Chapter 14
Even as she thought back upon it, Imogen couldn’t quite say how she’d ended up with two manticores in tow as she picked her way across a remote corner of her land, foraging for any last berries, mushrooms, truffles, or wild onions.
Balar was to be expected at this point, of course. After a recent spat of rain, he wouldn’t hear of her going out alone. “I won’t lose you to a slippery patch of leaves or a deceptively deep puddle, urisá,” he said with a totally straight face.
Imogen had to bite back her laugh, but Akila didn’t, rolling around on the blanket he’d brought to protect from the wet grass like it was the funniest thing Balar ever said.
Off for the day from school, Kiri accompanied them through the damp forest, running alongside Shadow as they hunted for any last goodies. He seemed determined to prove himself as good a nose as any dog or pig. Honestly, Imogen suspected Shadow would tire out before the bouncy teenage manticore.
Despite the wet hem of her cloak and how moisture kept seeping into her old boots to dampen her socks, it was a pleasant afternoon.
Balar had acquiesced to the cooling weather by unrolling his shirtsleeves and buttoning them at the wrist, although he was constantly using his arm to lift bushy fern leaves and low-hanging branches out of her way, soaking the shirt.
She’d never say or laugh about it, given how prideful he was, but she thought the way his mane frizzed in the dank air absolutely charming.
Not long into their afternoon and he looked like a soggy, frazzled kitten.
Still, nothing dampened his spirits, and he kept their conversation lively as they all foraged.
Balar was utterly triumphant when he bent down and came away with a handful of little mushrooms. He presented them to her with a flourish, but before he could add them to the basket, Imogen grasped his wrist.
“They’re lovely, but they’re also poisonous,” she told him gently.
Balar’s ears flattened against his head. “Surely not? These are plentiful near the village and always being used.”
Opening his fist, Imogen carefully poked a few of the bulbous heads to show him the gills beneath.
“Yes, they look very similar, but the ones with the gills can cause serious harm.” When she glanced up at him, she found his demeanor pale.
She didn’t know how that was possible through his fur, but it was.
Patting his chest, she consoled, “You didn’t know.”
“No.” He cast away the mushrooms with a snarl, wiping his hand on the side of his shirt.
“Unless of course you meant them for Akila. One wouldn’t kill him, just give him a stomachache to remember.”
Grabbing her hand still on his chest, Balar threw back his head and laughed uproariously. His shoulders and wings shook, and a mirthful tear escaped one eye. “You are utterly vicious, urisá. I love it.” And lifting her hand, he bestowed a lingering kiss on her knuckles.
It was Imogen’s turn to shiver and shake, and she nearly lost her hold on the basket.
His mouth nearly seared her cold skin, and his whiskers tickled. She gasped when he dared flick her with the tip of his tongue; it was textured, far more than a human’s, rough like a cat’s.
I’m not a cat, she could just hear him saying, which made her smile.
Balar saw it, grinning as he kissed her hand once more before straightening.
She didn’t know what possessed her—the shock of his touch, the terror at how much she liked it, or every defensive instinct she had to protect herself and her heart—but Imogen found herself blurting, “I haven’t done this before. Courting, kissing, any of it.”
Her words hung heavily between them with the sodden low-hanging limbs.
Balar blinked. “I admit, I too have little experience kissing. It’s more of a human custom.” His lips spread in a grin. “I have even less experience kissing my own kigara, but that can be solved.”
Blushing, Imogen stared at his throat. That proved less than safe, as she admired the thick column of it, how the grain of dense fur laid to point down to the enticing divot between his pectorals. A peek of that glorious chest beneath his shirt was—
I’m thinking about his chest again.
I should say something.
Clearing her throat, Imogen managed to say, “I haven’t done any of it.” Glancing at him through her lashes, she waited to see if he’d understand, dreading having to explain further.
She almost regretted bringing it up at all. Blurting something like that out, admitting to her absolute lack of experience when it came to romance and men, was anathema to her usual sense of self-preservation.
It wasn’t like she missed it or keenly felt the lack.
Not usually, at least. It was harder to miss something she’d never had, and Imogen had never had a man in her life worth swooning over.
There’d been a few days, when she was about eighteen, when she thought it might happen—only to find the boy had been put up to it by Collin and his followers.
The humiliation had lasted far longer than her hopes.
By the time her wounds had closed over, everyone her age was getting married or moving away.
That was the thing with small towns and villages—it was often the same people, day in and day out.
Even if people grew up and changed, as Neomi claimed Collin had, Imogen couldn’t forget what they’d said and done to her.
Imogen only really felt her lack of experience in the longest, loneliest winter nights—when there was little to do and no one but herself to warm the bed.
Stuck inside, there was plenty of opportunity to pleasure herself.
But she could hardly imagine the touch of another, and she’d gone on this way so long now, she sometimes worried it was too late for her.
That she’d never be able to enjoy someone else’s touch because she was so used to her own.
This big, loud lion-man had proven her wrong on so many counts, though.
He kept her hand in his, the pad of his thumb absently skating over her knuckles. The longer he did it, the more she wanted him to keep going. What would it feel like for him to touch her more? What could a proper kiss from him be like?
It was the first time Imogen had wondered these things since she was a youth, still hoping someone might see her.
Perhaps she said it to test him, trying to find what would finally make him turn away.
It was better to do it sooner rather than later.
Imogen had no hopes to get up anymore, her heart already covered in thick calluses.
Still, if he turned away, she knew it’d hurt.
But more so later. Best get it over with.
However, what happened instead was Balar pulled her closer with the hand he held.
Gently, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her loosely to his chest. “That’s no matter to me, love.
