Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (4 page)

She gasped as a low, silvery flood lit the
room from the window pane, a cloud moving from across the face of a
full moon. The light was dim but she could see his profile.

“You’re not wearing a mask.” She reached out
without thinking, but he grabbed her hand, shaking his head,
turning away.

“Don’t.” Silas stood, his back to the
window, his face in shadow. “I should go to bed.”

The light dimmed, the moon playing hide and
seek, as he moved away.

“Do you think the wolf will come back?” she
asked as he opened the door.

“She was a lone wolf.”

She nodded. “My father always said they were
the most dangerous kind.”

They were both silent, the air pregnant with
the pause.

“My father…” She said the words again and
they both let them dangle at the edge of comprehension. Her breath
had turned to ice in her throat, her body moving from hot to cold
and back to hot again. The world tilted up and down and back and
she opened her mouth to speak, the first memory coming, the rest
falling like dominoes behind it. It was a horrifying relief, that
flood of memories, and all she could manage was a distressed
cry.

Silas was by her side in an instant, pulling
her trembling body into his arms.

“He killed my father,” she choked, hiding
her face against his chest. He wore a pair of white long-underwear
and moved like a ghost in the darkness.

“Who?” he asked sharply.

“Oh my god.” The tears came in a flood like
the memories and she clung to him, feeling his arms tighten at her
back. “Carlos killed my father! He tried to kill me too!”

He prompted her like he had been for days.
“What do you remember?”

“Everything.
Everything.”
It was
true. Her name, her life, her near-death, Jolee remembered it all
in one terrifying, mind-blowing instant. “I’m so afraid.” She
quivered. “I want to go home.”

He stroked her hair. “You’re safe here.”

“I don’t have a home.” She sobbed against
his chest. This realization was the worst. For days she’d wondered
about her family, the people who might be missing her, worried and
waiting for her to return. Did she have a husband? Children? A
mother and a father?

“Your father’s dead?” he asked.

“Years ago.”

“So where is home?”

“With my husband,” she whispered, closing
her eyes at the memory of Carlos, who he was, what he had done. Her
emotions hadn’t caught up with her brain, but they were coming—she
could feel them lurking in the shadows, ready to spring her limbs
and squeeze her heart.

Silas stiffened at her response. “But you
said you don’t have a home…”

“I can’t ever go back there,” she confessed,
realizing the truth of her statement. Home wasn’t safe. There was
nowhere in the world that would be safe from Carlos.

“Why?”

She realized how cryptic and strange her
words must be and tried to explain. “Because Carlos is my husband.
He’s the man who tried to kill me. Those men you found, they were
his. He hired them, told them, to kill me.” They both sat in
silence, letting that knowledge sink in. “What am I going to
do?”

He sighed, rocking her in the darkness. “You
don’t need to think about it now.”

“You found me,” she whispered, incredulous.
He had been her rescuer from the beginning, but she hadn’t
understood just what he had saved her from, and clearly he hadn’t
either. It wasn’t just the accident—in fact, the accident had been
part of her salvation. “You saved me from those men. They were
going to kill me.”

“They’re dead.” His voice was like
steel.

“If that elk hadn’t come along…”

“But it did.”

She tried to hide the sob rising in her
throat and it came out anyway. He tried to hold her but she
struggled, pushing at him. “I thought if I could remember,
everything would be okay again. But it’s worse. Everything’s
worse.”

She twisted and buried her head in the
pillow, still hiding her tears, although they were coming, whether
she wanted them or not.

“I’m sorry,” Silas murmured. She felt his
big hand pressed against her shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay here
for as long as you need to.”

She turned toward the window. The moon was a
high, yellow, silver-lidded eye. “I guess I don’t have anywhere
else to go…”

Silas stood. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I want to go to sleep.” She closed her
eyes. “I wish I hadn’t remembered anything.”

“Try to sleep.” He moved to the door and
then turned to ask, “Do you remember your name?”

“Jolee Mercier.”

He stood for a long time. So long she turned
to see if he was still there, framed in the doorway.

