“What in Hades is going on here?” he demands. He casts his light eyes over me once, worry in his gaze, before looking away. “Noelle, darlin’, you all right? Tell me. You in any trouble?”
Am I?
I blink, then glance at the knife I have in my grasp. Why am I holding it out, like I’m ready to toss it? It wouldn’t be sporting. The hunt needs to be more satisfying than that. This sniveling little beast isn’t worth bloodying my blade.
With a sniff, I lower my hand, slip it back underneath my cloak. And shake my head.
My angry haze fades, leaving me tired, annoyed, and confused. For a second, I don’t remember where I am or what I’m doing. Then I see Hunter looming in front of me.
He followed me here—wherever here is. Was he supposed to? Somehow I don’t think so.
“Hunter?” I blink again, turning to him. “What are you doing here? You don’t need your sword. Put that shit away before you poke my eye out. Jeez.”
It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Even though I know his arm has got to be killing him, Hunter raises the sword higher, aiming the point at something behind me.
I turn back to look and gasp. “What the hell is that?”
It… it, I don’t know, it looks like a little goat man. What the fuck? I shake my head. Scorpions and arrows and—
Wait. Wait. I know that thing. I’ve seen it before. How could I forget? It had a foot-long boner and creeped on me like he wanted to use it. Holy shit! What would have happened to me if Hunter hadn’t shown up when he did?
I sidle closer to him. I probably should be pissed that he followed me into the woods—how else could he have found me so easily?—but I’m not. I’m kind of grateful for his perfect timing.
His sword drops. In an instant, he doesn’t look so concerned anymore. His expression goes blank as he, with a sigh, sheathes his sword back on his belt.
“Maron, Maron, Maron. What are you doin’, skulkin’ so close to my cabin?”
“Huntsman.” The goat man’s dark eyes shift to the side. “I didn’t know you still came around here.”
Liar.
The tic in Hunter’s jaw tells me he agrees. Without taking his stare off of Maron, he holds his hand out to me. “Noelle, come here.”
I don’t like being told what to do. This one time, though, I’m going to listen.
As I scoot over to Hunter, Maron cocks his head. He looks from Hunter to me and back. “Noelle? Is that—” He reaches up, rubs one of his horns. “Who’s that then?”
I stick out my chin. “Me.”
“But—” Maron turns to Hunter. He’s got a look on his face that says he thinks we’re both idiots. “C’mon, you’re pulling my hoof. You know who that is, right?”
Hunter jerks his head. A nod.
“You’ve found her then. You must be—” He wiggles a pair of bushy eyebrows in an exaggerated motion. “—excited.”
Oh, gross. Like I needed the reminder about his major erection from before. Not only that, now it’s got me thinking about Hunter and being excited and… hmm. He’s not wearing his cloak. Those linen trousers don’t really leave much to the imagination. Hell if I’m not shameless because I move closer, angling my head a little so I can get a look at Hunter’s front.
He throws out his arm, keeping me behind him. I can’t see anything. Damn.
“Mmm,” he says, “and you know how I’d react if I heard you’d done something to upset her.” A knife appears in his other hand as if by magic. “Cuttin’ off some of your dangly bits, for a start, and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout your horns, you old goat.”
Maron loses all his color. Sputtering, he does another weird little hop. It hits me that he’s trying his best to cross his legs except the strange way they’re bent makes it impossible. “I didn’t touch her. You know I wouldn’t.”
“I know you’ve never been able to control yourself around a beautiful woman. I think we’re all lucky I arrived when I did.”
Beautiful woman? Hunter thinks I’m beautiful?
Holy shit. He’s blind, isn’t he? Wonderful. I’m following a blind hunter because there’s no way in hell he can look at me and think I’m anything but a friggin’ disaster.
“Aye,” Maron mutters. “Because I’d much rather tangle with you, Hunstman, than—”
“What are you doin’ on my land, Maron?” Hunter’s rumble is a demand. “I thought I was clear last time. I don’t take kindly to people trespassin’ so close to my home without an invitation.”
