Page 6

6

Archie

‘ N ow what?’ Shaw asks me.

He folds his arms across his chest as we both look down at the slaughtered turkey slumped across our kitchen table.

‘You pluck it,’ I reply, my hands sliding into my pockets.

He scrunches up his face before turning to face me.

‘I’m not fucking plucking it.’

‘I tracked, caught and killed it. You can pluck and gut it.’

His brow raises, almost disappearing into his hairline.

‘I’m not disembowelling anything, Arch.’ His hands go up as he steps back. ‘That was never discussed. If it were, I would have caught and killed it so you could pluck and scoop out its insides.’

I can’t help but laugh at him, still backing away and looking at the creature as though it were some hideous monster.

‘You’ve done worse,’ I remind him. ‘And to living things. Not a dead bird.’

‘I did worse to people or things that deserved it. Besides, you’re the weird one who likes tearing things open to see their insides. You do it.’

The bout of laughter that comes from me is deep and from my belly. But I roll my eyes and start plucking the thing, carefully separating some of the feathers that will be useful for fishing flies or stuffing pillows.

Beyond the kitchen, Dorian’s human male form sits in an armchair. His eyes are closed, and his head is slumped over.

He’s dead. Again.

But the body will remain as it is, awaiting its host to return.

‘Dorian is still stalking Pixie, then?’ Shaw asks, pulling out a bottle of rum and a couple of glasses. ‘The fact she hasn’t noticed his skulking every time she thinks she’s being sneaky and climbing out of the window is impressive on his part. He’s not exactly inconspicuous.’

‘Oh. She’s aware he’s there now. From the emotions I felt through the mate bond, I’m inclined to think she finally managed to fuck him completely in his shadow form.’

‘How the fuck could you know that?’

‘Well. She was angry for a bit. So I’m guessing that was when she found out he was a huge stalker. Then she was all soppy. So, I’m assuming they had a bit of a heart-to-heart. Then there was a lot of… well… anxiety, lust, shock, pain, and then some very happy sensations. Followed by extreme pride. So either she finally managed to fit his cock, or she took a massive shit and was very relieved it was out.’

‘She’ll be walking wonky for days.’

‘Nah. She’s built for us. That girl can take anything.’

Feathers fill the air as I continue to pluck, and soon, the beast is naked. I work quickly, keen not to have her walk into the sight of me pulling guts out of tomorrow’s dinner.

‘So you feel her emotions even more these days?’ Shaw asks. ‘The Mate Bond is really evolving, I take it.’

His words are nice enough. But the undertone drips with displeasure. And something I’ve never really heard before.

I think it’s jealousy, but I can’t be sure. Shaw has felt many things. Rage. Hatred. Possessiveness. Indifference. And lately, joy, happiness and peace. Jealousy has never been something I have seen Shaw exhibit. He’s never cared about anything or anyone enough ever to be bothered about jealousy. But he is now, and that makes me nervous. A bloodthirsty man like him. A warrior with nothing to fight except his feelings and thoughts. Who knows what may happen if he allows jealousy to get the better of him.

‘It’s changing as time passes,’ I reply, shrugging and focusing on the bird. ‘It’s different for everyone. For now, I can feel her emotions. In a year, I might not. For a while, I may be able to speak to her in her mind, even if we’re miles and miles apart. Then that may fade, and instead, she’ll be able to feel my emotions. It changes over time.’

Despite being beyond proud and delighted with how our bond is developing, I attempt to sound as though it's nothing. I love feeling her emotions. Dorian loves it, too. He’ll be able to feel it forever, though. Unlike me. It may be gone tomorrow.

But Shaw can’t feel her. He has no Bond or link with her, which drives him mad.

I look up at him as he stares at the ground with a deep furrow on his brow.

‘I’ll fetch some firewood,’ Shaw declares. ‘Pixie has no doubt been to the lake again and then running around in the snow. She’ll be freezing and soaked through.’

