Page 13 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

“She is. My parents listened to those songs all the time. They’d turn them on in the car so that Connor and I wouldn’t talk about things they didn’t want to hear.

They’d put it on at night, to drown out our whimpers.

They’d wear headphones and listen to that damn music whenever we were around, and I was jealous.

I thought that if I became a country singer, maybe they’d listen to me for once, too. ”

Winter’s heart squeezed in her chest. How had this discussion taken such a vulnerable turn? She didn’t do vulnerable. And yet . . . there was no way she was going to shut down a conversation with a man who’d spent his entire childhood being silenced.

Unaware of what was happening inside her ribcage, Erikson continued.

“I got this cheap guitar for my birthday and I played and played. I actually got pretty good at the music part, but the singing was never there. Turns out I can’t carry a tune.

So whenever I visit Nashville, I feel the pang of that old dream, and I just want to leave as quickly as I can. ”

Winter traced the condensation on her glass with the tip of her finger. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was a long time ago.”

And yet visiting Nashville still haunted him. Maybe . . . maybe he had wounds that ran deeper than he let on.

They spent the next half hour finishing their greasy burgers and fries and arguing about where to canvass next, and the moment of vulnerability slipped away, almost like it had never happened.

Winter wanted to split up, but as easy-going as Erikson was, he was steadfast in his refusal to leave her side.

He finished the last of his beer, his thick throat flexing, and set his glass down. With a note of steel said, “I’m your shadow, remember?”

“More like a bad rash.”

“However you want to think of me, baby.”

“Do not call me baby.”

“You’re making this nickname thing unnecessarily difficult.”

“Stick with Winter and it won’t be so hard.”

They decided to check in at the hardware store, the local supermarket, the gas station, and the church before heading back to Lucas Gillis’s house.

She dug out her wallet when the waitress brought their check—along with the older man and woman’s—but Erikson quickly handed over a wad of cash. “Keep the change.”

“I can pay for that,” Winter insisted, about to chase the waitress down.

“Stop,” he said in a bored voice, his hand clamping down on her arm. “I can afford it.”

“So can I.”

He shrugged and released her. “By all means, chase after her. But if you do, I’ll pay for every hotel and every meal from now on.”

He would, too. She slid the bills back into her wallet. “Fine.” Then grudgingly she added, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He pulled his baseball hat on backwards and zipped his sweatshirt as they got ready to leave. “Would you get all pissy if I gave that asshole still eating dessert a little shove on the way out?”

“Yes.”

“You’re no fun, Snowflake.”

“Nope, not that one either.”

When they reached the sidewalk, the air was so cool it almost took her breath away.

“Ice queen?” he asked.

At her death look he only grinned, flashing a white smile that she was sure was responsible for an inbox full of gushing fan mail. “Prickly pear? Frigid fairy? My violent little princess?”

Winter whirled on him so fast he didn’t have time to pull back. She reached into his sweatshirt and pulled him down and close, so that he was eye-level with her. “I didn’t sign on for an annoying sidekick, so cut it out.”

“Winter, then,” he murmured, lifting his hand and pressing his thumb to her bottom lip. The shock of him touching her so intimately raced through her body, and the next moment she was plunged into a vision.

Winter stood on shore, the pommel of her sword digging into her side, watching as hundreds of longships dotted the heaving, icy sea before her. The ship in the lead was the largest, with an intricate carving of a dragon that she could make out even from where she stood.

“They’ll be here within half an hour,” a man said beside her. He was wearing leather and fur, and his beard was matted. One eye was nothing but a socket. “Chief?”

“Are the children being evacuated?” Winter asked.

“Yes, and the warriors are readying.”

She ground her molars together as she glared at the boats, knowing that the lives of all she loved were in imminent peril.

The Vikings had come to raid, and if her clan could not hold them off long enough for the children to escape, then everything she’d spent her life fighting for would be wiped out.

How dare these thieves and rats come to take what was not theirs? Erik the Grim would rue the day he attacked éiru.

Winter gradually became aware of the feel of Erikson’s chest beneath her palms. He had one hand on her waist, the other gripping her wrist, holding her up.

Winter had suffered from foresight her entire life, but she’d never had so many visions clustered together.

And she’d never, ever had a vision that had been—what had that been?

She’d only seen the future before, but that had very much seemed like a snapshot of the past . Was that even possible?

One of the consequences of Wickeds falling by the wayside, her family more than others, was that they knew very little about their heritage and powers.

Winter’s ancestors had attempted to suppress their powers, and over generations the powers had built and built, until they’d overflowed into Holly, Winter, and Missy, gifting them with more power than had been seen in centuries.

Was it possible that a side effect of the amplified power was that Winter not only had foresight, but pastsight?

Her curse was designed to help her thwart good things from happening or to ensure that evil flourished, so how was a vision from the past keeping in line with that?

She chewed on her lip. Perhaps pastsight had evolved so that Wickeds could repeat the mistakes of previous generations. She hadn’t known this facet of her curse could exist.

There was also the impossible fact that she’d been in the past when she firmly lived in the present, along with the not-so-insignificant fact that she’d never before seen herself in a vision.

What was happening?

Not for the first time, she was frustrated by her ignorance.

Her aunts were traveling New England to seek out other Wickeds and rebuild their long-lost community because they believed it was time for their species to come out of the shadows.

But until they succeeded, Winter was left operating in the dark, just as she always had been.

“Are you okay?” Erikson asked, rubbing his thumb over her wrist. Even through her sweatshirt, she felt the heat of his large palm on her, the weight of his concern. He released her wrist and hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her face so that she met his eyes. “Winter, talk to me.”

She swallowed and licked her lips, too dazed to jerk away from him. “Yes, I—I’m okay.”

“What did you see?”

“éiru.”

A line appeared between his brows. “The goddess or the old word for Ireland?”

“The land, I think.” She pulled away, shaking the vestiges of the vision from her body. “How did you know what that word meant?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his usual smirk absent. “I’m not a complete dumbass, despite what you may think.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Just lazy?”

She opened her mouth to refute it, but hadn’t she been calling him a good-time Grimm in her head all this time?

He huffed softly. “Tell me more about the vision. It might have to do with Atlantes.”

She slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. It was a vision of the past .”

His eyes sparked with interest. “Has that happened before?”

“No.”

“Then it would be awfully coincidental timing if your first vision of the past wasn’t somehow related to everything going on.”

She inhaled. He was right. She hadn’t considered the possibility because the vision hadn’t taken place in their own time, but like he’d said, why now?

She described what she’d seen, and when she got to the part about Erik the Grim, Erikson pressed his hand to his heart. “I was in your vision, too? Elf, you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t actually see him. Erik the Grim could be anyone.”

He gave her a pointed look. Okay, so Erik the Grim was strikingly close to Erikson Grimm, but that didn’t mean it was definitely him.

“Even if it was you, you shouldn’t be flattered. That bastard was coming to pillage my village.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

They started walking toward the inn again, Winter’s brain frantically seeking connections between her latest vision and Atlantes or the Shadow Council.

“I don’t know, Erikson,” she said when they reached his truck. He beeped open the passenger door and she climbed in. “I’m not sure there is a link.”

“Let’s talk about your visions for a minute.” The engine leapt to life with a low purr, and Winter had to admire the sleekness of the machinery. Everything on the apple farm was old and held together with shoddy mechanic skills and a prayer.

“Let’s not.”

“Winter, I get that you’re closed off and stone-faced and all those tortured things, but your future and possibly the lives of hundreds are depending on us figuring this out.”