Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) Read online

  He screams, and the tension breaks. I ignore it, landing another merciless blow, this time to the inside of his chest, in an attempt to knock the breath out of his large frame. It works. He rolls over on his side in obvious pain. “Stop.” He groans, gulping for air. “This is my house!”

  His words hit me like a hammer straight to the heart. This isn’t his home; it’s mine, and I will defend it as such. I hit him again, two swift blows to the stomach, doubling him over. I back off then, jumping to my feet, but I keep the light ready for another attack. “No.” I scream it. My vocal cords burn with the intensity of it. “This is my house! If you leave now, maybe I won’t call the police or finish kicking your ass!”

  He moans loudly, blood dripping down the contours of his face. A sting of satisfaction bursts through me as my confidence returns. The intruder is a male roughly my own age. He sits up on his elbow to wipe away the blood that trickles down from his forehead. “Call the police, you lunatic. I would love to watch them arrest you for breaking and entering.”

  “Me?” I shake the flashlight at him. “You’re the one who broke into my house.”

  He crawls to his knees, and I make a quick lunge toward him, but he backs up with his hands in the air. “It’s my house.” He holds out a tiny bronze key for my inspection. “I have a key!”

  I’m too far gone to be rational.

  “No, it’s my house, and so do I!” I start to search my pockets, only to remember I’m wearing a bikini, and my key is on the kitchen counter.

  “Look—” he begins, stumbling up to his feet. He clutches the inside of the doorframe for support. “This house belonged to Fiona Daniels. She left it in my family’s care after her death. So, unless you are a ghost, I think you decided to set up shop in the wrong house.”

  The flashlight drops from my hand, clanging loudly against the wooden floor. I stare, dumbfounded, at my intruder, caught off guard by his words.

  Her name.

  My stomach flips. “Fiona.” My breath shakes, and my heart starts a steady thud in my chest. “Y-y-ou knew her?”

  “Of course I knew her.” Feathered bronze hair masks his fiery eyes. “She was like a mother to me.”

  I gape at him. This beautiful, insufferable boy knew my mother. All these years I’ve waited, searched for anyone who has even heard a whisper of her name. I bite my lip, recalling all the trips, the countless hours poring through record books and newspaper articles in search of just a kindling of hope. It had all been futile and debilitating. There was never anything for me in California.

  He swipes blood from his face again before it can drip across his plush lips. He rubs the excess on the thigh of his ripped jeans. I might be distracted by the gesture. Hell, the four-inch span of thigh is more skin than I’ve seen on a man in over a year. But too many thoughts bombard my mind. Too many questions I’ve waited too long to ask.

  “Was she nice?” I blurt it out, my voice loud as if he might not hear me unless I yell it.

  “What?” He throws his hands out in frustration, his entire body turning toward me with exaggerated motion. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Was she nice?” I belt out again, ignoring his obvious bad mood. I need something—anything. I crave to hear one small fact, something other than just a name on a court document. I need to know this is real, that I didn’t uproot my life and move across the country for some cruel trick someone wanted to play on the orphan girl. I want this hope swelling inside of me to finally be substantiated.

  “You’re mentally unstable. I get that.” His words are slow and steady, but his cheeks are flushed red, or maybe it’s the blood tinting them. Either way, his anger is evident in his cool, clipped tone. “Can we please stay focused? I need you out of this house. Immediately.”

  I shake my head, my own frustration clogging my ability to think rationally. All I can focus on is how this boy, who could possibly be the one person I’ve been searching years to find, obviously isn’t listening to me.

  So I hit him over the head with a flashlight a couple times. What happened to forgive and forget? I’m the one who was abandoned on a street corner. He needs to get over it and listen to what I am asking him now. “I’m Willa,” I try to explain with a softer but still highly annoyed voice.

  “Oh, great, the crazy girl has a name.” He rolls his eyes dramatically.

