Landing right outside the front door of the smaller secondary home on the old Faust property, I unfurled my winged body using the shadows to expand back into my human shape.
Looking down at the welcome mat, the apple had toppled over onto its side like she had placed it there hastily.
Taking the offering, I rubbed it against the sleeve of my hoodie just to see the color shine before taking a preliminary bite. The sweet flesh exploded across my tongue, but it still left me craving something else. Something a little more carnal.
Knocking on the front door, I couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw me here.
However, no answer came.
There was a mystical connection that ran deep in my bones, telling me she was here. Whatever minuscule amount of my blood that had been left inside her practically pulsed from behind the door. My mate was definitely here, her presence a steadycall to all that I was.
Knowing the bedroom was located at the back of the house, I wasn’t surprised that she may not have heard me.
Being the considerate gentleman I was, I walked around to the small one-car garage that used to house carriages back when this building was first erected. At the back of the garage, there was a boarded-up entrance. It was large enough for a child to fit through, or for an adult to crouch through. In its former life, it served as a sort of doggy door.
Mr. and Mrs. McKenna, the caretakers who lived here over a hundred years ago, were known to have many of the farm’s animals coming and going from this carriage house. Dogs, cats, goats, the occasional rogue pig, and even a few birds looking for breadcrumbs.
Lodging the apple between my upper and lower teeth, I freed up both my hands to work on dislodging the nailed-in door.
One, two tugs on the small black handle, and the wood groaned before releasing with a squeak louder than I would have liked. Crouching through the door, I slipped inside the darkness of the garage.
I took another bite of the apple as I straightened up, and I assessed the current state inside the former carriage house.
Well, this was less of a garage and more of a godsdamn minefield. I hit my shin on several ill-placed boxes, and a metal bar jutted out and jabbed me in the kidney when I tried to avoid a nest of extension cords.
I grunted with the prodding impact, but it was a small price to pay to answer the call of her soul beckoning mine. The jolt had knocked my grip on the apple loose, causing it to fall onto the dust-ridden floor, where it rolled off into the abyss.
Hopefully, my midnight snack was the only casualty of the evening.
If it weren’t for my exceptional eyesight in the pitch black of the garage, I was certain I could have died in here and never been found for another fifty years.
Finally reaching the door into the main house, I pushed it open slowly. The dimly lit interior of the house was just as I recalled it. Except the details all screamed Harlow. Unapologetically simple. The country kitchen was tidy, or unused, I wasn’t sure which.
Above the coffee maker was a decorative sign that had me stifling my laughter, just barely managing to maintain my silent presence here. The rectangular signage was made of tin and had pumpkins and coffee cups on it. On top of one of the larger pumpkins sat a small black cat. The curly lettering read: Pumpkin Spice is Purrfectly Wicked.
She and Bale could at least agree on one thing: a preference for pumpkin spice. I leaned more towards the flavor of apples, something I had grown up on before the curse of the crow had been cast upon me.
Still grinning to myself, I passed a small alcove. The former space was where Mrs. McKenna used to sew horse blankets, patch up seed bags, and mend Mr. McKenna’swork gloves when they got too worn in the palms from his days tending to the Faust farmstead.
The recessed space now functioned as a place where books were in neat stacks. Bins contained various tools, bottles of various agents, thread, parchment, and swatches of leather and bookcloth.
So, this was where she spent her time when she wasn’t occupied by Bale and me. I could already picture her sitting here, intently focused, and hunched over a book. Her small hands focused on every delicate movement, biting her lower lip, a strand of her dark hair hanging freely in front of her face.
The imagery had my cock growing harder in my pants, pressing against the zipper uncomfortably. Especially when I imagined bending her over this workbench and burying myself inside her cunt. The idea of hearing her crying out my name with each measured stroke of my dick was something I’d fight a lion barehanded for.
Everything in the one-story home was quiet, except for the occasional rustling of movements coming from the bedroom. Drawn to see her, even if she was fast asleep, was a pull too strong to ignore.
Silently, I crept closer to the bedroom door, which was left slightly ajar. My hand gently eased it open wider as I peered inside. As I suspected, she was curled up in her bed. The moonlight coming in through the window cut through the shadows enough that I could see her face.
Harlow’s eyes were shut; she looked serene as she lay there on her side, blissfully unaware of my presence.Those full lips, the color of early autumn dusk, were slightly parted. The strap of her black camisole had slipped down her shoulder, the gothic purple sheets drawn up to her waist.
I knew I should walk away. I knew I shouldn’t be here. But what I also knew was that I couldn’t survive without breathing in every inch of her. Now, more than ever, whatever this energy was between us sang its loudest melody. Instinct overrode common sense.
Then, as if her body sensed the nearness of mine, she rolled onto her back. Not waking, just shifting her position. One arm draped over her stomach, with the other remaining tucked beneath her pillow. The curtain of her long locks of hair remained an obsidian pool behind her head. Her chest rose and fell lightly, even breaths in the depths of slumber.
I wondered what she was dreaming of. Deep down, I hoped it was of me. Hoped that she craved me as much as I craved her. That she couldn’t fathom this world without me in it, worshiping her.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I admired the goddess before me. She was so fucking beautiful, and I’d make sure she always knew it.
