Page 31 of Bad Witch

I backed up.

“Talk to me, peaches. What’s going on?”

No one had asked me these questions before, not ever. When Mags had asked about my family, I’d said they were dead and she dropped it instantly. Not Fender. I felt like a cornered rat. Did he know something? Did he somehow know what happened to my father, did he know that I’d used the fire inside me, that I’d used my powers in a way that no true healer ever should? Could hounds see things that others couldn’t? Could he see what I was? I took another step back.

Slowly, he put his plate down beside him and lifted his hands. “Tempest.” He took another step toward me. “If your father hurt you, I’ll find him in Hell and I’ll make him pay. I promise you that.”

No. No, no, no. I shook my head. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. This was too much, too many questions. He was going to find out, he was going to find out what I was, and he’d never look at me like that ever again. I thought I could do this, that I could leave the cottage, that I could be like everyone else, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t like everyone else. I wasn’t normal.

I didn’t know how to do this.

“Tempest?” he said, taking another step toward me.

Panic seized me, hot and horrific, but even as I turned to run, I didn’t really want to. I wanted to be here with Fender, but I didn’t know how to be. I didn’t know how to be like everyone else.

Before I knew it, I burst through the trees, not sure where I was going. I couldn’t go to the cottage, I couldn’t lead him there. I had to find somewhere to hide.

A huge three-legged hound burst through the trees, running right past me, then doubled back and planted himself right in front of me, forcing me to stop. Oh gods. I froze. He was huge. His fur was a rich burnt umber, a couple shades deeper than his auburn hair when he was in human form. I stared into his eyes now, the brightest of gold. He didn’t come any closer, he just stared back.

My heart slammed into my ribs, but the longer we stood there, the more my panic began to subside. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, the massive hound lowered his body to the ground, then made a chuffing sound, followed by a low whine.

I stayed where I was. He pawed at the ground and whined again.

“What are you doing?” I rasped, my panic receding as confusion took over. This was Fender, not some beast here to harm me.

He pawed at the ground again and shuffled forward just a little bit on his belly.

“Why are you doing this?”

Another whine, then more belly shuffling. He kept coming, until he was right there, huge but submissive, or at least pretending to be. I should be afraid, but for some strange reason I wasn’t.

His paw, as huge as a dinner plate, slid forward and nudged my foot, then he belly-shuffled again until he was able to press his massive head against my thigh. He whined again.

“Do you want me to…to pet you?”

He stayed where he was, utterly still and staying low. Why was he doing this? My fingers slid into his fur on their own. He pressed his big head into my hand and gave me another soft whine. Was he apologizing? Or was this his way of showing me he wasn’t going to ask me anymore questions, that he wasn’t going to push, because it was impossible if he was like this? That was it, wasn’t it? It was a silly but incredibly sweet thing to do.

He nudged me then and rose, gently guiding me back to camp. I let him. Exhaustion filled me out of nowhere, and I wanted to go with him, I wanted to feel safe, and like this, there was no risk of him asking me anymore questions I didn’t want to answer.

I walked back into camp and saw Fender’s clothes lying on the ground where he’d shifted. I expected him to shift back, but he didn’t. Instead, he followed me back to the campfire and sat, watching as I cleaned up after our meal and packed things away. He continued to watch as I took two sleeping bags from my pack and laid them out under the tree’s canopy.

“You can have that one,” I said as I slid into mine.

He trotted over to it, picked it up in his jaws, and dragged it over to me, then he plonked down beside me. He was way too close. I wriggled a little farther away, then closed my eyes. He stayed where he was.

The next time I woke was with a scream in my throat.

I’d been engulfed in flames. My father was alive, chasing me through the fire. It was burning, melting my skin, but there was no escape and he’d kept coming.

A heavy weight pressed against me. I wasn’t afraid, I instantly knew who it was, and I reached out in the darkness, my fingers finding thick fur. Fender was still there, but closer now, and he was still in his hound form.

My heart rate slowed. “Thank you,” I whispered to him, then closed my eyes again.

The next time I woke, it was morning. The scent of food drifted into our little shelter. I sat up and pulled back the ivy wall. Breakfast was cooked and plated, but Fender was still a hound. He’d obviously gotten up, shifted, made breakfast, then shifted back.

I got up and he dropped to his belly, watching me.

“This looks good. Thank you.”