Page 38 of Forget Me Not (The Shifters of Timberfall #1)

Syve

Bastien slept for four days.

It took Cyrus threatening to physically remove her from the room and bathe her himself for her to leave Bas’ side.

The steaming hot water had felt transcendent—though she was loath to admit that to Cyrus.

When she stepped back into the room fifteen minutes later, it was one of those rare moments he was actually there.

After helping Bastien to bed and storming out of the house, he had been scarce, gone for hours at a time.

He would show up, grim faced, demanding an update and then he would be gone again.

Multiple times Soriah had to corner the man to force food in his face and twice she backed him into the bathroom for a shower.

Ironic that he was the one to finally get Syve to bathe.

Someone, likely Del, had recovered Syve’s clothes from the yard and washed them for her. It felt nice to be in her own clothes again, minus the underwear she had shredded while teasing Bas, and her phone had been in her shorts.

Sending Aimi into another panic on top of everything else would have been fantastic .

Syve had barely spoken five words when she called her friend, but it was enough.

Aimi showed up to the Yerovi house thirty minutes later with hot coffee, a box of mac’n’cheese from Thyme to Eat and a duffel bag full of Syve’s clothes.

The clean clothes and feel-good food were a boon, the coffee being the cherry on top. The next morning, and every morning since, she had shown up with coffee for the whole house—Cyrus included, to Syve’s surprise.

On the fifth day, Syve woke up to a hand stroking her hair.

“Good morning, Bambi.”

She blinked up at Bas, her nose a breath away from his chin. Eyes wide, she looked down to see she had clearly burrowed into him, again, while she slept—her fingers still threaded into his chest hair and one leg thrown over his hip.

An inhuman sound escaped her throat as she quickly removed her leg and rolled onto her back, fire engulfing her face and chest. Just as abruptly as she had rolled away, she was back again, this time fussing over the dressings across his torso .

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? That’s not what—I didn’t wake you did I? Thank God, it’s not bleeding again—what an idiot. I’m so sorry Bas—”

Fingers on her chin stole the rest of the words from her mouth.

“I’m fine, Bambi.” He tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“And I won’t lie, waking up next to you would be worth reopening the wound.

” The corner of his mouth quirked up for a second and then immediately melted away, replaced with a worried frown.

“Bambi, what’s wrong?” He searched her eyes as he wiped tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

She hadn’t noticed she was crying, though she did know why .

Her lip quivered as she glared at him. “If you ever do that to me again—” The threat died on her tongue, swallowed by the sob building in her throat. Bastien shushed her sweetly, tucking her head beneath his chin and stroking her back. “I am so sorry, Syve. I just…”

“I know,” she whimpered, and she did know.

Without a doubt she knew that if there had been any opportunity for revenge against the loss of her family, she would take it—she could not fault him for that.

“How long was I out?” His throat vibrated against her forehead, the breath of his words tickling her scalp as it passed through her hair.

She opened her mouth to reply when a voice cut in .

“Four months. Really thought you were going to miss Christmas. Nice of you to wake up in time to open presents but not buy any.”

Begrudgingly, she pulled away and turned to scowl at Cyrus. “Don’t be a shithead, shithead.”

As he howled with laughter, she turned back to Bas and added softly, “It’s only been four days. Ignore him.”

Bastien’s furrowed brows melted leaving one raised a fraction as he mumbled conspiratorially, “I usually do.” He winked and she snorted, giggling into her hand.

“Hey! That was rude.” Even without looking Syve could tell Cyrus was pouting. “All that after I came up here to stand guard so you could finally go home.”

Syve tensed at his words.

Bastien’s brows dipped in confusion which Cyrus took as a sign to explain, much to her distaste.

“Oh yeah, I had to threaten her—metaphorically. Don’t look at me like that!

She wouldn’t leave your side! I made her go take a shower, that’s all!

Mama is the one that got her to promise she would go home for a day once you woke up.

I’ll bet there’s work to catch up on, or something.

It would be good to get some fresh air if nothing else—it’s been a week. ”

Now it was Syve’s turn to pout, she knew she should not have agreed to that.

“Bambi, I really can’t believe I’m about to say this, but he’s right. I’m okay—You should go home, check on the shop—”

She opened her mouth to object, only to snap it shut when he cut her off with a quick, “Nope. Non-negotiable.”

“I swear I won’t leave this room until you get back, scouts honor.”

Syve turned her head to see Cyrus holding one hand over his heart and the other in the air.

“Hell, I’ll even crawl in bed and snuggle him too, if you want.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked, ducking when she launched a pillow in his direction.

That was what led to her standing forlorn in the center of her shop, one chaste kiss and a half hour later.

Dragging her feet, she trudged over to the counter, booting up her tablet so she could check her email.

She was just about to press the play button on the answering machine when the door swung open as none other than Gunther came stomping in.

“Syve, Lord, there you are! I’ve only called about a hundred times!

” He sighed dramatically while she glanced at the number on the phone receiver.

Seventy-three. Silently she contemplated clearing the messages unheard—it would be worth missing one or two genuine calls to not be forced to listen to seventy voicemails from Gunther.

