Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection

by Selena Kitt

  “Just tell me where you’re going,” she’d insisted as they both sat on side-by-side stools next to Big Anna while he attempted to teach her how to milk the old girl.

  He’d considered lying to her, making up some excuse or reason he had to go, but instead had decided that being cryptic had worked so far, why stop now? Of course, Jolee had caught on to his deflection, and if that failed, his silence and refusal to answer.

  “You are impossible!” She’d given up on both him and the cow, storming out of the old horse stall where kept Big Anna for the winter.

  I’m not the only one, Silas thought, scanning the woods for wildlife, constantly using his peripheral vision, always practicing a high degree of situational awareness. He had instructed her how to do everything—when to turn on the generator, where he kept the extra fuel, how to milk the cow. He’d been as thorough as he could, but he knew better than anyone that you couldn’t plan for surprises. Anything could have happened while he was gone.

  He gave the Cat another jolt, urging the machine faster. Dusk was settling though the snow-heavy limbs of the trees, casting long shadows. He’d promised he would only be three days and if he made it home tonight, he would keep that promise, although he hadn’t been sure, yesterday morning when he’d been repelling deep into one of his brother’s mines with four pounds of dynamite strapped to his back, that he would make it at all.

  All’s well that ends well, he told himself, seeing the house come into view over the rise of the hill. His heart raced at the sight of it, faster than it had been pounding when he’d flipped the switch and blown his brother’s new sulfide mine, collapsing it into rubble. He was always careful to pull his jobs at night, when no one was working in the mines or at the camps. Carlos had them guarded now, of course—there were rumors around the mining and logging camps that they were being haunted and/or hunted by some sort of mythical “beast” who mangled trucks, equipment and even the sites themselves—but Silas could track so silently the guards were taken care of, passed out before they knew what hit them.

  He didn’t know who really believed the “beast” rumors, but he didn’t do anything to discourage them. They were useful and kept Carlos and his cronies from turning their attention to the real culprit. They probably figured it was some overzealous activist from the EPA, Silas thought, and that was good. As long as he was careful and they didn’t connect him to the millions of dollars of destruction and the months of set-back, he figured he and Jolee were safe in the woods until spring. And after spring, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

  He parked the Arctic Cat next to the shed and peeled off his helmet. The mask she had made him was breathable but it kept the wind off his face and he was grateful for it. She’d knit him several more, a small concession to his wearing them at all, in a myriad of colors. “At least give me something new to look at,” she’d teased, handing him an orange one. “Besides, I don’t want a hunter taking your head off out there.”

  He flipped open the storage container on the back of the Cat, removing two of the three rabbits he’d snared while he was waiting for activity to shut down for the weekend. The third one had met a different fate in the mines. He held the rabbits up in front of him as he stomped into the kitchen, calling for her.

  “Slim pickins’ out there, huh?” Jolee leaned against the door frame, frowning at his small game offering.

  “We got plenty in the freezer.” He took off his boots as she snatched the rabbits, tossing them next to the sink.

  “I know.” She turned to face him, arms crossed. “Which begs the question—where were you exactly? Because you clearly weren’t out there hunting.”

  Silas shrugged off his parka and removed his gloves, the warmth of the room making his limbs tingle. He’d been on the Cat so long he’d grown numb to the cold.

  “Did you miss me?” he teased. He glanced over at her drawn brow and pursed lips, looking for a hint of the truth. Had she missed him? He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d missed her. He turned and headed toward his bedroom to change.

  “There was someone here, Silas,” she called.

  He stopped, turning, his heart dropping to his knees, and looked into her eyes. They were bright with tears.

  “Who?” he managed, his gaze sweeping over her as if he could assess, just by looking, if she was unharmed. “When?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was choked and she wiped angrily at her falling tears, storming past him down the hall toward her room.

  “Jolee!” He followed her, bursting through the door she’d just slammed behind her. “Talk to me!”

  “You left me alone!” She sat on the bed with her accusation, looking up at him with such a dejected look he was instantly sorry. He wanted to scoop her up and make her feel safe again. Silas looked around the room, noting the difference instantly. Curtains—she had hand-sewn them, patch-worked from his old t-shirt material.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said flatly, going over to the window and pulling the curtain aside, somehow already knowing what he was going to see.

  “I think someone was looking in the windows.” Her voice trembled and Silas saw the footprints in the snow, coming in from the woods and retreating again.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “I don’t think so.” She sniffed. “I only went out to milk Anna in the morning and it was still dark.”

  He considered this information. Whoever it was had been wearing boots, big ones. Definitely a man. He’d have to go out and investigate, see if there were any shell casings, arrows, signs he hoped he’d find.

  “It was probably just a curious hunter.” Silas let the curtains drop, turning back to Jolee. “My land backs up to state land about five miles to the north.”

  “What if it wasn’t?” Her hands twisted in her lap and she looked up at him helplessly. “What if he found us?”

  “He didn’t.” Silas sat on the bed, feeling it sag under his weight, and put a comforting arm around her thin shoulders—she was actually quivering with fear. He told her the truth, in spite of her anxiety. “Carlos is no peeping Tom. If he’d found you, you would know it.”

