ONE YEAR LATER
Rennick watched Amelia through the window of her school as she grinned at a boy with dark blond hair and a stupid smile.
The boy had approached her after class ended and kept her inside for too long. Rennick couldn’t visit her often due to increased training back home, but when he could, he didn’t want to see a lanky boy, with no right to make Amelia smile, holding her up at school.
Her walks home were Rennick’s favorite, especially when she and her friend went to the library, swapping one tall stack of books for another. She always left the library happier than when she’d gone in.
Now that the harsh snowy months were coming to an end, Amelia milled around the village a little longer, looking into shop windows or playing with the tiny fennec fox that followed her everywhere.
If this guy kept her inside too long, Rennick would have Greta gouge his eyes out.
“I’m not doing that,” Greta replied, but Rennick ignored her.
When Amelia finally gathered her lunch pail and books, Greta took flight, already knowing where Rennick wanted to go to see his mate better.
Perched on the rooftop across from the entrance to the school, Rennick stared intently at the door, and when Amelia stepped outside and the sun hit her face, he sighed to himself. He’d not seen her in weeks.
She set down her pail, scooped up the little fox waiting faithfully on the steps, and rubbed his body to warm him up before tucking him into her oversized coat pocket. After securing him safely inside with only his giant ears poking out, she grabbed her pail and picked her way down the front steps.
She forgot to put on his sweater again, Rennick thought crossly. He would send her more.
A small grin graced Rennick’s face, but it turned to ash when the lanky boy with the stupid smile appeared and murmured something. When Amelia nodded, he took her hand in his to walk her home.
SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY
Letter #47
Happy Birthday, Love,
I hope you like the book bag. I noticed you juggling stacks of
books and thought it would be easier if you had a sturdy bag to put them in. Ora said the bag was “cute” and that you would like it. I included one for Clover, too.
Inside the bag is a mold of my hand, so when you feel like holding someone’s hand, you can hold mine and not the lanky blond boy’s who walked you home.
Seeing your perfect hand in his unworthy one made me
murderous, little mate. You are mine, and I will do whatever is
necessary to keep you, no matter how unconventional or vicious I have to be.
Always remember that. Viciously Yours,
Nick
P.S. I wish I knew your favorite color. Mine is red, like blood.
 |
Amelia stared at the white mold of Nick’s hand, unable to think of anything other than how large it was. Her fingers traced over his, memorizing the shape of his nails and the grooves of his knuckles. The few times she’d seen Nick fade in and out of sight, he didn’t look big enough to have a hand this size, but it’d been a long time since she’d seen him.
“Seeing your perfect hand in his unworthy one made me murderous, little mate.”
Amelia blew out a breath. Jacob had asked to walk her home a few times, and once, she’d allowed him to take her hand, but it felt wrong. She wanted a boyfriend like the other girls, but none of the boys gave her butterflies.
As much as she looked forward to Nick’s letters, putting her life on hold for him was ludicrous. All of her eggs were in his basket, but what
happened if he tired of her or turned out to be someone else entirely? He never said when they would meet, only that they would. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded.
The clay hand felt heavy in her own. It was the hand of a fully grown man, not a seventeen-year-old boy. A thunk sounded through her tiny room when she set the mold on her desk.
“Here,” she said, dropping the letter next to Nick’s hand, then watching it disappear into thin air.
