“This is some room.” Careful not to knock anything over with his tail, he turned a complete circle. He found the interior design extraordinary, and crown molding unique. “More space than I thought, now that I’m in here.” When he faced her again, he asked, “Have I shrunk?”
Her weak laugh trickled out and she turned away from him. “No, goofball. Think of it as a different reality plane. The tree is solid through the core, but Wood Nymphs live within the recipient tree’s spirit. Our souls are tight with them here.” She moved past a burl coffee table in an abstract shape, the top besieged with fashion magazines. When she reached the step leading into her kitchen, she paused with her hand on the wall. “That’s why when the tap-root tree of our essence is cut down . . . .”
The Nymph within dies as well. He nodded with solemn understanding.
“My digs aren’t all that, but it’s pimp to me.” Patience puttered around in the back of the kitchen, out of sight. “Check it out if you want, I don’t mind. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water’s fine. Thanks.”
Cupboards opened and closed, a pan rattled on her stove. “What? No wine or beer? I thought Centaurs love the puke-fuel.”
“Not this Centaur.” He laughed. “Hey, can I help you in there? Why don’t you let me cook while you sit and rest.”
She tsked at him. “Thank you, but no. I can manage. My body rejuvenates when I’m inside my taproot tree. I feel better already, but I need some food and full night of snooze.” Her soft steps padded across the cooking space, and back again. “Besides, there isn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver in here. My living space was designed for one person.”
Yeah, Rhy understood the square footage of single space living.
Against the wall, opposite where the magazines lay scattered, an unusual cream-colored sofa slung in an inviting style. Rippled with puffed horizontal stuffing, the form reminded him of a giant cupped hand. Once back in his two-legged form, he’d like to test it out with Patience. Smiling at the thought, he shrugged off the backpack and tossed it to the cushions.
Sycamore leaf-shaped wall sconces threw flickering shadows deep into corners. The radiant glow must feed from a natural piped-in source, such as tree sap. Low mood lighting meshed with a comfortable atmosphere, and stress of the last forty-eight hours drained out of him, as if someone had pulled the stopper.
“You have a great couch.” Rhy ran his hand over the soft, supple leather. Tempted to reenact an earlier scene, he’d have a happy ending this time.
She handed him a glass of water. “It’s a one-of-a-kind, made by a Nymph crofter.”
Patience ducked into the kitchen before he could reach out and kiss her. Chopping ensued, followed by sizzle. The smell of garlic and other delicious smells wafted out, one-step above him. Pinching its protest of emptiness, his stomach let out a huge growl. Wisps teased his nose, leading his hooves to clop across the flagstone when he followed the aromatic trail.
And stopped in his tracks.
Top of the stairs. Dead ahead.
Bedroom.
If fireworks exploded overhead with the pops and fizzles of a shooting star, he wouldn’t have noticed. Through the door, a wood bed hung suspended from ropes attached to the ceiling.
Like a fucking massive swing. Gods, please don’t let me get a full-blown woody right now. Oh, the moves to dream up on a dangling bed . . . .
He cleared his throat. “Hey, whatever you’re cooking in there smells great.”
Rhy glanced at his watch, praying for a daybreak hours away. The twinge south of his belly had nothing to do with food this time.
“Hope you’ll like it,” she said. “I’m throwing stuff together in a stir-fry.”
He propped his front hooves on the top stair and peered in at Patience. She’d pinned her long hair up in a messy bun, chopsticks sticking out at odd angles. Loose tendrils hung on either side of her beautiful face, the curls bouncing while she worked her knife. Off to the side, his screwdriver she had used in her hair lay on the counter.
The long, elegant slope of her neck bent as she performed her task. Like a stark tattoo, the tree bark imprint stood out. He waited for the familiar burn of disgust to roil through him. When he’d last studied her mark with Samuel at his side, hateful memories had spewed forth and slugged him in the gut.
Staring at her markings now, it wasn’t revulsion that rose to the surface. Neither were there reminders of his traumatic past. What he felt now was deeper, stronger. All consuming.