  “Maybe.” Jolee turned toward him, letting him comfort her, tucking her head under his chin. He could smell the sweetness of her shampoo and he let the heady scent envelop him.

  “So did you see anything? Hear anything?” he asked, stroking her hair. She’d stopped having so many bad dreams and while he was glad, he missed holding and comforting her like this in the darkness.

  “I heard something.” She pressed herself closer at the memory. “Last night, late. I thought it might be you coming home.”

  The longing in her voice made him want to smile. “What did you hear?”

  “I was sleeping.” She shrugged. “I heard something outside my window, but by the time I got up to go look, there was nothing. Then this morning, I saw the tracks.”

  He nodded, hoping it was just a lost hunter, out too late, looking for somewhere to crash for the night. He’d been careful, backing his truck up into the make-shift garage out back so the license plate wasn’t visible even if Jolee had gone in for something and forgot to shut the barn door. If one of Carlos’s guys had stumbled on this place—and it was purposefully well-hidden dimly lighted—there was no reason for them to believe it was connected to him or to Jolee.

  Unless one of them had seen her.

  “You’re safe.” He said the words and hoped she believed them. Even if there was danger lurking, he had every intention of protecting her.

  Of course, he’d intended to protect Isabelle too.

  “I’m glad you’re home.” She sounded both relieved and truly happy. “I did miss you, you big lug.” She went to pound her fist against his chest to emphasize the point and he caught it, stifling a laugh.

  “So did you fix me dinner, woman?” he teased. She looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. That did make him laugh. “I smelled something good a mile away.”

  “Venison chili.” She stood
, picking up a skein of yarn and her knitting needles. “I used some of your canned tomatoes. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “They’re for eating.” He followed her out, shutting the door behind him before heading toward the good smells in the kitchen. “What are you working on now?”

  Jolee put her mass of flesh-colored yarn and needles on the counter, peering under a pot lid and stirring. The already delicious scent of food increased tenfold and Silas’s stomach rumbled. He’d been living on jerky for two days.

  “Another mask.” She held it up. “I made my own pattern. Since you won’t show me yours, I’m going to give you a face.”

  “Talented girl.” He studied it—she only had a third of it completed, but he could see the image beginning to take shape in the stitches. “Keep it up and I’m going to need to buy you some sheep just to keep you in yarn.”

  “You should learn.” She pushed the yarn toward him and let him finger it while she spooned bowls of piping hot chili. “It’s a good skill to know out here. That way you can even make clothes for yourself when I’m…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence and Silas looked at her, his heart beating too fast, as she handed him a spoon. Of course she didn’t have to finish the sentence. He finished it easily enough in his head. When I’m gone.

  Gone.

  He didn’t want to think about that. He’d lost too much in his life and didn’t want consider losing her too. They didn’t talk about what might happen in the future, or what had happened to either of them in the past, and it was better that way. Thoughts of the past brought pain and looking into the future was too uncertain. Staying right here in the moment was the only thing that mattered.

  Jolee was a surprise to him every day and he couldn’t have expressed what a joy it was to wake up to the sound of her singing in the new shower every morning, how much he looked forward to stoking the fire in the woodstove at night so she could warm her feet while he whittled and she knitted and they played the “would you rather?” game.

  Would you rather live in the country or the city? His answer was obvious.

  Would you rather eat a bug or step on a nail? She made faces at him and refused to choose.

  Jolee had introduced him to the game and he played with relish, seriously considering even the most ridiculous options, always giving her an honest answer. Of course, there were questions neither of them asked—they had a tacit understanding. But now a question came to mind that he didn’t want to ponder.

  Would you rather lose Jolee or Isabelle?

  He couldn’t choose. Isabelle was gone, and although he still searched for her, nothing was going to bring her back. But Jolee was here—safe and smiling at him from across the table, chattering on about how Anna had missed his big, warm hands and objected to her small, cold ones—and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He would make sure of that.

  He wasn’t even going to let himself consider the alternatives.

  * * * *

  She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Opening her eyes, she saw only blackness. The darkness was suffocating, air like lead weight in her lungs—she could barely pull a breath. She listened hard for something that would center her, give her a sense of location, and it took moments that felt like hours to discern the soft, hitching sound of Silas snoring down the hall.

  The bed beneath her tensed limbs grew slowly familiar, as did the whistling of the wind through the pines outside her window and the sudden, startled call of an owl. It had just been a dream. She was safe. She was home. Rolling over and pulling the covers with her, Jolee willed her heart to slow, her breathing to return to some semblance of normal. It had been months since she called out for Silas in the middle of the night because of a bad dream, but she still wished for him upon waking, even if she didn’t say anything.

  There was something so comforting about the man, just his presence in a room made her feel more calm. Of course, that wasn’t all it made her feel. Closing her eyes, she tried to drift off again, but the weight of the silence, the darkness, and her own loneliness were too great. The bed was too small, the sheets too rough. Nothing felt right.

