A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving (Holiday Shifters of Frost Mountain #6)

Chapter Nine

A Walk Through Pine Gap

The next couple of days rolled by uneventfully. Sylvester continued to go to the forge in the mornings, returning after dark with his hands and clothes blackened from hours of work. Once, she’d asked him how it was that he never got injured at the forge. He’d shrugged and said there wasn’t much that dragonflame could do to harm a dragon working with it.

Diane had nodded as if his response had made complete sense.

Neither of them had uttered a word about what almost happened the other night. They’d carried on as usual, Diane preparing breakfast and dinner, the duo sleeping and waking up next to each other, but nothing else had happened, although Diane could have sworn she’d caught Sylvester staring in her direction a couple of times as she read in front of the fireplace.

It didn’t help matters that his gaze was intense enough to make her think elicit thoughts. One lingering look at her, and she struggled to steady her breathing, a pool gathering between her thighs, as she fought desperately to dispel the image of his tongue following his large fingers down the length of her body.

If only he hadn’t suddenly broken the kiss that night.

God, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d been so caught up in their passion, in the sensations she felt. And then he’d pulled away, leaving her feeling like she’d been cheated. The more she thought about it, the more the gnawing sensation in her gut grew.

Then again, it was probably for the best. She was still new to this village and to everyone and everything on this mountain. And all she knew about Sylvester was that he was a blacksmith, both his parents were gone, and he had a bone to pick with the village chief.

And, oh, yeah, he could turn into a dragon.

Why was she so concerned about what happened between them? Was it because she liked him or was he just a distraction from her current predicament? She’d been saved from a plane crash and ended up on a mountain she could never leave, an entire dimension away from a life she would never see again. And here was this big, powerful man who could make her insides melt with a single gaze, trying to make her his wife in every way possible.

If he was a distraction, he was a pretty good one. But deep down, a part of her knew that wasn’t all that he was. No, this was a man with problems of his own, a man whose existence defied everything she’d come to know as reality. He was a dragon , for goodness sake. Diane hadn’t read many stories about women being captured by dragons, but the ones she’d read didn’t end well. By now, she should have tried everything she could to get away from him.

But she hadn’t. And it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Even now, as she sat before the fireplace, only half-buried in the novel she was reading, she couldn’t help wondering what her role was in all of this. What had Sylvester told her last night? You are still my wife. What did he still want with her? Just where were things headed? Diane scoffed at herself, glancing into the flickering flames. When she thought about it, it made no sense to just let go of her old life and continue to play housewife to someone she’d met just days ago. No matter how much the sight of him made her want to rip her clothes off.

Then again, she hadn’t exactly had to let go of anything. That old life was gone the second Flight 18 arrived on Frost Mountain. This was her reality now: She was the wife of a blacksmith, living in a village on the brink of war. The sooner she adjusted to it, the better. And that shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, she had him , didn’t she?

So she did like him. It was hard to deny that at this point, especially after last night. The question was, did he feel the same way? He’d pulled away, hadn’t he?

Sylvester soon left for work, and Diane continued to busy herself with the book. To her dismay, she was already halfway done. She’d never been a fan of science-fiction, much less something so commercial as Star Wars , but the book had turned out to be one of the most interesting things she’d read in a while. Maybe she’d drop by Quinta’s later and ask the woman if she had any more novels lying around.

She was still engrossed in the novel a couple of hours later, when she heard a knock on the door. Muttering a few choice words under her breath, Diane got to her feet and went to see who it was there. She opened the door, and her eyes widened slightly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s you.”

Quinta tilted her head to one side, raising an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Uh… no.” Diane shook her head. “I was just reading that book you gave me. It’s really great. You don’t think we could scour your place for another one, do you?”

The woman rolled her eyes, then lifted an arm to show Diane the empty basket she held in the crook of her elbow.

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in going to the village with me,” she said. “I want to get some items from a friend. For Thanksgiving. It’s tomorrow.”

“You’re really taking this holiday seriously,” Diane muttered.

Quinta shrugged. “It’s my favorite time of the year. There’s a lot to be grateful for.”

Having nearly died in a plane crash that isolated her from her world, Diane could hardly relate, but she smiled anyway. “I’ll come with you. I could use some time away from the cabin today.”

“Great!” Quinta’s features brightened.

Minutes later, both women walked through the village, Diane hugging herself to stay warm.

“It’s so cold here. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“Oh, you will,” her companion assured her. “When Jon and I first moved here, we felt the same way. In fact, he took a lot more time adjusting to this place than I did. He didn’t seem to like it much, probably because it wasn’t Glenstra and…” Realization flickered across her face. “Oh, you were talking about the cold.”

But Diane put her woes about the weather aside because something Quinta said sparked an idea. “Wait a minute. Did you say you two came from Glenstra?”

Quinta nodded. “We’re not the first to move here from Glenstra. Not that it was an easy decision. Jon was particularly reluctant, especially since we lost a son during one of the wars between the villages.”

“That’s horrible,” Diane breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” The smile Quinta gave her looked a little strained, and Diane wondered if she was recalling some painful memory. “It’s been a little over a decade since it happened. And Jon took it a lot harder than I did. That’s why it took him so long to adjust to this place. We’ve got Sylvester to thank, of course—working at the forge helped Jon more than anything or anyone else could.”

Diane had never considered bending metals to create weapons as a form of therapy, but whatever worked for Jon was good. She nodded. “You guys could’ve picked some other village. There are others around here, right?”

“Not exactly. Glenstra’s the closest. There are towns and villages scattered all over the mountain, too many to count. There could be dozens farther down this side of the mountain. It would take much longer to reach them, though. Weeks, maybe months.”

Diane nodded. “It’s a pretty big mountain.”

Soon, Quinta stopped in front of a cabin. “We’re here.”

She walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door, and it opened a moment later, revealing a red-haired woman carrying a wailing child.

“Oh, good,” the woman said. “I thought it might take you longer to get here.”

“I came as soon as I could,” Quinta replied. “Mary, meet Diane.”

Mary smiled and complimented Diane on her hair. Then she disappeared into the cabin for a couple of minutes, returning with some vegetables and what looked like raw meat. Quinta loaded everything into her basket, thanked Mary, and they were on their way.

“She seems nice,” Diane remarked as they headed back home through the streets.

“She’s one of the first friends I made when Jon and I moved in,” Quinta replied. Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Speaking of Jon…”

She frowned at a figure rapidly approaching them. The man was almost as tall as Sylvester, with a build a little less sturdy. His greying beard had flecks of snow caught in it, and as he drew nearer, Diane caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were round and hazel. His hands swung at his sides, blackened as though he’d been working someplace sooty.

It took Diane a couple of seconds to realize who he was.

“Quinta,” he said. His gaze drifted from his wife to her companion, and his eyes widened slightly with surprise. “And you… you must be Sylvester’s wife.”

The wife part made Diane blush, but she nodded. “Uh… yes, I am. You’re Jon, right?”

“I am.” But Jon didn’t look the least bit interested in carrying on a conversation. His expression, Diane realized, was one of concern. “Have you seen Sylvester?”

At his words, she felt her breath freeze in her throat. “No, not since he left the cabin this morning. Is everything okay?”

The look in his eyes was all the answer she needed. “Not exactly. We were both working in the forge earlier. Then he got up and stormed off.” He frowned. “I suppose he went to pay his brother another visit.”

Uh-oh.