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Page 18 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Hal

He heard every word. While the house’s exterior walls were stone, the interior plaster and lath walls did little to stop sound.

She loved him.

Him.

Scarred. Green. A memory with more holes than a sieve. Him.

Agatha set a pile of clean rags on the table. “I’m sure that grin is not proper.”

“I’ve never been overly bothered with social niceties.”

Her gaze swept over him and her brow furrowed in a familiar way. He could only imagine what a ghastly visage he made, splattered in blood and torn shirt hanging in strips.

“Thank you for protecting my daughter. Now, get that shirt off and wash up at the sink,” she ordered, then tore the rags into strips with alarming aggression.

Hal removed the ruined shirt and scrubbed his hands at the sink. The water was freezing cold, but it helped clear his thoughts. The caustic soap stung the scrapes on his hands. He did not care. He scrubbed with a brush to remove all the blood and debris from under his fingernails. It was only blood. Some his. Most belonged to that animal, the wolver. It could have been Emma’s.

Using a sponge, he tried to wipe away the blood on his arm and chest. It was a big job for one sponge. When Emma arrived, he had only managed a portion.

“For the record,” Agatha said, facing her daughter. “I think it’s deplorable the way you abused your father’s blindness.”

“Ma, I didn’t?—”

“No, you listen to me, Emma De Lacey. You were never going to tell Oscar the truth about Hal’s…” She struggled to find the correct word. “About his person. It’s cowardly, and I expect better.”

Emma nodded. “I know. I’ll apologize when he’s had a chance to cool off. I owe a lot of people apologies.”

Another concerned look with the furrowed brow. “Hmm. Well, I think you two have something to discuss.”

Emma

“You love me,” he said the moment her mother left the kitchen.

They stood in silence, taking the measure of each other. He looked like he’d been in the wars, frankly. Blood smeared across his face, making his visage particularly gruesome. His eyes were narrowed and his lips pressed together, as if he were too stoic to properly express his pain.

He had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. His shoulder was mauled. She could describe it in no other terms. The flesh was torn and ragged. The limb should be hanging uselessly at his side. If he were strictly human, it would be. Wolvers had blunt claws that, rather than leave a clean slice, really dug in and made one regret all their life choices. They were burrowing creatures, so that made a sort of brutal sense.

If he were human, that wolver would have killed him.

Would have killed her .

She should have been aware of her surroundings. The creek was prime wolver hunting grounds. They’d dig little hollows in the ground and lie in wait for prey, spending hours hidden by the grass. Or snowdrifts, in this instance.

“My appearance is distressing,” he said, dipping his head in shame.

That was unacceptable.

“I’m hardly an incomparable beauty,” she said. She still wore her coat, complete with splatter. She could only imagine the disarray of her hair and the likelihood of mud on her cheek. “By the way, it’s rude to eavesdrop. That was a private conversation.”

“A private conversation that involved shouting.”

“We’re very enthusiastic about our privacy in this house.” She struggled to keep her tone light and teasing as she hung her coat. It needed a thorough washing, but that was tomorrow’s problem. “I have to confess that I’m alarmed at your lack of remorse for snooping.”

“You’ll find I’m utterly without remorse,” he said.

She gestured for him to sit before scrubbing her hands at the sink and filling a bowl with water. She inspected his shoulder. “I’ll have you know the only thing distressing about your appearance is your physical pain.”

The bleeding stopped, which was helpful. With a fresh rag, she cleaned the uninjured areas and worked her way to the mangled flesh. As gently as she could, she dabbed at the lacerations. Hal’s muscles twitched at the contact; otherwise, he remained motionless.

“You bled quite a lot. That’s good,” she said.

“It does not feel good,” he grumbled.

“Wolver claws are filthy things, packed with bacteria and heavens know what else. It’s better to let the blood wash all that away than risk an infection.”

“It’s better to wash and disinfect the wound,” he said, his tone implying he was unimpressed by her approach. “I suppose I should be grateful you washed your hands.”

Snarky orc.

“I see, frontier medicine’s not good enough for you,” she teased. She grabbed the bottle of antiseptic and a clean rag. “We do have disinfectant, but you’re not going to like it.”

She poured the solution over the wound, letting it roll down his shoulder and arm. It was a messy technique but effective. Hal flinched and hissed as the disinfectant bubbled and fizzed.

“Oh, quit bellyaching,” Emma said, pressing a clean cloth to his shoulder. “We haven’t even gotten to the unpleasant part.”

