Chapter 9

Rosemary

I woke slowly, sunlight filtering in through the large picture window and brushing across my face. I wiggled my nose when pleasant scents teased my senses. Plants, petrichor, rich earth, and was that coffee? I bolted upright. Oh shit, the stranger.

My bedroom looked undisturbed. As the cleanest room of the house, next to the en suite bathroom, there was no dust on the floor I could check for prints. Still, I was pretty sure nobody had entered while I slept. I’d left several boxes and luggage in a haphazard obstacle course between the bed and the door, and nothing had been shifted or moved.

I rose and quickly washed myself with the fresh but cold water. Once I was clean and dressed, my curls tamed with my favorite hair products and a scarf, I was ready to discover if there really was a sexy stranger brewing coffee downstairs. I held my breath as I crossed the hallway, scared to discover that I’d dreamed it. I wanted to find out more about Chardum, and I wanted to discover what he knew of my father. More than anything, I wanted him to be real.

At the top of the stairs, I paused to stare at the transformation below. There was still a piece of string across the stairs, with a bell dangling from it, seemingly completely undisturbed. But light bathed the entryway, coming in from the window above the door and from both doorways flanking the hallway. Someone had uncovered and washed the windows in the kitchen and the living room.

When I untied the string, the bell jingled happily, and it drew Chardum from the kitchen, his head popping around the corner. “Good morning, my love,” he said, his golden eyes gazing at me with something very close to adoration, heat simmering in their depths when they skirted along my curves.

He was no longer completely naked, which was a bit of a letdown, but he was here, and he was very real. I found myself smiling back at him as I took in his new outfit, although from the looks of it, it wasn’t that new. More like vintage. Jeans that looked worn but fit him well, topped with some kind of corduroy shirt that looked dated in style but was still shockingly good on him. He’d braided his long black hair in a single long rope that dangled over one shoulder, and his feet were encased in a pair of well-worn work boots.

“Morning, Chardum,” I said. “Where did you get the clothes?” I bundled the string in one hand and then rose on tip-toe to hang the little bell back in place on the wall. There had been a ton of boxes of things from my father packed together in a back room down here. Had he snooped through those?

“Turns out,” he responded with a shrug, “That Zachary packed my things but didn’t throw them out. They were all right there.” He pointed down the hallway next to the stairs, which led to several more rooms on the ground floor, including the room where all those boxes had been.

“Those were yours?” I stared at the shirt that clung lovingly to his wide shoulders and bulging biceps, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, a sight I always found extremely sexy. That didn’t seem likely. If they were his, those boxes couldn’t have been packed up by my father. Nobody had been inside this place for as long as I lived.

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head as he appraised me, “Yeah, but I’ll explain after you’ve had breakfast, yes?” He ducked back into the kitchen without another word and, drawn by the enticing scent of fresh coffee, I followed him. The floor here had been swept and mopped, but the ancient linoleum was still in an abysmal state that simple cleaning couldn’t fix. The table, however, was polished to a sheen and so clean I could see my own reflection in the dark mahogany surface.

With light streaming in through the now clean windows, without the boards covering them up, this place didn’t look nearly so bad. There was still no coffee maker or working fridge, but Zachary had lit the stove and apparently managed to brew amazing-smelling beans with some kind of tall metal pot with a thin spout. If I didn’t know any better, that was one of those types of coffee makers that only used freshly ground beans. Had that been in one of the cabinets here? That sure as hell beat the instant stuff I’d been stirring into my cup so far.

There were plates set out on the table too, with a fresh loaf of bread and a bowl of rich, fresh butter. My stomach rumbled at the sight, so I didn’t question any of it while I sat down to eat and sip from perfect coffee with rich cream. Only after I’d drank the last drop and eaten the last crumb did I ask, “Where did you get all this?”

Chardum had been sitting next to me, calmly eating his own slice and sipping from his own cup. He hadn’t eaten in a frenzy like last night, devouring enough food to feed a dozen people in ten minutes. It was kind of comfy and cozy to share breakfast with him.

He quirked an eyebrow when I asked the question, his mouth tilting into a smirk. “Lizzie dropped it off this morning.” My eyebrows shot up, Lizzie? Did he mean Mayor Peck? Who had asked me to call her Grandma Liz? How did he know her? Or had they only met this morning, and I’d missed it all? Oh boy, what would that woman think when she realized I was already shacking up with some guy?

