Read The Man, The Dog, His Owner & Her Lover, a Witting Woman novella Page 8
Gabe couldn’t believe it. If he didn’t have Stephanie’s warm, naked body tucked around his, he wouldn’t believe it. He could wish—had wished—that they’d been together like this forever. But he still could barely grasp what had just happened. If there were such things as otherworldly experiences—there weren’t—he’d call what they’d done miraculous. No, not a miracle. They’d done the most basic thing that humans and animals enjoy on a daily basis. Probably his imagination—years of imagining—that made it extraordinary.
They’d been transported. There, he admitted it. There was no other way to describe it. His body felt heavy as a lunker and lighter than one-pound line, like he wasn’t even in it.
But he was and he was starving. He squeezed Steph against his side. It would be painful to get out of her bed but they had to eat, and he wanted to pick up some things from his place before returning for the night. She murmured—a satisfied sound if he ever heard one. A ripple of pleasure shot from his feet to the top of his head.
“Hey,” he said. “How ’bout Chinese?”
“Ummm.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Stay.”
“I won’t be long. Couple of hours to get home, get some stuff, call in an order. I’ll stay when I get back with food. Okay?”
“Ummm.”
He edged away from her. She hung on and grumbled a protest.
“Starving.”
He’d loved her straight into the Stone Age if all she could manage were grunts and single words. He grinned and stroked her backside.
“Me, too.”
“Food. Now.”
“Okay, okay, cave woman.” He laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’ll hunt food now. There’s a to-go place around the corner. I can gather my stuff later.”
She patted his chest. “Cave man good.”
He forced himself out of the bed and shrugged into his clothes. “Lucy usually rides shotgun. You want William in or out?”
Stephanie burrowed into the mattress. “In,” came her muffled reply.
At the back door, the dog trotted past and up the stairs without so much as a glance at the man.
——
If that was what crazy felt like, I’d take it. William jumped onto the bed. He sniffed around then curled at my feet. A tiny voice urged me to move, take a shower. I ignored it, breathing Gabe’s scent into my cells. I never needed to move again. My body felt torpid and a little sore, but good good good, and my mind, blessedly blank. I coaxed William closer and drifted off.
I kneel in the temple, alone. The others have returned to the village after the invocation. I love being alone in this place. It is the dark of the moon, the stone beneath my knees is hard, the air sharp. Silently, I repeat the sacred prayers. I feel the presence of the old ones bringing in the new year.
A shriek cuts the night from down the hill. Shouts. Pounding hooves.
I am running. I lead them away from the others. I’m fast. No one in the village can catch me. Ahead, a place of safety. They are coming swiftly. On horseback. I can’t reach it. They grab me from behind and drag me between them. They are too strong, too strong for me. It is dark, but I hear their voices, one especially.
It cannot be.
I am in the cellar with the others. They are weeping. I comfort them and they quiet.
At dawn, the barbarians return to set the fires.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
He is not coming. The man who was my love. It was his voice I heard. My heart is sick with knowing. Sparks and cinders rain through the ceiling. The building above begins to collapse.
I curse him. Before the blackness descends, I curse him in all directions of time.
I flailed against flames and roiling soot. Their screams—my screams—jarred me awake. Someone shoved beneath my arm. William. My skin was clammy with sweat and stank of smoke, my heart raced. I held onto my dog with both hands until I caught my breath. He pushed his nose into my face, whimpering.