by Frost Kay
“If he hadn’t, you would have missed out on a grandchild, abuelita.”
“So true.” She crossed her arms and scowled at Hazel. “Now, what am I to do with you?”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” she answered respectfully.
The old woman scanned her from head to toe, and her lips pursed in distaste. “I don’t know if you could handle it.”
“I’ll do my best.” Until she escaped.
“You brought me an Untouched.” The old woman tsked. “No claws, fangs, scales, wings, or camouflage. How is your hearing and sight?”
“Normal.”
She snorted. “What is normal?”
Hell, if Hazel knew.
She stiffened when the old woman leaned closer and ran a claw down her skin. A red welt appeared, but it didn’t bleed.
“Your skin is so thin, I could tear through it like paper. How have you survived this long?”
Lifting her chin, she met the woman’s dark brown eyes squarely. “With skill and daggers.”
The woman smiled, her lips curling in satisfaction. Apparently, Hazel had answered in a way that pleased the creepy grandmother.
“That will suffice, niña.” The old woman chuckled. “Our time together shall be interesting. I think we will get along well.”
Hazel doubted she’d be around long enough to learn the woman’s name, but for the sake of being civil, she nodded once in agreement.
“Now that’s settled,” the old woman sighed. “It’s time for you two to be gone. I’m tired and I’m sure the niña would like to get settled. We have much work to do.”
The monster stooped down and brushed a kiss over each of his grandmother’s cheeks before stepping off the porch. His midnight gaze clashed with Hazel’s, and something dangerous slid through them. A warning. Again, she nodded. She wouldn’t forget his threat anytime soon, and she wasn’t in the habit of hurting little old grandmothers. Hazel wasn’t an animal.
Jameson made sure to kiss the old woman’s cheek and squeezed Hazel’s shoulder before disappearing into the dark with the monster.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow, you’ll learn the ropes.”
Nine
Hazel
The little old woman wasn’t an abuela. More like the Diablo.
Hazel’s shoulders ached as she tossed another shovelful of dirt over her shoulder. Her blistered palms screamed when she curled her sweat-slicked fingers tighter around the wooden handle and wedged the metal edge underneath a particularly stubborn rock. She grunted and used her foot to force the blade a little deeper.
“Put your back into it, niña. A worm could have gotten down to the clay quicker than you.”
Hazel gritted her teeth but didn’t comment. It was no use. The old witch had been an utter slave-driver for over three weeks. But that might have had something to do with Hazel’s three escape attempts—well, technically two. The third time, she’d spotted something shiny that flew. She’d followed it into the city before being caught near the southern farm. No one believed her when she’d explained what she saw. Jameson had rolled his eyes at her like she was a story-telling child.
Even now, it set her teeth on edge. Why would she lie about something like that? The first time she had made a break for it, Hazel had gotten over the first fence with a stolen bag of bread and water, but one of the infernal avian warriors had snatched her up before she could make it to the second fence. Not once had she offered excuses when they’d returned her to the old woman and the monster who glared at her the entire time his grandmother had lectured Hazel about irresponsibility and being reckless with her life.
Her second attempt had been much more planned. Initially, she’d planned to get away as soon as possible, but the bloody old woman had the eyes of a hawk. The only reprieve Hazel had was when the old woman fell asleep during her late afternoon nap. During that hour, Hazel had studied the bluff that jutted from the ground behind the cottage. It wasn’t completely smooth. If she planned it right, it was possible to scale the face and get over the first fence and into the far tree line to the left of that to sprint across the dead space between the first and second fence.
By the seventh day, Hazel had figured out the first bit of the rock face. She’d snuck behind the house and began her experiment. The first time she attempted the climb, her fingers slipped about fifteen feet in. Her body had dropped like a stone. The impact hadn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but she’d skinned most of her elbow off. The worst part was keeping the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt down while working in the hot sun.
On day eleven, she’d finally managed to get near the fence without one fall. Hazel had climbed down and threw herself into her work. If she was too tired to feel excited, maybe it would hide her scent. The witch had a bloody magic nose.
A smile had tipped her lips up on the twelfth day when nap time ensued. She had retrieved her stolen backpack filled with goods and began to climb. In no time, she’d skirted over the fence and moved around the bluff from the eastern side to the northern side.
But she’d forgotten the cardinal rule: always look up.
She’d almost climbed to the tree line when the beating of wings announced a visitor. Hazel had pressed against the stone and willed herself to disappear. Her heart had pounded in her chest, and the avian warrior passed right over her. Muscles trembling, she’d held completely still for five minutes, but it had felt like hours. Sweat had dampened her shirt and dripped down her back. Hazel had gritted her teeth and worked through the fatigue, determined to get to the tree below her, but her body wasn’t as cooperative. Her fingers had slipped a little before she reached her jumping point and she slid. It was a long jump from the wall to the tree, but she didn’t have a choice. A rough landing in a tree was better than falling to her death.
She paused in her digging as the memory resurfaced, tainted with bitterness.