“Just traveling through. No harm done. Stopped for a nip and, well, my bag got caught in the bushes. Look.”
Trampling backward, Maron dives into the bushes. Right when I think he's going to try to pull a Houdini on us, he wiggles his pitiful tail, shaking his furry rump as he retreats into the clearing again. This time, when he turns around, he's hoisting up a worn, leather saddlebag.
I hear something sloshing inside as he gives the bag a little jiggle. Hunter mutters something under his breath. I look at him and his eyes are cast up to the sky as if asking for some divine guidance.
Wrapping the bag around one beefy forearm, Maron roots around inside of it, pulling out a dusty amber bottle that’s almost as big as he is.
Hunter reaches his big hand up, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wine. ‘Course. I shoulda known.”
Maron yanks the lopsided cork out with a small pop. After taking a big pull from the bottle, he tilts the lip in my direction. “For you, my lady?”
Not in this lifetime. “Maybe later.”
Maron doesn't offer any to Hunter. Instead, he points at him. “Mark that, Huntsman. I made my offerings. She's refused me.” Reaching down, he grabs his limp dick, gives it a meaningful little wiggle. “In more ways than one.”
At Hunter’s throaty growl, Maron jerks before trying that awkward half bow again. Some of his burgundy-colored wine sloshes out of the bottle, turning the dirt into a rich purple mud. He glances at it mournfully. I get the feeling that, without us standing here, he might've lapped the spilled wine up like the part goat he is.
When Hunter doesn’t pull out his sword again, Maron paws the ground with his hooves, prancing back and forth as he slugs the last of his wine. His beady eyes are locked on Hunter. They look less pervy and more glassy.
It hits me. “He's… he's drunk, right?”
Hunter snorts. “Usually. And today? Oh yeah. But he’s all talk. He won’t bother you anymore.”
“Not now that you’ve threatened to castrate him,” I point out.
“That, too.”
I glance over at Hunter. As he grins, his dimples pop.
Sure, it’s funny to the giant with the sword. He didn’t have to deal with the little hornball grabbing himself. I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of that out of my head.
I’m done here. “Is the cabin ready yet?”
“Yeah. It’s why I came lookin’ for you. Meat’s workin’, too, so dinner should be nearly done when we get back.”
“Great. Then I’ll be going.”
“You know the way?”
Nope. But I’ll sure the hell figure it out.
I don’t bother saying goodbye. I wouldn’t mean it, and I’m way past ready to pretend that I didn’t see a naked goat man. A drunk naked goat man. I’ll take murderous scorpions any day over Maron.
Maybe I got too used to shadowing Hunter. I kind of expect him to use those long legs of his to power ahead of me so that I can follow him to the cabin. After a few feet, though, I realize that that’s not happening. I sneak a quick peek over my shoulder. Hunter hasn't moved an inch.
Instead, he’s watching a visibly shaken Maron with a very curious expression. It's a flat look, an appraising look. Dangerous. It's like a Rottweiler staring down a runt of a mutt. I kind of feel bad for Maron.
Then I get another eyeful of his dangling penis and, yeah, sorry feelings gone.
“Maron.”
Hunter’s voice is a soft caress. It sends shivers down my spine.
/> Dangerous. I called it.
“A word, if you’re sober enough to understand me. And I hope you are. Because, I’m warnin’ you, I won’t overlook your trespassin’ so close to my cabin again. So I’d think on what I’m about to say real careful before you answer me. Yeah?”
Maron guzzles some more of his wine before letting loose a belch that makes me cringe and leads Hunter to lay his palm on the hilt of his sword. Liquid courage, I guess, because he raises his horns and nods.
“I’m listening.”
“Nymphs,” Hunter says. “Dryads. More sun shinin’ than I’d like to see. You notice anything like that on my land?”
