Wild Spirit: Huntress

by Victoria Wren

  “No, of course, I do.” Desperation clouded his voice. “I’m not good for you, Win.”

  “Maybe I should decide.”

  Win stood, folding her arms. She ached, and she was tired, the events of the day catching up on her. Hit with a sudden longing to go home and be with her family, feeling selfish and idiotic for being here, for thinking he would finally admit how he felt. She shouldn’t have come at all.

  “I’m cold.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m going home.”

  “Win,” he called across the fire, crestfallen. “Don’t go yet.”

  “Goodnight, Grayson.” She walked out of the clearing. “When you figure out how you feel, you’ll know where I am.” She bit down on her lip, instantly regretting her words. She was too open, and her feelings lay bare.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she ignored him calling after her, her feet quick across the soggy leaves. When she was a good enough distance away, she wiped her eyes, her foolishness making her want to cry out in frustration.

  He followed behind, lagging but never taking her out of his sight. His boots crunched over the dirt, keeping his distance but always making sure she was safe.

  She knew he followed behind, seeing her safely home. She supposed it should be enough to be content with. But it would never be enough. Finally, she reached the yard, throwing a long look over her shoulder, wishing she could run back and throw her arms around his neck. Instead, she jogged across the yard, arms hugging her waist for warmth. The falcon landed on her shoulder, its presence comforting her as she climbed back into her room and closed the window.

  I know, I’m an idiot, she thought, but the falcon said nothing. It didn’t need to.

  Win let it nestle the side of her face, smiling as it darted away back into the drizzly sky. She went to the window, and before she pulled the drapes shut, she narrowed her eyes, peering into the yard, a familiar bulky shape moving along the treeline. Illuminated against the glow of the lamplight, Win pulled her shirt over her head, shaking her mane of hair free to tumble down over her naked shoulders, making sure he got a good long look before she pulled the drapes closed.

  Win crawled onto her grandfather’s bed, careful not to disturb him. In the chair, Rowan had fallen asleep, her chin resting on her hand. Even now, she still looked worried, creases of concern around her eyes. As Win settled into the pillows, she let her palm rest on her grandfather’s back, measuring the rise and fall of his breathing. Sensing her presence, he jerked awake, craning his neck to peer at her. Win winced, gritting her teeth. “Sorry!” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  He rolled over, blinking, confused, wincing, as the gashes on his back pulled. “What happened?”

  Win rolled onto her side, facing him as he rubbed his bleary eyes. “You wolfed out.”

  He chuckled, grimacing at the pain. “Is that a term I should be familiar with? Ah god…I’m sorry if I did anything….”

  “No,” she reassured him gently. “We’re all okay, though Dad might have aged about ten years. Why is this happening?”

  He licked his lips, dry-mouthed. Win fetched him the glass of water Rowan had left by the bed, shifting onto her knees. When he didn’t answer, only stared into the water, she didn’t pressure him. She guessed it must be hard to talk about, saying it out loud. But she wanted to know. She needed to hear he wasn’t about to die on them. Not when he was still so needed here.

  Instead, she whispered, “We never got to talk about Iris.”

  “There isn’t much to know,” he answered, and she laughed.

  “I think there is. She was your younger sister?”

  “Two years younger.”

  Win’s eyes widened. “And she ran away? Did you fight?”

  He yawned, wincing as he pulled at one of the open wounds. “This hurts, Win.”

  “I know, Rowan didn’t mean to. She feels terrible.”

  “No, I mean—it hurts. To talk about her. Can we do this another day? I know you’re curious,” he said shakily. “But can it wait? This also hurts like hell,” he referred to his wounds. “But I don’t blame your sister in the least. She protected you, and she’ll be the head of this family soon, they’ll be lots more to come. I need a bit of time to rest.”

  Win stared at the wounds, thick gashes across his back, a thought occurring to her. “Shouldn’t that be healing by now?”

  He shook his head, feeling around in his bedside drawer, knocking back some pain medication and chasing it down with water. “It’s Therian inflicted. It won’t heal as fast as a regular cut or bruise. Hell, even a broken rib. Therian wounds leave scars.”