  The gesture sends a shock down my spine, as in literal electricity from my shoulders to the tips of my toes. I hate when that happens. I ignore it, though, crossing my arms over my chest. “Willa Daniels,” I add, waiting for his reaction.

  It stops him short as he replays my words over again. “Daniels?” He runs a hand through the long front of his hair, causing it to spray out in a hundred different directions. His eyes are visible for the first time—seafoam green, and unnaturally bright. I silently wonder if that is the reason for the hair, to mask the intensity of them from the rest of the world

  Attempting to keep focused, I quickly nod to assure him he heard me correctly. I think my explanation has worked, but he quickly blows it off. “Oh, I get it. I said her name was Daniels, and now you want me to think you knew her. Nice try, but Fiona only had one relative.”

  I sigh, pinching the space between my eyes. That whack on the head must have been a doozy. “Which was?”

  “A daughter. Wilhelmina, but her father took her…” It clicks on his face. His lips part, and his jaw goes slack. “Oh.”

  I smile. “Forgive me for not going by my full name. I prefer Willa. Welcome to my house, by the way.”

  He ignores my jest and fumbles around on the floor for the flashlight. He clicks it on, shining the light directly at my face. I squint, holding up my hands in an attempt to block it out.

  “Hey!” I take a few steps back to escape the direct beam in my eyes.

  “Wilhelmina?” He whispers my name, breathless and in disbelief. The light hurriedly scans my face.

  I slowly move my hands down to give him a good look, and I swear I hear his breath catch. “It’s you. You’re Wilhelmina.”

  I push the light away as I blink warily, trying to regain my vision. “Willa,” I correct, waiting for the white spots to disappear. “And yes, it’s really me, hence why I’m in my house. May I ask who you are, exactly?”

  He doesn’t speak at first. He only gapes in my direction, those intense green eyes rounding in shock. I clear my throat. “Reid,” he answers finally, his voice breathy. “Reid Thomas. I’m Seraphina’s son.”

  He says this as if it should make perfect sense to me, but unfortunately, it only confuses me more. “Who is that?”

  “Your father never told you about her?” This truly shocks him, the anger and confusion briefly fading from his face.

  I put my hand on my hip out of habit, sassy at the mention of my good-for-nothing father. “You mean the same father who abandoned me on the busy street in front of a church before I was old enough to talk?”

  Reid rubs his head again, this time pulling his hand away to look at the blood on his fingers. “I’m sorry.” A brief sprinkle of sincerity crossing his face. “I didn’t know that.”

  He is silent for a moment as he rubs his temple, smearing the remaining blood across his forehead, processing what I’ve said. “Our mothers were best friends. Actually, they grew up like sisters. Your grandparents, Doc and Mary Daniels, took my mom and aunt in as teenagers. Fiona was like a second mother to me.”

  My heart aches at his words. “Glad she got to be a mother to somebody,” I mumble under my breath.

  I rub my eyes, trying to wipe away the exhaustion. When I look back, his face is annoyed again and his gaze is on the floor. “Why did you come back?” His voice is sour now. “Was it just to claim her things now that she’s gone?”

  The words sting, but the accusing tone he uses like he already knows he’s right sends a blood-curdling anger lashing through my system. “No.”

  He completely ignores me, turning his entire body toward the exit, as if he can�
��t manage to look at me while he speaks. “You don’t need to be here,” he says in his same steeled tone, pacing toward the door. “You’re only going to make things worse. Just go back to wherever you’ve been all these years.”

  It hurts. A tiny, spiraling crack splits through my heart. My hand absently grabs at my chest in hopes of holding it together. I don’t really understand why. I just met this guy. He’s a stranger like everyone else in my world. My back snaps straight, defensive. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’m not a helpless victim of circumstance anymore. No one has the right to tell me what to do with my life.

  Reid turns, and I instantly shrink back a step. He looms over my slight frame, emphasizing his height as he leans down to look callously into my eyes. “Do you know what showing up here will do to them? After all they’ve been through losing Fiona.”

