Page 16 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Leaving the phone behind, I went upstairs and changed into clean work clothing.

I got rid of the bandage on my head too and thoroughly checked for any hint of a wound in the weathered mirror in the ancient en suite.

Nothing, and I’d prodded at every inch of my hair too, just to be sure it wasn’t hiding under my brown locks.

That “doctor” was a miracle worker, but leaping to “magic” was still a struggle, so I chose to keep myself busy instead.

More windows needed to be weatherproofed; I was done with drafts.

I started on another bedroom window, but that one faced the woods and the backyard, and it kept reminding me of my dream.

Dreams, actually, because I’d been plagued with weird nightly images ever since I got here.

The only time I didn’t have a bad dream was last night, when I’d slept at Jackson’s cabin.

I moved to work on the rooms at the front of the second floor instead and made far better progress on those than I had on the one bedroom at the back yesterday.

They were all done by the time lunch rolled around.

That had me scarfing down a sandwich with fresh jam from the mayor’s massive gift basket.

Then I went to tackle some of the awful, moldy, and peeling wallpaper in a front-facing bedroom.

That’s where I was—arm-deep in scraps and dust—when something thudded onto the roof and scrabbled against the slate tiles.

Spooked and on edge after the dreams and the burglar, I whirled, tripped, and tried to arrest my fall with my arms. They went through the old-age- and water-softened plasterboard like it was cotton candy.

With a mouth full of plaster dust, I came up spluttering and coughing to my knees.

Then I gaped in astonishment at what I’d discovered.

That’s how Jackson found me not much later: his boots thudding up the stairs and skidding to a halt by my door.

It was weird, but I knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps alone—even though I was pretty sure I’d bolted my front and backdoor.

“Are you okay? I heard a noise! What the…” he trailed off, his low voice incredulous.

“Is that what I think it is, Gwen? How did you find this?”

Still stunned by my discovery, I turned slowly to look at the sheriff standing on the edge of the war zone I’d created.

“I fell,” I said through numb lips. “I heard a sound on the roof, and it spooked me, so I tripped.” I vaguely gestured at the massive, me-shaped hole in the wall.

A guilty expression flickered across his face, but it was quickly replaced by the same incredulous shock I was feeling.

“This must be what the burglar was after,” he said eventually.

“Do you think Halver put it there?” The previous owner had not changed a thing about the ancient house in at least two dozen years.

That much was obvious from the dated décor and fixtures.

The bathroom and kitchen were relics, and the boiler so old that it had given out this winter, just before I’d gotten here.

It was possible it had been there before he’d ever arrived.

When I said as much, Jackson shook his head.

He stepped over the pile of torn wallpaper I’d created and dipped down.

With his hands beneath my arms, he easily hauled me to my feet.

Then he began dusting off my clothing with gentle brushes of his hands that set my blood on fire.

Though he never touched any hotspots, he was touching me, and I wanted more of that.

He was kneeling by my ankles, brushing the dust off my legs, when he started talking, his face angled to the floor.

His voice rumbled between us, low and husky—a voice made for secrets.

“No, Halver has been in the Hollow for over forty years. He came in one spring day, bought the inn with cash, and has never left. Never had much in the way of guests either.” He spoke as if he’d personally seen this transpire, but that was impossible.

He must have looked into it after the burglar incident yesterday.

Then he raised his head, and even kneeling at my feet, he seemed larger than life.

His eyes gleamed with a golden hue that shouldn’t have been possible, locking with mine with such intense sharpness that I felt like a fawn caught in the gaze of a predator.

“You took off the bandages,” he said solemnly, and some kind of resignation flickered in those extraordinary eyes.

I nodded, my mouth going dry now that I had the perfect opening to ask him about it.

He spoke for me. “You didn’t imagine those wounds,” he said, and the relief I felt at that was immense.

Which was, again, perhaps not the best response.

If the wounds had been real, that meant the doctor had healed them somehow.

Which meant… magic was real. That was no sane conclusion, but I much preferred it over thinking I’d seen things that weren’t real.

What was real, at this point, I didn’t know.

I just knew that I appreciated that Jackson hadn’t lied and didn’t want me to think I couldn’t trust what I’d seen.

“So… what happened?” I asked, turning my head to once again look at what I’d discovered.

The bricks of bills wrapped in plastic were undeniable, and, like Jackson had concluded, what the burglar who tore up my floorboards had been after.

If there was a burglar after this cash, that meant Jackson had spoken the truth about his town too.

His people hadn’t pulled this stunt on me to scare me off, but they had pulled together to help me afterward. I found I rather liked that thought.

“I’ll tell you,” Jackson admitted. “Over some tea.” There was a boyish, cheeky smile then that made my heart flutter in my chest. I nodded, my mouth going dry when he rose and cupped my chin.

Then he dipped his head, and our mouths met.

This wasn’t just a brush, a mere tease. He lingered this time, heating my lips with his, tongue darting out to tease.

His hand slid into my hair, fingers curling around the back of my head.

This was a claim, a promise that there’d be more. I couldn’t wait.