Nymphs? Dryads? The sun? Again? I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Maron does, though. He snorts, the sound like a farm animal snuffling. “Nymphs? I wish! Seeing the lady here—” Oh my god, he actually moans as his dick twitches, starting to swell. “—mmm, that’s more action than I’ve gotten in forever.”
Ugh. I can’t stop myself. When he looks over at me again, I flip him the bird.
His eyes are bleary. Drunk, yes, but that’s not all. The creepy hornball is also chock full of lust. “If only, my lady. If only.”
Hunter doesn’t let me get too far ahead. When I stormed off, he stayed behind with Maron and I don’t know if he was making good on his threat or not. I don’t care. That lecherous little creep made me furious. For his insolence, I wanted to rip his horns from his head, mount them on my wall, and take that as my offering.
And because I know that the old Noelle would never have had those thoughts, I’m freaking out. So I leave Hunter with Maron and start to fumble my way back to his cabin. I’ve barely gone more than twenty feet before I sense him at my back.
The fact that he can catch up to me so easily bothers me even more. I start to stomp. I definitely don’t turn around to face him.
He clears his throat. “Satyr.” His voice is light. Easy. There’s no hint of the restrained menace I heard when he threatened Maron. “And no. Not even close.”
“Oh, great,” I mutter. “More crap that doesn’t make sense to me.”
“I’m bein’ a mind reader, darlin’.”
I raise my eyebrow, daring a glance behind me. “Another talent?”
Hunter shrugs. “You’re just easy to read.”
“Yeah? Then what am I thinking now?”
“Nothing I should be repeatin’.”
He’s got me there.
“Anyway, I know what you wanted to ask so I answered first.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “About Maron? I bet you wanted to know what he was, and if he was a friend of mine. He’s a satyr, and nah. I don’t have too many friends. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a bit of a loner.”
“Oh yeah. The cloak, the weapons, the sleeping outdoors.” I can’t hold back my snort. “I think I got it, Hunter. What I don’t get is why you’re so intent on helping me when it’s clear you’d rather be alone.”
“Makes you wonder, eh, darlin’?”
It did. It really did.
You know what else? Pausing, I turn so that I can get a closer look at him. Something seems different. I know I’m usually so dazzled by his beautiful face to notice much of anything else. This is so obvious, though, I feel stupid for taking this long to point it out.
“Wait a minute— your hair is wet. Why is your hair wet? There’s no more rain.”
Hunter lifts one of his huge hands, running it through his damp, sandy hair. It’s his good arm. “I washed up before I went lookin’ for you. Changed my bandage again, washed out the wound. Put on a fresh shirt from my cabin. I was tryin’ to find something to cut down to your tiny size when it hit me that you’d been gone for a while. I—”
I stop listening to him. Washed up, he said. He got clean. That means I can get clean. I’ve never felt so grimy in my life.
“Washed up?” I repeat. I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “There’s somewhere I can get clean, too? Oh, please, please, please. You’ve gotta show me.”
That big bastard. I must be getting used to his stunning good looks after all because, when he looks down at me, all I see is the calculating expression there.
“If I show you my tub, does that mean I’m forgiven?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. Forgive him for what? Doesn’t matter. For a tub, there’s not much I won’t do. “Yeah. Sure. You’re forgiven.” I pause. I gotta know. “What am I forgiving you for exactly?”
“I know full well I’ve been actin’ like an ass today. And I’m sorry for it, darlin’. The shock of the arrow, what it meant… the awful pain, yeah, it all added up and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve none of that. You’re here because of me, because I insisted you let me help you out. Don’t know why you would, when I’m actin’ like such a bum.”
I watch as Hunter reaches out for me, fisting his hand before he does. He sets his jaw and purposely lays his palm against my shoulder. His touch is like a jolt of electricity, the spark sizzling despite the heavy leather cloak I’m wearing. My stomach drops right down to my sandals.
Remembering my three-day rule, I mumble, “Two more days.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, if it makes you happy, I forgive you.”
The slow curl of his satisfied grin makes me ache in places I shouldn’t be aching in when I’m this filthy.