“Lizzie and I go way back,” Chardum said casually while he rose and started clearing our plates and washing them up in the sink. It was obvious from how he moved around the room that he was very at home in this place, and when he pulled open a cabinet and drew out a box of soap, I realized he’d known exactly where it would be. That box was ancient, but the soap still worked, so I didn’t comment while I watched him use water heated on the stove for the dishes.

“And you and my dad?” I asked. I was starting to think that there was more to this than I could understand without facing some strange truths. Like the age of the handsome stranger in my kitchen, or the mystery that surrounded my father, this place, and his death.

Chardum’s head dropped, his back turned to me where he stood at the old kitchen sink. I couldn’t read his expression like that, but I could still tell that he was suddenly struggling with some powerful emotions. His voice was a little rough when he spoke. “Your father and I were best friends, we shared a sacred duty together that kept us bound to this land for so long… When I became trapped twenty-six years ago, I thought he would free me, but I could no longer sense our bond.”

He turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable. “Instead, my bond shifted to you… I thought he was dead, but that wasn’t true, was it? Did he raise you well? Did he at least teach you how to use your gifts? Zachary always wanted children…” His words evoked a hollow pain in my chest and I rose stiffly while I shook my head.

As a little girl, I’d wished so hard for my father to show up so that I could have a normal family. Not that my mother had ever made me feel like I was missing out, but I still dreamed of having a dad. My mom had never even talked of Zachary as anything other than with loving praise, telling me fantastical stories of how he was a protector of the earth, a guardian, and a hero. How he couldn’t be with us because his duties were to everyone, not just us. Fantastical stories she told me to make me feel better.

To hear someone say that Zachary had wanted kids, to wonder if he’d been a good dad to me? That felt like ripping off a bandaid on a wound that had never properly scabbed over. It brought to the surface all the feelings of anger and resentment I felt over his abandonment of my mom and me. Even anger at my mom for continuing to love and pine for him when he was out there, but didn’t even so much as write or call. Not even a birthday card.

“You realize that nothing you just said makes any sense at all? You can’t have been trapped for twenty-six years. Those clothes can’t be yours because you would have been a kid when those were new! And damn it, what the fuck do you even mean with bonds and gifts?” My voice rose with each word that left my mouth until I realized I was shouting at him, my hands balled fists on hips. That anger and resentment were now bubbling over and seeking out the only target around.

Chardum didn’t seem upset with my anger. His expression seemed confused at first, but then it softened. He slowly raised a hand. At first I thought he was making a calming gesture, but then he swung his palm toward the dining room where I’d lined my plants up on a table. “The gift of nature, the life-giver,” he said, his deep voice resonating through the room, settling around me like he’d just announced a verdict.

“You might be half-human, but you are still a nymph, a dryad, a life-giver!” He stalked closer and grabbed my hand, then urged me with him to the dining room. Here, light bathed the table as well, coming in through the picture windows from which he’d already pulled the boards and shutters that had protected the glass.

My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I brushed past some of the potted plants, my herbs, but also the many flowers that always bloomed for me year round. I did have a strong affinity for growing things, an overwhelming desire to always surround myself with plants or to walk the earth barefoot.

I touched the velvety leaf of Philodendron that draped from its pot all the way down to the floor. “And you have wings and can fly? That’s what you said last night, wasn’t it?” I asked, still angry, but mostly extremely confused. This answered the gift question, maybe, but it said nothing of my father. Half-human? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I offered to show you last night, but you declined. I’ll show you now, my love,” he said fiercely. Around my hand, his fingers tightened, an immovable grip, though it was not painful. Heat traveled up my arm where we touched, and though part of me figured I should protest a little, I still let him drag me to the front door and outside.

Around the farmhouse, green was already peeking through the earth, encouraged by the rainfall during the night. No longer was this a dusty, dry place, but a well of green potential that only needed a little more encouragement to come true. The yard was a different story; the ground covered in deep furrows as though some giant, clawed beast had raked the ground.

Chardum let go of my hand to leap from the porch so he could stand in the center of that yard, surrounded by the churned-up ground. When he started unbuttoning his shirt, a daring expression filled his face that I discovered I could not back down from. “You never need to fear me, Rosy,” he said as he shrugged off the shirt and revealed his beautiful, muscular chest, covered by a deep, dusky tan. “Trust me.”

And with that, something started to shimmer along his body, light bursting from his skin in a golden blaze. His pants dropped to the ground, but that light flowed and expanded in a heartbeat until it filled the entire yard. I threw up my hand against the blinding glare, and when it faded, I was faced with the impossible. A dragon.