Hemlock Veils

But regardless of the way days had lapsed in walks and conversations over coffee, he wasn’t the same Henry she’d begun to see that day in his gardens, or even the evening he’d fixed her pipe. That man, who she’d thought possibly felt the same things she did, had disappeared, and Henry was back to being Mr. Clayton: clipped, short, professional, and not caring more for her than a man cares for his business associate. As though it was his obligation to walk with her every morning. Every once in a while, he’d even become condescending the way he’d been in the begi

It was strange, their relationship—outside of a definition. Whatever they were, a large bit of something was missing. Three weeks ago, she had begun to see a side of him that said she was more than a morning walk and a cup of coffee. But, like a switch, he’d flipped off that side, even the fire that had burned from within and showed through his eyes. He revealed no personal information either, other than a tidbit he’d slipped out on the morning she’d sat with him. It usually consisted of small talk, except for the times she would tell stories about her father or brother, or even Mr. Vanderzee. She didn’t mind doing this, sharing herself with him, and she was glad he didn’t seem to mind either. He always listened with respect, even appeared interested more times than not.

However, on that morning she’d sat with him, all she’d gotten from him was that Henry Street had been named after his father, because he’d been born in that very clinic on the corner. And even that wasn’t true, she knew, since Henry Senior never existed. Junior and Senior were one in the same; the careless father Henry spoke of was none other than Joseph Clayton, and the wonderful friend Arne spoke of was the very same Henry she now knew, from a past life. None of it made sense and she wanted it to. She wanted to know why the man before her felt nothing like the beast she knew at night.

Because in Henry, the beast, lay a different story. With the beast she was home, and so was he. At night she knew the real Henry, the one who waited eagerly for her. After sunset he always came, and not a day had gone by during the past three weeks that she didn’t go with him. He even provided an excellent shield on the nights it rained. Instead of walking side-by-side on those nights, they walked as one. With her body huddled against his massive frame, she took shelter between his ribs and shoulder—he on four legs and she on two.

It wasn’t that the beast told her much. Even now, as she walked with him, he rarely spoke. But they didn’t need it. All they needed was the co

Tonight it rained again, just drizzled really, and as she took her place in the indentation between his shoulder and ribs, her mind continued to drift. She’d been officially living in Hemlock Veils for a month now. How quickly it had gone by. How fulfilling yet equally empty—and not to mention strange—her life was. She was tired most of the time, even the mornings after she fell asleep against him. Sometimes they would stop on the flat surface of a boulder close to a water source (she could hear it gushing) and drift. Darkness always concealed the places he took her, and she hoped someday to see them in daylight—especially the waterfall.

They’d stopped there more than a handful of times, where he would lie down, resting his jaw on his paws, and she would lie back against his side—a few times against his chest and below his head, on the nights it poured. The second time this happened, she had asked him where he usually slept, and with the thoughts that floated into her head, he had said it was right there, where they were. There was something trusting in the way he brought her to his sleeping place, something that said everything.

Drizzling transitioned to rain, and she lifted her hood over her head, inching closer to the beast. She had learned the paths they walked, and though she couldn’t see them, sometimes clinging to his fur as he led her, she knew the turns they would take, the obstacles they had to avoid. And right now they were roughly a mile northwest of Hemlock, in a particularly hilly terrain she assumed was close to Hunchback Mountain. In knowing Mt. Hood Highway was just north of them, she was reminded of the night they’d met, the first time he’d tried frightening her.

You’re tired, he said in her mind, his words shoving aside her own thoughts.

“Tonight is no different than any other.”

I’ll take you back.

“No.” He worried for her more than anyone ever had—always making sure she had enough rest, always protecting her from weather, and even protecting her from wildlife. Generally, they all kept away from him, but a few times the animals had been taken by surprise and acted on their instincts. In turn, he had too.

The first and only time she’d seen him attack, tearing his jaws through a black bear’s side, she’d been so horrified that she’d left him earlier than usual, needing a night to process the bloody image. The next night when meeting him at her porch, he had said, Sometimes I can’t ignore my instincts, Elizabeth. I told you I was vicious. I warned you.

She’d grasped the fur beneath his ear and pulled his face toward her, sliding her other hand the length of his snout. In his animal eyes the shame was unmistakable. “You’re not vicious,” she said softly. “If you were, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She ran her thumb down the length of his long fang, from gum to tip—moist but free of blood. “Your instincts are part of you, Beast.” His breath left him in a puff and she smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I have the best bodyguard in existence.”

Though she had accepted this side of him, she was grateful he never attacked another animal in front of her again. She’d learned by now that it was difficult for him to exercise control. Even the rare presence of mule deer set him on edge, his spine rippling with that instinct he tried to fight. One time, she’d laughed at the way he’d scared off a defenseless rabbit.

But it’d been a week since they’d come across other wildlife, and she was contemplating this when they reached a clearing, and he sat on his haunches. She took the place she usually reserved for rainstorms: against his chest, beneath his head. The rain wasn’t threatening tonight, but she was tired. Though she wouldn’t admit it to him—because he would drag her home by his teeth—she did need to close her eyes. It was sometime in the middle of the night and staying out late was a mistake; but she needed this, needed these moments with the only soul who seemed to understand her. She rested the side of her face against the wet fur of his chest and closed her eyes. And even while standing on her feet, her mind slipped into a sleepy state. He lowered his long jaw and rested it on her head—always protecting.

As usual, while her mind drifted, Henry floated in and out of it. The man, Henry. The way he made her feel on their morning walks to Jean’s, even when he was his distant, professional self. The truth was, she hadn’t felt for anyone the way she felt for him, not ever. She cared so deeply about the man he was hiding, the man she got glimpses of on nights like tonight.

“Beast…” she said, her voice tired and eyes closed. His rapid heartbeat didn’t sound human. “Why do you come to me every night?”

The rain in the treetops was a pleasing sound. Because you accept me. I don’t have to pretend. She moved away from his chest, meeting his large animal eyes, rich with the same hue as his human ones. With you I’m not alone.