Two more days indeed.
14
I frown. My hands on my hips, I shake my head back and forth. “Uh-uh. No way. Tell me you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
Hunter’s grin turns stubborn. He’s standing outside, pulling a Vanna White as he gestures at an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub. Outside. The bathtub he promised me is outside.
“Hey, it’s a tub, right?”
“Outside.” I can’t help myself. I gesture at the tub, then wave my hands wildly at all the grass and the dirt and the trees. “And I don’t see any pipes or anything.”
“No need, darlin’. There’s fresh water not too far, a small stream I like to use when I’m home. Gimme a few and I’ll fill the tub up for you right quick so you can go on and wash up.”
Outside? Nope. “Not gonna happen, Hunter. Sorry.”
He crosses his heart. “On my honor, I won’t peek.” And then, almost under his breath, “No matter how much I might want to.”
I blow right past that. As if he hasn’t already seen everything I have to offer before he gave me this cloak. Thin white nightgown plus the early morning sun equals something way too see-through for my liking.
“I’m not worried about that. It’s what else might be out there.”
“Maron would never dare follow me back to my cabin. I can promise you that.”
I remember the way he threatened the satyr. No. The drunk goat would have to be an even bigger idiot than I think he is to come this close to Hunter’s place.
Doesn’t mean that it’s still a good idea to bathe naked in an outside tub.
“He won’t. But can you tell me that there’s nothing else out there that might?”
Hunter opens his mouth to respond, scowls, and shakes his head.
Exactly. “Besides,” I add, “the water will be cold. I want a cold bath, I might as well wade into the stream.”
Actually, that’s not so bad an idea. I’m not about to jump on in, but why not wash some of this grime off of my face and my hands while I can?
I start to ask him for directions to this stream of his when, all of a sudden, I get a whiff of something that smells amazing. I’m damn sure it isn’t me, and Hunter’s scent is more of an outdoorsy musk that gives me butterflies. I take a deep breath and nearly moan.
Something’s cooking.
I sniff again. “What’s that smell?”
“Supper. That’s the reason I was comin’ after you in the first place. I figured you might be feelin’ a bit peckish.”
I haven’t had anythi
ng since eggs this morning. If I was home, I would’ve already had three meals by now. Peckish is putting it mildly. “Is it almost done?”
“Should be. I can take it off the heat if you want to get clean first. It’ll keep.”
Washing up sounds so, so good. Then again, so does having something to eat. I glance down at my hands. There’s mud and something that’s probably still Hunter’s blood ground into the lines of my palms and my fingers. I don’t even want to think about what’s under my nails. The rain might’ve washed a lot of the dirt away, but not all of it.
Dirty hands. Delicious supper. Dirty hands—
My stomach grumbles.
His eyes light up. A devastating grin curls his lips as he raises an eyebrow at me. “Hungry?”
I’m starving. “A little,” I admit. “Meat still cooking?”
“Yeah. Over here.”
Hunter leads me around another corner, to the back of his cabin. The scent of cooked meat grows more enticing. Pale smoke wafts in the air, fluttering high above a monstrous woodburning stove that’s taller than I am. I have to tilt my head back to see the makeshift grill perched across its top.
There’s a battered pot in the center. That’s the source of the smoke—and the delicious smell.
“I made a quick stew,” Hunter explains. “Nice and hearty.”
“Good.” Standing on my tiptoes, I pat his good shoulder. “Then I still forgive you.”
Hunter’s stew is more of yesterday’s deer. I didn’t expect him to have a fridge in his cabin—no electricity in the Other, apparently—but he shocks me by revealing a store of root vegetables. They look fresh to me, like yesterday’s eggs. And, just like yesterday’s eggs, I don’t bother asking where he got them from.
The meat stewed with the vegetables makes a tasty meal. I eat two bowls, feeling downright dainty when I watch as Hunter puts away four and still has room to snack on a carrot when he’s done.
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