Page 16 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)
Chapter Fifteen
Hal
Mistletoe Farm
The Bunkhouse
“The equinox is coming soon.” Emma rolled over to face him, one arm tucked under the pillow. Blonde hair fell forward, obscuring half her face. “Should I be concerned?”
“About?”
“I’m not sure. How will it affect you?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered, repeating her words. He brushed back her hair. She had been spending most nights with him in the bunkhouse. If he had his way, it would be every night. “You should wear your hair down more.”
“Not a chance, and don’t deflect. Answer the question.”
“Truthfully, I cannot say. During previous events, I was drugged and confined.” He had been concerned about the coming equinox. Draven warned him about the seasonal fluctuations. “I was awake during the last event, but my mind was fuzzy. I have been told that age helps.”
“I heard that the most dangerous beast is the recently infected.”
“Is it an infection?” he asked.
“You don’t know?”
Hal rolled onto his back, the bed creaking, and stared at the ceiling. “I know so little about myself. I woke up like this.”
She mirrored his motion, also lying on her back. “It’s not an infection. I misspoke, but some forms are contagious. The beast form, commonly called a werewolf, spreads by a bite. Not everyone who is bitten will turn, but you won’t turn without being bitten first.”
The night was silent. All Hal heard was the crackling of the fire and one loose shutter banging against the side of the building.
Emma reached for his hand. “If you need to spend the equinox alone, you should.”
“That would be the cautious approach.” Until they knew how the Nexus surge would affect him.
Yet the thought of being away from her was unbearable. Instinct told him that being with her, holding her against him, would soothe the fires that raged in his heart.
North Pasture
A goat was missing. This apparently was serious and required them to search the frozen landscape.
“It’s Buttercup. She’s probably down at the creek,” Emma said.
They followed the goat’s tracks across the pasture, tramping across damp ground. The air was damp and cold, the kind of deceptive chill that seemed tolerable until the dew soaked through various layers and your toes went numb. Hal would much prefer to be indoors. With Emma. In bed. Bundled under the blankets. Keeping warm and dry.
It was much too inclement for Emma to be outside, in his opinion. Her wool coat hung open. Her knit wool hat was in her pocket and not on her head.
“Buttercup has zero sense of self-preservation,” Hal grumbled.
“She’s a goat. They’re not exactly masterminds.”
“Masterminds of mischief.”
The bright red wool in her pocket taunted him.
“You’re glaring at me,” she said after a short pause in conversation.
He snatched the hat from her pocket, prompting an exclamation of surprise, and jammed the blasted hat on her head.
“Wear your hat,” he said. “And your coat is inadequate. It is too thin.”
“You may not have realized, being at the pinnacle of fashion, but your coat is too short.”
“I am not affected by the cold,” he said, “which is why you should have remained in the bunkhouse.”
“Hmm, keeping your bed warm?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“Keeping your person warm.”
“My person? Goodness. How altruistic of you to want that for me. I’m sure being cozy and snug in bed is of no benefit to yourself.”
“I am noble in spirit and in deed.”
She laughed, the gleeful sound ringing out in the cold. He sucked in a breath, not from the stinging cold, but from something even more concerning: affection.
Beautiful and kind were accurate descriptions of Emma, but those qualities were inconsequential. She treated him like a lifelong friend, someone she knew well, even when he did not know himself. He wanted to be the kind of man who deserved such affection. Such love.
Without a word, he removed his stolen deputy’s coat and placed it over Emma’s shoulder.
There. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Oh, you didn’t have to?—”
“I did,” he said, stopping any attempts to refuse the coat.
She pulled the coat more tightly around her shoulders and dipped her head down to the collar as if to hide her smile, which was a shame. The world needed more smiles.
The goat was exactly where Emma said it would be, curled up in a tight ball under the trees by the edge of the creek.
“Buttercup, you come here,” Emma said, striding toward the goat with confidence.
Buttercup did not raise her head or acknowledge Emma’s presence. It was odd. Hal was far from a livestock expert, but all the goats had seemed lively to his untrained eyes.
“Emma, wait?—”
He heard the creature before he saw it. An almost undetectable shift of a white pelt on white snow, the body lower to the ground than a goat and much sleeker, tensing to pounce. It growled only a moment before lunging.
He rushed to Emma, knocking her out of the way. The creature latched onto his arm. Cloth tore. His skin burned from slicing claws. Teeth as sharp as needles sank into his flesh.
Rage filled him. This thing, this creature that stank of mud and had skin that felt like sandpaper, did not care whose blood it drew. It attacked the first body and that was very nearly Emma. Images of her bleeding out into the snow clouded his mind. This creature had to end.
He grabbed it at the throat, at least what felt like a throat, and tore it away, his arm screaming as claws cut into him. Feet thrashed, claws swiped at the air. A tail—no one warned him about the tail—whacked his injured arm, sending a fresh wave of agony through him.
The pain was nothing. He had years—centuries—to master pain. What truly hurt, what drove him beyond reason, was the need to prevent it from hurting Emma.
Bleeding, calling out his name, dying in the snow. Those images wouldn’t leave him. Blood did not calm him. The creature squealed, now understanding that its life was near the end, and thrashed.
He wouldn’t lose her.
He wouldn’t.
Emma
Hal wasn’t Hal, but he was. Horribly, he was completely himself and was exactly the thing her parents warned her about.
He was a monster.
The equinox wasn’t until tomorrow. He said he felt in control, yet he tore the wolver limb from limb. Blood splattered the ground. Him. Her. Even the poor goat. That was not control.
“Hal?” She took a step forward.
He turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes were… empty, void of thought or emotion. His lip curled back in a snarl.
“Hal?” Emma stretched out her hand, then pulled back. She hesitated for a moment, torn between the need to grab Buttercup and the overwhelming instinct to run.
She ran.
Her feet both slipped and sank into the muddy ground, somehow allowing mud to work its way into her boot. Her eyes stung. Her calves burned. Her lungs burned. Neither compared to the ferocity of the shame that burned in her.
Behind her, she heard Hal’s roar.
Blind panic kept her moving. At some point, she lost Hal’s coat.
Chidings of I should have known repeated in her head. Her mother warned her. The sheriff warned her. Hal told her.
Unstable, he said.
His sense of self hanging on by a thread.
It was gone. He was gone.
Nearly there. She shoved open the pasture gate, letting it swing closed behind her.
The toe of her boot caught on an unseen rock or obstacle, causing her to stumble. Her arms cartwheeled in the air, desperately trying to keep her balance before ultimately falling on her back.
The wind was knocked out of her. For a moment, she couldn’t move.
Hal loomed over her. Seething fury twisted his face. For the first time, she thought him truly ugly.
Emma rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up. It was futile to try to outrun a monster taller and stronger than her, but trying to farm and raise goats on the edges of a world that actively hated humans was also futile. She wasn’t giving up. Not yet.
On her feet, she ran. Pain flared in her right ankle with every step. A glance over her shoulder showed Hal wasn’t far behind. He carried Buttercup. What was he planning to do to Buttercup?
Sense of self-preservation gone, Emma stopped and turned on him. She jabbed a finger at him and ordered, “Put the goat down!”
Amazingly, Hal complied.
She held the monster’s gaze. Her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. If she flinched or showed fear, she wasn’t sure what he’d do, and she’d prefer it to remain that way.
His gaze drifted over her shoulder. He growled, a low and throaty warning.
Emma spun around.
A man in uniform stood by the barn, holding a pistol.
Felix had returned home.