I shake my head at myself, letting him bring me back toward the house. Yet the strange pull I feel makes me look over my shoulder, and when I do, the hum rises ever so slightly.
I wrench my head to face forward again, my pulse pounding. “Whatisthat?” I ask, drawing my hands up to ward off a chill that’s spread over my entire body.
“One thing at a time.” Slade glances down at me just as we reach the door of the house. “Ready?”
“How can I be?” I ask frankly.
“Fair point,” he concedes, but then he takes my hand in his. My stomach jolts at the gesture, and I look down at our entwined fingers, as if I’m making sure he really did it. If we were about to go to a lover’s house or a secret wife or a favored saddle, he wouldn’t hold my hand…
Right?
Before my stomach can churn itself right up my throat, Slade opens the door.
No knock. No calling out. Just turns a creaking knob and lets himself in. The heels of my shoes seem to stick with dread as I enter, and I try to prepare myself. Try to shove away my emotions and raise walls so that no matter what hits me, I’ll stay standing.
The first thing I notice is the warmth and the comforting firelight. It permeates the entire open floor home, so I can see everything from one end to the other. Which isn’t surprising, considering there’s a huge fireplace that dominates the wall directly ahead of us, and the whole house comprises one large square space.
There’s a bed in the far corner, with a carved partition placed in front of it so that only the foot is visible, a bright yellow knitted blanket flung over the mattress. Directly across from the bed are two cushioned chairs on a rug before the fire, and a small round table between them where a teacup sits on top.
To our left is an open kitchen with a narrow shelf countertop and an iron stove that’s gone cold, with a washbasin directly beside it. Just past the small round dining table is a set of shelves no higher than my shoulders, every inch of them taken up with books.
For a moment, I’m so caught up in tracking every little detail in the house, that I don’t even see the person sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire until I catch movement. All I can see is the back of a head at first, and my fingers dig into Slade’s hand.
Slade clears his throat, and the head tilts in a movement of acknowledgement, but not startled. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you.”
The person in the chair turns, and my fingers squeeze Slade’s hand even harder when they get up and turn to face us.
My eyes go wide.
She’s beautiful.
She’s young, maybe around my age, yet petite, like every single bone is delicate. She has pale skin and big eyes, black hair tucked back into a loose ponytail that rests at her nape. She looks to Slade, and her face splits into a smile that drives a knife through my chest because of how heartbreakinglyjoyfulit looks.
She crosses the room and throws her arms around him, me yanking my hand from his with only a split second to spare.
I watch as they embrace, feeling completely out of place, like I’m watching something too private.
She pulls away, beaming up at him, and while Slade takes hold of her fragile hand, he turns to me. “Auren,” he begins, and my heart feels like it’s going to either burst or break, I’m not sure which. “I’d like you to meet my mother.”
CHAPTER 36
AUREN
All I know is thatI can’t have heard right.
So I keep waiting for my ears to correct my mind or for Slade to correct himself or for the woman to laugh and shake her head.
But none of that happens.
I’d like you to meet my mother.
When I realize that his words aren’t being taken back, I look from her to Slade. “Your...mother.”
He nods slowly.
I dart my eyes back to her because I don’t want to be rude and talk about her as if she isn’t standing right here. I study her again, closer this time. There are very faint lines next to her eyes, a dusting of silvery hairs right in front of her ears, but those are the only things that could possibly age her, and even still, it doesn’t. She looks as young as me.
She’s smiling at me so openly, and I’m struck with the green of her eyes and the shape of her mouth. Now that I’m no longer worried about a lover, I can recognize that there’s a big family resemblance. But she looks like his sister, not his mother.
