Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,15

now,” Emil said, struggling to keep his cool in the face of such rudeness. Filip knew very well such things weren’t uncommon in the area, so why would he target him of all people, when they actually knew one another quite well?

“Then you can’t hunt,” Filip said, stepping back into the smokehouse, only to emerge with a whole string of homemade sausages hanging off his forearm. Blood left Emil’s head and added weight to his fists.

“Really? You’d rather see me starve than look the other way a couple times?”

Filip dropped the sausages Emil had worked so hard on into an open plastic box he must had placed in the middle of the yard earlier. In that moment, Emil wished he had a dog, so he could sic it on this treacherous bastard.

Filip looked up. “The law’s the law. Consider it a warning. I won’t notify anyone, and make this my wedding gift.”

Emil’s brain hollowed despite the anger still simmering in his blood. “What wedding?”

“Next month. My bride, Judyta, isn’t originally from here, but you’ll meet her soon enough. Gotta have a good relationship with the forest ranger’s wife.”

Emil shook his head. “What are you talking about? I sucked your dick, like, three weeks ago.”

Filip rolled his eyes. “So? I was experimenting.”

Emil couldn’t comprehend what was happening around him anymore. Filip had gotten weird toward him last year, after his father died, but this really took the cake.

“What, for the past three years? But… it’s none of my business. I don’t need to know. But can’t you just lay off on the sausage? For old times’ sake.”

Filip smirked. “Maybe I could turn a blind eye if you invited me in?” he asked, taking a wider stance, as if he wanted to draw Emil’s attention to his crotch.

Son of a bitch.

“I don’t fuck cheaters. And for your information, I also don’t fuck thieves, so you might as well take that sausage and never show your face here again.”

Filip rolled his eyes, but grabbed the box of Emil’s blood, sweat, and tears. “Fine. Suit yourself. And for the record, you’re not invited to the wedding.”

Emil clenched his fists because his hand was far too close to an axe as he watched Filip load the meats and sausage into the back of his pickup. “Congratulate the bride from me then. Hope you two are very happy as you munch on someone else’s sausage.”

Filip snorted and got into the driver’s seat. “I could have reported this, you know? I’m basically doing you a favor.”

Emil bit his tongue this time, unwilling to waste his breath on the piece of shit. Once Filip was gone, he did grab the axe and started chopping wood, because he needed to channel his fury somewhere, but every log he split seemed to make his anger worse.

He was a rabid bear trapped in a cage called Dybukowo, and on some days, his belly was full, his play needs sated, and the sun shone at his fur through the metal bars, but right now, he could’ve rammed his skull against them time and time again in a desperate attempt to escape.

If he had money, getting that meat taken wouldn’t have been such a huge deal, just a waste of his time and effort, but as it stood, the sausages had already been spoken for and he’d need to tell Mrs. Sarnowicz that he wouldn’t be able to deliver. Which landed him back in square one when it came to paying off his debt for her husband repairing his thatched roof last winter.

The village was a web of sticky, unpleasant connections, and he was the fly helplessly trying to wriggle its way out. But he wasn’t willing to give up yet.

“Shoo!” he yelled at the crows gathering on the roof of his house and mocking him with their screeching. He was so used to their presence by now he wouldn’t have minded them following him everywhere if they didn’t shit all over. Most often—in his homestead.

Maybe Radek was right, and Emil could leave this place. Filip had been so triumphant over his discovery that he hadn’t noticed the trapdoor leading to a small cellar under the meat shed. And since the local pastor loved the liquor infusions Emil made following his granddad’s recipe, maybe there was a chance to secure some cash and sweeten this shitty day.

Pastor Marek wasn’t a bad guy, but he often criticized Emil for his looks, so Emil tied his mane into a braid, and changed into a plain