Chapter 13
As autumn settled across the Darrowlands, so too did Imogen into a new routine.
Or, at least, something like it. She was a creature of habit and familiarity, so as the weeks passed with Balar’s continued presence, he too became familiar.
While he might have been shocking and imposing before, now he was more… everyday.
She didn’t hate it.
In fact, she looked for him to appear at the mouth of the path or anticipated his knock on her door each morning. He was steadily making himself a familiar presence within her life by sheer will and perseverance, and she’d be a liar to say she didn’t admire his tenacity.
Imogen also secretly admired his renewed dedication to his mayoral duties. Some days, he could only spend the morning or afternoon with her. On those he couldn’t get away at all, he’d get one of his brothers to pass along his message.
Although Imogen might’ve thought the brothers would resent or shirk such a chore, especially the adults, they took to it well enough, even Soren.
Most of the time, they flew to her, winging down through a clearing in the tree canopy.
It wasn’t a long flight from the otherly village, and the more they flew, the wider the clearing became.
With a few choice branches cut away, they had a perfect pathway through the foliage.
Widening the opening through the canopy had an ulterior motive, as she soon came to find out.
With autumn deepening every day, often leaving frost on the ground in the mornings, the patch of concentrated sunlight that traversed her meadow throughout the day became a favorite lounging spot for any visiting manticore.
Although their task was over within a moment of telling her Balar couldn’t come that day, more and more, the brothers tended to stay a while, snagging a bit of sun.
One day, she even watched Diar slowly follow the pool of sunlight across the meadow, rolling every so often to keep himself in the center of that beam. He stayed so long, Kiri was sent to find him—only to curl up beside his brother and nap in the grass.
When Akila had brought a pillow with him one day, Imogen had assumed it was a joke. Everything usually was with Akila, but sunbathing at least he took very seriously. Akila and his pillow rolled slowly across the meadow throughout the day, with Shadow occasionally trotting over to sniff.
While the brothers were less familiar than Balar, they themselves were quickly becoming everyday, too. Even Chestnut had given up her deep hatred of the manticores for a more reasonable mild loathing.
After the initial shock of becoming the focus of a manticore—and then being inundated with them—having Balar and his brothers around was increasingly normal for Imogen. To herself, she might even admit that she…liked the company.
Their lively banter and strong backs made the shortening days go by quickly.
She couldn’t really begrudge any of the brothers their spot in the sun when they agreed to help Balar outfit Chestnut and the goats with a stable.
She had boards she used to convert the covered area of their paddock during the cold months, but she hadn’t gotten around to building a true stable for the animals.
The Darrowlands didn’t get as much snow as other areas, and with the tree cover, her meadow was spared the worst of it.
So long as they were dry, her goats were happy.
However, they were even happier with the stable Balar and his brothers constructed over the course of a short week.
Using the boards she already had with other timber they sourced from—she didn’t actually know, and Balar wouldn’t hear of her paying him back—somewhere, the brothers built a fine stable, even including tie stalls so Chestnut could have her own space, the billy goat could be separated from the ewes, and mothers with young kids could have a little peace.
It was so lovely, and her animals were so happy, it brought Imogen to tears.
Balar smiled and puffed up his wings to see it. “You like it?”
“Of course I do,” she said through her fingers, hiding her teary face. “It’s wonderful.”
Laying a gentle hand on the small of her back, Balar spread a wing around her. “Ah, urisá. You are too easy to please. This was nothing.”
“Nothing?” squawked Diar. “That was a week’s work!”
“I still have splinters!” added Akila.
“They’re just jealous they don’t have their own warm stalls full of sweet hay,” Balar chuckled.
Imogen giggled to imagine it—and she certainly could. For as strong and vigorous as the manticores were, they enjoyed their naps. Even if it couldn’t be in their preferred sunbeam, they managed to get comfortable and snooze.
Not more than a few days later, she caught Kiri napping in the stable, a kid curled up on his lap and Chestnut keeping watch. It seemed even she couldn’t resist the charm of the youngest manticore.
Autumn proved a long lesson in just how much manticore males liked to nap—and how they could get cranky about sharing a prime spot.
As the days continued to shorten and the sunlight grew weaker, the pool of warm light also drew smaller. The brothers began coming around almost every day, helping Balar with this or that until the pool of light formed on the far side of the meadow.
“Shall I install a scratching post, too?” she asked one day.
“You have plenty of trees for that already,” huffed Diar.
“You can step out of the way, though,” said Akila, winking at her from the shade of her shadow over them.
Another day, she couldn’t help observing, “To anyone else, it’d look like I had three great lion-skin rugs out on the meadow.”
“Ah-ha, she has a sense of humor now,” chuckled Akila.
“We’re also not lions,” Soren said in that matter-of-fact way of his. That was how Imogen realized the manticores huffed and puffed about being compared to any cat, even the largest of them.
Which, of course, meant that Imogen had to tease them about it now and again.
It couldn’t be helped, especially when wrestling matches would break out over the choicest spots in the afternoon. With work completed and bellies full of luncheon, the brothers, even sometimes Balar, would vie for that preferred patch of grass in the afternoon sunshine.
She knew competition was particularly fierce when the shirts came off.
Although she had already transitioned to her knits and wools, the manticores rarely seemed affected by the turning temperatures.
Sometimes their sleeves were rolled down from their elbows, and Kiri occasionally wore a padded jacket.