“Silas?”

“You should know.” He cleared his throat.
“Carlos Mercier is my brother.”

Jolee gave a short, sharp laugh, but the man
didn’t return her mirth. He was serious. It wasn’t possible,
couldn’t be true. Carlos’s brother was gone, dead, that’s what he’d
told her, told everyone. But that was all she’d ever known about
her husband’s only sibling. She tried to remember more and
couldn’t.

“Goodnight, Jolee.”

She tried to see him in the moonlight but
could only discern his outline. “Goodnight, Silas.”

Overwhelmed with the crushing impact of
chance, she turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes,
wishing again for oblivion.

* * * *

The woman was impossible.

He’d wanted to take her into a hospital when
the snow finally stopped, but Jolee refused, too afraid Carlos
could find the records, trace her somehow.

“There are privacy laws,” he’d reminded her,
but she just gave him a long, steady look and shook her head.

She did seem to be getting better, her cut
healing, memory returning, but he would have felt better if he’d
had confirmation from an emergency room doctor, or at least a few
x-rays or an MRI.

Then he’d tried to take her into town for
clothes. “You can’t live in my t-shirts forever,” he’d teased. But
she didn’t want to go. Even when he’d offered to drive three hours
away, to a different town, she refused.

“He’ll find me.”

Silas didn’t point out the holes in her
logic. If Carlos found the car, if he discovered her body missing
from the wreck, that would prompt a sweep of the area—and being
anywhere near the accident site would then be the worst place to
be. No, he didn’t emphasize that fact at all.

But he did bolster his security around the
cabin—not lights or alarms, but traps and snares. And he watched,
and waited and tried not to leave her alone. But he couldn’t always
be there. He’d had to run to town for supplies, going three hours
away, as he promised, getting them staples like sugar and salt,
things he only had enough stocked of for one. He’d bought her
clothes too, some jeans and shirts, both a little too snug—she
seemed smaller to him than she was, apparently—along with underwear
and socks.

“No bras?” Jolee had asked in wonder as she
pawed through the bags.

Silas had flushed and shrugged and turned
away to finish putting away groceries. What did he know about
women’s clothes? The truth was, he had looked at bras, lacy,
strappy things, small and soft in his hands. They made him dizzy,
and the woman who had come out to help him had just made him feel
more uncomfortable, so he’d left. He bought underwear for her
somewhere else, plain white cotton, the kind that came in a plastic
package, the kind he didn’t have to handle or touch. That seemed
safer.

Of course, now the woman was walking around
braless in t-shirts and driving him further to distraction. Lesson
learned. But she’d really liked the oranges he brought home and had
delighted in the bar of chocolate he’d splurged on. That alone made
the trip worth it, in spite of her protest and worry and constant
questions.

Silas wasn’t used to living with someone—he
knew that was part of it. And the mask was a bone of contention
between them that wouldn’t go away. He hated wearing it, she hated
him wearing it, and yet he couldn’t take it off. Revealing himself
to her would be a mistake, he was sure of it, and so he tried to
deflect, change the subject, make a joke instead. It didn’t always
work.

Just that day, she’d been eating her lunch
in bed. He still made her take a mid-afternoon nap, even if she
protested, like a child, “I’m not tired!” She always slept though,
and he would bring her lunch on a tray. He liked seeing that sleepy
smile on her face when she woke.

“What is this?” she’d asked, sipping from
her spoon. “It’s so good!”

“Elk stew.” He’d had his before bringing
hers, but now sat in the chair beside her bed while she ate to keep
her company. The chair was a convenience for her nightmares, which
came and went, but she liked to fall asleep after a bad dream
holding his hand.

“
My
elk?” Her head lifted, eyes
wide.

He raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember
having something to do with bringing him down.”

“Oh sure, take all the credit.” Jolee
laughed, spooning another bite. “Just because you tracked him, shot
him, dressed him…”

Silas smiled at her teasing. “I admit, it’s
the only thing I’ve ever eaten killed by BMW.”

