Heart of the Ocean

Chapter 9- Instincts

We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling round cute little boutiques, markets, and book shops. I knew that the university run book shop was on the other side of town, but we were in no rush to get there.

York is ancient medieval city, and I hadn’t had to opportunity to fully explore it’s mysteries. When I told this to Nate, he was eager to help me investigate the city, explaining that York is actually a hub for witches so he had spent a lot of festivals here growing up, so he knew the city pretty well. I was glad to have his guidance as we roamed the city.

But for now, Nate was happy to put a pin in our discussion about witches and simply enjoy getting to know each other better.

York was a hodgepodge of old buildings from periods in history I couldn’t place. There were whole streets that looked like they were about to topple over if you leaned against their walls. There were dozens of ancient churches that rung their bells like clockwork so that the entire city seemed to sing.

The narrow streets were packed with people shopping or seeing the sights. A lot of the time the streets were cobbled, and it was easy to trip on the uneven floor. There was a pretty close call and I nearly faceplanted the floor, but Nate’s quick reflexes kept me upright.

We spent a good half hour in a second-hand shop that contained the weirdest odds, bobs and antiques I’d ever seen. The owner pounced on us as soon as we entered and paraded us round the shop, highlighting two dozen items that he claimed we had to buy. I was completely taken in with his spiel while Nate sniggered at me every time I agreed to buy something. By the time we got to paying the spell was broken and I realised my meagre student allowance would not stretch to half the things I had promised to buy.

When I realised my predicament and began explaining myself, falling over my walls, Nate came to my rescue, pointing out the numerous damages and flaws with the items. The owner slowly turned purple at the accusations.

Amazingly, Nate pointed to a pair of earrings behind the register cabinet and demanded he see them. The owner, suddenly warming to Nates sublime tastes, explained that they were an exquisite example of Art Deco Jewellery. He explained that they were made from Marcasite (a silvery grey metal) which held Onyx and Pearls as drops. They were about length of my thumb.

The drop earrings were stunning, the perfect balance of raw darkness and iridescent white.

Nate took one look at them declared they were perfect, buying them without asking the price.

Slightly jealous, I looked at my discarded trinkets and wished them farewell.

Wondering who they were for, Nate steered us out of the shop and back onto the street where I quickly thanked Nate for extracting me from the would-be wrath of the owner. Nate simply laughed and said it was nothing. Of course it was nothing for him, if I had been left alone I would probably have bought everything on credit for fear of saying no.

No was such a hard word to say sometimes.

As the day wore on Nate seemed determined to unearth all there was to know about me.

Nate guided our discussion towards my upbringing and family. Did I have any siblings, what were my parents like, was I religious, what subjects did I enjoy at school, had I ever left the country, what was my favourite food, who was my best friend, was I in a relationship, favourite movie. His questions were never ending. It was though he was retaliating for my disbelief in who he was. I was pretty flattered to be on the receiving end of his attention but self-conscious that we were only talking about me.

I made a point of glossing over the secondary school bullying – no need to re-tread that quagmire.

With York as our fantastic backdrop the hours slipped by in easy conversation. I managed to tease out a few interesting Nate facts. He was an only child. He lived with his Mum in Scotland in a town I’m not even going to try and pronounce. His Dad wasn’t in the picture anymore – I quickly dropped the subject when a dark cloud passed over Nate’s face at the mention of his Dad. Clearly a touchy subject.

I wondered if he was close with his Mum if his Dad had left? Maybe the gorgeous earrings were for her and not some mysterious girlfriend back in Scotland. I hoped but lacked the nerve to ask.

It was almost 4 in the afternoon when I realised that I still hadn’t bought the books I needed for class.

“Damn, I just realised I do actually need those books for class. Where did all that time go?” I muttered to myself.

Nate grinned down at me, “I have that effect on people.”

I elbowed him in the side, “Full of yourself, much?”

“Hahaha. No! Not at all. Maybe I put a spell on you. Oooooh.” Nate wiggled his fingers at me as thought he was casting a spell.

