Authors: Sheri Fredricks
“Samuel left.” He stepped into the room. “I know it’s late, but do you feel up to answering a few questions?” Reaching, he pulled down the hood, and tugged the elastic band off his ponytail.
“I’m good. Thanks for taking care of me and letting me crash here. And for not bailing on me. I promise to breeze out and leave first thing in the morning—get out of your hair.”
Rhycious clip-clopped across the floor, and he paused next to her bed. “Mind if I park it?”
“Be my guest.” Butterflies were having a wing-war inside her stomach, and she forced her lips to smile. When he looked down at her, his eyelids half closed, giving him sexy bedroom eyes. It was hard to concentrate with him so near, so she pushed herself up to recline against the headboard, curling her legs to make room for him on the bed.
He watched her movements under the blankets, and one side of his mouth crooked up. “I’ll just sit here, but thanks anyway.” His thick tail swished to the side and hind legs folded neatly beneath him on the rug.
“How tall are you?” He sat almost high as the trees. Desperate to suck back the blurted words, her face blazed hot and she feigned interest in the comforter’s design.
He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Eighteen hands now, six foot seven otherwise.” He studied her a moment longer. “How are you feeling?”
“Like
da bomb
, though you couldn’t tell by my episode out there.” She gestured with a wave of her hand.
“You’re weak and exhausted. So, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t felt well for several years. Lately, I’ve been feeling worse than old biscuits.” Searching for Serenity the other night had taken it out of her. And scurrying to hide hadn’t helped either, scared shitless the hunters would find her.
If that ever happened, her health would be the least of her problems.
He scrubbed his cheek and gazed unfocused around the room. Big hands. Thick fingers. So strong, yet they’d cradled her so gently. When his sight sharpened on her, both of his brows drew down.
“Sam mentioned your sister is missing.”
Pain throbbed deep in her chest at the thought of Serenity, and Rhy’s rough voice brought the situation slamming back into her. Worry and tears clogged her throat, causing her to swallow.
“They took her.” She clasped her hands tightly together on the quilt and watched her knuckles turn white.
Rhy bumped against the bed, reaching for her wrist. “Who did?”
She didn’t want his pity. She wanted her sister. A tear coursed an itchy track down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. Frustration brought her chin up to meet his eyes.
“The human hunters, that’s who. Serenity was supposed to hang with me at my place, but she never showed up. She was an hour late when I went to look for her. That’s when I saw the hunters in our sector.”
Rhycious stared at his wristwatch, lips compressed flat.
Hell. He’s taking my pulse.
Feeling foolish for thinking he’d pulled the compassion card, Patience ducked her head. His tanned fingers pressed the tender skin of her inner wrist. Hyper-awareness caused her skin to tingle at the point of connection, and she was certain her heartbeat raced. She sniffed back her tears and pulled herself together. Rhycious brushed his thumb along her pulse point before releasing her wrist.
Slow moving warmth worked its way up her arm and across her chest, closing the black hole of worry. Whether angry or in doctor mode, Rhycious was one fine looking man.
He handed her a tissue from the box on the nightstand. “You saw them take her?”
“No. But she’s missing and they were there. Now she’s not here and neither are they.” She studied the pattern that made up the quilt and refused to see his logic. “You do the math.”
Anger with her host was illogical, her mind counseled. How many times had she advised her mediation clients on this same issue?
Don’t take your frustrations out on innocent bystanders, it’s not their fault and makes you look like an ass.
She used the tissue on her nose and huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to start
buggin’
. You’ve been nothing but
lushness
with me.”
Patience glanced up and he had a strange look on his face, like someone suggested he vacation at a dental spa.
“Has anyone ever told you that your diction is odd?” he asked, then shook his head. “Never mind. Does your Nymph community know she’s missing?”
“Yeah, but I’m the only one looking for her.” She shrugged. “Serenity has flighty tendencies.”
Rhy raised a hand and rubbed his neck, leaning back on his haunches with the movement. The muscles of his bicep bunched under his shirt, stretching the fabric taut.
“Sam said you’re a counselor.” A statement, not a question.
