Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

I looked past her to the house.

To the thought of hiding in an empty dorm, in an empty valley, with an empty heart.

Alone.

Loneliness was my prison—a place where I understood the parameters. I could control it, even if I couldn’t get free from it. But I couldn’t do that around her. She threatened all my foundations and all my barriers.

But her offer spoke to the darkness inside me. The part of me that was sick to fucking death of being alone. It wanted her. It wanted to be with her, in every capacity, all the damn time. I didn’t even have to be inside her. I just wanted to be near her. And what sort of curse was that? To find peace with the one person who was killing me?

A cloud skidded over the sun, casting us in shadow, taking away the heat in the sky and reminding me, all over again, that the chill in the air was because autumn had arrived and winter wasn’t far behind.

Our chores couldn’t wait.

I could continue having my mental breakdown while working.

“Just...promise to keep a safe distance. Don’t get too close to me.” I turned my back on her and moved toward the treeline.

She didn’t reply, and I didn’t stop.

We no longer had a chain locking us together, but she’d follow.

I knew she would.

We were joined in so many ways these days, so many disastrous, dangerous ways.

Sure enough, the soft patter of her feet chased me all the way into the trees.

Into my madness.

Into a hell I couldn’t get free from.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

STRANGE HOW LONELINESS COULD creep from nowhere.

It wasn’t as if I wasn’t used to sleeping alone at night. I’d lived alone ever since I moved out of my mother’s place. Most of the time, I liked the independence. I enjoyed never having to ask a partner’s permission to jump out of bed at midnight and go hunt a boulder. I didn’t have to bother with a boyfriend’s hurt feelings, trying to explain how I’d rather spend the weekend climbing a lump of granite than spend it with him. I’d even decided against roommates as I wanted the freedom to do my video editing until dawn without disturbing anyone.

Yet...here I am.

In a house shared with a man I’m in love with, and I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been.

Sighing, I stared at the dark sky with its wispy silver clouds hiding the moon and stars, grateful that the conservatory roof kept the chill at bay. I doubted it was much warmer inside than out, seeing as no heating had been turned on, but it still gave me comfort to know I was in a house and not exposed to the elements that could turn so quickly.

I didn’t know what the time was, but I guessed it was close to one in the morning.

I ought to be fast asleep. After the stress of sex with Kas in the garden, the panic of his memory loss, and the never-ending lugging of firewood, every part of me was exhausted.

I could barely feel my fingers after they’d been used to grab, carry, and stack rows upon rows of kindling and logs. We’d barely made a dent in the quantity required for a full season of snow. It would take days of solid labor to gather what was needed. I thought I was fit and strong. However, it turned out that lugging wood was an entirely different workout from climbing.

It hadn’t helped that Kas didn’t pay any attention to me. He flat-out ignored me when I reminded him not to do so much with his broken arm. He barely grunted at me as we hunted through the forest for fallen branches, dragging longer ones back to hack with the ax and gathering armfuls of smaller ones, perfect for starting a flame.

Once the sun sank out of the sky, and it grew too dark to see in the forest, he grudgingly called it a day. We walked side by side, silent and highly aware of each other as we washed our hands, stood awkwardly in the kitchen, and tried to decide what to do next.

Kas had looked as if he’d pass out on the spot. His skin had an unnatural grayness, his eyes were bracketed with pain, and he breathed heavily even though we were no longer bending and stacking firewood.

I’d offered to cook. I’d braced myself for permission to harvest a few veggies to make something decent to fill our empty stomachs. His eyes had narrowed, hinting he might have forgotten about our bath, but he hadn’t forgotten my lack of rationing or respect when it came to survival.

He’d stormed outside without a word.

He’d returned with a few carrots, a couple of potatoes, and grabbed half the cabbage that was left in the fridge.

I’d kept him company while he sliced the produce, grabbed a big pot, and placed all of it on the stove. The entire time he’d cooked, I’d stood quietly beside him. I couldn’t stop watching how capable he was, how familiar with the chore of feeding himself.

It didn’t matter that he was so capable at cooking because he didn’t have a choice. He’d wanted to survive. Therefore, he’d had to learn how. He’d had no one else. No help gathering firewood, no help cleaning this giant place, no one to turn to at night when his dreams wrenched him awake with torment.

Hadn’t I wanted a man who didn’t rely on a woman to keep him alive? A man who wasn’t afraid to do what was necessary?

I’d shivered with desire as his strong hands wielded knives and dishes. I’d sunk into a strange kind of awe, my chest swelling with a total sense of domestic contentedness.

Kassen Sands was literally everything I’d written on that internet dating profile. He was rugged and masculine but was also skilled at making a life out of nothing and no one. He was aggressive and possessive, but beneath the tangled vines of his past, he was caring and kind.