As for the grown brothers, none of them had a problem with tossing their shirts over their heads to grapple on the lawn.
Watching on from the animal pen with Chestnut, Imogen hid her laugh behind her hand. They looked like a bunch of spitting tomcats, making themselves big to scare the others.
As Shadow bounded around them, barking merrily, Balar, Soren, and Diar wrestled one another. She couldn’t say which brother was winning or who was actually taking it seriously—they wrestled just because they were bored sometimes.
Imogen’s eye caught on the bulge of Balar’s tawny muscles as he grappled with Soren. He was not only the eldest but the biggest of his brothers; only Diar could match him in bulk. Still, Soren was scrappy, and Balar had to work to keep from being pinned.
To herself, she cheered when he threw Soren off in time to catch Diar’s attack. It wasn’t long before the two younger brothers were teaming up against Balar, but he held his own.
The masses of back muscles bunched and shivered with strain, his wings twitching and flicking as he batted away swipes and jabs.
Covered as he was in that velveteen fur, with his great striated wings and flowing mane, everything about Balar shone golden in the late-day sun.
His thick waist rippled with muscle, his massive chest with strength while they tussled.
Imogen knew it was only play, maybe a bit of display—Balar never wasted an opportunity to show off to her—but she was nevertheless thoroughly impressed. To think what he’d be like if he was actually fighting, using all that raw power to defend her…
Or pleasure her.
That thought popped into her head and stuck to the inside of her skull better than a burr. Once it was there, it wouldn’t leave.
The longer she watched him, the louder the thought became, too.
Imogen now hid her rising blush behind her hand rather than her giggling.
She was a woman of almost thirty, living alone.
She knew how to take care of her body’s needs.
Although she’d only been kissed once—the outcome of a dare, as she’d discover later—she didn’t need anything specific, memory or fantasy, to get herself off.
Focusing on the gathering feeling, touching herself just so, she could climb her peak and hurtle over the top in no time at all.
However, the more she watched Balar wrestle, the more time she spent with him day after day, the more she thought…she might like to touch herself to thoughts of him.
Imogen didn’t think she’d be able to get the sight of his bare chest out of her mind anytime soon. She’d already become preoccupied with the ropes of sinew that shadowed his forearms, often bare with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Maybe, she might even…want him to touch her.
She’d never considered letting a man do that before. Hadn’t met one she’d ever want to let that close.
But this lion-man, with his big, loud laugh, affable nature, and winking gold-green eyes…he was different. Had been from the start.
He said he meant to be with her. He came every day to prove it. No matter how appalling her manners or mood, he met her with a smile.
No, Imogen hadn’t ever met a man like that.
Her mind was still fumbling with these new thoughts and desires when the wrestling wound down. Balar extricated himself finally, hustling backwards to pick up his canteen and guzzle down great pulls of water.
Imogen tracked a stray drop as it escaped the corner of his lip to run down his chin and the long line of his thick neck. Her mouth ran dry.
A smile broke across his face, and her gaze snapped up to his. He’d caught her staring.
Balar sauntered more than walked to stand with her, daring to give Chestnut a pat on the head.
“I believe I won,” he declared, none too smug.
“You usually do.”
He stood a little taller at that, shaking out his mane and wings. “You were watching, yes?”
“Was I watching my clowder of tomcats fight over the sun puddle? Yes, I was.”
His ears swiveled and his whiskers twitched. “I’m not a cat. I’m mantii.”
“But you look like a cat,” she teased. “You act like a cat, chasing sunbeams. And you purr like a cat.” She poked the center of his chest, where even now, a purr emanated from.
That deep rumble grew in volume with her small touch.
Imogen flushed, realizing she’d sidled up to him as she teased. Fates, am I flirting with him?
A few good peeks at his magnificent chest and here she was, flirting. She’d thought herself stronger than that.
Any and all thoughts ceased when a clawed finger curled beneath her chin to lift her face. Another one of those insufferably pleased grins teased his lips as he asked, “Your clowder?”
Imogen flushed beet red. She meant to turn away and hide it, but Balar was quicker. Chuckling, he held her shoulders in his big paws, drawing her closer to him.
Leaning down to meet her, he whispered, “You’re right, urisá, I am yours.”
The breath of space between them was warm upon her lips, and Imogen’s heart fluttered in her chest as her vision filled with him.
Those glittering eyes fell to her mouth. He hesitated a moment, perhaps waiting to see if she’d elbow or knee him somewhere, but she didn’t.
Shouldn’t I? Or maybe I shouldn’t…
He closed the distance, just the whisper of a touch, but he was there.
It was strange and a little frightening—and over almost as quickly as it’d begun. Those bifurcated lips pressed against hers, whiskers tickling her upper lip. She just got the sensation of warmth, of utter closeness, before he pulled away again.
Her second kiss.
Imogen didn’t know what to do with her hands. Or her whole face. She hadn’t even moved her mouth.
She could feel the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks. Fates, what should I do?
Whether or not he sensed her growing confusion, Balar merely smiled gently, tracing the pad of his thumb across her cheek before telling her, “I will help with preparing supper,” and turned to give her her space.
Relief rushed through her for the reprieve, but when he was gone, she was almost…bereft. Fates, had he always been so warm?
Imogen turned toward the pen to collect her thoughts.
She met Chestnut’s stare, and with a flick of her long ears, the donkey brayed enthusiastically.
Imogen scowled back. “I thought you didn’t like him?”
Hee-honk!