long-limbed, but still somehow akin to a human, like a nightmare warping of what should have been a man.

Then came the faint glint of teeth when it smiled.

My lungs seized.

I gasped awake.

Cold air sliced through me, and my bare feet were planted in snow.

A faint, watery sun still shone behind a thin layer of wispy clouds, illuminating the path of my own footprints trailing into the trees.

My breath came fast and sharp, white in the air.

I’d sleepwalked. It had been a dream—a terrible, awful nightmare of a dream.

I bolted for the door, slammed it shut behind me, and fumbled with the lock using shaking hands.

The fire in the hearth had shrunk to nearly nothing; I dropped kindling onto the coals, coaxing it back to life with desperate, clumsy movements.

My fingers were frozen to the bone and now roared back with sensation that stung and tingled.

When I peeled off my socks, they were soaked through.

The bandage around my ankle was wet and cold, so I unwound it before I could think anything of it.

My stomach dropped. Unmarked skin. No swelling.

No bruises. Not so much as a cut. There was no bite, but I knew I’d been hurt.

I remembered the pain, the torn skin, the blood in the snow when Jackson lifted me and carried me home.

My pulse raced from the dream, and now from this.

Yet another thing that made no sense in this crazy town.

My thoughts spun tighter and tighter until I thought I might choke on them.

I wanted to call someone—anyone—and just say it out loud.

Make it real. Have them say I wasn’t crazy—or maybe tell me that I was losing it, completely.

The only name that came to mind was Kelly.

Kelly, who’d slept with my fiancé.

I pressed my hands over my face and sucked in a shaky breath.

Alone in a strange town that already felt too odd for its own good, with a kiss still burning on my lips and eyes from the woods lingering in the back of my mind.

This was another of those blows that I wasn’t sure I could take, and then I thought of Jackson’s steady eyes.

That golden heat. Something settled in my chest then, easing, unwinding, and a calm took hold of me that I couldn’t quite explain.

Jackson had secrets—many of them—and one of them had to be related to how my ankle had gotten healed.

He’d called for the doctor, this Arden, and he’d kept his eyes averted the entire time.

He’d been there in my most dire hour; he’d swept into my life and tried to fix things from the start.

Jackson, who had gone on a shopping spree to buy my favorite tea, and who’d defended me to his town.

A guy who barely knew me but wanted to come over, in the dead of winter, and fix my leaking roof.

Okay. If there was one thing I wanted to believe—had to believe—it was that he was a good guy.

So if I went from there… I eyed the dead phone lying on the side table.

Yeah, him I wanted to talk to. I didn’t have his number, though, and I didn’t want to wade through the snow back to his home like a lost kitten.

I had a feeling he’d be by soon, anyway.

He’d kissed me, and it had been a promise of more, that teasing touch.