“Does food taste better when you’ve hunted
it yourself?” she inquired, drinking her milk. Big Anna, his Irish
Dexter cow, provided them with fresh, whole milk, and the three
chickens, which the wolf had been eyeing, he was sure, when she
showed up on the hill, gave them eggs for breakfast every day.

“I think it does.” He nodded. “Wait ’til I
make the chops.”

“Mmm.” Her eyes lit up. He loved the way
they did that whenever she got excited about something. “I haven’t
had elk chops in years. My father used to make them.”

“He was a hunter?” Silas had asked her as
much as he dared about her family and the circumstances surrounding
her father’s death, although he’d been careful about what he, in
turn, shared with her about his own life.

Carlos hated the unions, and it didn’t
surprise him at all to hear he’d been getting rid of loggers like
Jolee’s father who were organizing, although it made him furious.
But most things about Carlos made him angry, although very little
surprised him anymore.

Jolee smiled. “Know any loggers out here who
aren’t?”

“Good point,” he conceded. He watched her
eating and felt a deep ache in his chest. She looked a great deal
like Isabelle, and he supposed that was one of the reasons Carlos
had married her. That, and the fact that he’d killed her father and
left her practically an orphan right out of high school. Carlos had
created the perfect damsel in distress to rescue. Besides, his
brother lived by the credo—keep your friends close and your enemies
closer.

Silas noticed her looking at him and he let
his gaze shift to the window, the pine trees sagging like a cluster
of fat brides under the weight of the snow. He tried to keep
himself from her as much as he could, to reveal as little as
possible while still maintaining her trust, but it wasn’t easy when
she looked at him like that. He sensed the question coming before
she even asked it.

“Why don’t you want me to see you?”

“Jolee, please…” He held up his hand,
shaking his head, and stood. This was the easiest way to end a
conversation he didn’t want to have.

“Just tell me why.” Her voice was soft,
pleading, and goddamnit, it made him want to relent. “Is it so much
to ask?”

He tried not to carry the guilt of it,
because part of him wanted to tell her, wanted to share his life—or
lack thereof, anymore—with this woman. Then he reminded himself of
their situation, that this was his brother’s wife, a woman who was
in serious danger, someone he now had to protect. Taking off his
hunting mask and scaring her away wasn’t going to do anyone any
good.

“I’ll be out back,” he replied gruffly,
heading toward the door.

“Silas, you don’t need to run away.”

Her words made him turn on her, in spite of
his best intentions. He snapped. “I’m not running away. There are
things to do around here. Food doesn’t appear out of thin air you
know. I’ve got wood to chop.”

He heard her gasp when he slammed the door
behind him.

It felt good to be outside and he stalked
past the shed, around to the wood pile, grabbing the maul and
swinging it at a piece of white oak already set on the block. He
set about his task, easing into a steady, lulling pace, working
hard, working up a sweat. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, peeling
it off, the cold air feeling painfully good against his skin.
Picking up the maul, he got back to work, setting wood, swinging in
a full, round arc, hearing that satisfying ‘pop’ as the oak split
apart, flying to either side of the block. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Splitting wood was like meditation, repetitive that way, giving his
mind some freedom.

And he needed some freedom, because ever
since he’d followed that elk onto the two-track and found Jolee in
the snow, he’d been far too distracted. Life had taught him not to
care, not to get too emotionally invested, but this situation had
sunk him deep into something he wasn’t ready for and didn’t want.
But what choice did he have?

Until this had happened, he’d had a purpose.
Spring would be here before long, and his plans would come to full
fruition. And he was sure to find Isabelle by then, he
reasoned—although after so many years of looking, even he had to
admit to losing some hope. There was a damned lot of land to cover,
and he’d explored more of it than probably anyone in the history of
the state.

But then this giant wrench in the works had
come along…

He had his brother’s wife locked up in his
cabin—a brother who thought he was dead. Hell, Carlos might even
believe his wife was now dead, if they didn’t do too much
investigation around the wreckage—at least until spring, when the
way down the ravine was less treacherous.