“
Correctomundo
. I also provide mediation services.”
The same hand rubbed those sensuous lips of his, and drew her eye like a bee to pollen. Back and forth, the pads of his fingers caressed.
She blinked rapidly and tore her gaze away. Electric currents ran through her blood and her memory filled in the blanks. Strong arms, soft lips, gentle touch. Her body grew warmer and she glanced to see if he’d noticed her discomfort.
“Uh-huh. And why do you think you’ve been feeling poorly?” His tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip, making it shine.
Bacchus? If this is you tormenting me, lay me out some
cush
space, will you?
Too many roiling emotions hitting her at once, and she felt backed into a corner.
“If I knew why I’ve been feelin’ puny,” she kicked out her foot under the blanket, “I’d do something about it.” Fisting handfuls of soft comforter, she forced herself to stay put and not pace.
Maybe I have Restless Leg Syndrome. Good thing I know of a doctor.
Five
Rhycious linked his fingers under his head atop the giant futon bed, and breathed deeply. Of the two sleeping rooms, the stallroom was his favorite. Pillowed in comfort, he gazed out at the sky through the east window. Early morning sun trickled through the heavy foliage surrounding the cabin. Strobes of light filtered in, turning his room a brilliant orange-red.
Standard bed frames didn’t work for his Centaur body. His heavy weight broke springs and made canyons out of mattresses. He smiled, remembering Patience scooting over in bed to make room for him to sit last night. Though made of iron, the frame would have bent like licorice under his mass.
After he left her room at one in the morning, he’d slept on a seed of a thought that grew overnight. His plan would require he take a partner for a time, but he hoped the outcome would outweigh the temporary discomfort.
Short-term sacrifice for long-term gain.
Indecision irritated the hell out of him. Planning and execution reduced stress. No stress: no flashbacks—and Pan would be cheated out of Rhy’s personal panic mode.
He sighed and climbed out of bed. Time to circle the tree and have a talk with his lovely Wood Nymph guest.
The grove where Samuel had found Patience was associated with this race of nymph during the war. Today it stood thinner. Burned and felled, many pixies died as they were driven from their homes.
Their cousins, the Water Nymphs, occupied a stream not far away. Colonies of the water dwellers flourish throughout the United States and Canada. That particular Nymph race had killed in ways the Wood Nymphs never could—drowning. Young foals and old Centaurs alike, it didn’t matter to the Water people. Back then, all was fair in war.
Rhycious shook his head to clear the suffering from his mind before the ghastly memories claimed his morning.
On top of the highboy, next to his wallet, he picked up the royal armband and slid it on. The twin scythe emblem, Queen Savella’s royal crest, gleamed in the cuff’s cold polished silver, raising goose bumps on his arm. Seeing the band’s insignia reaffirmed his decision of what was best for the many, and ignore the protest of the one—him.
Rhycious pulled a fresh pair of jeans from the dresser, and slid them on. He grabbed a t-shirt off the ladder-back chair, slipped his size thirteen’s into a pair of cowboy boots, and left the stallroom. Following a moment in the bathroom, he reappeared in the kitchen a short time later—face shaved and damp hair tied back with a leather thong.
Confidence settled within him after making a decision on the next step to fulfill his ruler’s wishes. He leaned toward the radio, flipped the switch, and let the music roll over him while he set about making coffee in the stovetop percolator.
The twenty-first century was by far his favorite time to live. Natural cure innovations abounded, and the music jammed. Nodding in time to the deep bass thump, Kid Rock rapped out his wish to be a cowboy. Rhy tapped his toe on the wooden floor and swung his shoulders to the steady rhythm.
A little coffee, some discussion and bargaining, and I’m good to go.
Patience took hesitant steps out of the bedroom with bare feet. She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
Gods
.
Sleep creased her face, her hair lay mussed and wild about her shoulders. Heat coiled low in his belly; his scrotum tightened inside his pants.
He was in deep shit.
In his waking mind, the plan seemed so easy. None of the sexy details were filled in. Now, with her standing in front of him looking like she’d been tumbled hard in the sack, all he could think of was . . . getting hard in the sack!
