His Little Human Mate

Chapter 2

Noella

When I was a girl, my father used to pick the most beautiful white roses and bring them home to me. I would put them In a vase and fawn over them until they died. I would mourn their loss, but eventually, my father would get new ones.

The process repeated itself over and over, until one day, he didn't come home. Instead of mourning the loss of flowers, I found myself mourning something far greater.

Maybe it was from all the books I read that filled my head with silly notions, or maybe it was my hope trying to hold on with an iron claw, but I was convinced he wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

Nobody found a body, and no one could tell me what happened. I was left with the illusion that he was alive. Until I found him, he was still my, very much alive, father. For now.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

"One, two, three, four, five," I counted in a whisper.

Over and over, the same numbers. The same five words that were monotonous and blissfully calming.

My nerves were almost as frigid as the air around me, and all I had to do was keep counting, keep walking, and stay calm.

Don't think about what you're doing. Don't think about the lead you found and chose to follow. Definitely don't think about the house you're about to walk into. Don-

"Dammit," I muttered.

The anxiety caught up and I slipped in the snow, my hands landing in the ivory padding with a thud.

Well, that was graceful.

I got up with a frustrated sigh before starting to walk again, and it didn't take that much longer before a giant oak door greeted me. I stopped counting as I stared, unable to do anything but swallow until my mouth turned dry.

I raised my trembling hand to knock but the door swung open before I got the chance.

The rumours about the only man who made it out of the forbidden forest were insane and sometimes unfathomable. I never believed a single one, but looking at the man in front of me, I wish I had taken more caution.

His beard stretched to his chest in knotted rivulets of greasy brown, and his shoulder-length hair wasn't any better. Dark circles painted the underside of his eyes, framing whirls of black that looked like they'd seen too much.

My nerves started to creep up my throat, but I pushed them back down and said, "Good morning, sir."

His dark eyes assessed me thoroughly until he seemed satisfied enough to say, "You are young."

I cleared my throat.

"Umm... thank you? I would like to-"

"No."

My brows furrowed at his interruption, and I opened my mouth to speak again but he beat me to it.

"I will not allow such youth to cross past those trees. You know not what you are asking. Now leave."

My hope flickered and sparked inside my chest, giving out with every second I stood here.

"Please, sir. You don't understand. My father-"

His face pitched forward until his eyes were inches from mine, and my breath hitched, my ribs tightening with the effort it took to hold my breath.

"Your father is dead if you think he's in that forest, girl." His hand reached out to push at my chest, and his beer-fused breath blew at my face as he said, "Get out of here, and don't even think about coming back."