His body clattered to the floor in an undignified heap. He clutched his abused throat and gasped for air as Adriel calmly returned to her bench and collected her needle and thread.
When she made eye contact with him again, she simply said, “Shoo fly. Shoo.”
He scrabbled off the floor and attempted to get the final word, but his throat was too damaged for more stupidity to pass. Larissa stared, wide-eyed, as he stumbled out of the corridor, leaving them alone in the empty hall.
Adriel punched her needle through the quilt and pulled the thread in a long, determined tug. “Nothing worse than a pest. One good swat is usually all they need.”
Blinking through her shock, Larissa sat back in awe and grinned. Adriel was, without a doubt, one of the most fascinating females she had ever met.
Chapter 35
Jonas strained to see beyond the cluttered clothesline. The sun blinded him with every snap of damp fabric that let bright rays pass between the hanging items dancing in the breeze.
He shouldn’t approach the house, but he was desperate to set eyes on his beloved wife. If God could offer him one glimpse, he’d be satisfied.
The heat of the day burned through his shirt. He longed for a leather strap to tie back his hair. His boots scuffled closer and the sun grew brighter, forming an amber halo around the dwelling.
The soft buzzing of insects was undisturbed by the dog barking in the distance or the children’s laughter while rolling down the hills. Without realizing he moved, Jonas found himself on the front porch, sheltered from the heat of the fading blue sky.
A blurred figure passed the window. “Abilene!” he shouted, and the passing smudge of a body stilled as if contemplating his demand.
“Please,” he whispered. “I’m running out of time.”
Gone from the window, his heart raced in anticipation. Abilene. Beautiful Abilene.
The door opened, showing a gaping cavity leading to bleak nothingness inside. Snow on the hill confused him on such a hot day, and he understood he was dreaming.
Helpless to escape these moments of alternate conscience, he tipped back his head and roared at the heavens, “Why must you forsake all that I love and cherish?”
The wind howled, siphoning the heat away and leaving ice in his veins.
“Abilene!” Desperate to set eyes on her, he fell to his knees, refusing to leave.
Dreary, frostbitten squalls replaced warm, sunlit sky. The world shrouded in gray, and Jonas covered his face and cried. He needed her presence in his life. The distance seemed to be killing him faster than any curse or calling.
“I cannot willingly leave you,” he wept in impudent fury, “I don’t know how to live without you.”
“I’m right here, Jonas.”
The angelic voice stilled his hysterical heart and he searched for her. Surrounded by black, the shadows washed away like circling smoke as her figure appeared.
Hope stole through his lungs like bubbling fire. He recognized her Sunday dress, but she would not face him. “Abilene, I beg you. Let me see you one last time.”
She pivoted, not his wife but his mate, and Jonas stumbled backward.
Clara, appearing out of place in Abilene’s clothing and kapp, stood before him. “We must finish our conversation, Jonas. Come back to me.”
Jonas awoke with a start. He was not on the farm but in the woods, shivering on the frostbitten floor of leaves and twigs, shaded by branches. Close to Clara.
He sensed the nearness of his mate and his intentions pulled toward her, directing his soul to the only female that could help him. He cursed his betraying body for experiencing a thrill of excitement at the thought of Clara’s proximity.
A dark need to bond with the female coursed through his veins. His nerves frayed, at odds with the battle warring within him. His rational mind, what was left of it, craved only his Abilene. Yet his body wanted Clara, his mate.
Although she asked him to leave, he hadn’t gone far. Dutybound to protect what was his, he lingered in the woods just outside of her property line. Sometimes her scent came to him through a breeze’s kiss. Other times her laughter caressed his ears. In a state of constant struggle, his energy depleted with the never-ending fight to resist going to her.
He visited a nearby brook and cleaned his body in the icy water, savoring the bitter shock of the cold. His recollection of the prior days were the sketchy, jumbled musings of a drunkard, yet he hadn’t swallowed a drop of alcohol.
Running a tongue over the sharp tip of his fang, he considered just how parched he’d become. Starved for blood, he thought to find something quick in the woods. But when he traveled deeper into the forest, he found a trail of animal carcasses littering the earth.
Such gluttony filled him with guilt and shame. Crouching low, he examined one of the drained woodland creatures. He’d stolen these lives in a fit of starvation and haste. How many more would have to die before he ended this? How long would it be before his thirst grew more complex and a human suffered at his hand?