Hazel focused all her energy into launching from the wall and reached. Her fingers touched evergreen when hands caught her underneath the armpits. An enraged scream burst from her lips. She didn’t even fight as the evergreens disappeared and the warrior flew her back to the cottage.
Hazel’s legs collapsed the moment the avian set her down, and she didn’t even bother to look at the Tainted who’d thwarted her escape attempt. No doubt she’d be tempted to commit murder if she got a good look at the bastard. Instead, she stoically met the gaze of the old woman standing on the porch, leaning against her cane, her expression inscrutable.
“I ought to whip you,” Sara’s voice chastised.
Hazel slowly swiveled and peered up at the monster’s mother. The one responsible for her capture. Her lips curled, and she bared her teeth.
Sara glowered and snapped her wings together, looking so much like her son. “You could have died today! Do you have a death wish, Hazel?”
“I have a wish for freedom.”
The woman huffed. “If I hadn’t caught you, you would have died.”
“How did you find me?”
“I happened to be on patrol with another avian. It was only luck that I caught your movement from the corner of my eye.” Sara frowned. “You blended in so well.”
“Not well enough.”
“Niña,” the old woman’s raspy voice called.
Hazel whipped around to meet the old bat head on. Out of the two, she was more scared of the old woman than her daughter. A clawed hand reached for her face, and she almost flinched. The witch held Hazel’s chin in her hand.
“My hija is right. I should whip you until you can’t walk.” Hazel puffed out a short breath, but otherwise didn’t react. “But I have a feeling you’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us.” A claw skittered over her cheekbone. “Let’s have some supper and then go to bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted”
“Niña, what are you doing down there?”
The old woman’s voice broke through the memory. Thinking about it almost two weeks later still stung. Since h
er last escapade, anytime she slowed down, her slave driver cracked the proverbial whip and added another task to her mile-high list of chores.
She frowned at the shovel. Not only that, the old woman supervised every single one of Hazel’s tasks. The meddlesome woman never left her alone, and by the end of each day, she was too exhausted to even think about escaping.
Hazel slanted a look over the edge of the dirt pit she stood in and wiped her sweaty hair from her forehead, dirt smearing across her brow in a gritty mess. The bane of her existence squinted at Hazel from her rocking chair on the shaded porch. She arched a brow and flipped her grey braid over her shoulder.
“The day’s a wastin’,” the witch rasped, fanning herself. “The quicker you finish, the quicker we can have lunch.”
“I’d like to see you in this pit,” she muttered under her breath and wiggled the shovel harder, the metal shrieking when it scraped across the stone, her belly growling in the process. Her mouth watered as she imagined bolting farther into the farm and settling in a cool patch of carrots and fresh peas.
“I heard that, niña. Less talking, more working. It’s good for you.”
Hazel snorted. She doubted it.
And so far, it sucked as much as she had thought it would.
She growled and leaned all her weight into the shovel, determined to get the blasted rock out. If there was one thing she could be thankful for, it was for never having known her grandmother. If all grandmas were like the hovering shrew, Hazel had dodged a bullet.
The shovel groaned, and she huffed when the soil loosened around the rock and the stone moved. Finally.
She readjusted her stance and tried again. A smile flashed across her face for an instant as the boulder came free, quickly followed by disbelief. Hazel shouted when the right wall of her pit caved in and earth tumbled into the bottom and over her bare feet to mid-calf.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
In a fit of irritation, she tossed the shovel out of the pit and dug out her feet, red earth caked beneath her fingernails and dusting her arms. Hazel hauled herself out of the hole and clambered to her feet. She ignored the squinty eyes that followed her as she stormed toward a small horse trough along the right side of the property, barely feeling the sun-heated ground scorch the soles of her feet.
“Temper, temper,” the old woman tsked.
Without hesitating, she stripped off her filthy shirt and tossed it to the ground. Next, she wiggled out of the tattered cutoff jeans that had clearly seen better days and plopped into the shallow trough. The lukewarm water rolled over her legs and lapped at her bare waist, cooling her overheated skin almost immediately.
Splashing water over her arms, Hazel ignored the heavy gaze that had settled on her. What sort of punishment would the old woman exact for her disobedience? Probably digging more blasted holes.
She waved her blistered hands through the water, enjoying the short reprieve. Whatever it would be, this was worth it.
A shadow blocked out the sun for several seconds, and Hazel’s eyes widened as the monster dropped from the sky and landed in a crouch, his leathery wings flared and fingertips touching the earth for balance. He slowly lifted his head and pinned her to the spot with his black, cold gaze. His gaze dipped, and she gasped, crossing her arms over her chest. Granted, she was wearing a dingy bra and panties that she had worn to swim in the past, but there was something about his attention that caused her to blush fiercely.
He straightened, and his wings swept backward, closing. Her gaze dipped to his sweaty burnished chest that melded with the black scales across his collarbone seamlessly. He took a step toward her, and she snapped her gaze to a far point over his shoulder, more heat coloring her face. His pants were way too low, and there was something about his bare feet that struck her as intimate.
She shivered.
There was too much skin and scales on show.