All I want is for you to be happy.” Dipping his head, he nuzzled her hair, whiskers tickling her forehead.
“I will make it good for you, urisá. So good, you’ll never want to leave my arms. That you can be sure of. ”
Imogen’s whole body flushed. Somehow, she believed him.
Balar rumbled happily, a purr rattling in his chest. She heard him take a long, deep breath against her skin. “You smell especially sweet, ul-lu. Does the thought of me please you?”
Sucking in a trembling breath, Imogen dared to lift her face to his. His gold-green eyes took up her vision. Fates, she hadn’t realized he was so close.
Those inhuman eyes searched hers a moment before Balar bent the last distance between them. Imogen held her ground, telling herself not to panic. People did this all the time. Kissing was normal. Not a great matter.
Balar’s kiss felt like a great matter, though.
His strange lips skimmed hers at first in a few gentle swipes before coming in to press more firmly.
His scent and feel flooded her senses, surrounding her in what she could only describe as golden.
A big paw spanned her back, holding her securely to his chest as he moved his head, changing the angle.
It was weird and new and terrifying—Imogen’s mind raced faster than Shadow through the forest; she couldn’t seem to quiet it and just feel.
What do I do? Don’t just stand there! But what should I do?
Frustrated tears stung her eyes. She didn’t know what to do with her mouth or hands.
Shouldn’t I close my eyes?
She was growing upset, but before she could spiral into true tears, Balar caught her chin with his thumb and finger. “Open your mouth,” he murmured against her lips.
A rush of relief coursed through her, followed by a surge of warmth when his tongue touched hers. Imogen opened her mouth wider, gasping when he teased his tongue against hers, sliding it up and down before nipping her lower lip.
Fates, she didn’t know it could feel like this.
She didn’t know where the basket went, only that she was grasping his tunic with both hands. Imogen could feel the way his heart thudded in his chest beneath her fists, resonant but slower than hers, which beat so quickly, she feared it’d break free of her ribs.
With his tongue in her mouth and hands kneading at her back, there wasn’t time to think. It was all Imogen could do to get a breath, to move her own lips with his. She chased down the spark of pleasure, sinking into his warmth.
I didn’t know, I didn’t know—
“Shadow, look out! Ack—!”
Snick.
Imogen and Balar wrenched apart, looking in the direction of where Kiri had shouted from. The cool air almost stung her swollen lips, the chill exaggerated from Balar’s absence.
Her head swam with unfulfilled lust and burgeoning worry—she cast her eyes about, looking for Kiri and Shadow.
I know that sound.
Alarm rose in her chest, and Imogen quickly picked the basket up again to follow Balar.
They found Kiri and Shadow down a small berm. A trail of slick leaves had been disturbed, revealing the dull glint of iron hidden amongst the forest detritus.
Stepping down the slope, Balar reached for Kiri. “Are you all right?”
“Be careful!” Imogen called. She pointed at the trap Kiri had set off. “It might snap again.”
Taking the hand Balar offered, Imogen hustled down the berm. She picked up a stick to brush away the rest of the leaves, revealing the full apparatus of the trap. Balar and Kiri hissed to see the wicked iron teeth.
With her stick, Imogen prodded the spring and lever, ensuring it wouldn’t reset itself.
“This is Dermott’s doing,” she growled. “I’ve told him not to use these on my land.”
“Where does this Dermott live?”
Imogen looked up at the low, threatening cadence of Balar’s voice. A predator looked back at her, an alpha manticore who brooked no argument.
“That could’ve hurt you or Kiri badly,” he rumbled.
Imogen nodded. “Yes. But thankfully it didn’t.” Carefully using the stick and the toe of her boot, she dug the trap anchor out of the ground to hold it up by the chain. “Another for my collection. I’ll bankrupt him soon enough.”
That rumbling growl still vibrating in his chest, Balar took the trap from her. “I will carry it. And you will tell me where I can find Dermott.”
Hmm, not a request. “I’m not sure I should, with that look on your face.”
Balar arched a single brow, an imperious alpha manticore displeased with being defied. For some reason, the sight sent a thrill down Imogen’s middle to pool between her legs.
Kiri clapped Balar’s shoulder. “Ah, I’m all right, seska. No harm done.”
“This time.” He nodded at Kiri. “Let’s go back. It’s getting late.”
Understanding, Kiri nodded and patted his leg to call Shadow. “Let’s go home, rusa.”
The two of them scampered off, apparently unaffected by the close call.
It was a close call, to be sure, and Imogen’s belly burned with outrage over another trap on her land.
She couldn’t say when this one had been placed—it wasn’t close to the cottage, so perhaps Dermott had been out here weeks ago.
The thought troubled her; she didn’t like the idea of him anywhere on her land.
In the melee of so many manticores over the past few weeks, she hadn’t gotten a chance to walk her land, sweeping for traps, like she often did. In winter, it was all the harder to do. She’d need to do a full sweep before the worst of the rain began.
“It’s a shame your markings only scare off bears, not Dermotts,” she mused, taking up her basket.
Balar caught her arm before she could follow Kiri and Shadow. “I have ways.” Holding her chin with a thumb and finger again, Balar lifted Imogen’s face so he knew she saw him when he said, “If anything happens again, you will tell me. Even the slightest hint of Dermott. I will take care of it.”
Fates, the way he said that…it set her to lusting almost as much as his kiss had. Was that normal?
Swallowing past her dry throat, Imogen said, “All right.”
She wasn’t entirely sure she meant it. She wanted to see Dermott fined, even arrested, for his actions. Not necessarily mauled to a pulp.
Still, another little thrill settled in her center to hear his voice all serious and determined.
I like it when he talks like that, she realized. Maybe too much.