‘And yet she doesn’t get sick,’ I reply, my blade cutting through the bird so I can hollow it out. ‘Perks of being a goddess, I guess.’

‘Never mind being the earth goddess. She’s too bloody stubborn to get sick. A fever wouldn’t even bother trying to take her down. I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘I’ll come with you. Hang on a sec.’

‘Your hand is up a dead animal’s arse. Just carry on. I’ll fetch it so the fire’s roaring when they come home.’

He leaves, the front door closing behind him as he goes to fetch more wood.

And I stand in the kitchen alone.

The sound of squelching as my hand emerges from the turkey makes me grimace. But I need to get outside. I need to find Shaw. When I pull my hand free, the turkey’s guts slip through my fingers and land on the floor with a disgusting splat.

A cold finger trails down my neck, and soft lips settle on my cheek.

‘Hello, Puppy,’ a soft whisper coos in my ear.

My heart starts to hammer so hard it hurts, and everything spins wildly around me. Before I can register it, I’m on my hands and knees, crawling towards the front door. Beyond the sound of my blood pounding in my ears, Sinthia’s whispers continue as if coming from inside my skull.

‘Do you remember when I gutted your family and friends, Puppy? When their entrails slithered to the floor? Do you remember how we made love as we slipped and slid around their mess?’

I crawl, my throat all but closed as I fail to take in any air. My eyes remain focused on the front door. I need to get to Shaw!

I’m going to die. I’m going to die, and she’s waiting for me. I’ll be trapped with her forever with no escape. She’s clawing at me from beyond the grave and will never let me go.

The edges of my vision start to blur as I suffocate. And my heart thumps so hard I expect to see it explode through my ribcage any second and land on the floor with a hollow thud to join the rest of the entrails scattered about me.

The door opens, and Shaw steps inside. He sees me and drops the pile of logs he has cradled in his arms. In a second, he’s on his knees and lifting me up, panic clear on his face as he grips my head.

‘Archie, breathe! You gotta focus on your breathing!’

I can’t! There’s no airway. No space in my lungs. She’s stolen it all and filled it with the nothingness she created in me. The blackness and emptiness.

‘I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m right here, brother. And so are you. Sinthia isn’t here. It’s in your head.’ Shaw rests his forehead on mine as I try with all I have to get my shit back under control.

My head knows she’s not here. But try telling the rest of me!

‘Breathe with me, Arch,’ he says softly, resting his palm over my heart. He feels its ferocity and blinks. ‘Breathe with me,’ he repeats in a slow calm.

We kneel facing one another, surrounded by guts, and I try to regain control.

All of me is trembling and tears are falling freely down my cheeks.

‘I’ve got you, Arch. I’m right here, and Pix and Dorian will be here soon, too. And we can tell them how we caught the turkey. Tell them how we found a beehive full of honey and a patch of wild parsnips.’

My chest eases as I stare into his eyes as though my very life depends on it. And he never falters. He doesn’t blink or let me go. He stays precisely where he is, holding me and helping me. I claw at his shirt and plead with him.

Help me! Help me!

He looks on helplessly as I suffer another attack of this unyielding panic and pain. I’m lost to an avalanche of dread and sheer terror. Because now I have something I won’t survive losing. I have love and peace. What if I lose it? What if I’m left alone? What if I have to suffer the agony of watching them die? Again!

Their bodies fell all at once, and I was left alone.

That’s when I hear her. That’s when she comes, with her soft touches and sweet whispers. My tormentor. The killer of all I have ever held dear. The woman who slaughtered my pack and used me as she wanted.

The woman who-

Shaw slams his lips onto mine, landing me with a determined kiss right on the mouth.

I blink in shock as he holds my head in place so I can’t move or react, and when he lets go, he makes a huge smacking sound, dramatising it so it makes as much noise as possible. It echoes off the stone and wood, repeating over and over.

