Chapter 59
“I’m coming with you.”
He looks at me briefly, not even lingering to think about it. “No, it’s dangerous.”
“I don’t care. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you go back to Raywald.” A growl seeps into his voice, but since when do I care about threats? I step into his personal space, forcing Owen to look me in the eyes, and say slowly and with intention, “You don’t even know where you are going, and I am not going to leave Gray for a minute longer. He needs help, and you need me. I am coming with you.”
Owen studies me for a moment as if trying to see the reason behind my determination—but I don’t care what he sees there. I hold his gaze, not hiding the ache of my heart, the turmoil of my mind. I am not going to let go easily, and finally Owen nods and turns to Harry. “Will you be able to carry her?”
“I’m not that old.” Harry chuckles and looks at me with a teasing glint in his grin. “Only don’t squeeze me too tight, young lady—I’m not the same as I was ten years ago.”
I huff and open my mouth to tell him not to worry, I am not interested—but the words get stuck in my throat. In the corner of my eyes, Owen pulls off the rest of his clothes, and before I even look at him properly, his body starts to change. His legs turn shorter, his nose—longer, his back curves forward, and silver fur bursts through his skin. It doesn’t take even two seconds for him to shift, and instead of Owen there is now a huge silver wolf looking at us with bright, blue eyes full of impatience.
Oh. I blink. So that’s how we’re gonna get there?
Gray P.O.V
"Here. Drink this."
I crack my eyes open and swallow another groan from the pulse of headache in response to the bright light of candles. Someone holds a small cup in front of my nose, the scent of herbs and spices hitting my nose. Is it some kind of brew? I stare at the cup, struggling to focus, and look up at the woman who holds it.
"Who are you?" I manage to say. My voice is hoarse and scratchy from the groans and heavy breathing of the last few hours. But I need to know the answer in case I have to get out of here as fast as possible.
I didn't have enough strength in me to assess the place when I finally stepped inside, following the wolf spirits' beckon. I don't even remember how I ended up in an armchair, half-covered in blankets and dirt. How much time has passed since then? I'm not sure. My mind has been drifting in and out of consciousness, but I’ve tried to keep an eye on all three of them—a young man, a girl my age, and an older woman in her forties.
I'm weak and feverish, slumped in the corner of their house, so perhaps I shouldn't be so picky when they offer me help. But I know that all three of them are witches, and quite powerful at that. Every inch of the hut stinks of that specific, ozone-like scent of magic energy, and I cannot allow myself to relax. While the wolf spirit is too weakened by the confines of the curse, it is up to my human senses to keep both of us safe and alive.
My abrupt question doesn't seem to bother the woman though. She passes the cup to her daughter and straightens up, hands on her waist. Her gray eyes are intelligent, the curl of her lips is warm, and her features are round and soft, little wrinkles appearing in the corners of her eyes as she chuckles.
"My name is Eleanor, if that makes it easier," she finally says, as if it should be enough to reassure me, and gestures at the cup. "Now, drink this if you don't want to pass out again. Then, we can talk."
Do I have a choice, really? Well, I do, of course: shatter into pieces from the curse or trust a witch. The second option has never worked out for me so far—but at least it’ll give me a chance to get out of here. If I choose the curse, I risk staying here till my last breath.
After another beat of hesitance, I finally nod at the girl, and she holds the cup to my lips. I'd be happy to do it myself, but my arms are too heavy to lift, and my hands are still trembling with weakness. I take a careful sip of the drink, but it tastes of nothing special, only grass and herbal oils.
While I drink a little more, my gaze lands on the girl, and she offers me an encouraging smile. She has long golden hair, gray eyes, the round features of her mother, and an imperceptible air of softness. And maybe I'd even fall for it and deem her innocent—if not for the steady thrum of energy oozing off her. Even with a few inches between us, I can feel the power she’s exuding, and it makes me tense in her presence. When the girl accidentally brushes my arm while taking the cup away, I flinch and almost knock the cup out of her grip.
"Oh, sorry," the girl immediately murmurs with an embarrassed look, balancing the cup in her hands.
"Gwen," her brother drawls, his deep voice full of accusation. Between a brother and a sister, you don't even have to say anything—all words of disapproval were learned long ago.
"What?" The girl looks up at him with pursed lips and a fiery glare.
"It was an accident."
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that they're siblings. The girl and the boy look very similar, practically the same, only his hair is a dark hue of brown with…is that gray hair on his temple? I squint at him, trying to see it better, and the young man gives me a questioning glare before turning to Gwen.
"You have to be careful with strangers."
"I was, I just leaned a little too far."
"Why? I told you not to touch him."
"And I told you it was an accident."
"Can't you find a better time for this?" Eleanor cuts in with a reprimanding glare, huffs, and turns to me again. "Do you feel better?"
Oh. I frown a little. I do, actually. I wasn’t paying attention to it while the siblings were bickering, but the itch does feel lighter. The wolf spirit is still eerily quiet, but at least I can feel its heartbeat in mine, and that is reassuring in and of itself. I look at Eleanor warily and nod, receiving a smile in return.
"Good. It's only temporary, though." She moves to take a seat on a wooden bench, far enough away not to bother me but close enough to be able to speak freely. "You got yourself into a nasty thing in these woods, huh?"
Does she think I'm gonna lose my guard just because she acts all nice and friendly? I fidget, trying not to let my marks touch the armchair, and look around. I take in the house and the room briefly—apparently, we are in some kind of living room that opens to a kitchen full of wooden cupboards and dried herbs—and look at Eleanor again.