Lust.
Patience piled a dinner plate high with food and grabbed a fork. “Think Alek would like a beer?”
Famine of a different sort curled his stomach, cramping his abs. He had waited years and years for a mate to come into his life. Then feared it wouldn’t happen—sick with thinking of what he’d do when she finally did.
And in those centuries of solitude, he’d never guessed she would come in the form of a dream-quality pixie.
His enemy for two hundred years.
The fact staggered him, and shook him to the core.
“I’m sure he’d appre—” A wave of dizziness blindsided him, and he teetered on his hooves. It was a good thing his four legs were holding him up; he would have gone down standing on two.
“Rhycious? Whoa, dude.” Patience grabbed his arm with one hand and held the full plate in the other. “Dear Bacchus, you’re pale. Here, sit down and chill.”
He did as he was told, right where he stood.
Holy mythic gods. When had he fallen for her? It’d been two days for crying out loud.
Why couldn’t she have been some Minotaur with oozing sores on her face? The timing for their budding relationship was worse than lousy. His orders from Queen Savella were now in progress. The Spring Equinox would take place in two short weeks. And the search for Patience’s wayward sister had yet to begin.
If she’d come into his life a few months from now, they might have had a chance.
A cool hand brushed hair off his forehead, out of his eyes. “Rhycious? Here, maybe you need this plate of food. I’ll make another for Alek.”
He took the offered plate. “I feel like a fucking idiot. Thought I was going to pass out.” Embarrassment turned a slow eddy inside him, anger reaching to crawl out.
Breathe in to a count of ten. Breathe out with pursed lips to a count of fifteen. Rhy performed his breathing exercises twice more to keep the PTSD at bay. If he were claustrophobic, the confined space inside her tree would have set off his emergency alarms.
“Highly unlikely. You went too long without food and your sugar level dropped or something. And stop baggin’ on yourself like that.”
“Gamóto, polytima. I suppose you’re right.” More like I scared the crap out of myself.
“I’ve got the goods on passing out.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Now tell me if you’re through being funkdafied so I can fix Alek a plate.”
“I’m good.”
Her glance took him in with a single sweep. “I’ll second that,” she winked. “Eat while I hit the kitchen again. You need anything?”
“You.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. She ducked her head and returned to the kitchen. Rhycious caught the sway of her hips, and the desire to take her from behind kicked in gear. Need stole over him, made him grit his teeth, and settled in a warm flurry between his legs. When she came back from shimmering outside, he wanted to taste her this time. He couldn’t get enough.
Giving that Nymph pleasure would be the first addiction he’d permit himself to have.
Patience crossed the living room with another full plate of food, tousling his hair in passing. Her body held lines of fatigue, but her eyes seemed brighter.
“Be right back, stud muffin.” She glowed bright for a second, and then disappeared with an air pressure pop.
Rhy picked up his fork and dug in. With each mouthful of delicious hot food, he chastised himself for his mental weakness. He should be ashamed and hide in h
is cabin.
Weak and bigoted, that’s what he was. Unlike Patience. Her reaction to his weakness wasn’t one of revulsion.
Nothing like his first reaction to her.
Gods, at times he truly hated himself.
His fork clattered to the empty plate and he let out a loud belch. Poor Patience must have gotten stuck listening to Alek’s ramblings. Rhy had wanted to enjoy his meal with her, not sit by himself, alone with his thoughts.
He smiled. Thoughts of feeding her while she reclined on the trapeze bed foremost on his mind.
Rhycious stepped into the neat galley, complete with hanging kitchen witch, and set his used dish in the sink. A rough bark finish covered the exterior of the cupboards with black iron knobs dotting each door. A pint-sized island held the remnants of her earlier vegetable chopping.
He picked up a piece of carrot and crunched while he waited.
And waited.
He glanced at his watch again.
Sweat broke out on his brow and his palms grew damp. Thirty-five minutes had passed since she’d delivered Alek his food. His full stomach swirled, then dropped to hell as realization hit.
If Patience were in trouble outside, he was stuck inside her goddamn tree.