‘Bet you didn’t see that coming, did ya?’ he says, chuckling warily as he looks at the hand he has rested over my heart. ‘I hope that worked because I’m not kissing anything else.’

I take a shuddering breath that ends in a hiccup.

‘Take a deep breath for me, Arch. Say something.’

Another inhale before I speak.

‘When did you eat cranberries?’ I ask, picking at my teeth. He slaps me on my shoulder and shakes his head. ‘Try some tongue next time. Poor Pix, if that’s what she gets from you.’

He lands another kiss on the top of my head and sighs. His entire body relaxes, hearing my teasing.

‘I love you, ya crazy fucking hairball.’

Shaw returns to his feet and hoists me up, too, before collecting the wood he dropped.

I swallow a sob and swiftly dry my eyes.

That’s the second time that’s happened. Both times, it’s when I’ve found myself alone. An empty room is not my friend. Solitude brings horrors from a past I long to forget.

Sinthia isn’t here. She is not a spirit.

That’s what I choose to tell myself. That’s what we all choose. Pix saw countless spirits when she was a blood witch. Her necromancy made them visible to her. Those damaged slithers of a soul lingering in the world of the living. Gripping onto their pain and suffering, making it impossible for that part of them to find peace. The spirits she saw were not whole but the broken parts of a person, left behind so the rest of them could find their rest.

Or, in the case of blood witches, eternal damnation in the sea of blood in hell.

But that’s all gone now. No Hel. No sea of blood. No blood witch bitches.

And I have never felt more terror than I do now that they have gone. Because I have nothing left to fear except losing the peace I have finally won. I have never feared losing something as much as I have feared losing her. Of losing them all. And when I’m alone, that’s all I can think about. Rationality abandons me, and it becomes a physical reaction. My body is not my own. It belongs to panic.

I understand why Pix used to hide under the bed. If she felt like that, I don’t blame her for seeking out the warm and the dark. For seeking out a place to hide.

Shaw glances at me as I straighten my clothes and pick up the guts from the floor.

And then I hear a wonderful sound.

Looking out of the window, Pix comes running towards the cottage. She has a blinding smile and giggles almost maniacally as she glances back.

Dorian lands with an eerie silence, his wings tucking in and his black shadowy form swirling all around him as his eyes glow from beneath his hood. All he needs is a scythe, and he would make the Grim Reaper look like a puppy dog.

If it were anyone else running from the shadow master in his true form, they would be screaming for their fucking life or falling dead in fright.

Not her, though. She’s so excited and joyful that she can barely run straight as he readies a snowball to throw at her.

Hel’s personal pet is having a snowball fight with a witch.

It's not something you see every day.

Shaw stops beside me, curious to see what I’m laughing at.

Pix ducks, and the snowball flies through the open window and slams straight into my face. Freezing cold and surprisingly hard. It slips down, and I open my eyes. Pix has her lips sealed together, trying hard not to laugh as I shake my hair off and scowl at Dorian.

‘Perfect aim!’ Dorian chuckles.

‘Oh. I’ll show you perfect aim.’ I scoop up a load of snow from the sill and toss it hard.

He moves an inch to the left, and it glides past him.

I’m out the window in a flash, Shaw hot on my heels, and we’re all tossing snowballs at one another. Pix leaps on my back and shoves a handful of snow down my neck, making me scream in an embarrassingly high squeal.

Shaw defends me and returns the favour, shoving a handful down the front of her dress.

A series of fierce expletives come from her pretty little mouth. The names she calls us have me almost speechless.

What a filthy and perfect little mouth. I still can’t believe she was raised in an earth coven. Not with a foul mouth like that!

The three of us laugh as she dances and shuffles, trying to shimmy the snow from her dress. And when she stops and slowly turns, we all fall silent at the devious look in her eye.

There’s a groan. We all look up. And the trees dump all their snow on top of our heads, burying us up to our necks.