Page 9

Chapter 9

I’m Not Okay (I Promise)

brIAR

S undown is my favorite time of day. I lay stretched out on the grass, letting the last fading glimmers of the sun tighten my skin. In the full sunlight, my skin feels like it’s peeling off, but it’s just a slight discomfort during sundown. Spending any amount of time in the light is worth it.

The rich pinks and oranges that trace the sky have always brought me hope. There is beauty in the darkness, and the light seems to chase it, welcoming it wholly. It makes me feel like my darkness can be accepted one day, too.

I’m not naive enough to think that the boys will ever care about me. I’m a means to an end. I’ll save their father and give them a couple of good fucks, and then they will be on their way. But at least for a moment, I can pretend I am worthy of being loved.

The wolf, Flint, trots down the stairs to my side. He’s a massive creature with mottled fur that reminds me of a rabbit. He’d be as tall as, if not taller than, Gerrit if he stood on his hind feet.

He stretches his body beside me, his head beside mine. I reach out to stroke his head. Looking into his eyes, I can see the intelligence that lives within him. I wonder what it would be like if he could talk. I imagine he would be hilarious.

“I am not known for my sense of humor.”

I sit up with a start. “Did you just… did you talk to me?”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“But how? How are you talking to me?”

“I have a theory that maybe drinking Master’s blood gave you some of his powers. But that’s just a theory.”

I shake my head. This can’t be happening.

I cannot talk to a wolf.

I turn to face him, and he’s risen to sit on his haunches. I stare into those clear blue eyes, so inhuman yet captivating, and stroke his head. “Why are you talking to me, though? Why show yourself to me like this?”

“Master is very special to me.”

Is this wolf acting like a protective brother? The thought of that sends a giggle bubbling up through me. Or maybe it’s that I’m conversing with a wolf in the rapidly increasing darkness.

“I do not wish to overstep my place. But witch, the creatures in this forest speak of you. Most with fear, because they know you hunt and consume them. But some sing songs of sadness.”

I wrap my arms around my legs, burying my face in my knees. “That’s not fair, though! I don’t hunt them down. If one wanders into my circle and gets trapped with me, I… I’m always so hungry. I cannot let it go to waste.”

Flint nudges my hand with his nose, trying to re-establish a connection. I intertwine my fingers with his fur, and he nods.

The wolf actually nods at me!

“You do not need to justify yourself to me. Many animals in the forest fear me, too. I have heard stories about you from them. Of what happens after the man you call the Banisher arrives.”

I wince, squirming uncomfortably under his unnatural stare. “They know about that?” Flint circles me before lying on top of my feet. I like to imagine it’s his way of hugging me.

“If I could embrace, yes, this would be an embrace.”

I glare at him. “Quit reading my thoughts, wolf.” He chuffs.

Can a wolf laugh?

Clearly, he can.

“The Banisher hurts you.”

It’s not a question, but I still manage a weak nod in affirmation, overcome with an inexplicable embarrassment. I am a witch. I should be able to defend myself. But I am always weak and hungry and unable to fight him. “He is a very powerful mage, I think. Some of the spells he has cast… they’re rough.” My voice is small and meek.

“The creatures hear you crying for days after he leaves. When does he come again?”

I wrack my brain, thinking about the last time I saw him. It must be getting close to his visit again. “Less than a moon cycle, I think. He’s never left me alone this long before.”

“I must inform Master and Big Boy. We cannot be here when he arrives. There is more to this Banisher than any of us know.”

“Wait, do you know who he is? What aren’t you telling me?” Maybe he can figure out a way to get me out of this if he knows something.

I let myself get optimistic for about two seconds before Flint smashes it.

“I cannot tell you more than I have. The woods keeps its secrets, and I cannot betray it as one of its creatures. But I vow to protect you the best I know. If I cannot speak to you, I’ll tell Master to let you feed from him when I need to talk to you.”

Flint stands to leave, and I put my hand on his shoulder, halting him. “Flint, do you think you could find a creature willing to come be my familiar? I… I’ve never had someone to talk to before. I’m going to miss it when you guys are gone.” I see a flash of sadness in those intelligent eyes.

“My dearest witch, familiars are a part of your soul. If you are meant to have one, one will find you. I wish I could help, but alas, I cannot.”

I feel tears prick the corner of my eyes as he walks away. Between Flint and the boys, my home feels so full. I can imagine what it would be like to have a family and companions.

But I am not meant for companions. I am a monster, locked away in a prison, forever unable to leave because I am so dangerous.

Who could ever love a monster such as me?

* * *

It’s quiet inside when I return, my face swollen from crying. I stayed outside longer than I typically would have, unable to face the boys. I find them sitting at the table, chewing on stale bread and dried meat. Crumbs litter the table from the bread. It strikes me how normal this looks, someone sitting and eating at the table.

I’ve never done that before. It’s not like plastering myself to someone’s throat is a civilized way of eating. I need a bed, not a table.

They look up when the door slams behind me. I wince. I should’ve closed it quietly. Instead, it’s an alarm that I have arrived, and their attention is now undivided on me.

“Briar?” Hans says, squinting his eyes at me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

I shake my head, “Oh no, just residual effects from the sundown.” I feel awful lying to them, knowing they can sense my untruth. Flint raises his head from under the table and presses his nose onto Hans’s knee. Hans weaves his hands through the wolf’s fur. I wonder if he has to make contact to communicate. I don’t think I was connected to him the whole time.

“He doesn’t have to. He chooses to as a way of showing me I have his attention. It’s less of a strain on me, and I can communicate for longer periods.”

Hans stares at me, mouth slack. “Can you hear Flint?”

I nod sheepishly. “He thinks it’s because I drank your blood.” Comprehension flashes on Hans’s face.

Gerrit, through a mouthful of bread, looks slighted. “Now I’m the only one who can’t hear the wolf? Bullshit, Flint.” The wolf gives a playful growl and licks Gerrit’s hand under the table.

Hans turns his attention back to Flint, and Flint does not choose to let me in on their conversation. I move to the couch, sitting with my back to the men. I’m still feeling raw, unable to look them in the eyes.

I am so fucking tired of being alone. For the first time in my entire memory, I feel truly alive. I am fed, yes, but it is more than that. I have people to talk to, and my magic is pulsing under my skin at full power. Typically, my power is only completely full for the first day after feeding, but I can tell this is different.

I feel the couch depressing on both sides of me, and the men are there, tree-trunk thighs touching mine. Each reaches to grab a hand, and I look over my shoulder to where Flint lay under the table. “Fucking traitor,” I hiss at him.

“Don’t blame him. I asked,” Hans says.

“And I made Hans tell me,” Gerrit adds.

Their proximity, the warmth of their skin flowing through me, threatens to spill tears from my eyes again. “I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to,” I say, reading the conversation they want to have in their eyes.

I think for a minute that they may ignore me and push their questions through anyway, but instead, Hans gathers me into his arms. “Okay, but we’re here.”

I bury my face in his chest, and this time, I cannot stop the tears from falling.