“About you and Vanessa? It’s pretty self-explanatory,” I mutter glibly.
Gunnar huffs in frustration. “I’m trying to talk to you. Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Is that a real question? I didn’t think so,” I answer for him.
“I haven’t so much as touched that witch since well before you were even born,” Gunnar snaps.
I slash my eyes in his direction. “I hate her. I’ve hated her from the moment I laid eyes on her,” I growl.
“Most people do. It’s only the ones who want something from her who act like they like her,” Gunnar replies smoothly.
“But you did,” I accuse.
“I was part of misled minority who like her, the ones that don’t see through her façade for what she really is until it’s too late,” Gunnar admits, as he reaches for my hand and tows me along with him, pulling out a stool for me to sit on.
“So, what, she used her magic on you?” I mock, while he sits then adjusts so his knees are on the outside of mine.
He snorts. “I wish I could say it was a spell, but it was just plain, fucking stupidity.” Gunnar pushes his hands down his thighs.
I lick over my bottom lip. He’s fighting to remain calm, and it helps ease my aggravation. That’s, like, the third time I’ve noticed that when he gets all riled up, so do I. I file the information away for another day, another time.
I move over to the stove and start pulling out my pot and milk, hoping the normalcy of the routine will calm me. After a breath of silence, Gunnar continues, “I’m not the only one charged with watching the witches. There are a few Berserkers left, but not many.” Gunnar lifts his heavy shoulders.
“We are shuffled around—you can only stay in one place so long—and I ended up with her territory. She was nice to look at and accepted me for what I was.” I slam the pot down on the stove. “What we had was only physical, and it didn’t last long.”
I keep my back to him so he won’t see how badly I want to kill her all over again. “But like I said, it ended alongtime ago.”
“Fine. Are you done? Got that off your chest? Feel better?” I resent the fact that I even had to know.
“Not if you’re still pissed.” Gunnar sighs. “I didn’t know you, didn’t know anything about you,” he reasons, and my shoulders fall.
“You’re not the only one who ever got lonely, Damiana.” The low way he whispers the words tells me he’s not trying to make a dig at me; he’s just speaking his truth.
I pour the milk in the pan. “Do you want some?” My question comes out with a little sass, so I clear my throat and try again. “Some hot chocolate.”
“If you’re willing to sha—If you don’t mind.” Gunnar cuts off mid-word and changes what he was about to say.
I lift one shoulder casually. “There’s enough. Will you grab the chocolate from the cupboard?”
Within seconds, I feel his presence beside me. “Want me to chop it up? I’m pretty good with a knife.”
I set down the spoon and turn to face him. He gives me his undivided attention. I almost look away, but I force myself to hold his stare. “Hey, so, I’m not great with this stuff. Not that it’s an excuse, but the jealousy, it’s new, too. I never cared enough to be jealous before. What I’m trying to say is…I’m sorry. I probably overreacted.” I wince.
Gunnar’s shoulders ease. “I’ll get the knife.” He lets my lame apology slide. He’s nicer than I am by a mile. I probably would have made him grovel. We work together making the hot cocoa. I make enough for all of us, even Aeson. It takes me a minute to find the thimble she usually uses.
Evidence that other people are staying here is all over the house: my plates are in different places, the dishwasher is always running, and even their scents are permeating and changing the house. I look around. Grim’s apple core is sitting on the counter where he left it, and there’s a pair of discarded socks balled up near the door. Instead of making me edgy, it gives me a sense of peace.
“Ready?” Gunnar asks, holding a flat tray with four mugs and Aeson’s thimble.
“I am.” I nod my head, thinking about more than just going to the living room to join the others. I’m ready to hope for more.
“Oh man, I smell chocolate,” Calix comments. “That has to be good, right?” he mumbles, as we near the living room. I click my tongue. Nosy bugger. They must have known what we were talking about.
“We can hear you,” I singsong acerbically, as I move into the room. Aeson is perched on the back of the sofa just a couple cushions down from Calix, while Grim is in one of the chairs. I glance around the room. It always seemed like I had too much furniture, but now it feels like I need more.
Calix pats the empty cushion next to him while he’s angling his neck to look around me. His eyes light up a bit when he sees Gunnar holding the delicate tray in his hands. I watch his lips move as he counts the mugs.
I make my way over next to him and sit down gingerly so I don’t dislodge Aeson from the back of the sofa, but she hoists herself up and moves over to the arm of the couch instead. Gunnar sets the tray on the coffee table, handing me the largest of the mugs, then looks down at the tiny thimble, then his hand. I know he’s wondering how he’s going to pick up the petite thing with his massive paw.