I rolled my eyes. In the last few hours, I had realised Nate was a massive dork. He enjoyed cheesy puns and physical humour. If I threw shade, he would clasp his heart in horror, if I gave him a teasing push he would throw his body and though I had super strength. Like I said, dork.

But, admittedly, cute.

It was weird, hanging out was effortless. I hummed with satisfaction.

“Well I guess I can escort you to the bookshop if you reeeaallly need those books. Once we’re done with your books there is a little bit of shopping I need to do if you want to come with?” Nate asked.

I jumped at the chance to keep this day going.

 “Sure, sounds good.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but I doubt Nate was fooled. I was having an amazing day – I didn’t want it to end.

In Upitts I handed my reading list to the shop assistant who quickly recognised I was a first year History of Art student. Apparently, they had pre-organised bundles for freshers’ reading lists. How very organised, this would make things a lot easier.

As my credit card was being processed (apparently the connection was terrible in these old shops) the shop assistant struck up the usual casual chit I hated.

“So you must be a York fresher?”

I nodded my head.

“Do you go out drinking much?”

I shook my head.

“Seriously? You’re missing out. I know this great place, Vudu. You should come out tonight. I’m a Politics 3rd year.”

I shook my head, eye firmly fixed on the card reader, urging its circuits to move faster.

Suddenly, the assistants clamy hand was pressed against mine.

“Come on. A girl like you can’t get offers like this every day. Loosen up.”

I gasped in shock. His hand was slimy. Gross.

As I sucked in breath to tell him to keep his hands to himself Nate was suddenly looing over me, arms protectively draped around my shoulders.

I jerked my head up, trying to catch Nate’s eye. But he was staring at the slimy handed guy, tight lipped and dead eyed. His pupils were huge in his eyes, true black holes.

Nate’s body was hard and tense against mine.

With a start, I realised he was angry! Angry that this random guy had put one hand on mine.

My heart thumped in my chest, unaware of the possessive implications of his actions. Looking back, I was too naïve to understand.

Despite Nate’s sudden presence, the assistant had failed to remove his hand from mine. He was clearly in shock, poor fool.

Nate glared at the hand and a low growl reverberated from his chest, echoing through my own body.

At that moment, the assistant whipped his hand away as though I had burned him. He held his hand cradled against his chest. His face was ashy, and his pupils fully dilated, his breath coming in faster, his body tense. Somehow, Nate’s primal presence had triggered a flight response in this unwitting retailer.

I was also having a weird response to Nate’s position. My body was rigid and still, my breath calm and even as though my brain knew I shouldn’t startle Nate, he was in predator mode.

The tension was shattered when a gaggle of middle-aged women burst into loud titters over some amusing comment.

It felt as though a magical bubble had burst. I felt Nate’s body relax and the cashier exhale a shaky breath.

Thank God my credit card had finally processed. I hastily stowed my books away and thanked shop assistant for his help (I’m British, can’t let those manners slip).

I turned away from the door, hoping Nate would follow me with no further fuss. Thankfully, when I looked up at him his easy façade had returned to his face. He smiled gently down at me.

“Lets go. You promised to go shopping with me.” Nate breathed.

I nodded silently, not trusting the words that might come out of my mouth.

Nate held the door open for me so that I had to walk under the arch of his arm to leave.

After that encounter I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep shopping with Nate. Moments before I was certain that if that creep hadn’t removed his hand Nate would have ripped it off. Wasn’t Nate meant to be a witch not some rage fuelled monster?

Nate seemed to sense my mood as we walked in silence, giving me a chance to review what I knew, or thought I knew, about witches.

I’d seen shows like Charmed, heard of so-called witches like Stevie Nicks, and I knew a little about New Age religion and Glastonbury witches. Witches had always seemed peaceful, dancing under the moon, getting caught up in drama and relationships. They wove spells using smelly herbs, called on the power of the Goddess and maybe got high on pot. But no-where in my limited knowledge had I heard of hunky male witches who growled like a wolf and oozed menace like Nate.

Were there secrets that Nate was keeping from me?