Fuck.
No! Not that word.
Glorious brown hair, liberally streaked with auburn, floated in waves over her shoulders and cascaded down her back. He watched her like a slow motion movie. She lifted her hands and pushed the heap away from her face, her breasts jiggling with maddening temptation.
“Hey there.” He grabbed open the lower door of the cold box and hid behind it, adjusting himself through his jeans. Guileless, her innocent eyes held no condemnation for his Centaur breeding.
Patience was born decades after the last arrow flew in hatred. Her people had committed horrendous crimes, but he had murdered as well. He was the villain here, not her. The proof stood right before his eyes, looking so damn beautiful—a felony on two legs.
“I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed a shirt.”
Huh?
Oh, yeah. Now that he noticed, she wore his Penn State pullover. The navy blue hem fell to mid-gorgeous thigh, and his tongue stuck like Velcro to the roof of his gaping mouth.
“Is that coffee?” Patience glided across the distance separating them, hips swayed seductively. “Mmm, smells wonderful. Can I beg a cup?”
An old adage came to mind:
A wiggle in her walk, and a giggle in her talk.
Shit.
“Uh . . . ” He slammed the cooler door shut, grabbed his own mug that read
Kiss Me, I’m Amish
, and shoved the steaming coffee into her outstretched hands. “Not a problem.” If the brew smelled good, he couldn’t tell. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t anything to smell beyond the fantastic blossom fragrance that was hers alone.
Staring with appreciation, he watched her drift out of the kitchen and sashay to the living room couch. And there she sat. Tucking those mile long legs beneath her.
Holy shit.
Rhycious turned and faced the stove, eyeing the iron skillet. “Are you hungry?” Perhaps a few whacks on the head would bring back his senses. Drier than his humor, he ran a few laps inside of his mouth to generate a modicum of spit.
“Not yet, thanks.”
Pouring coffee with a shaky hand, he took a deep breath and mentally reviewed notes for the upcoming conversation with her. He needed his wits and mind on the task at hand, not conjuring images of ripping the damn t-shirt off her to enjoy a little good-morning delight.
She gazed at him over the rim of her cup, watching when he sat nearby in the glider rocker. His eyes drew to the shirt’s hem riding high on her thigh. Long bangs covered half a blue eye peering at him while she blew her coffee.
Hard as galvanized steel, his dick lay jammed inside his jeans. He forced his eyes away from her pursed lips with a metaphysical crowbar. Patience was ravishing and eternally youthful as her kind represented. Once thought to be immortal, Wood Nymphs’ lives were linked to their chosen tree. Cut down the tree—kill the Nymph.
Centaurs and other mythologicals needed the protective cover of trees, therefore taking axe and flame to win the war had been out of the question. They’d be slitting their own sorry throats.
Sunlight streamed through the high-set windows, creating golden rectangular squares on the floor. After a few silent companionable sips, he asked, “How are you feeling this morning?” His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears.
Patience brought a slender foot to the blue rug. Each tiny provocative toe aroused his possessive Centaur half, demanding he take what he wanted. He couldn’t pull his gaze away. Typical of the sex-starved dog he was, he followed the sensual assault.
“. . . so I’m good, thanks.”
His mouth closed with a distinctive click, and he snapped his gaze to her face. He caught himself leaning forward in his seat, his mug resting on the rocker’s arm. Rolling his shoulders and plastering a bored expression on his face, Rhycious made a show of slouching further back into the chair and rested his black boot over a knee.
“Good, that’s . . . good. I’m glad you’re much better.” Oh gods, he blabbered like an adolescent scenting his first spring heat.
Concentrate on your duty.
He’d just come out and say it, get the damn ball to roll into her court.
“You want to find your sister. I’m in a position to help.”
Disbelief crossed her face, turning into surprise, and finally tears welled to overflow. They gushed from her eyes to stream down both peachy cheeks. Well, that certainly cooled his ardor. She hung her head and sniffed, wiping a finger under each eye.
“That’s so cool of you. I wasn’t sure what I would to do.” Her watery smile wavered, lips trembling. “Don’t know how I can ever thank you.”