Nine
“Alek?”
Patience held the savory plate of stir-fry away from the designer shirt she’d pilfered from Rhy’s closet. Spicy seasoning wafted up to tease her over-productive salivary glands. She’d only eaten an apple that morning, so if she didn’t strap on the feedbag soon, her stomach would be tap-dancing against her spine.
Her arm ached from holding the heavy platter, so she shifted it to the other hand. After delivering Alek’s food, she could relax and enjoy a shared meal inside the tree with Rhycious—and maybe a little something more.
She pressed a palm to her over-heated cheek, and chewed her lower lip. What was it about that man? He should be off-limits to her. Wood Nymphs and Centaurs never mingled. Warmth spread in a rush entertaining the notion of the two of them getting horizontal on her living room couch.
Reaching up, she removed the chopsticks and let her hair tumble down her back and around her shoulders. She took a few steps from the tree and glanced around for Rhy’s friend.
Aleksander must have wandered off, so she waited, giving him time to return from wherever he’d drifted off. She gazed at the twinkling stars and inhaled deep of the fresh night air.
Bad B.O.—a whiff of unclean bodies crashed into her consciousness. It hung in the air like a polluted fog and cut through the garlic in the food. Patience stood motionless, reaching with her senses to examine the surrounding woods.
Crickets quieted their melodic chirps. Ruminant night sounds were eerily absent.
“Alek?” She broke the silence with her whisper.
Behind her, a twig snapped and she spun in surprise. Before she could make eye contact with the Centaur, a rough sack jerked over her head. The ceramic platter flew out of her hand and shattered on the ground.
Patience screamed. She struck out blindly with fingers curled into lethal claws. Fear ripped through her, poignant and tidal wave strong. No matter how she scrabbled at the blindfold, it stayed firmly in place. She let out another throat-scraping shriek.
“Shut her up!” A malevolent southern drawl barked his order.
Hands caught her flailing arms and yanked them behind her back. The attacker pushed her wrists high on her back, pain tore into her shoulders.
Oh gods! What’s happening? Patience screamed again.
Off balance without her sight, Patience tripped over her own feet. She crashed face first to the forest floor. Agony pierced her skull with the force of a thousand needles. The metallic taste of blood swept across her tongue where her teeth cut into her lip. The sparkling stars now floated behind her closed eyes.
“Get the rope, quick.” Pubescent change cracked in another human’s voice.
Hands pushed her covered head to the ground and held her there. Pebbles beneath the hood dug into her cheek, her loose hair filled her mouth and covered her eyes. A heavy body slammed over her back, crushing her arms between them.
The breath left her lungs in a big whoosh, like the time she’d been a sapling and was jokingly tackled from behind by a mean Minotaur boy. Gods! I can’t . . . breath . . . . Her muscles cramped from the awkward position of her arms.
Aleksander! Had the humans killed him?
The ludicrous thought of the queen’s guard falling to these men fled her mind as quickly as it had entered. He was out there—somewhere. He had to be. Just waiting for the right moment to move in and kick some human ass.
She lashed out with her legs and managed to drag musty air into her oxygen-starved lungs.
“Get off me. Help!” Patience screamed, hoping Alek or some other woodland species would hear her. Where are the Wood Nymph patrols?
The weight on top of her lifted, but forceful hands held her to the ground. Childhood horror stories crowded her mind, tears clogging the back of her throat. Terrified out of her mind, her body reacted with anaphylactic-like shock. Shallow gasps squeezed past her closing throat. Drawing her next breath became a labor for her over-taxed body.
She opened her mouth to scream, but only a thin wisp of sound emerged. At night, the forest came alive with human predators, and those being hunted. Oh gods, I’m one of them!
Deprived of oxygen, her mind felt stuffed with pine needles. The sharp bite of the rocks no longer hurt her face. She barely felt the burn of the rope that wrapped her bare ankles and knees. Numbness set in. Her limbs heavy, she thrashed clumsily. Her hair didn’t even bug her anymore.
