Next to the desk there’s a bookshelf full of old books, but a few of them don’t have titles on the spine. Somehow, I’m drawn to those. I walk to them and pluck one off the shelf.
I hear Sawyer shuffling around and I glance over my shoulder. He’s found a space heater and plugged it in.
Thank god. It’s freezing in here. Barely any better than the icy outdoors.
He looks up at me. “What have you got?”
“Don’t know.” I open the book cover to the first page. This journal belongs to Riley Black. My heart drops. “A journal,” I whisper. I sit down heavily on the desk’s chair and stare at the inscription again and again.
All these years, all my questions … they could have been answered if my aunt had just told me about the cabin. I know she did what she did to protect me, but that doesn’t keep the bitterness from bringing hot, angry tears to the back of my eyes.
For a moment, Sawyer stands there awkwardly. “Um … I’ll go look in the other rooms. Is that okay?”
I nod wordlessly and he moves into the kitchen.
I don’t know how long I sit thumbing through the pages of the journal, pulling out others as I go. There’s stories of my mother fighting monsters, some of her everyday thoughts, a few entries on completely mundane things. In her most recent journal, I find an entry about my birth.
She’s so beautiful, my baby girl. We’ve named her Avery. I never knew I could love anything this much.
Aunt Trish told me when I was young that she’d been sent a bunch of my parents’ things when they died. I just assumed the things in the attic were what she meant, but I realize that this journal must have been among them, because it talks about their last hunt.
I don’t really want to continue this lifestyle, it just isn’t sustainable. We agreed to that when we had Avery. It’s too dangerous, but we have to finish this last hunt. I thought of Helsing, but Samson thinks we’re the only ones who can do it, and I fear he’s right.
Helsing. My mother thought Helsing should hunt the monster, but my father disagreed. I wonder if Helsing ever knew.
I turn the page.
Something’s wrong. It’s time to call Helsing, whether or not Samson likes it. I think we’re being followed. I think we’re being watched. Samson and I are on edge.
The next page is blank. And the next. And the rest. That was the last thing she wrote. I sit there, staring at the empty pages, feeling more tears well up in my eyes.
“Avery?” Sawyer reappears from the kitchen and kneels in front of me. He gently pulls the journal from my grasp and lays it on the desk. His hands come to cup my face, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Avery. Hey.”
Without thinking, I lean into him. I just want some comfort. I slide out of my chair and onto the floor beside where he’s crouched. He wraps his arms around me, snaking one hand into my hair, cradling me. I let him hold me for a long time before I pull back to look up into his eyes. He’s looking at me with such concern, such caring, that I …
I don’t know what comes over me. Or at least, I’d like to pretend I don’t. I don’t want to admit that I’ve been longing for him all year, that I’ve been wondering what his lips would feel like against mine. I tip my face up and kiss him.
It’s like a dam breaking. As soon as our lips touch I feel a fervor wash through me, and I reach up to stroke his face, his hair, and his broad shoulders. His hands move
to my waist, touching, feeling, running down to my thighs. He moves them carefully, testing the waters until one of his hands drifts up and his fingers brush against my breast.
It’s like he’s set me on fire. I press against him. Yes, I say in my head. Yes, do it, touch me.
Sawyer takes the hint, and I lean away from him to grab at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. He throws it behind him and reaches for mine. His hands go to my breasts, feeling them through my bra, gently caressing my nipples as I reach back to unhook it. It falls away and then he’s touching my bare skin.
Reverently, he leans down to put his mouth around one, and I close my eyes in ecstasy.
This has been a long time coming.
Sawyer isn’t my first, but my body responds to him like he is. Some time later, we sit there on the floor, staring at each other and panting. He reaches for me and pulls me into his arms.
“Avery,” he whispers, planting kisses on my neck.
“That felt so good,” I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“Amazing,” he mumbles against my hair.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the comfort of his arms, into the warmth of his naked body, and vow that I won’t be doing this again.