  He struggled to sit, revealing the underside of his arm and the familiar thick scar running along his upper bicep. Win had always assumed it was from an injury in the yard. When he saw her narrow eyes, he spoke.

  “My Ma did it when I was twelve. I got in her way once during her change. We can mark one another, and those are permanent. Like a reminder of what we are. I don't blame her. It wasn't her fault. And this wasn't Rowan’s either.”

  Win nodded grimly. Healing fast was useful, but it was a sharp reminder none of them were invincible. Win gave him a quick kiss before crawling off the bed. “Good night Grandpa,” she said, closing the door after her.

  Seven

  DURING THE NIGHT, Win had woken, hot, and twisted in her sheets. Pulling on her robe, she wandered back into her grandpa’s room. Rowan was still fast asleep in the easy chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, her breathing heavy and deep. John was still face down on the bed; the slices scouring his back had started to knit together. He grumbled in his sleep, a deep guttural noise in his throat. Win carefully edged onto the bed, not caring she had barely any room to move. She stretched out beside him and lay down. She pulled up a pillow, stuffing it under her head, and fell asleep until she jerked awake a few hours later, sunshine streaming in through the curtains. Her father was standing in the door, looking at the three of them fondly, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “It’s nearly eight,” he whispered to her. “Doesn’t Rowan have a shift at the bar?”

  Win blinked awake, stretching and rubbing her eyes. Today was the start of the festival, a three-day celebration with the adjacent towns. Win nudged Rowan with her toe.

  Rowan stirred and stretched her neck. “I need to get up,” she yawned lazily. “I don’t want to leave him.”

  “I’ll be around today,” Ben assured her. “I’ve got some emails to answer and some work to do. I can keep him company.”

  Win edged off the bed, careful not to jostle him before dashing off to get ready. She showered, washing the scent of Grayson’s campfire out of her hair before Rowan noticed, pulling on a sweater and shorts. Ella had been working the breakfast shift, but said she would meet Win later at the house. Win stared dismally at her breakfast, unsure if she could stomach it, her nerves in tatters. Rowan noticed her playing with her toast.

  “Are you alright?” she said, her face pinched in concern. “Grandpa should be on the mend by now, you know.”

  “I know.” Win stared out of the window, the clouds gathering across the sky like big, leaden balloons, fit to burst. “I wanted to ask him some things. But I guess it’ll have to wait. Are you going to the festival tonight?”

  Rowan nodded. “I’ll be there. Are you three going together?”

  Win took a bite of her toast. It hit her empty stomach. “Probably,” she muttered.

  “Cheer up. It’ll be great,” Rowan assured her. “I’ll drop you at Luke’s.”

  Win was miserable. The one person she’d love to be going with kept pushing her away. She stayed silent in the car. Rowan stopped shy of the gates, averting her eyes as they swung open. Win guessed her sister didn’t want to be any closer to this place than she had to be. Mumbling a thank you, Win climbed out of the car, waving as Rowan sped away. Win pushed on the giant door; it was open and was met by the eerie quiet of the hallway and the relentless ticki
ng clock.

  “Judy?” Win’s voice cracked as she called out, shrugging out of her jacket and leaving it on the banister. The nurse finally appeared, closing the old man’s door firmly behind her as Win met her on the first-floor landing.

  “Miss Winifred,” she gasped, clutching her chest. She was carrying boxes of medication. “I didn’t hear you come in. You aren’t going to the festival today?”

  “Nah, it doesn’t really kick off until this afternoon,” Win explained. “I thought I’d get a few hours in.”

  “Luke is at his shift in town. I’m sure he’ll be home later.”

  “I’m fine, really. My friend Ella Torres might stop by though, would you mind sending her up?”

  Judy smiled warmly. “Ah yes, the pretty girl with dark hair. She’s always here. I’ll be sure to send her up.”

