Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Nicer?” He scoffs, then folds his fingers on his lap. “Being nice is a weakness, and it gets you killed.”
“Well, like I said, Alexi is nice.”
“Please. He’s an arrogant brute.”
I laugh so hard I flop onto my back. “You can’t be serious,” I tell him, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye and sitting up again. “He’s the arrogant brute? Have you looked in a mirror?”
He glares at me, waiting for me to stop laughing.
“You done now?” He pushes out of his chair, making his way to the closet and taking down several blankets and a pillow. He spreads one of the blankets out on the floor, places the pillow on top of it, and then lies on both.
“You should get some rest. We have a long way back to Blackwater in a couple hours.”
“You know you can take half the bed if you want. It’s a pretty big bed.” And it is. I’ve never seen a bed so large. It’s not a king, or even a California king. It’s wide—big enough to fit three burly men.
“I’m fine here.”
“Suit yourself.” I turn over in the bed, resting on my comfortable side and facing the window. The wind pushes the leaves of the tree against the glass, and I inhale before exhaling, wishing I could just go home already, though I am tired.
I feel the fatigue in my body, and I’m convinced that those verdeberries make you giggly, or give you some kind of high, because I’m feeling a bit loopy. Or maybe it was Manx’s elixir?
Shit.
I frown when I hear Caz’s voice echoing in my head.
Is that a fucking… Oh, fuck!
I glance over my shoulder as Caz springs off the floor to sit on the edge of the bed.
“What is going on with you?” I ask, confused.
He swallows hard, staring down at the floor. With a frown, I lean over to see what he’s looking at and notice something crawling near his pillow. It looks similar to the spider that was at Beatrix’s—like a baby tarantula.
“Wait a minute…” I stifle a laugh as Caz moves his feet farther away from the spider. “Are you afraid of spiders?”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles.
“Oh, wow. You are! Wow!” I stare at him, surprised by this new discovery. “And here I was thinking you’re this fearless man who can’t be bothered.”
I climb off the bed, picking up the empty teacup from my tray and wobbling toward the spider. It’s crawling onto his pillow now, and I see him shudder in the corner of my eye.
I can’t. This is hilarious and ridiculous. What kind of grown man is scared of spiders?
“I’m not scared of them,” Caz counters, and I forget he can hear me. “I just don’t like them.”
“I admit, these are some hairy little beasts…” I scoop the spider into the teacup. “But they’re not much to be afraid of. They’re not poisonous, are they?”
“Not that one. Plus, they’re disgusting to look at.”
I’m instantly reminded of all the spiders that’d come into me and Warren’s bedroom when we were young. We stayed in an apartment in Sugar Creek, a two-bedroom unit with walls as thin as paper, and our room hardly had space for a twin sized bed. Despite it being one of the worst places we ever lived, a lot of memories were created there.
There was this one corner in the room the spiders would always build a small web. I’d never been afraid of them, but Warren did warn me about poisonous ones, like the brown recluse.
“I think it’s kind of cute, actually.” I walk toward Caz with the teacup. “Would you like a closer look?”
“Willow, if you bring that teacup any closer, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I ask, smirking. “Kill me? You can’t incite violence in Whisper Grove, remember?”
“Then it’ll be payback as soon as we’re past the border. Seriously—back the hell off with that thing.”
“Tell me why you don’t like them,” I say, taking another step closer. He stands, huffing as he moves around the bed to get farther away from me.
“I just don’t.”
“But this one is harmless, so what’s the big deal?”
“I just don’t fucking like them, all right? Never have and never will.”
“There has to be a reason.”
Caz’s head shakes as he takes another step back with a frown. “Fine, if I tell you, will you fuck off?”
“Sure.” I smile, bringing the teacup to my chest.
He draws in a breath, clearly relieved that I’ve stopped coming closer, then shakes his head as he exhales. “First of all, let’s set the record straight. I’m not fucking afraid of them. I’m traumatized by them.”
I blink. “How?”
“I was running in a forest one day with some friends and fell down a well. I was maybe nine or ten. Anyway, I was stuck there for maybe an hour or so while my friends went to get help. Shortly after they’d left, I moved around in the well and stepped on a spider’s nest. They crawled all over me—under my clothes, into my shoes, my hair.” He shudders. “I tried getting them off, but it seemed the more I smashed or swiped at them, the more they kept coming. Someone finally got me out of the damn well, but not without me being bitten over thirty times. I had to stay in the hospital for a week so they could clear my body of their poison. My doctor told me had I been in that well any longer, I probably would’ve died. Since then, I don’t fucking like them.”