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I am so happy.
All the way until—
Why the fuck is the door to the castle open like that?
Icy dread slams me, a shock like a punch to the face of my happiness.
I hit the ground with a loud thump and immediately drop the load of fancy mortal food I went far away to find for her to the snow. Green, leafy things and red and orange fruits roll into the snowbank.
What the fuck has happened in my absence?
Snow has built up against the door. I do not want to believe what my eyes are seeing.
I do not want to believe that my consort has betrayed me.
Even as the obviousness of it makes me want to slam my face against that self-same door. Go get me different food, she says. Yes, go far, far away. And she fucks me so well, even makes me—
The roar finally reaches my throat and comes out through my wide-open mouth.
And then she runs.
And the light in my chest is all gone. No, I am very, very cold now.
I should have expected betrayal. I am a fool not to.
As I turn to fly after her and chase down what is mine, a roar answers me from within the castle. It is Thing, but it is wrong.
Too near. Far, far too near.
What. Has. She. Done?
With a growl of pure, animal fury, I enter the castle and yank the door shut behind me. It takes some doing, the snow drift has grown so high.
And then I go down to deal with the mess I was too foolish and blinded by cunt not to foresee.
Chapter Twenty-Six
HANNAH
I stare at the phone and want to laugh. Who can I call? Whose number do I even know?
I know exactly two numbers by heart. And calling my mother certainly won’t do any good. She’s no good in a crisis. She flaps her hands and starts to cry. Even when I would fall as a child. Which I did a lot. She hates the sight of blood. After my surgeries, she would stay in the hospital with me, but sometimes… okay, a lot of the time, she made it more about her trauma of having a sick child than about me who was actually going through it.
And there’s only one other number I know…
So I dial it.
I half don’t expect him to answer. And when he does, I’m still not sure exactly what to say.
“Hello?” Drew’s voice comes over the phone, far clearer than I was expecting. It’s so strange to hear his voice again. Especially here, after all that’s happened. “Look, if this is a telemarketer, I’m hanging up.”
“No!” I say quickly.
There’s a pause, and then, “Hannah?”
I suck in a breath at hearing him say my name.
“Hannah, is that you? Hannah?”
“Yes.” I exhale even as my chest clenches at the admission. “It’s me.”
“Jesus, your mother and I have been so worried about you. Tell me where you are so I can come get you. This has gone on long enough. You need to come home. Look, I forgive you, okay?”
I frown. “Well, I—” I start to speak.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I know you haven’t been in your right mind lately, but I forgive you, and we can go back to the way things were. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll fly there and take care of everything.”
My hand clutching the phone starts to feel numb again. Drinking the hot coffee had made some feeling start to come back, but now everything inside me just starts to feel… numb.
“Hannah? Hannah, tell me where you are.”
I look over at the kindly old man, eyes blinking out from underneath bushy eyebrows.
“I— I don’t know. Siberia, maybe.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Drew sounds irritated. “Siberia? That doesn’t make any sense. Hannah, what have you gotten yourself into?” Then he lets out an impatient breath. “You know what, never mind. Can you hand the phone to someone else more— Just hand the phone to someone else who knows what’s going on. You’re not in your right mind.”
I yank the phone away from my ear and push the button to hang up. I’m breathing hard, which hurts my chest. And then I push the phone back at my rescuer and pull my arms back underneath the warm blankets.
I don’t like the tears that crest my eyes any more than I like the thoughts running through my head: what an asshole.
I turn away from my rescuer, face to the couch, and curl into the covers.
The heat of the fire feels good against my back. And a thousand scenes with Drew race through my head. Him reaching over impatiently when I wasn’t cutting my meat fast enough and cutting it for me. His constant litany of, “Hannah, no, not like that,” when we were out in public together. Chastising me like I was a child who embarrassed him. Whether I wasn’t using a napkin correctly—it was meant to go in one’s lap when you weren’t using it.