  Win nodded in thanks, but her brows knitted in a frown. Ella was always here? She pursed her lips in confusion, heading toward the back staircase to the attic, pausing for one moment by Luke’s door. She took a long sniff as if she could possibly sniff out evidence they had been meeting here without her knowing. Laughing to herself, Win shrugged off her apprehension. Why would that bother her? It was what she’d been hoping for all summer, wasn’t it? But the nagging doubt Ella and Luke might have been hiding things from her remained.

  Her feet stopped short of the door to the hidden staircase, her hand reaching for the handle. An icy whisper crossed her neck. She shuddered and whirled about. She could have sworn there had been someone there.

  Come on, get it together. Nothing here can hurt you, she told herself sternly. It's old boxes and dust bunnies. She flung the door open, greeted by gloom, and edged her way up the stairs. Hit by panic, she froze, shapes moving in the dark, but she found the switch, and light flickered into the room.

  Win crossed over to the spot she had been kneeling in yesterday, her knee marks still visible in the dust. She took out her phone, plugging in her earbuds, and turned on her music, anything to make her feel less alone. She rifled through the papers, sifting old magazines and catalogs into piles to be shredded. It was chilly, despite the heat outside, her fingernails started to take on a bluish tinge as she thumbed through the papers, locating some old bank statements and tossing them onto another pile.

  Shifting onto her bottom, she stretched out her long legs, finding an old Archie comic and flicking through it. She wondered if her grandpa was awake yet if he was in pain or if he’d woken up feeling vaguely normal. Win envisioned him busy at work with one of his engines, covered in black oil, and how he’d smile and shrug them off when they insisted he come in for a rest. His eyes turned yellow, and he bared his teeth.

  Win flinched, letting the comic drop into her lap. Grayson’s words floated back to her in the eerie silence of the attic.

  Don’t you realize how dangerous he is? It occurred to her Grayson had said a similar thing the night of the bonfire, the night he’d saved her life, and she insisted her family was peaceful.

  You weren’t always…Win tossed the comic in a pile, rolling her stiff neck, her upper body still sore from hanging from a tree. Win got to her feet, her lower back aching as she reached for the pile ready to be shredded. She stopped, bristling.

  That smell. As if it had wafted right under her nose. Grayson said she should trust her instincts, her eyes roaming to the porthole window. A sharp prickling sensation erupted all over her bare arms. Win swallowed and turned to the door, feeling eyes hot on her back as she took the stairs two at a time. She hoped Ella would arrive, she didn’t think she could stand being up there alone much longer.

  Judy was nowhere to be seen as she crossed the parlor into the back office, the quiet ruined by the raging noise of the shredder bursting into action. She gazed around the room, bored as she fed the machine ream after ream of old paper. Win wondered who had worked in here, guessing it must have been a shared space used by Luke, Spencer, and their father at one time. There were old framed photos on the walls, certificates, and school awards. In the corner, there was a stack of old photographs in frames, turned against the wall so only their mounts could be seen.

  In the distance, she heard a car pull into the drive, and relief washed over her.

  Thank God Ella is here!

  She was lost in thought, staring at the old photos on the wall, all black and white faces she had never seen before. She sniffed the air, Luke’s scent filling her nose.

  He must have gotten off work early, she thought in surprise. Ella must have got waylaid.

  Perhaps he felt guilty he’d landed all this on her. His footfalls echoed through the halls, coming toward her, the door behind her swinging open. She stood, hands-on-hips, her neck craned up to peer at a painting high up that had caught her attention.

  “Finally decided to join me, huh?” she joked as he stepped up behind her. She went cold all over. When he didn’t answer, she whirled around.

  It was not Luke. A man stood in the door, hands in his jean pockets, his head tilted as he stared at her. Win’s breath caught, her words dried up. She knew, dismally, she had gone the color of the sun.

  Finally, after what felt like a yawning stretch of silence, he smiled. “Hello, red-haired girl. What are you doing in my office?”

  “Uh…” She dropped the pile of files, and he watched, amused as they drifted to the carpet. She ducked to retrieve them. “I’m here helping out Luke.”

  He nodded, blue eyes not leaving her face. “Don’t let me get in your way….”