“Are you listening to me? Where have you been?”

“Well, good to see you too. I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Syve deadpanned, crossing her arms. “What do you need, Gunny?”

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he walked to the counter, clearly favoring his right leg. She hadn’t noticed before that he was holding anything, until he slapped a pile of fabric in front of her.

“Gunny? I’d rather you called me ‘Stud’ or even ‘Hot shot’,” he mocked.

“Unfortunately, Doll, I’m here on business.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I slipped on a wet rock crossing a creek last weekend.

Twisted my ankle and caught my sleeve on a branch just right—ripped a hole right through it. I need you to doctor it up for me.”

“I can take a look at it, but I can’t make any prom—” A loud ringing interrupted her. Gunther held up one finger, digging his phone from his pocket with the other.

“Go for Gun,” he said with the phone to his ear, covering the speaker for a beat to whisper to her. “Thanks, Doll. Just drop it by my place when you’re done, yeah?”

Leaving no time for her to answer, he smacked the counter once, shot her a finger-gun salute and was out the door.

Blinking a few times and shaking her head at the menace that was Gunther, she turned back to her tablet, choosing to ignore the answering machine all together for the time being.

Syve opened the email app, and her stomach instantly fell to her toes. The first email in her inbox read, “Montana State Women owned business grant: Final submission deadline is today by 5:00pm MST.”

The email was two days old.

It had been years since she’d been to Gunther’s home. Erhard had taken her once before Noah was born and then they’d never gone back. One step in and she remembered why.

The front door was wide open when she walked up.

“Hello? It’s me, Syve—doors open so I’m coming in!” she hollered as she stepped inside.

Deep in self-pity for having missed her deadline, she had buried herself in her work and Gunther’s camo had proven quick and simple to repair.

As much as she wanted to refuse his ‘request’ to drop it by his house, it was on the way to Bastien’s and it meant she would not have to dread the man showing up to her shop any time soon.

So, she texted him, asking when he would be off work, then spent the rest of the day finishing the final touches on the remaining piece from her submission—though she asked herself why she was bothering at least a dozen times.

“Be out in a minute, Doll.” Gunther yelled from somewhere deep in the house.

A plethora of taxidermied heads greeted her as she turned from the entry hall into the living room, causing her stomach to sour. She spun in a slow circle, searching for anything to look at that hadn’t once held a beating heart—and found a wall of photographs at the back of the room.

Carefully stepping around fur rugs, she made her way over, hoping to find family pictures or even pictures of fish. Instead, she found shot after shot of Gunther posing over his trophies.

Disgusted, she was about to turn away when one photo in particular caught her eye.

In a simple black, five by seven frame, was Gunther kneeling with a rifle in one hand, the other pointing a cigar at the camera, or likely the person holding it, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

But that wasn’t what had gained her attention, no, it was the body lying before him.

Awkwardly bent, with blood oozing from its slack jaw, was a majestic wolf with coal black fur. Its beautiful copper eyes almost appearing gray from the fog of death.

She stumbled back, hand over her mouth, until she bumped into a piece of furniture, her hand reflexively reaching back to catch herself.

Thick fur slid between her fingers like a memory, soft and familiar.

Hesitantly, she looked down at the pelt, carelessly tossed over the back of the sofa.

Chills skittered across her skin and bile rose in her throat.

Syve whipped around, the room spinning more than it should, and stared in abject horror at the black wolf, preserved in its entirety save for its eyes—so clearly just yellow marbles.

Her knees buckled beneath her but before she could meet the floor a strong arm slipped around her waist and spun her into a broad chest.

“Shit, Doll, you don’t have to get all swoony for me,” Gunther teased, his breath on her ear sending unpleasant shivers down her spine.

Careful to school her grimace, she pushed him away, leaving him to grab at his repaired coat as she stepped back and let go of it.

“This,” she whispered, pointing to the pelt on the couch back, “is yours?”

“It’s in my house, isn’t it? Who the hell else would it belong to?

Though my offer still stands—the other half of my bed is still yours when you’re ready to take it.

” He stepped behind her, tapping a finger against the picture.

“Shot this mutt myself three years ago—biggest damn wolf I’ve ever seen.

Well, aside from the ghost that was with him, I’m still mad as hell I didn’t see that one first.”

Mind spinning and gut roiling, she stared at him. Unable to believe the words coming from his mouth.

Gunther, seeming to recall the jacket he held pressed to his chest, shook the article out, holding it up to inspect.

“Not bad, I guess. It’ll do until I can find a replacement,” he hummed, discarding the coat to the floor behind him. “You know, I can’t get the wet dog smell off that damned thing. If you like it, I’ll let you take it.”

Syve glanced at the couch, then turned to find he had moved closer .

With a devilish grin, he snapped a hand out, catching her by the back of the neck. “On one condition.” His mouth slammed down to hers.

She reeled back, fighting his hold, and slapped him across the face. “Don’t ever do that again.“ She snarled between clenched teeth.

With a mocking laugh, Gunther growled, “We’ll see, Doll.”

She made a show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then collected the pelt and bolted from the house.