Page 165 of Huntress

Beyond that was a kitchen, cozy and spacious enough to feed a small army. The counter and island were topped with cream tiles; the floor a rich russet brown. Accents on the cabinets were a rustic mushroom orange, and the sink was run with a hand pump that drew water from a deep well.

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything, but the home was untouched by vandals. Saint stood in the middle of everything, shoulders slumped and looking for all the world like a lost little kid hoping his parents would come out of hiding.

Elsie hugged him from behind, holding him together while his world came crumbling apart. Their bond flooded open, and grief hit her like a tsunami. Saint shrank, curling into himself as great, heaving sobs racked his entire body.

“They’re really gone. My family, my friends, every person I knew and loved. Gone.”

Saint had held onto the hope that maybe someone had survived against the odds, but faced with the evidence, there was nothing left to hold onto but her. They clung to each other, riding out the tidal waves that ebbed and flowed in a torrent of pain.

They stayed that way until he slowly quieted, sniffling and swiping angrily at his tears. “Sorry–”

“Don’t ever apologize for having a heart,” Elsie said, stopping him and holding his face in both her hands. Her words made his lip tremble, tears welling in his reddened eyes, but he reigned it back in with deep, steadying breaths.

The sun had set on his grief, and the house was dark. Saint took Elsie’s hand and brought her across the living area and through a door to the bedrooms.

“The bathroom is in here.” He opened a door to show her.

Leading her up the stairs, they went into his bedroom. He struck a match and lit a lantern, then slid the curtains aside before opening the door that led out to a balcony big enough for the hammock strung up out there. Sweeping the blanket and pillows off the bed, he took them out and beat the dust off before bringing them back inside.

Elsie helped him put the bed back together.

“I need to wash up. My mother would flay the skin from my hide if she knew I’d come in the house filthy. Feel free to look around.” He opened a drawer and pulled out two sets of pajamas, passing one to her, then left.

Elsie sat on the edge of his bed, letting herself soak in the weight of this place. Of what it once was to her mate, and what it had become. All of his best memories were made here with his brother and parents, and Cornick had ripped it all away. Gods, her poor demon was miserable.

She hopped to her feet, determined to make it a little easier for him. Pulling on his pajamas, she had to go without the pants that kept falling off her hips. The shirt was enough to cover half her thigh, anyway.

Making her way down to the kitchen, she looked through cabinets and drawers until she found some cleaning supplies. She lit a few more lanterns and started wiping everything down, clearing away a year’s worth of dust. Once the kitchen was clean, she moved to the living room.

She was cleaning the mantel when he came to find her, standing in the doorway and watching her work for a minute. Without a word, he fetched another cloth and started helping. They brought the blankets and rug outside and shook them out under the moon. Moving through the house, room by room, they brought his home back to his mother’s standards.

When they finished, Elsie made tea, and they snuggled up on one of the sofas to drink it. Saint’s hand stroked her arm, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss against her temple.

“I love you.”

Elsie gazed into the warmth of his eyes, a soft smile on her lips. She’d known that for a while now; she’d caught it in their bond, and in how he looked at her. She noticed it every day in how careful he was with her, how gentle and protective. It settled a bit of the ache between them to hear him say it, though.

“I love you, too,” she cupped his face with one hand, fingers tracing his beard.

They spent the next days finding his people and burying them. Each new discovery of skeletal remains was as difficult as the last. Tension around the uncertainty of when they would find his family built to a crescendo, collapsing into relief clouded with guilt and pain at the loss of a neighbor, a teacher, or a friend.

There wasn’t much to identify them with. Saint had to search his memories, matching what he knew with bits of hair, jewelry, or cloth still evident after a year exposed to the elements, wildlife, and any demons coming through.

They found his mother first, and then his father, but his younger brother Damian was among the twelve they’d discovered were missing.

“Maybe–”

“No.” Saint shook his head. “I won’t make the mistake of hoping for a better outcome again. Especially not for Damian. I don’t want to imagine him sharing the same fate as the two Cornick kept in that fucking place.”

When the last wolfhound was in the ground, they held a funeral, Saint naming off each person and a memory they’d shared. When he finished, Elsie offered a prayer to Santa Muerte, asking the goddess to guide them and keep their spirits from harm.

Elsie didn’t mention leaving, and Saint didn’t bring it up. They began fixing the broken bits of houses smashed by invading hunters and demons, and when they finished that, they moved on to weed and tend the gardens, restoring them to what they once were.

“We can live here, if you want,” she said, her hands covered in dirt, hair up in a messy bun. The air smelled of fresh-baked bread from one of his mother’s recipes. “It’ll have to wait until I’m freed from the hunters, but we can come back here.”

“Would you?” His eyes lit up.

“It’s your home, Saint, and my home is you. It’s peaceful, secluded, and perfect. I love it here.”