Free Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection by Selena Kitt Page A

about anymore
when he neared home, a little extra speed in his step, carrying his
bow over his shoulder. It was Jolee—the woman who had made curtains
for the cabin windows and stuffed pillows to sit on for the wooden
chairs, the woman who appreciated his subtle sense of humor, who
teased him about his slow, fastidious ways, who spent a night with
him in the stable when Anna was sick, petting the cow’s head and
singing to her in a native language he didn’t speak but spoke
straight to his heart.
    He’d left early this morning, trembling at
the thought of meeting her in the hallway, going off instead to
find things to do outside—milking the cow, gathering eggs,
straightening the shed, repairing his trap lines—too afraid to face
her, too afraid to face what he might be forced to acknowledge.
    Since Isabelle, he’d wanted to die, and when
his survival instincts had gotten him out of the fire and he’d
found her gone, he’d been determined to finish the job Carlos had
started and join her—or, barring that, at least end his own
suffering, although part of him still felt he deserved the pain he
lived in for not saving her.
    He’d tried to end it all several times after
the fire. If it hadn’t been for Abe, he probably would have. After
the fire, the old Indian had found him crawling on his hands and
knees in the dirt, calling Isabelle’s name, and had made a litter
to drag him back on. The time he’d spent at the Bad River
reservation had been healing—and informational. They all knew about
Carlos and the mines and the logging camps.
    And, of course, Abe had passed on the
information Carlos was telling everyone—that his brother and his
wife had died in a fire. That was the darkest time of his life,
when he’d realized that Isabelle was gone and he understood he
could do more good dead than alive.
    And it was his hatred that kept him going,
in spite of Abe’s efforts to sway him. The only reason he’d stayed
alive was to thwart his brother’s efforts to rape and pillage the
land their father had left behind. And in the spring, he was
finally going to get the chance to end it all—his brother’s shady
business and his own pain. Jolee had been a complication at first,
but he only had to keep her here, safe until spring, he reasoned.
Then she would be safe wherever she went.
    Now she was far more than a complication and
the plans he had so carefully and meticulously outlined seemed
ridiculously simple—and horribly final—in a way they never had
before. For the first time, he was questioning his decision, and
Jolee was the reason. For the first time since Isabelle had died,
life seemed worth living.
    Well, he decided, hanging his mended lines
in the shed and heading out, he didn’t have to decide anything
today, and he couldn’t hide out here forever. Besides, he was
getting hungry. The house was warm from the woodstove and the smell
of bacon made his stomach rumble. He could hear her in the kitchen,
singing to herself, and he smiled, stopping to listen. The words
weren’t in English—her father had been part Chippewa, she’d told
him, and had taught her some of the language, many of the
traditional songs—but they were lovely.
    “Is that you, Silas?”
    He heard the edge in her voice. Mostly she
felt safe, he figured, but there was still a part of her on guard,
waiting for Carlos to find her here—and there was always a part of
him waiting for that as well.
    “It’s me,” he confirmed, taking off his
boots and coat, but leaving on his mask. The damnable thing was too
warm inside, but in spite of his lapse the night before—how had he
forgotten to lock the door?—he had no intention of taking it off in
the light of day. Of course, if he hadn’t forgotten, she wouldn’t
have come to his room, and he wouldn’t have had the glorious
opportunity to have her. Christ, just the memory of being inside
her made his cock jump.
    He stopped when he came around the corner,
seeing her standing at the