“You are not helping.”

“This is helping, Hal. Quit squirming.”

“I will squirm or I will bellyache. Take your pick,” Hal said.

She pressed her lips together to keep herself from laughing.

With a new cloth, she cleaned the gore from his face. The scratches along his jaw and neck were shallow, despite being red and angry. They’d heal. She pushed back the strands of hair that escaped his braid and cleaned his brow. Then his cheeks. She traced the path of his facial scar across the bridge of his nose and down the other side of his face.

Her thumb brushed over his lips as the cloth continued its way down the column of his throat, over his collarbones, and across his chest. His features were harsh, but they were him. The landscape of the West Land was harsh, but it was her home, and she loved it. The two were inextricably tied together in her mind and in her heart.

“I think this will need stitches,” she said when she reached his shoulder.

“I can do that.”

“Hal, if that’s some sort of jab at my stitchery, I can be less mindful in my tender ministrations.”

“I do not think I could survive less tender ministrations.”

She laughed. It was the wrong response, but everything inside her had been building and building, and there had never been a moment to release the pressure. Her options were to laugh or crumble to the floor in a wailing heap, and Emma was not a wailing heap type of woman.

Hal looked baffled.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, but a wolver just used you as a scratching post, and that would kill an ordinary man. You? You need stitches. That’s it. Then you have the audacity to say I’m going to be the thing that ends you.”

“I am not an ordinary man.”

She sobered. “You’re not.”

“I’m your man.”

“I hope so.” She paused, suddenly shy about her emotions. “You know, you have not said it back.”

“Said what?” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Return my affections.” She held up the bottle of antiseptic and gave it a shake for dramatic effect.

Hal gasped. “You’re threatening me? That’s hardly going to endear you to me.”

“Return my affections,” she repeated. She brought the bottle close and tipped it over, threatening to pour the contents onto his wound. She wouldn’t. That would be cruel, but she had no qualms about threatening him.

He laughed.

“I was so scared, Hal,” she said, setting the bottle down.

“Of me.” His expression grew remorseful.

She cupped the side of his face. “Only for a moment. I was surprised and panicked. I’m sorry I bolted.”

“Flight response is primal,” he said. “It is how you survive. Do not apologize for survival instincts. My behavior was extreme.”

“It was,” she agreed. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

“I was exactly myself, simply more focused. That creature was going to hurt you. I had to stop it.”

She considered his words. Exactly himself, only more focused. “Is it because we’re not long past the spring equinox? I’ve read that it can?—”

He shook his head, effectively silencing her. “I think it was because you were threatened.”

She felt herself blush. Such a ridiculous thing to get fluttery about. “I do need to apologize for how I treated you.”

“It is not a concern.”

“No, it is,” she said. “I did you wrong by treating you like a dirty secret. You deserve better than that. You deserve better from me.”

His eyes were large and practically liquid in the lamplight. He was about to say something sentimental and touching, and Emma would lose control of that building pressure inside her. She’d crumble to the floor in a wailing heap. The emotions were too large for one heart.

Emma cleared her throat. “We’re not done yet.”

Work. That was how she got through every difficulty. Work.

She sterilized the needle and thread in alcohol and stitched up his shoulder. It wasn’t fine or delicate work, but it would hold. She then slathered on a thick layer of petroleum jelly and wrapped it with a bandage.

“There. I’ll check tomorrow for infection.” She didn’t know what they’d do if the wound got infected. Calling a doctor to the house was unwise, and going into town was not an option.

Tomorrow’s concern.

She gathered up the supplies strewn across the table. Hal grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.

“I’ve been trying to think of the right words, and I keep coming up empty,” he said.

“Hal—”

“I love you, too.”

She felt radiant with happiness. It was too big. This feeling was too massive for one person to contain. It felt like a miracle.

“I have since you gave me that scratchy old blanket,” he said. “I knew I had it bad when I should have fled town, but I broke into prison to talk to you instead.”

Emma chuckled. “It was the basement of the sheriff’s office.”

“And I know that me being here puts you at risk. I’m too big. Too green. Too different?—”

“You’re perfect,” she said, interrupting.

He smiled softly. “I’m a monster, Emma. You need to know the extent of it before we make any promises. I wasn’t a good person on Earth. I did time in prison.”

His serious tone had her worried. This was not the playful, sarcastic man who won her heart. “Tell me about prison.”

“I did time for theft and assault, a string of petty offenses, but those are the main ones.”

Emma considered this new information. “I thought the colonists were screened. Only the top candidates were selected.”