  Down the hall, Silas snored and Jolee couldn’t help it. She pushed her covers off and crept toward the sound. She didn’t know why she bothered—his door was always closed and locked, an unspoken barrier. She’d tested it a few times on her way by at night, listening at the door, hearing him breathing. His locking her out didn’t surprise her.

  What surprised her was finding the door open tonight. Maybe he’d gotten up to use the bathroom and forgotten to shut it? She felt her way in the darkness. The cabin had no ambient light and Silas left no outside lights on, so moving around at night was like being blind. She found the edge of the bed with her knees and stopped, hearing Silas snort, his breathing stop.

  “Jolee?” He sat up, sounding wide awake. “Are you okay?”

  “Bad dream.” She crawled into bed with him, under the covers, and found him surprisingly, warmly nude, only the t-shirt she was wearing separating the two of them. He was always dressed, even on his way to the bathroom in the morning, usually head to toe in long underwear.

  “Jolee…” Silas drew in a sharp breath when she snuggled in closer, tucking her head under his chin like she always did, her bare thigh snaking between his. They’d never been skin to skin like this. It was a shock to both of them.

  “Someone was trying to kill me.” Okay, so she lied—she couldn’t really remember her dream—but it was a small lie. And to be fair, her dream could have been about someone trying to kill her because, after all, someone had been. Might still be, out there, somewhere.

  Silas cradled her instantly and she let him, hands moving through her hair, over her back, soothing. Smiling, she rubbed her cheek against the solid expanse of his chest, feeling hairs tickling her and the rough edge of something. A scar? Her fingers moved up to explore it in the dark, finding her way, like a roadmap, to his throat. His skin was a surprise, smooth in places, rough and raised in others.

  It wasn’t until she reached his chin and he grabbed her hand that she realized. “You’re not wearing a mask!”

  “I don’t sleep in it,” he confessed, swallowing and shifting on the bed, placing her hand firmly on his chest—neutral territory.

  “I can’t see you anyway.” She continued to follow the harsh terrain of his skin southward, finding the dip of his navel. “It’s too dark.”

  “What are you doing?” His voice was choked, hoarse.

  “Exploring,” she whispered, reaching a thatch of thick, wiry hair with her fingertips. She found what she’d been searching for, half-risen out of its nest, the wrap of her hand around its pulsing length bringing it fully to life. His cock was alive in her hand, throbbing against her fingertips, the skin moving under her thumb when she began rubbing the meaty shaft up and down. She listened, but he wasn’t breathing at all now.

  “Silas?” She lifted her head as if she could see him in the darkness and heard him let out a pent-up breath.

  “Shhhh.” His hand slid over her hip, finding bare skin under her t-shirt. “I’m dreaming. I don’t want to wake up.”

  “Me either.” She felt his breath, warm against her cheek, and turned her face to his, their mouths pressed together for the first time. His lips were soft and they opened under pressure from her tongue, giving into her insistent probing. She sensed him holding back, restraining himself, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisting her hair as they kissed, and even the gentle tug of her hand between his thighs didn’t move him.

  “Jolee,” he whispered as she slid a thigh across his belly, moving to straddle him. “What are you doing?”

  “I have a job for you.” She walked her way up his chest with her fingertips, stopping briefly at one of his nipples, feeling him shudder. Then she leaned in to kiss him, her breasts pressed against his chest, his cock trapped between them, steel heat, and felt his hands move to her hips, holding on.

  “What job?” he gasped when
she slid further up, pressing her breasts against his face. He groaned as if he was in agony but Jolee ignored his plea for mercy, peeling off her t-shirt, hips already moving in circles against his belly.

  “It’s a little repetitious,” she warned as she put one knee on his pillow and then the other, straddling his face.

  “Oh god.”

  She heard him swallow, felt the heat of his breath, and gave a little whimper of her own.

  “Please,” she whispered, reaching a hand down to spread her swollen lips. She waited—listening to him breathe, his chest rising and falling far too fast, just like hers, his whole body tense—waiting for him to refuse her, to tell her to go back to bed.

  Instead, he gave a low, animal growl, wrapping his arms around her hips and pulling her in, his mouth and tongue pure heat, delving into her own. Jolee gave a squeal of surprise, her hands coming up to catch herself against the headboard, and then lost herself in the sensation. He attacked her flesh violently with his tongue, licking and sucking at her pussy, lapping at her slit, burying his whole face against her, making her burn with pleasure.

  When he found her clit, almost by accident he was so lost in her flesh, drowning in her, he stayed there, sucking it first between his lips and then lashing it back and forth with his tongue. Jolee felt her thighs tense, trembling, her hips wanting to buck but stilled by the thick wrap of his arms around her, holding her in place against his face. His biceps were flexed, hard against her thighs and she arched her back, reaching behind to find the thick thrust of his cock, wanting to feel it pulsing in her hand.

  It distracted Silas only for a moment. He gave a low moan, the sensation vibrating through her clit, and then redoubled his efforts. She heard him swallowing her juices, his breath coming almost as fast as hers. Silas made rough animal noises against her pussy, deep from his throat and chest, and still she tried to hold back. She wanted to do this forever, to feel his abandon, his wild lust between her legs.