Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
A melia
The woods around the Phantom River are eerily quiet as twilight falls. I’m standing in the middle of a clearing, hands on my hips, calling out for Buttercup like a desperate fool. “Buttercup! Here, kitty, kitty!”
Behind me, Fox sighs audibly. “You know the damn cat isn’t going to come running like a dog, right?”
I whirl around, narrowing my eyes at him. He’s only wearing boxer briefs, his hard, muscled chest dusted with swirls of ink and dark hair. He’s even more distracting in the moonlight. “Do you have a better idea, caveman?”
“Yeah. Let’s stop yelling and think for a second.” He crouches down, scanning the underbrush like a predator stalking prey. Even annoyed, he moves with this effortless confidence that gets under my skin in all the wrong ways—and some of the right ones.
“She’s tiny, Fox! What if she got eaten by a coyote?” My voice breaks, and I hate how pathetic I sound.
His head snaps up, his sharp blue-green eyes locking on mine. “Not on my watch. We’ll find her.”
There’s something in his tone—gruff but reassuring—that settles the worst of my panic. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s not just a promise but a challenge he fully intends to win.
He stands, brushing dirt from his jeans. “She’s probably holed up somewhere warm. Cats are smarter than they look.”
“She’s not just a cat,” I snap, clutching my arms to my chest as the cool evening air seeps through his flannel that clings to my form. “She’s family.”
“And here I thought I was your only roommate.” Fox walks closer, towering over me. His gaze softens, just a fraction, before his trademark smirk reappears. “Don’t worry, I’ll never lose your precious pussy.”
I glare at him, biting back a retort, fighting the smirk that plays on my lips.
We scour the woods for what feels like hours. I trip over a root, and Fox catches me with one strong hand on my arm. His grip is firm but gentle, and for a second, my heart beats faster than it should.
“You good?” His voice is low, almost tender.
“I’m okay,” I mutter, wrenching my arm free and marching ahead, determined to find Buttercup.
Behind me, he chuckles under his breath. “Stubborn as hell.”
My legs ache, and my throat is dry from calling Buttercup’s name. Just when I think I’m about to give up, Fox stops abruptly, holding out an arm to block my path.
“What now?” I snap.
He crouches, brushing some branches aside. “Blood.”
My stomach drops. “Oh no.”
“It’s mine, Princess,” he says dryly, lifting his hand to show a fresh cut on his palm. “Got it on some thorny brush.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I grab his hand before he can protest. The cut isn’t deep, but it’s bleeding steadily.
“It’s nothing,” he grumbles, trying to pull away.
“Stop being a baby and let me see.” I dig into the pocket of his flannel for a tissue and press it to the wound, ignoring his scowl.
“You fuss over everyone like this, or just me?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, but his eyes linger on my face, studying me in a way that makes my pulse race.
“Just the people who help me chase after my runaway cat,” I shoot back, dabbing at the blood.
He chuckles, low and gravelly. “Lucky me.”
We don’t find Buttercup in the woods. By the time we trudge back to the garage, I’m exhausted, my feet aching from tromping over uneven terrain. Fox opens the door, flipping on the light, and I nearly collapse into the chair by the door.
“Go lay down,” he orders, nodding toward the loft. “I’ll grab you some water.”
“I’m fine,” I start to argue, but he silences me with a look. That damn look. The one that says he’s not in the mood for my sass, even though he secretly enjoys it.
While he disappears into the kitchen, I hear a faint noise. A soft meow.
I freeze, turning toward the source of the sound. “Buttercup?”
Fox reappears, a glass of water in hand. “What?”
“Shh!” I hiss, holding up a hand. There it is again—a tiny meow, coming from upstairs.
We both bolt for the loft. Fox beats me there, throwing open the door to his closet. Inside, nestled in a pile of old flannels and a Carhart jacket, is Buttercup, blinking up at us like she’s wondering what all the fuss is about.
“Seriously?” Fox growls, staring down at the fluffy orange culprit. “She’s been here the whole time?”
I scoop Buttercup up, hugging her to my chest. Relief floods through me, and I can’t help the tears that spring to my eyes.
“You scared me half to death,” I whisper, pressing my face into her fur.
When I look up, Fox is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t quite place. There’s something softer in his gaze, something almost…tender.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual.
“I am now,” I admit, my voice cracking slightly. His lips twitch into a small smile. “What?” I finally ask, raising an eyebrow.
He smirks. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “How you manage to make my clothes look better than I do.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat under his scrutiny. “They’re cozy, I love being wrapped in your warmth.”
He takes a slow sip of his beer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Maybe you should just keep wearing them. Suits you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’d get sick of me stealing your clothes.”
“Doubt it,” he says, his voice dropping an octave.
The air between us shifts, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more charged. I swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we’re standing, how his eyes darken as they travel over me.
“Fox,” I start, but I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
He steps closer, the rough planes of his face softening as he brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. His hand lingers, his thumb tracing a path along my jawline.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” His voice is low, a grumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Good,” I whisper, my lips curving into a small smile as I settle Buttercup back into her nest of cozy Fox flannels. “You deserve it.”
His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here we are,” I counter, my heart pounding as I meet his gaze.
The kiss is slow at first, a tentative exploration that quickly turns heated. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, and I thread my fingers through his hair, losing myself in the moment. It’s electric, all-consuming, just like earlier.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other.
As we settle back into bed, blankets pulled around us, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, coming back to Devil’s Peak wasn’t such a bad thing after all.