“Money was the only qualification for the passengers; crew was more competitive. My brother had enough pull and enough money for bribes that my record was overlooked.” He paused, unsure if he should continue to share.

“Please go on. I will keep an open mind,” she said. All that was a long, long time ago, and Hal had previously said that his memories felt like someone else.

“You say that, but?—”

“Did you hurt anyone?” she asked before he could tell her what she would or wouldn’t do.

“You know I have,” he said.

“I mean before, on Earth. You said theft and assault. Are you a murderer?”

“Manslaughter. It was… unintentional.” Hal rubbed his forehead like that would erase the memories. “He was wealthy, and I needed money, so I took his handheld. Easy. Only he chased me. We struggled over the handheld; I pushed him, and he fell and hit his head on the curb. He died instantly.”

Emma listened patiently. She’d listen as long as he held her hand.

“A handheld is a…you don’t have anything like it anymore. It was a machine that had all your information on it, bank accounts, identification, everything.” He sighed. “It wasn’t worth a man’s life.”

“Was it an accident?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding defeated.

“And you served your time?”

“Four years. Hardly enough time for taking a life.”

“Oh, Hal, then it’s in the past. Thank you for sharing that with me.” She cradled the side of his face. “Who you were then is not who you are now.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he nuzzled her hand. “There’s another thing you should know?—”

“Whatever crimes you committed two hundred years ago, I don’t care. Not one jot.”

“The vampire who held me captive?—”

“Who tortured you. Who you helped escape.”

“Draven. He’s my brother.”

Emma dropped her hand. It was easy to wave away an accidental killing that happened on another planet. This was different. Draven had vanished, but the threat of his return was very real.

“Will he come to the farm looking for you?” she asked.

“I told him if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him.” Hal’s eyes still had that wide, vulnerable look to them. “I should have killed him when I had the chance. I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“He’s my little brother. I’m supposed to take care of him.”

Emma bit her lower lip. The absurdity of the statement. This orc, held prisoner for ages out of mind, sliced apart and stitched together, covered in scars, who said he was a monster but whose actions only proved otherwise, felt the need to care for a true monster. Eventually, she said, “Family is complicated.”

“He claimed he was trying to cure me.” Hal gestured to the scar on his arm. “A skin graft from a cadaver. He flayed the dead to give me new skin and stitched me together.”

That particular detail was rather gruesome. She did not recognize the procedure, but it had a very evocative name.

Emma sank to her knees in front of him and held his hands. “Nothing you told me changes who you are.”

“I’m a monster?—”

“Are you an animal? Incapable of thought? Or are you a man to be judged by his deeds and his words?”

“Deeds and words are a lovely turn of phrase for a poem, but they mean little in actuality. Others will judge me on my appearance. What your brother said, he’s correct. Hunters will come.”

Damn his extraordinary hearing.

Hal wasn’t done. “And there is the age difference between us.”

“It is a gap, I confess.” A two-hundred-year gap was considerable, and she could think of no one to ask for guidance.

“I do not know if I will age. If I can grow old with you or if I will remain unchanged only to watch you fade.”

“That’s the first truly concerning thing you’ve said all night,” she confessed. She hadn’t thought about his age and how he got to be so very old. Monsters could die under the right circumstances and with extreme difficulty, but no one ever mentioned how long they could live. “Are you immortal?”

“I do not think so.”

“You take damage. Less than an ordinary man, but today proves that you bleed as any other mortal,” she said, reasoning through the problem. “I don’t know how long a monster can live. I don’t know if anyone does, and frankly, I don’t care. A hunter could take you from me tomorrow. Or you could live another hundred years. I’ll be a bag of arthritic bones held together by spite, and you’ll still be the same damn good-looking man who stole my heart. I don’t care.” She paused, searching his face to see if he understood. “I want every day I can have with you. Every single one.”

There it was again, those feelings too big to contain. Sharing them with Hal, though, it felt correct. Still frightening, but correct.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself to leave, to do what’s best for you, but I can’t. I can’t bear the idea of being apart from you,” he said.

“What’s best for me is you.” She turned his hand over and kissed his palm. “Do we understand one another now?”

“I love you, Emma.”

“And I am pleased to reciprocate your affections,” she said in a haughty tone that was belied by her wide grin. She rose to her feet. “Now, let’s take an alarmingly cold shower and go to sleep.”

“Emma, that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh my word, Hal, have you even made my acquaintance? Since when do I care about proper?”