head, and he didn’t look at
her, while he secured the tree in the stand. His bear whined his distress at
the myriad of emotions assaulting his soul, when he saw Emilia bend down and
pick up one of the old fashioned Christmas baubles that used to hang on the
family tree every year until that fateful day they’d lost Jasper—two days
before Christmas.
As
though it had only happened yesterday, Hunter saw himself pulling a lifeless Jasper out of the wrecked car. Heard the noise of
the explosion and felt his skin tear and burn as the fire rocketed against him.
The pain, the despair and then nothing but blissful darkness until he opened
his eyes to read the truth in his mother’s tearstained gaze.
Fuck,
he couldn’t do this. Not caring about what it must look like he tore away from
Emilia and the suffocating heat of the fire. He needed to get outside, to
breathe clean air, to shift and to run away from the ugly demons. He was out of
the door and half shifted before Emilia’s shout registered.
“Hunter,
stop. Please, Sir, don’t do this. Don’t run away.”
Breaths
heaving in and out of his chest, Hunter turned at the bottom of the steps to
find Emilia still holding that damn bauble. Tears ran down her face, and she
shivered in the freezing air. The storm was over, but it was still far too cold
to be out in this. The leggings and long jumper she wore would be no protection
for her.
“Get
back inside.” He grimaced at the hoarse quality of his voice, and Emilia shook
her head.
“No, not without you. Not until we
talk about this,” she said, and Hunter groaned.
“Damn
it, woman, you’ll freeze, standing there. There is nothing to talk about. You
wanted a tree. I got you one. A tree needs decorations. I’ve got you some. What
is there to fucking talk about?”
Emilia’s
eyes flashed fire, and he got a second’s warning of her intentions before she
threw the bauble at his head, with a growl that would have done any she-bear
proud. He ducked at the last minute, and the bright red decoration sailed past
him and plopped into the snow. Like a red tear it lay there, before it slowly
sank into its powdery grave.
All
the fire seemed to have gone out of Emilia following that action, because she
sniffed, and turned back round with a muttered, “Damn you to hell and fucking
back, Hunter Monahan.” She slammed the door shut with so much force that an avalanche of snow slid off the roof, further burying the
item from his childhood.
Hunter
swore under his breath, got to his knees and shoveled the snow away with his
hands until his fingers touched the bauble. A grim smile played on his lips, as
he pulled it out, and properly looked at it. There, written in tiny, childlike
writing was the message he’d scribbled on it himself.
Santa, roller skates
The
moisture running down his face took him by surprise. Hunter couldn’t even
remember the last time he’d allowed himself the luxury of tears. They didn’t
achieve anything, bar making you look like a fucking pussy, and left you with a
lump in your throat and a fucking headache to boot.
Something
crashed inside the cabin, and he winced. He wasn’t the only one crying.
Emilia’s tears burnt a path of acid over his heart, and he was up the stairs,
through the front door and in front of her in seconds.
Huddled
in front of the box Emilia looked up at him, and he dropped to his knees and
pulled her in for a hug.
Neither one of them said anything for
the longest time, and when she finally pulled away, and wiped his tears
off his face, something broke inside of him.
“I’m
sorry,” she said. “We can put this away, and—”
“No.”
Her eyes widened at his growled reply, and he cupped her face and kissed the
remnants of her own tears off her face. The salty fragrance of her skin called
him, and he licked along her jaw. Her heart beat picked up under his
fingertips, and it took considerable effort to pull away. Holding up the red
bauble he still held in his hand
her, while he secured the tree in the stand. His bear whined his distress at
the myriad of emotions assaulting his soul, when he saw Emilia bend down and
pick up one of the old fashioned Christmas baubles that used to hang on the
family tree every year until that fateful day they’d lost Jasper—two days
before Christmas.
As
though it had only happened yesterday, Hunter saw himself pulling a lifeless Jasper out of the wrecked car. Heard the noise of
the explosion and felt his skin tear and burn as the fire rocketed against him.
The pain, the despair and then nothing but blissful darkness until he opened
his eyes to read the truth in his mother’s tearstained gaze.
Fuck,
he couldn’t do this. Not caring about what it must look like he tore away from
Emilia and the suffocating heat of the fire. He needed to get outside, to
breathe clean air, to shift and to run away from the ugly demons. He was out of
the door and half shifted before Emilia’s shout registered.
“Hunter,
stop. Please, Sir, don’t do this. Don’t run away.”
Breaths
heaving in and out of his chest, Hunter turned at the bottom of the steps to
find Emilia still holding that damn bauble. Tears ran down her face, and she
shivered in the freezing air. The storm was over, but it was still far too cold
to be out in this. The leggings and long jumper she wore would be no protection
for her.
“Get
back inside.” He grimaced at the hoarse quality of his voice, and Emilia shook
her head.
“No, not without you. Not until we
talk about this,” she said, and Hunter groaned.
“Damn
it, woman, you’ll freeze, standing there. There is nothing to talk about. You
wanted a tree. I got you one. A tree needs decorations. I’ve got you some. What
is there to fucking talk about?”
Emilia’s
eyes flashed fire, and he got a second’s warning of her intentions before she
threw the bauble at his head, with a growl that would have done any she-bear
proud. He ducked at the last minute, and the bright red decoration sailed past
him and plopped into the snow. Like a red tear it lay there, before it slowly
sank into its powdery grave.
All
the fire seemed to have gone out of Emilia following that action, because she
sniffed, and turned back round with a muttered, “Damn you to hell and fucking
back, Hunter Monahan.” She slammed the door shut with so much force that an avalanche of snow slid off the roof, further burying the
item from his childhood.
Hunter
swore under his breath, got to his knees and shoveled the snow away with his
hands until his fingers touched the bauble. A grim smile played on his lips, as
he pulled it out, and properly looked at it. There, written in tiny, childlike
writing was the message he’d scribbled on it himself.
Santa, roller skates
The
moisture running down his face took him by surprise. Hunter couldn’t even
remember the last time he’d allowed himself the luxury of tears. They didn’t
achieve anything, bar making you look like a fucking pussy, and left you with a
lump in your throat and a fucking headache to boot.
Something
crashed inside the cabin, and he winced. He wasn’t the only one crying.
Emilia’s tears burnt a path of acid over his heart, and he was up the stairs,
through the front door and in front of her in seconds.
Huddled
in front of the box Emilia looked up at him, and he dropped to his knees and
pulled her in for a hug.
Neither one of them said anything for
the longest time, and when she finally pulled away, and wiped his tears
off his face, something broke inside of him.
“I’m
sorry,” she said. “We can put this away, and—”
“No.”
Her eyes widened at his growled reply, and he cupped her face and kissed the
remnants of her own tears off her face. The salty fragrance of her skin called
him, and he licked along her jaw. Her heart beat picked up under his
fingertips, and it took considerable effort to pull away. Holding up the red
bauble he still held in his hand
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