I closed my eyes and let the sound echo through me.
She believed again.
And for now, that was enough.
21
DANNI
The moment I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure if any of it had been real.
For a second, I just lay there, curled on my side, my nightgown bunched around my hips, the sheets twisted around me. The morning light filtered through the old lace curtains, turning the edges of the room to soft gold. My heart was still pounding faintly, like an echo of something half-remembered. I reached down between my thighs and felt the lingering ache, the delicious soreness and damp heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the quilt.
My face flushed as I remembered the night before.
God. Had I dreamed it?
Shadow—my monster. Was he truly real?
I rolled onto my back and pressed my palm against my chest, right over my heart. I could still feel the weight of his heavy, muscular arms around me…the velvet brush of his fur…the deep rumble of his voice as he told me I was beautiful. The way he touched me so reverently, like I was something rare and precious.
The way he made me come so hard.
My cheeks grew even hotter. If it was a dream, it was the most vivid one I'd ever had. But somehow, I didn’t think it was.
I sat up slowly and peeked under the bed, half-hoping, half-expecting to see the glint of golden eyes glowing in the darkness.
Nothing. Just shadows.
Still, I felt something—a presence. Like the air under the bed was just a bit thicker…as bit warmer…charged with static electricity.
“Well,” I murmured, brushing my fingers across the cool wood floor. “Maybe you only come out at night.”
I got up and stretched, feeling better than I had in ages. I didn’t have the heavy feeling of dread I’d been waking up with for the past three years. Instead, I felt almost young again—refreshed and renewed and ready to greet the day.
Another sweater waited for me draped neatly over the old armchair in the corner—a lavender one this time, with delicate cables I remembered knitting years ago. Yoga pants were folded on the chair’s seat, soft and warm. And by the bed, a pair of plush slippers I’d never seen before, in a rich plum color, embroidered with little moons and stars.
I tried them on—they were just my size.
“Thank you,” I said to the cottage.
No reply, of course. But that didn’t stop the smile from blooming on my face.
The cottage was looking after me—that was the only way to describe it. It was like having Grandma here again, fussing over me in her quiet way, always making sure I had what I needed before I even knew I needed it.
The moment I walked into the living room, the hearth flared to life, flames crackling merrily over the logs stacked neatly in the grate. Warmth spilled out into the room, chasing away the Autumn chill. The smell of smoke and old wood and something faintly cinnamony drifted into the air.
I padded into the kitchen, and as if on cue, the teakettle on the stove let out a low whistle.
A china teacup waited on the counter—the same rose-patterned ones Grandma always used for special occasions. A teabag was already nestled inside.
The warmth in my chest grew. It was so nice to be cared for like a child again, with a loving adult hovering to be sure I had whatever I wanted or needed. I could definitely get used to this.
I opened the oven, drawn by the smell, and sure enough, a fresh loaf of bread was baking inside. Right on cue, the old-fashioned timer dinged.
I found Grandma’s old sunflower potholders and took the bread out carefully, placing it on a cutting board and inhaling the hot, yeasty steam rising into my face. God, it smelled heavenly. I shouldn’t eat so much bread, not with my metabolism slowing down, but it was hard to care in a place like this. Maybe calories didn’t count in an enchanted cottage—at least, I decided to pretend they didn’t.
Still, I would need more to live on than just fresh baked bread.