  My lips involuntarily tremble. “To who?”

  “My mother.” He looks away from me again. “Your Aunt Jade, Abby, and Sadie. Your family, for Christ’s sake. They don’t need you gallivanting in and ruining what little peace they’ve found.”

  My mouth falls open. “That isn’t fair.” I raise my voice to match his. “I didn’t come back for them.”

  His teeth clench together as his eyes flash. “Exactly.”

  He wants to say more—it’s etched clearly across his face—but for some reason he holds it back. His gaze darts away from me, his entire body recoiling in the opposite direction again. I don’t understand why he can’t look at me, or better yet, why he continues to force distance between us.

  Then I remember the bikini.

  He’s intentionally keeping his eyes pointed any direction other than at me. The asshole is trying to be a gentleman. He’s failing, but he’s trying.

  The nerve of the noble bastard.

  I allow the anger in my voice to subside a little. “I only want to find a part of my mother here.”

  It’s too late. He’s already shut down. All emotion lost. Whatever he isn’t telling me dictates his actions now.

  “Go back.”

  Tears brim my eyes, and I hate him for it.

  He takes a quick peek over his shoulder, then straight back to the door. “They don’t need you to make their life more complicated, okay?” His voice is stern but unsteady now. “Just go back.”

  I don’t bother to wipe away the tears that leak down my cheeks. I want him to see them. I want him to witness the pain in them. “I’m not leaving.”

  His hand slaps against the frame of the door as he leans against it, his broad shoulders flexing as he attempts to rein in his temper. “Yes, you will.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some kind of disobedient child.”

  He turns on me. “You’re leaving here tonight.”

  I grab the flashlight from his hand and twirl it around. “Well, if you think you can make me—go ahead.”

  He jumps back, slamming into the door behind him. He studies me, surely recognizing my desperation. Even an idiot knows you can’t win a fight when your adversary has nothing to lose. He considers his options. I take a threatening step forward until finally he lets out a defeated growl. “Fine, but stay away from them.” He eyes the light and scowls. “And stay away from me.”

  I laugh. “Why the hell would I want to be around you? Because you’re such a bright ray of sunshine?”

  I mean for my words to hurt him. I want to somehow make him share this pain inside me. He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he has absolutely no reaction at all. “Just stay away,” he says robotically, turning around.

  He slings the door open and walks hastily through it and down the front steps. I follow him out, watching him leave as more tears well up in my eyes. “Don’t worry!” I yell at him, hoping he will turn around, that he won’t leave. He still hasn’t answered my questions.

  He stalks across the yard and turns to go behind the house. It catches me off guard because I expected him to walk toward the road. I run back into the house, locating the closest window on the back side. His figure rushes across the grassy plain of the back yard.

  I bite my lip, callously hoping he doesn’t see the lake and drowns. However, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I fumble around the house for my shoes. I grab the flashlight and throw myself out the back door and across the yard.

  The grass is high, grazing my knees as I wade through it. I climb over a raised hillside and find myself staring at the moonlight gleaming off the body of water. The large lake weaves through the valley between the mountains, stretching out into the darkness until I can’t see the other side. The only way I know that it ends is the light from the house on the far bank. I run onto the dock that extends into the shimmering black water, catching my balance as it sways beneath me. I stand on the edge, looking out over the water toward the house. All the lights are on, but it’s too far in the distance to detect any further details about it.

  To my dismay, I find myself smiling. “My family.”

  Exhaustion bites at my knees, and I drop back onto the hard wood of the dock. Time passes in small waves, but I can’t make myself leave. I imagine rowing across the lake in a tiny boat and simply knocking on the door to say hello. Would they recognize me? Would these women be as abnormal as I am, or would they shun me too once they found out? Something inside of me tells me that won’t happen, but I keep repeating his words in my head.

