The Orange Cat and Other Cainsville Tales (Cainsville 3.5)
She climbed down and slid through the trees, pulling her own glamour tighter in case they glanced over. But they were too engrossed in each other and in their conversation. The girl bounced on the rocks, shedding clothing as the boy said something, and she laughed, and the boy lit up with that laugh, his pretty face glowing.
There's more here. Much more.
She slipped a little closer and--
The boy turned sharply, not toward her but tracking a soft sound in the forest. Hearing it, her heart began to pound. She shimmered between her glamour and her true form, her nails sharpening to claws, ready for attack if he rose and headed in that direction. Yet even as she thought that, she felt . . .
Fear.
No, not fear.
Terror.
Attack this boy and--
Her heart pounded, that nameless terror whipping through her. She smelled the thick loam of another forest, heard the pounding of hooves, caught the scent of dogs, and she gasped.
No, that was not the answer. Could not be. This was a boy. Just a boy.
That smell came again. That pounding of hooves, once achingly familiar, once enough to make her and her sisters raise their heads from the water, alight in anticipation.
The Hunt comes. The souls come. Souls to be dragged to the Otherworld, souls of those harvested before their time, those who deserved their fate. She and her sisters would--
No. That was another time. Another place. Both long gone.
Even the thought of harming this boy sent an irrational blaze of absolute fear through her, but if she let him investigate the source of that sound, if he found what she had stolen . . .
Hers. It was hers.
Her treasure had gone silent. The girl said something, and the boy turned back with a reply that made her laugh again. Then the girl spun and dove into the water far below. The boy watched her go, grinned, his face alight with the glow that said the girl was no mere trifle. He loved her.
Which meant the fae knew exactly how to get them both out of her forest.
She pulled her glamour tighter and crept toward the swimming hole.
One - Ricky
Ricky watched Liv bounce on the rock high over the swimming hole.
"You'd better not be planning to dive off that," he said.
"Fully dressed? Of course not." She shimmied her hips as she pulled up her T-shirt.
"Tease," he growled.
Her brows arched. "Never. All you gotta do is say the word. No penalty incurred. Just declare me the victor, and anything you want? Yours."
"Remind me why we're playing this game?"
"Too much sex."
He rubbed his ear. "Say that again? I could swear you used the words 'too much' and 'sex' in the same sentence, but for you, that's an oxymoron."
"Normally, yes. But it has been a lot, and it's affecting our travel progress. We have one week to ride the Cabot Trail. It's been four days . . . and we're not even at the halfway point. The problem is sex, as much as I hate to say it."
"No, you love to say it. Because you love teasing me."
"You agreed to the game."