Rhycious—Holy Bacchus. As non-Nymph shimmered in a tree, he’d have no idea of what happened to her. How would he get out? Who would know Rhycious was trapped if something happened to her or Aleksander? If the two of them died, Rhy would suffer an agonizing death, swathed in madness.
Dread overshadowed a terrifying reality. As though she held no meaning, someone lifted her body and slung her belly down over a hard shoulder. Blood rushed to her head. There were a dozen other assorted pains that flared to life, pounding like two bull elk to split her skull.
But at least she was alive.
“Help.” Discombobulated and weak, her voice floated to her from a distance. No one would hear her through the fabric.
She bent her knees and kicked once more, satisfied when her heel connected with a solid object. Her kidnapper’s responding four letter words were symphonic music to her ears.
With her hands tied behind her, Patience lay helpless in preventing the jarring her head took from each hard bounce against the man’s back.
The hunters trekked onward, and Patience had no idea which direction they traveled. Water splashed crossing a creek, suggesting a southern direction, away from the heart of the Boronda Forest. But she couldn’t be sure.
It seemed hours had passed. Upside down, she drifted in and out of a nightmarish state, hanging limp and impervious.
Her mind roamed. An assortment of topics dropped into her jumbled thoughts and slid from one to another, then settled on humans. Though these men frightened her, she liked the human species as a whole. There were only certain groups of man who hunted the mythological creatures of Boronda.
For ages, the fables surrounding her people’s existence became a blizzaster. The supposed magic her people performed drove the faked-out humans’ hunger for Nymphs. Wood and Water Nymphs in constant harassment, Satyrs and Trolls, too. Not even the fearsome Centaurs were left alone. Their legends told of countless skirmishes against the terrorist hunters.
Awareness slammed into her when she was shoved none too gently on a half-reclined platform. Little padding, if any, offered comfort. The cold surface chilled her exposed thighs. Sitting upright, her crown of hair wrapped a messy heap around her shrouded head. Habit to push it all back ate at her like an itchy nose.
How much time had passed? Diffused lights through her hood lacked warmth. Then, another spot of
brightness lit up.
Indoor lighting?
Rhycious!
For the love of the gods—she’d left him in her sycamore tree. If she ended up dead, who would find him before he starved to death? She imagined his panic—she was experiencing the same for herself.
Heavy footsteps moved across a wooden floor, planks creaking in protest. Blind inside the head sack, auditory information filtered to her in trickles, and Patience latched on to each tidbit given away. Flooring meant a room, which meant she might be inside a building. That’d explain the feel of the lighting.
“Tie her in good. I don’t know if this creature has super powers that can break through nylon rope.” The squeaky voice spoke from somewhere off to her left.
Super powers? Are these humans fucking demented? Would I be here if I had any?
Her tied legs dangled over the seat’s edge in free space.
“Watch out, Evan!”
Patience lashed out with a wild mermaid kick, unable to direct her blind aim. Her efforts proved fruitless and drained her evaporating strength.
When the testepop’s voice cracked again, he stood closer than before. “Wrap more rope around her and pull it tight. Be sure she ain’t gonna be movin’ on us.”
The nylon strands drew tighter and bit into her wrists until she cried out. Her shoulders screamed. Pressures of coil after coil wrapped to hold her fast. Who were these humans? What the hell did they want with her?
What would they do to her?
Panic unbidden erupted into a full-blown storm. Adrenaline surged through her veins faster than ten cups of espresso and gave an energy boost to her depleted supply.
She heaved against the restraining rope, allowed it cut into her, and let out a scream that would make a banshee proud. Crazed with fear, she struggled in a basket case attempt to escape.
“Shut her up, Tom!” Less sure of himself, a third man spoke up from off to the side. Mobility limited, Patience kicked her legs in the voice’s direction and once again met empty air.
The air inside her head covering decreased the airflow; fire burned in her lungs. Her breathing and the thunderous beating of her heart filled her ears. She sucked material into her mouth with each inhale, causing her to cough. Like a corset made of rope, the restricted rib expansion prevented her from taking sweet lungfuls of air.
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