  Go back.

  Stay away.

  I sigh into my hands before pushing myself off the ground. I look back one last time, mourning the life I could have had before walking up the path toward the house. The back door creaks as I open it, and somehow the house feels emptier. I lock up and clean the floor of blood in a zombie-like haze. I don’t even look at the time when I throw myself down onto the mattress.

  All I ever wanted was answers. Acceptance. A family to call my own. I thought digging up my past would bring me those things, but maybe it’s time I focus on my future. I can build a life here. I can discover the limits to my abilities. Most importantly, I can do all those things without the help or even the polite hospitality of Reid Thomas.

  Chapter 3

  ROOSTER’S DINER

  Hell hath no fury compared to the satanic red bumps plaguing my body when I wake the next morning. Everything from my waist down has been taken captive by a local disease Google laughingly calls chiggers.

  I’m not laughing. Not even a little bit.

  I spend the first two hours of my day sitting in a blotchy pink tub of calamine, the second painting over the fifty-two bumps with nail polish, and then finally concocting a home remedy I found on a blog consisting of grease and salt before lathering it over my body like a paste.

  By three o’clock, I finally stop wallowing across my mattress like a flea-infested dog and come to two very logical conclusions. The first—never go gallivanting through high grass in a bikini. The second—don’t assault your neighbors, because karma really is an itchy pain in your ass.

  Due to my internet frenzy this morning, my cell phone is officially dead. No electricity. No phone. I have no choice but to spend my day unraveling wire hangers and plotting how I can unite the high grass bugs under my power to serve my own evil purposes. When I start planning how I can use them as a protective barrier around the property for unwanted neighbors, I realize I should probably eat. A real dinner. A dinner I can’t eat out of a box with my hands.

  I go upstairs and attempt to freshen up. A gallon jug shower and clean clothes does the trick. It’s a long drive to town, and the mountains block the low moon on the horizon. It’s peaceful. Lonely, but peaceful.

  The deep curves twisting in and out of the valley make Main Street seem to pop out of thin air. I park a couple streets over from the crowd and follow the glow of the streetlamps. The streets are littered with people. Young couples push strollers while their children run along beside them. A group of teenagers cross the street, waving to the car that stops to let them pass. I turn around looking for Wally and
Beaver Cleaver as if I’ve been plopped down in a page from 1955.

  I spot other people sitting out on balconies of the old stone buildings, eating and laughing as the sound of music drifts from the open windows. I peer over my head, admiring the strings of white lights that hang from building to building, giving a soft glow against the retreating sun.

  I follow the flow of people down the cobblestone sidewalks, admiring the easy atmosphere. The sleepy shops I’d seen during the day on my way through town are alive and vibrant now. In fact, an antique shop I pass has removed the glass from the windows. I hear the dinging of the cash register from outside. As I walk, I peek inside frilly dress shops and candy stores, promising myself I’ll come back when I am in the mood to browse.

  I stand on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing back and forth, unsure of what direction to head first.

  “Lost, chérie?”

  I spin around, startled by the voice. It’s not every day you hear a perfect French accent. My second time around, I realize the voice came from above me. I step off the sidewalk and look up. Leaning against the balcony of the yellow stone building behind me is a guy. His smile is instant.

  Beautiful.

  Tussled raven hair compliments the black bow tie on his stark white dress shirt. I quickly glance away, thinking he isn’t talking to me. I know little of the French language but enough to know chérie is a term of endearment. The street is littered with people. He surely meant his sweet sentiment for someone else.

  I turn back around, forcing my gaze on the busy street. A hint of laughter echoes above my head. “Now, Wilhelmina. Don’t be shy.”

  I jerk around, my mouth already gaping.

  Smirking now, the boy takes a long drink from the cherry-colored glass in his hand. “Rooster’s,” he says casually. “The place you’re looking for is Rooster’s Diner. It’s up the street.”