Page 20 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Removing herself from the wall of sketches, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I suppose that coat of yours isn’t gonna mend itself. I should start working on it before it gets too late,” she said suddenly.

The Horseman didn’t blink at the blatant shift in conversation. Instead, he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her. Draping white sleeves adorned strong, lean arms, and a solid chest filled out his shirt. Without his jacket, her eyes lingered on the shapely figure beneath the tattered garments.

She shook her head and sat on his straw bed to remove herself from the visual temptation. But she paused over the heat emanating from the fabric. Katrina presumed ghosts to be cold creatures incapable of producing heat like humans could.

It should be impossible. He wasn’t human—no one could survive without their head on their shoulders. But the warmth remained as a strange clue she could not decipher.

Silence filled the small room as she worked. The rhythmic motion of her needle going in and out of the fabric kept her mind occupied. It distracted her from thinking of her secret guardian angel, who had watched over her all this time. Heat filled her cheeks. The Horseman watched her with curious eyes as he settled on the floor.

“Do you have any memory of when you first had consciousness?” she asked to distract herself.

He considered her question with a long pause. “Yes, I woke to a field nearby.”

“Perhaps we should plan a visit there. I heard it’s wise to retrace one’s steps if one wishes to regain certain memories. It might work for you as well.”

“It might,” he whispered.

A cold draft blew through the broken slats of the roof. She shivered.

“You’re cold,” he said. It was not a question, and before she could reassure him, her fingers trembled over her needle.

Rustling sounded before something warm and heavy wrapped around her shoulders. She peered down at the thick, tattered cloak draped over the length of her body.

Her breath caught when their eyes locked. The light flickered before he turned away, and she bit back a smile. The smell of rain, smoke, and leather filled her nose as she wrapped the cloak tighter.

“Thank you,” she said.

For once, she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth enveloping her heart.

Chapter eleven

The Horseman watched from the shadows of the forest. Darkness had been his constant companion, yet the light of Katrina’s presence—her quiet glow as she strolled home with her maid arm-in-arm—drew him in. A pleasant heat curled around his ribs at her soft smile.

Since saving her, he felt the lost fragments of himself struggling to fuse, like gluing a shattered pot with missing shards. Yet, the closer he got to her, the more the uncertainty and fear coiled within him, warning him to stay away from the past lurking in his memories.

What if the truth of who he was and what he’d done was far worse than forgetting? Would Katrina want anything to do with him when everything was revealed?

But most of all, would he be able to live with himself?

He must have done something to deserve this fate. No innocent person would be cursed to live as a headless monster to roam the woods. Whatever he’d done, it must have been wretched, indeed.

A familiar, tall figure walked up the road, crossing paths with Katrina and her maid. Something tightened inside him, like a ball of thorny knots in his stomach, when he recognized the man.

Brom Bones.

The Horseman’s fists tightened as the man approached Katrina and tipped his hat toward her. Katrina gave Brom a coy smile, and a wave of heat burned through the Horseman’s veins like molten fire.

Although he watched from a safe distance, their voices carried on the wind.

“Why, Mister Van Brunt,” Katrina said, “what a lovely surprise.”

“Not as lovely as you are, my dear Katrina,” Brom said, reaching for her hand and placing a kiss on it. A spike drove into the Horseman’s stomach.

He didn’t understand what this feeling was—this outpouring of rage. Was it protectiveness? Or something else?

Katrina removed her hand, and a dainty giggle escaped her rosy mouth. The spike stabbed deeper until the Horseman’s breath snagged in his throat.

“You’re such a charmer,” she said.