  “I was about done,” she stuttered, wishing he would move so she could squeeze past. “I just have a few more.”

  He waved his hand at the shredder. “Be my guest. And you are?”

  She cleared her throat. “Win.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m Jake, Luke’s father. Do I know you? You look familiar.” He clapped his hand to his head. “Uh, you’re not one of Luke’s girlfriends, are you? I apologize. I can hardly keep up with him.”

  The comment stung, and she guessed he had intended it to. She cast her gaze at the papers she was hugging to her chest. “No, I’m a friend,” she answered. “He said you weren’t home for a couple more days.”

  The man smiled, brilliant and charming. “I like surprises, don’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m only here a few hours, and then I’ll be on a plane back to Hawaii.”

  “Oh.” She looked confused. “I thought you were seeing a mediator.”

  “Well, Luke likes to think I can change my plans at the drop of a hat, but sadly it’s not like that in the real world.” He cocked his head, blue eyes flashing. “Are you from around here?”

  “I live across the woods.” Her mouth was oddly dry. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, like a shark assessing its prey. And she was in a confined space, and he was filling the door.

  “You’re a Hickory?” he pressed her, his lips twitching into an amused grin, and she backed up against the desk.

  “Adler.” She tried to smile. His face dropped, the charming façade gone. A glint of memory sparked in his eyes, his lips pressed thinly together like he was working something over in his head.

  “As in Ben Adler? You’re Alice’s daughter?”

  Confused at his tone, she nodded. “That’s right.”

  He swallowed. “Of course….” He looked confused, stepping out of the door so she could slip by. “Sorry, I’m keeping you.”

  Taking the opportunity to bolt, Win dashed past, her arm brushing his shirt. He smelled like Luke, which was disarming. Luke, but splattered in aftershave, a fiery, musky scent. She sensed his eyes on her back as she darted through the parlor, relieved to see Ella had arrived and was chatting with Judy.

  Ella waved when she saw her, and Win was flooded with relief. Win held her friend’s arm as they chased up the stairs.

  “Luke’s dad is here!” Win hissed when they were out of earshot.

  “Mr. Abercrombi
e?” Ella peered over her shoulder. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but I think he’s here earlier than planned. He was supposed to meet with a mediator with Luke in a couple of days. Guess he’s blown him off?”

  Ella’s expression darkened. “Luke won’t be happy.” As they headed up to the attic, Ella grabbed her hand. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not staying. I…”

  Win paused on the top step, noticing for the first time how preoccupied Ella seemed. Ella continued on. “They’ve asked me to come in for a couple of hours. Jean went sick. They swapped my shifts last night—I did text you!”

  “Oh.” Win’s shoulders slackened, realizing she probably hadn’t even looked at her phone after last night. She wasn’t keen on being in the house alone with Luke’s father and Judy, who had vanished, no doubt the moment she heard his car pull up. “That’s okay.”

  Ella patted her arm reassuringly. “Look, I’ll be back before lunch, then we can finish up and head into town to the festival?”

  “Sounds good. You go and get back quick.”

  Ella gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Have fun,” she said, lowering her voice, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Does he still look like the photo?”

  Win didn’t dare say he looked better. Besides, he was a little scary and way too old to be gushing over. But she smiled and waved Ella goodbye. Trudging back upstairs into the quiet, she tried to shake off the strange feeling Jake had given her, like he’d seen her somewhere before. Win knew she bore a slight resemblance to her mother, her face shape, and perhaps her smile. Maybe that was it?

  She worked for a long time until her neck ached. She grew bored, restless, wondering what was going on downstairs. She got on her hands and knees, yanking Jake’s memory box out of the shadows, a brazen idea crossing her mind. Clutching the box, she headed down the stairs. She peered over the banister, catching sight of Judy mopping the hall.

  “Judy? Is Mr. Fraser still here?” she called, and Judy jumped in fright, clutching her chest. Win swore the poor woman lived on her nerves. She looked like she might collapse if someone yelled ‘boo’ in her direction.