He settled behind her on the floor, wings folding against the wall. She startled as his big hands met her shoulders.
“Easy.” His fingers kneaded into her skin with care. “I am just doing what a male should do for an exhausted female.”
She wanted to laugh, but it felt so good she barely choked back a moan.
Who knew he was a pro massage therapist on top of everything else?
“Wet your hair.”
She did, hot water splashing over her face. She sat up and those hands kneaded into her scalp. His remaining claws scraped her skin in a way that was so good.
“You mentioned your grandsire,” he said quietly while working shampoo into her hair. “But what of your parents? What happened?”
Delaney sighed, but finally resigned herself to it. She could tell him. Why not? What would it change?
“My parents died when I was a kid.” She wasn’t watching him for this part. She couldn’t.
“They had an accident coming down the mountain. It was a huge shock. My dad?” She swallowed. “He was this amazing presence. Everyone said so. He was so smart. He was going to take this farm and make it a huge tourist destination. He lived for it. He’d started working on a plan for the North Ridge of the property.The plan was to turn it into a ski bowl. It’s kind of like what Winter Pines is. Skiing is a recreational sport that humans do. People love to come up from the city to do it.” She leaned into his touch. “Anyway, Grandpa and Grandma were in shock. Then they had to deal with me. That plan fell to the wayside. They were too old to be raising a child all over again. But they did. They were amazing.”
“They loved you,” Maelic said simply.
“Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “Yeah, they did.”
He reached for the handheld showerhead to rinse her hair, one hand cupped over her forehead to keep the water from her eyes. The gesture was so tender it made her chest ache.
“Grandma got cancer when I was seventeen,” she continued, words spilling out now like a dam had broken. “Right before graduation. It happened so fast—one day she was fine, the next she was in the hospital, then hospice, then…” She swallowed hard. “She lasted six months. We threw every penny we had at treatment. It didn’t matter.”
Maelic reached for the conditioner, working it through the ends of her hair with the same careful attention.
“I had a college acceptance letter. Full ride scholarship. I was going to study environmental science, come back and help Grandpa modernize the farm.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I burned it. Put it in the woodstove the day after her funeral.”
“Why?”
“Because Grandpa needed me. Because I couldn’t leave him alone with all of this. Because—” Her voice broke completely. “Because my parents died trying to make this place work, and Grandma died trying to save it, and I thought if I just worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, it would mean something. Their deaths would mean something.”
“Astara—”
“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” The words came out in a rush now, desperate and broken. “Nothing I do matters. We took out loans to cover the medical bills. Took out more to replant after the wildfire hit. Took out even more to just keep the lights on. And Grandpa just kept saying we’d turn it around. One more year. One more season. We just needed time.”
She was crying again, but she couldn’t stop talking.
“This last year… god, this last year I prayed he’d give up. That he’d finally sell and we could leave this place.” The confession tasted like ash. “I was so tired of watching him work himself to death. Of watching this place slowly kill him. I wanted OUT.”
Her breath hitched on a sob.
“And then his heart gave out. Right there in the kitchen, over his morning coffee. Just… stopped. And I got what I wanted.” She looked up at Maelic, vision blurring. “I finally got what I wanted,and it’s all my fault. If I’d just worked harder, been better, done MORE—”
“Stop.” The command was gentle but unyielding. His hands stilled in her hair. “Delaney, look at me.”
She couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see the pitying look she knew would be there.
“Look at me,” he repeated, softer this time.
She forced her eyes up to meet his glowing red gaze.
“This is not your fault.” Each word was deliberate. Certain. “None of this is your fault. You did not kill your family. You did not start that fire. You did not make your grandsire work himself to exhaustion. You are just doing what anyone does—you survived.”
“But—”
