Hounded [Wild Hunt Series: 2]

1: One Deep Breath

''Let Me Out'' by Hidden Citizens (Feat. Rånya)

Anticipation came first, an uptick ripple of the heart reflected first in my chest and then in the water. I'd prepared for this moment all morning, from doing some mind-clearing yoga with Dakota to rehearsing my lines lest my tongue run afoul of me again.The one thing left to finish was scrubbing Dakota's stupid note off my back. I should've known she was up to something when she so sweetly offered to do the writing for me. Reaching around awkwardly, I navigated the inked skin blindly, trying to rinse off her teasing line.  This was all a bit too scandalous for me. Innocent little lamb I was not, but if Chiro saw what she'd scrawled I might just die of embarrassment. Chiro wasn't, I wasn't...

I'd just found the space I thought she'd written on when footsteps padded down the worn rock staircase.

With a sudden rush of panic I grabbed the handful of rose petals saved just for this moment and dropped them gently into the steamed spring in front of me. Willing them to stay in place, I very carefully took in one deep breath and closed my eyes to steady my nerves.

When I opened them, Chiro was dropping a slick black cloak to the ground, standing there lean and shaded in damp muscle. The monster-turned-man lifted his dripping shirt as if it were a second skin, gave it a brief shake to rid the worst of the water, and let it fall only to have it suction itself back against his chest. From my steam-swirled vantage point I could see he needed a shave. He swiped a hand through his sandy hair with all the annoyance of a cat who found itself unexpectedly dropped into a pool. But that feline swagger and tiger's grace was still present after he'd removed his boots and started to walk over.

We began talking, and... I wasn't sure if 'well' was the word to describe how it'd gone. I don't think he believed for one second I knew what I was doing, and that made me nervous, got me rambling on all confident about nonsense. Listening to Dakota was a bad idea. Why had I done such a thing, why had I thought to myself, yes, Dakota, taking off my clothes to talk about a serious subject is an excellent strategy? I could've left more on and still had this work, but let myself get talked into the idea of a proper bath. I'd get Chiro's help one way or another, and it didn't have to involve any body parts.

But when that man's hands found my neck I knew Dakota was very right about how powerful the sensation of 'touch' can be, and how intimate, and how binding.

Except, I realized with a flicker of not quite unpleasant fear, that cozy twist in the gut you get when you find yourself liking the way a person smiles, except affection worked both ways.

I didn't know Chiro well at all. Not really. Knew him better than any other demon. He liked cards. He knew my father. He had nearly died in service to him, and to me.

And that was it, I told myself, trying to push the blush off my cheeks with logic and reason. Damn, those fingers could knead my back all day.

I didn't know a lot of deeply personal facts about him. He didn't know a lot of deeply personal facts about me. But we had shared something powerful and meaningful in the Malumbrian Oaks, and I felt it  between us here in the magic-infused underground, this rushing undercurrent of experience and trauma and healing. It didn't have a word. I wasn't certain there was a meaning.

But when I lunged for his hand and he paused, just for a moment, grey eyes not quite cold as they looked into mine, I wondered.

Then he'd gone. I was alone to settle back into the rosy water, splash my hot face and sigh. I was so far in over my head it was a wonder I hadn't drowned yet.

I didn't know how the hell to kill the King, or how to convince him that we shouldn't consummate our eventual marriage on the night of whatever abominable ceremony the demons had concocted for their newly captured brides. I was afraid the usual ways wouldn't work. I'd seen him only three times, and each had been a malignant glimpse in the darkness of his tower.  You don't just lead a pack of hellions and get knocked off because some little shit sticks you with a knife.