Page 17 of A Beastly Court

Despite his aversion to the fashion atrocity that was my foraging bag, he hadn’t removed it from my shoulder before putting me to bed. Ossian hadn’t touched the censer either, and despite being smothered by the bedsheets, the Hawthorne ember hadn’t died overnight. That fact hadn’t prevented me from presently having a mild panic attack and flicking open the latch and letting the ember get a breath of the fresh, albeit freezing, air in the bedroom.

As the ember smoldered and continued to look as pathetic as always, I rested back on the pillows and fought through the murky haze that surrounded yesterday’s memories. After a minute or two of straining, a revelation would not come. So I huffed a sigh and got up to wash the crust from my eyes and prepare myself for the new day. As I moved to the bathroom, the owl lifted from its perch, flying on silent wings to one of the pine-cone finials of the bed’s posts.

“Shouldn’t you be hunting vermin instead of watching me?” I asked.

Its eyes only glowed a brighter blue. It was unnerving. Unnatural. And why didn’t the owl talk? Every beast in Ossian’s court could. Normally I would’ve taken the time to introduce myself and get to know the bird, but every instinct said it would bite my fingers off if I tried to touch it.

Frowning, I diverted to the wardrobe for the day’s clothes, retreated to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. The owl was once again on the fireplace mantle when I emerged, its eyes fully closed now that the sunlight had replaced the moonlight streaming in through the windows. I still crept as silently as I could from my own bedroom.

Alec had not yet returned from his hobgoblin hunt, so there was no one to shove me into the great hall and laugh as the bear attempted to rip me limb from limb. Instead, Ossian waited for me at the double doors. He was clad for a non-hunting day, which meant he was still (impossibly, given how cold it always was) barefooted but there was a shirt now tucked into his buckskin trousers. The ivory linen only accented the bow-like arch of his shoulders and his tapered waist, the paleness contrasting against his bronze skin and the deep copper of his hair. As always, a golden glow emanated from him as if there was a sun trapped inside his body. The corners of his jewel-green eyes crinkled as I hastened my step to greet him.

“Ossian.” His name was a breathless exhale, as if I’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful and alluring in my life. Every day I was struck dumb at his presence, melting under the sensuous influence of the golden haze of our fated mate bond.

The big blue jewel at his throat blazed as he welcomed me into his arms, pulling me into a fierce kiss that set my every nerve on end. “Morning, love,” he murmured, the timber of his voice as smooth and luscious as butter sauce. He stroked both hands over my hair, lifting my face for him to look deeply into my eyes. I blushed under his attentiveness. “You’re looking well rested.”

“Despite the critters in my wall,” I said, rolling my eyes with a laugh.

His eyes narrowed, all affection gone. His fingers pressed tightly into my scalp. “They’re still scratching around in there? What of the owl?”

“Ossian”—I winced—“that hurts.”

He released me only to grip my hands and bring my knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “I sometimes forget how delicate you witches are.”

Again, no apology. What was it with men and their incapability of saying those two little words, I’m sorry? Or was it only fae males?

“Delicate?” I zapped him in the chest with a feisty bolt of green magic. Not enough to hurt him—I wasn’t that powerful yet—but enough to leave a fleeting sting. I was a Hawthorne, and one strong enough to be breaking the curse the matriarch of our coven had placed over me. The only delicate thing about me was my emotions.

He laughed, a rich sound like the ringing of deep-toned bells, and rubbed at the spot on his chest. “As compared to high fae, love. I meant no offense.” Bracing a large hand on the double doors, he opened them both with a simple shove.

The grizzly bear surged to his feet at the end of the hall with a bellow.

My blood, which had been running hot at Ossian’s touch, turned to icy sludge. I actually choked on my breath, heart stuttering. The fae king swept around behind me, perching his hands on the tops of my shoulders like an eagle’s talons and leaning down to whisper in my ear. “So delicate.”

I flushed with embarrassment, but only for a moment. The terror of that bear…

Straightening, he tucked my numb hand into the crook of his arm and guided me inside. Besides that teasing—and tasteless—remark, he was the gentleman, keeping his powerful body between me and the bear as he brought us to the table. It still the bore the gouges of yesterday. I swallowed audibly at the thought that those claws had almost done the same to my throat. They’d almost robbed me of my hand, too, had the beast not miscalculated the distance between us. And the black tourmaline—

“Never mind the bear,” Ossian told me, running his finger along the length of my jaw and turning my gaze back to him. The golden glow of his skin brightened, and my thoughts turned warm. By the Green Mother, I could lose myself in those green eyes. “Let’s get you fed, love. Another big day is ahead of you.”

“The rambler roses!” I blurted, clinging to one of the two memories I could distinctly remember from yesterday.

He flashed me a doting smile. “Given your success yesterday, I’ve arranged a treat for you. It’ll be waiting for you in the foyer when you’re done eating. And after you’ve taken your tonic and charged another crystal, of course.”

Of course. Always with the tonics and crystals, of course.

Mrs. Bilberry arrived then, announcing herself and the parade of woodchucks with her little gold bell. Bursting with happiness, both at my triumph yesterday and Ossian’s generosity, I paid the growling grizzly bear no mind as I devoured my breakfast. We were that much closer to freeing my magic and summoning the portal, which meant his glaring looks were coming to their own end.

“Daphne! Flora and Shari!” I cried as I rushed into the foyer. My full stomach had protested the short sprint from the great hall to the foyer, but my heart had told it in no uncertain terms to shut up. And to keep my breakfast down.

The wan morning light of autumn shone on the white mare’s flanks as Daphne spun around at the sound of my voice. The porcupine on her withers, halfway through crocheting a braid into Daphne’s mane with a hook made from one of her very own quills, squeaked in surprise and held on tight. Impaled on Shari’s quills and within easy reach of her paws were half a dozen balls of yarn and just as many spools of thread, and while they all shivered with the sudden movement, none of them fell free and unraveled along the ground.

Behind them in the main courtyard, Roland and the woodchucks busily unloaded a horse-drawn cart full of potted ferns, philodendrons, and other houseplants. Even a few young trees. Flora’s cart wasn’t the only vehicle in the courtyard; a brown mule flicked its overlong ears as an elderly raccoon and an equally old beaver unpacked a covered wagon. But a polite greeting would have to wait.

“Cider witch!” Flora barreled into me, her compact body knocking me clean off my feet. Despite being only thirty pounds, the honey badger hit like a freight train. She sniffed my mouth and worked down to the foraging bag at my hip. “Bring us any goodies from the royal table? I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.” Laughing, I shoved her off so I could stand. “Hi, Emmett! Hi, Cody.”

The raccoon peered through his wire-rimmed spectacles before giving me a hearty wave, leaving the beaver to wrangle the handsaw out of the wagon bed himself.