His steps faltered, and he sucked in a breath, quickly catching himself. An emotion flashed through his eyes too quickly for her to decipher before a predatory intensity sharpened his features. Her breath caught when he took two deliberate steps toward her.
“Mi hijo, what are you doing?” His grandmother’s voice cracked through the air.
Hazel almost sniggered when the fearsome monster froze and partly turned toward his grandmother.
“Que?”
The old woman heaved herself out of her rocking chair and shuffled in their direction, her cane clutched in her fist. “Don’t you ‘what’ me, young man. You know exactly what.”
He waved a hand in Hazel’s direction. “The people working could hear you two bickering. I asked to be made aware of any insubordination since the last time Mama shouted about it for two days.”
“Is she or is she not mine?”
Hazel’s fingers dug into her arms when he flicked an annoyed glance in her direction before looking back at his grandmother.
“Si, abuelita. She belongs to you.”
“I can deal with her however I see fit. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.” Her shuffle became a smooth gait as she powered up to her grandson.
Hazel’s eyes narrowed. That little faker. She’d chew on her own shoe if the woman needed a blasted cane. What other secrets did the old woman have?
The wench stopped in front of the monster and planted her cane against the ground, both hands resting on top, looking like an ancient, powerful sovereign. Despite how he towered over the old woman, she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. She clicked a wicked-looking black claw against her gnarled cane.
“Not to mention how inappropriate it is to visit while a young woman is clearly bathing. Leave.” Her tone brooked no argument.
The monster stared at his feet for a beat, obviously debating whether or not to argue if his set jaw said anything about it. Hazel hid her smile and peeked through her lashes at the drama unfolding right before her. If she was a betting woman, Hazel would place everything on the witch.
“And the longer you wait, the longer Hazel will have to wait for me to see to her wounds.”
The monster flashed a look in her direction and averted his eyes when his grandmother hissed.
“Wounds?” he asked.
“She’s worked very diligently, and her body is rebuilding callouses. Her palms need a rest and some bandages. Now, do I need to repeat myself?”
He hesitated only a moment more before bending at the waist and kissing his grandmother on the wrinkly cheek. “Lo siento, Abeulita. If you need me, just call.”
She patted him on the cheek a little too hard to be affectionate. “Think before you act, mi hijo. Now, be gone.”
He stepped back and launched into the air without a backward glance.
“That niño,” the old woman muttered as she hobbled to the edge of the trough. She eyed Hazel critically. “You look a mess, niña.”
Hazel shrugged, the water now a slightly orange color.
“Did you send him away so you could beat me?” she asked bluntly. She’d rather know now. The old woman hadn’t laid a finger on her, but that could change anytime.
“I planned on helping you scrub that flaxen hair of yours and then making some lunch. How are your hands?”
Hazel lifted them from the dirty water. “They hurt.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The old woman pulled a bar of soap from the pocket of her loose cotton dress. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll tend to your hands.” She made a show of inhaling deeply and wrinkling her nose. “I can’t stand the smell of you.”
“Uh huh.”
She groaned as she knelt and set the cane beside the trough. “Not as nimble as I used to be.”
Hazel snorted. “That I don’t believe for a moment. Don’t think I didn’t see how you practically sprinted up to your grandson.”
“And don’t think I didn’t notice how your eyes lingered on him, either.”
Hazel snapped her mouth shut and leaned forward when the old woman urged her
to wet her hair. She examined the murky water and shivered as claws worked through the knots in her hair. “Why are you being kind? By all accounts, you should have beat me by now.”
“Dios mio! Just because I have physical traits of a beast doesn’t mean that I’m a beast, niña.”
“Lo siento,” Hazel murmured, feeling chastised.
“Habla español?”
“No.”
“Ah, back to the lies, are we? Well, you can have your secrets.”
Feeling a bit guilty, Hazel asked, “What’s your name?”
The old woman had worked her to the point of passing out, but she’d provided clothing, water, shelter, food, and protection. And kindness.
The old woman snorted. “We’ve passed eighteen days side by side and now you ask? You’re a strange girl, niña. But to answer your question... you may call me Abuela.”
Hazel swallowed thickly. “Gracias, Abuela,” she whispered, humbled by the offer.
“It’s nothing, niña. Now, stop gabbing. I’m hungry, and you’re too skinny to eat.”
She laughed nervously. God, she hoped that was a joke.
Ten
Hazel
Psst!”
Hazel groaned and snuggled into her covers. It was too early to rise.
Something poked her in the ribs, and she curled up tighter, hissing at the annoying old woman.
“Get up, niña. The day is wasting.”
“I’m getting up,” Hazel groaned. If she didn’t climb out of the bed, the old bag would just keep needling her until she caved.
Hazel flopped the cover back and yawned, her jaw cracking. She slowly sat up and squinted through the dim light. Small flames danced in the fireplace, warding off the early morning chill. Hazel swung her legs over the side of her cot and placed her feet on the cool wooden floor, her toes curling. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“Why must we be up so early?” she complained. “The sun hasn’t even risen.” It was downright unnatural to be up before the sun.
