Isla's cottage came into view through the birch trees, the lake behind it already turning rough, whitecaps showing where there'd been glass an hour ago. The south-facing shutter was loose. He could see it from thirty yards out, swinging in the gusts, the latch either broken or not seated properly.
She came around the side of the cottage with a coil of rope over one shoulder and stopped when she saw him.
"No," she said.
"Your south shutter's loose."
"I'm aware of that. I'm handling it."
"With what, that rope?"
"With the hardware I've been meaning to replace for two weeks." She shifted the coil on her shoulder. "Why are you here, Lupeus?"
He held up the hull plank. "Freya sent me. She says you're the only one who can tell me whether your lightning left something in my wood that's going to be a problem."
Isla looked at the plank, then at the sky, then back at him. The wind snapped her hair across her face and she pushed it back with her free hand.
"Your timing is remarkable."
"I've been told."
The first gust hit hard enough to slam the loose shutter flat against the cottage wall. Isla flinched at the sound, dropped the rope coil, and moved toward it. Rafe set the plank against the porch rail and followed her.
"I didn't ask for help."
"The wind's about to rip that shutter off its hinge." He reached past her and caught the frame before the next gust could take it. The wood was old, the iron hinge pin half rusted, and the latch plate had pulled two of its screws loose from the sill. "You have a hand drill inside?"
"Under the sink."
"Get it."
She went. He held the shutter against the frame with both hands and the wind tried to take it from him and he let it try, bracing with his shoulder, feeling the storm pressure build across the lake surface behind him. She came back with the drill and a tin of mixed screws and they worked the latch plate together in the narrow space between the shutter and the sill, her fingers finding the screw holes while he held the frame steady.
Her shoulder pressed against his chest when she leaned in to set the first screw. He could smell her, the scent that had been sitting at the back of his throat since the first night, and this close it was specific enough to make his jaw tighten. She drove the screw in, checked the seat, moved to the second one. Her knuckles brushed the inside of his wrist where he gripped the frame and despite the chaos of the storm rolling in, Rafe felt himself harden as his wolf whined.
They got the south shutter secured and moved to the lake-facing windows, where the latches were holding but the frames were rattling in the gusts. She handed him a wedge of folded cloth to jam under the sill while she tightened the interior bolt,and they worked around each other in the tight space below the windowsill.
The rain hit when they were finishing the last window. Not gradual but a wall of water driven sideways off the lake, cold and hard enough to sting. They both got inside and pulled the door shut and stood in her kitchen dripping on the stone floor while the wind screamed across the roof.
"Well," she said. "You're stuck."
"Apparently."
The power was already out. The cottage sat in gray storm light, the windows rattling in their frames, the sound of rain on the roof like gravel being poured. She moved to the counter and found matches, lit the oil lamp on the worktable, and then a candle on the small kitchen table. The light caught her features, sharp at the cheekbone, softer at the mouth, with her silver-blonde hair dark with rain and plastered to the sides of her neck.
She set the candle between them and sat down.
"Sit," she said. "Unless you want to stand in my kitchen and drip."
He sat. The table was small enough that his knees almost touched hers underneath it. The candle threw their shadows up the walls in long shapes that moved when the wind shook the house.
"The plank's on your porch," he said.
"I'll look at it when the storm passes."
"Freya said you'd be able to feel whether the charge left a signature in the grain."
"Freya's right. Storm-fae lightning isn't the same as natural discharge. If it sat in the wood long enough, it can leave a residual frequency that attracts further strikes." She pulled her wet hair over one shoulder and wrung it out onto the stone floor. "I'll check it. But not tonight."
