Page 9 of Gold & Shadow

“Oh,” I said, suddenly flustered. This meant telling Orson where I lived, and I was certain he would come after us once I had stolen his necklace, but I suppose I didn’t have much choice. If only we had a neighbor closer than three miles away, I would send the message to them to protect my sisters. As it was, I hoped Izzy knew enough defensive spell-work to keep out an angry bear.

Plus, Victor and the necklace would be long gone by the time Orson realized what I’d done.

I wondered for a moment why Orson lived in this cabin, so isolated from any other elves or humans or shifters. I didn’t know if bears had packs, but clearly, Orson didn’t.

“Lis,” Orson said, nudging me with his shoulder. “The directions.”

“Right,” I cleared my throat, coming out of my reverie and trying to ignore how much I liked how he said my name. “It’s about ten miles west. A cottage on the edge of the Deep Wood. About three miles northeast of Mysthaven.”

Mysthaven was the closest small village to our cottage, populated mostly by out-of-work farmers who were struggling as badly as we were in the long winter. We helped where we could, and in exchange, they gave us work and kept our secrets.

Most half-elves or quarter-elves lived in tiny settler villages between the human and elven kingdoms, neither wholly accepted nor welcome in either. Victor Gold, though a human, conducted his business in Fairwind, the only major city between the human kingdom of Stalheim and the elven kingdom of Elandor.

Few were foolhardy enough to live as close to the Deep Wood and the shifter territories.

Except for us, of course.

“Why in the name of all the gods do you livethere?” Orson asked, frowning down at me.

I shrugged. “We like our privacy,” I replied, giving him a pointed look that said,you’re one to judge.

Orson growled, nodding to Owl, who flapped off with a subdued hoot. “He’ll deliver the message,” he said, climbing off the bed and offering me a hand. “You and your sisters should move.”

“Excuse me,” I scoffed, crossing my arms and refusing his offer of assistance, “but you don’t get an opinion.”

“It’s dangerous,” Orson growled. I was kneeling on the bed still, and he moved closer so he was towering above me as if to demonstratethe danger.

“We are powerful weavers, I’ll have you know,” I replied, poking him in the chest. The golden amulet hung temptingly over his shirt, and I tried not to stare at it as I continued. “We don’t need amaleto protect us.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Orson argued, brows furrowing in irritation as he caught my hand to prevent a second poke. “But there’s worse than me out here.”

“Do you think I cannot handle you?” I asked, leaning back to try to put some distance between us.

Orson caught my waist with his free hand, caging me in. “Oh, I think you could,” he answered, his voice skittering up my bones as he pulled me closer. “And I would very much like to see you try.”

He grinned a little, his canines flashing a bright white and sending a jolt of panic through me.

Panic, and desire. There was something seriously wrong with me.

“Stop,” I said, a bit more breathlessly than I planned.

Orson stepped away immediately, his hands releasing me so fast I nearly lost my balance on the bed. “As you wish. I can wait until you ask.”

“I will not be asking,” I declared, scowling at the presumption.

I hobbled off the bed toward the narrow stairs, each step painful but manageable. My stomach rumbled, my fever clearly and truly broken, and my hunger returning.

Orson rumbled a laugh behind me as he followed me down the stairs. “We’ll see.”

Chapter 6

It proved to be very difficult to keep my distance from Orson while trapped in a tiny cabin with him. We kept bumping into each other and brushing against each other, and by the afternoon I was convinced he was doing it on purpose just to annoy me.

Unable to do much but hobble around, I settled on reading by the fire. Orson had only a few books—one on recognizing mushroom varieties, two volumes of history that looked very dull, and a battered old book of fairy tales that seemed rather out of place. Isettled down with the book of fairy tales while Orson chipped at a chunk of wood with a knife, glasses firmly back in place, hacking pieces off and grunting in satisfaction every so often.

“You need a larger library,” I complained, lamenting his lack of selection. I had grown tired of the fairy tales after only the third one. They were very old fashioned, full of females being rescued by big, strong males, and they reminded me uncomfortably of my current situation. I wasn’t used to being rescued, and it made me feel strangely unsettled.

He grunted, the only reply I tended to get when I asked questions.