CHAPTER 15
“Thank you for buying me dinner tonight.” Cece rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them as she smiled awkwardly at Briggs. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Briggs leaned against the kitchen counter. Despite how cold the house was tonight, he didn’t at all look like the frozen Popsicle Cece felt like. Leaving the warmth of Briggs’s truck for her tundra of a house was an exercise in torture.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
“I did. Tori and Judd are funny, and I think Rosalie is someone I could be good friends with. Once,” she waved vaguely, “this craziness is all over.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “There hasn’t been an attack for a few days now. Maybe they’ve given up?”
He shrugged. “Or maybe they’ve realized how dangerous it is to attack you in public.”
She sighed. “I’ve been doing some research into my father’s family, and if I reach out to them and arrange to meet with them, maybe -”
“No!” Briggs straightened, a low growl erupting from his throat. “You are not to contact them, little witch.”
“It could help,” she said.
“Or it could make it easier for them to kill you.”
She paled at his bluntness, but he didn’t back down. “They tried to kill you and your mother, and your aunt was so afraid for you that she contacted you from beyond to warn you. Trying to reason with them won’t work.”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “Hell, we don’t even know for certain that it’s them trying to kill me or that the mugging and car accident weren’t just coincidences.”
He glared at her. “You’re not dumb, Cece. Why are you pretending to be?”
“It’s not dumb to hope that your family isn’t trying to kill you,” she snapped. “They’re the only family I have now and, maybe, if they know that I’m a blood witch, then…”
Damn. The cognitive dissonance was real.
“So, you’re okay associating with people who will only accept you because they find out you’re a blood witch?” Briggs asked. “Unconditional love doesn’t work that way.”
Shame walloped her over the head like a sledgehammer. Her aunt was dead, and she was completely alone, but was that any excuse for accepting people like that into her life? Was she that pathetic and desperate for family? The answer seemed to be yes. Even worse, Briggs had her pegged.
Her face burning, her hands both ice cold and blazing hot, she inched her way toward the kitchen doorway. “You’re right. I promise I’m not usually like this, I’m just tired and worried and… not that I’m excusing my behaviour because I…”
She took a deep breath, wishing like hell the look Briggs was now giving her didn’t reek of pity. “I’m gonna call it a night. Good night, Briggs.”
“Good night, Cece.”
Twenty minutes later, she was tucked into bed under a mountain of blankets, her freshly brushed teeth chattering wildly despite the flannel pajamas, hoodie, wool socks, and knitted hat she wore.
She wanted to cry, but the possibility of her tears freezing to her face was frighteningly high. It was cold enough in her room that if she couldn’t hear the furnace clanking and groaning in the quietness as it laboured to do its job, she’d suspect it had finally died.
She stared at the plants hanging from the ceiling. Despite the cold, none of them seemed to be affected. Bright moonlight lit the room with a cold glow, and she could clearly see her plants. They were lush with bright green, healthy-looking leaves and vines, and she didn’t think she imagined that some of the longer vines were moving gently despite a lack of breeze.
Their movement soothed rather than frightened her, and she watched them for several minutes, her eyelids growing heavier until she could barely keep them open. Something brushed her face, and she opened her eyes, smiling happily at the pothos leaves that were stroking her cheek.
“Hi, pretty girl,” she mumbled, tucking herself a bit deeper under the covers. An English Ivy vine trailed across the blankets, tickling at her ear before tracing her forehead. Cece giggled before staring sleepily at the heartleaf philodendron creeping across her chest to pat her cheeks gently.
“You’re good girls,” she murmured. Thinking the plants knew she was upset and were trying to soothe her was crazy, but she still found their presence and their touch comforting. A certain polar bear shifter’s giant warm body would be better, but a girl couldn’t have everything she wanted.
A small smile lifted her lips, and she whispered Briggs’s name before sleep claimed her.
Cece was cold. She was always cold, but this was worse. This was a ‘kicked the blankets off the bed’ breath-stealing cold. Caught in that area between wake and sleep, Cece reached blindly for the discarded blankets, grunting in surprise when her arm wouldn’t obey her command. Instead, it stayed firmly tucked against her side. As her body slowly receded from the depths of sleep, she tried to move her other arm, a thread of panic floating into her brain when it, too, stayed glued to her side. She could feel the soft material of her flannel pajamas against her palms, and she frowned when her body bumped against something.
What was happening?
