Page 8 of Gold & Shadow

“I…” I gasped as his body pressed into mine again, finally jogging some common sense into my brain. “Stop.”

Orson rolled away, leaving me oddly cold and bereft as he stretched, yawning loudly as if he hadn’t just been essentially dry-humping my backside.

“That was unnecessary,” I snapped, sitting up and pulling a blanket over my shoulders to cover myself.

“You enjoyed it,” Orson replied, giving me a look of such male superiority I wanted to smack it off his face. “As did I.”

“That will not be happening again,” I said, not bothering to deny what we clearly both knew was true. “I don’t even know you. And you don’t know me. I could be anyone.”

“I know enough,” Orson said, having the decency to throw on a shirt. He tossed me one too, so huge it would drown me, but better than wearing only bandages. “You’re a thief and a liar and have some kind of magic I don’t understand yet. And you have nice breasts.”

“Gods,” I growled, pulling the shirt over my head. It smelled of Orson, like pine and cinnamon. I winced at the pain in my side, but it felt less fierce than the day before—more a dull ache than a stabbing pain. “I’m leaving.”

“You can try,” Orson conceded, leaning against the railing of the loft with his arms crossed as he watched me test my weight on my ankle. I could hobble, which was a significant improvement. “But it looks like we may be snowed in.”

“What?” I scrambled to my knees, ignoring the jolt in my ankle as I rose to look out the tiny window above the bed. The blizzard had died down in the night, but snow was still falling on the fresh, white blanket, piled high enough that I could have jumped out of the window and landed safely. “Fuck.”

“Are you in a rush?” Orson asked, his voice oddly strained at the question. He had left off his glasses, and I was trying to decide which version of him I liked better.

Both. The answer was both.

I sighed, sitting back on the bed and holding my injured ankle out before me. “I have six sisters waiting for me,” I confessed. “They’re probably worried sick.”

“Six,” Orson whistled as if impressed. “I’ve never known an elf to bear so many young.”

“My mother was human,” I said, looking up at him.

“Was?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “We’re on our own now, and they’re counting on me.” I was annoyed with myself for how my voice wobbled at this. It had been a long two days, and I was sore and tired, and the thought of Izzy and Lena, my elder sisters, trampling out into the woods in search of me terrified me.

“For what, Little Thief?” Orson asked, crouching before me on the bed. He put a big, warm hand on my knee, which steadied me somewhat, but made me feel unsettled in other ways.

“I was…doing work when you found me here,” I hedged, biting my lower lip. “All of my sisters work, but I tend to bring in the most coin.”

“What kind of work?” he asked, his voice more curious than suspicious.

“Odd jobs here and there,” I equivocated, hoping he wouldn’t press further. “Anyway, I was due back two nights ago.”

“Hmm,” Orson said, looking thoughtful. “Do you want to write them a note?”

“How would you deliver it?” I laughed, indicating the window. “There’s at least ten feet of snow out there.”

“I wouldn’t,” Orson replied, his beard twitching in another grin. “My friend would.”

“Your friend is an owl?” I asked once I had penned a quick note to Izzy that was vague enough not to give me away to Orson.

“You act like this surprises you,” Orson replied, scratching under the snowy owl’s beak. It rustled its feathers happily, holding out its leg obediently for the note. “Animals are loyal companions. It was this one that told me you’d broken into my house.”

“Snoop,” I hissed at the creature. This must have been the owl watching me the night I entered the cabin. Orson laughed, taking my note and tying it to the bird’s leg with a piece of string.

The windows on the ground floor were all snowed shut, so Orson had opened the loft window and whistled to summon the creature. It sat patiently on the lintel as flakes of snow fluttered in. I had to keep brushing them off the pillows so they wouldn’tsoak.

“Owl and I have a mutual arrangement,” Orson said, tying a second knot around the note. “I feed him scraps, and he keeps an eye on the cabin when I hunt.”

“His name is justOwl?” I asked with a scoff. Owl gave me a haughty look, ruffling his feathers.

“He can’t exactly talk, Little Thief,” Orson replied, giving me an amused look. “So I call him what he is. Tell him where to go.”