Chapter 28
TWENTY EIGHT
Honey
It’s been years since I went to a Mosswood Moonberry Festival. The sun shines down warming my shoulders. The music from the little local band buoys me along, and I’m floating on the high of Gryff’s smiles and his confessions of desire yesterday.
As we near a booth selling handmade soaps and bath oils, he uses his grip on my hand to tug me back against him and growl in my ear. “You don’t need those. Your scent is perfect.”
I can’t hold back the silly smile that makes my cheeks feel like they’re working hard to contain it.
Nevermind my smell, Gryff smells amazing today.
I thought I had gotten used to the clean, fresh, woodsy scent of him, but it radiates from him today, making me want to bury my face under his shirt and take a deep whiff.
I hope that doesn’t mean the heat is coming back. As grateful as I am for how that’s changed things between us, I don’t know if I can survive a repeat of that so soon. Not with my parents around!
At that moment a young satyr standing on an overturned crate calls out over the crowd, “Looking for one more stomp and squish competitor. Try your luck and win a year’s worth of moonberry cider!”
A fond memory comes to me of me and Mom knee deep in a barrel of berries and laughing too hard to stomp. I must have been about eight or nine. My legs were stained purple for weeks.
Normally I wouldn’t dare do anything that would involve me removing my shoes in public or lifting up my skirt these days, but with Gryff beside me, the other denizens of Mosswood haven’t come close to me, and I feel bold and reckless.
I launch myself forward, lifting my hand in the air and trusting him to follow. “I will! I bet I can win!”
I glance behind me, expecting a scowl, but instead Gryff offers me a smile and a lifted brow.
I hurry to the tent where four half barrels are set up, overflowing with the reddish purple fruit.
Three other contestants are standing on folded towels beside their half barrels, waiting for the starting whistle. Looks like I’m just in time.
I sit on a wooden stool to remove my shoes and socks, and the satyr hands me a dish of water to wash with.
Before I can do it for myself, though, Gryff kneels and pulls my right foot into his gentle grip, wetting the cloth and rubbing it delicately over my toes.
The gesture feels intimate. It would be clear to anyone watching that we’re together.
I flush all over with pleasure and try to keep still and not wriggle as he runs the cloth over the sensitive soles of my feet.
He looks up at me with a wink. “You’ll make the most delicious juice anyone has ever tasted. I might have to kill anyone who tries.”
I don’t think he’s talking about the berries anymore, but before he can say more, the satyr beckons me to my barrel of berries. “Do not enter the barrel until you hear the whistle,” he admonishes me.
As I tuck my dress into my panties to lift the hem a strong wave of the masculine scent I associate with Gryff hits me, and I have to concentrate to stop my body from reacting.
Luckily I have a competition to win here, or I’d be tempted to climb into his arms and demand he take me home so we can spend the afternoon in his tent.
I remember the same scent surrounding us when he attacked Colton and I wonder if it’s because he’s feeling possessive and if he’s doing it deliberately.
Then the whistle blows, and I climb into the barrel, laughing as the berries pop between my toes, splashing juice up my calves as I sink into the soft fruit.
I glance to one side and see the cow shifter beside me struggling to dislodge her hoof.
She obviously shifted thinking the increased weight would be an advantage, but I’m not sure it is.
I’m able to move my legs much faster than her.
Besides, not everything is about speed. You have to be careful not to bruise the berries too much or it will spoil the flavor.
On the far side, a mothman is making good progress. His jug, which sits below the spout coming from his barrel, is getting full.
I pump my legs faster, breathless and laughing and having the time of my life. Even though the males in the crowd are watching in fascination, none of them approach. Gryff stands like a solid statue at the front, as if daring them to try.
The whistle blows again, and we stop, panting from our exertions.
The judges collect the juice and measure it, and a volunteer is chosen from the crowd to taste it.
I have a minute of worry when a stout dwarf is chosen to be the taste tester and Gryff’s form seems to shimmer as his body grows a few inches taller, but a moment later his gaze flicks to mine, and he catches me watching him intently.
His form stabilizes and then he’s smiling again.
The taster declares my juice the best in flavor, and since I squeezed the second highest quantity of juice, I’m awarded the overall winner.
The crowd cheers, and Gryff steps forward to help me from the barrel.
I’m so happy I forget myself for a moment, jumping into his arms and catching him around the neck.
Our faces are close as he lets me slide down his body, and my laughter dies as I think for a second he is about to kiss me.
Would it mean what I hope it means—what it meant last night when no one was watching—or is he just slipping back into the fake boyfriend role he plays so seamlessly in public?
Over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of Mom winding her way through the dense crowd gathered to watch, and I remember she’s not supposed to know about us. I pull away hastily, tugging down the hem of my skirt and returning to the stool to wash off the sticky berry juice.
What would she think if she found out Gryff and I have been fooling around? Would she blame me for putting him at risk? For not being careful enough? She would be right that I’ve been reckless.
A fresh lump10 of guilt settles in my gut when I think about all the times I could have hurt Gryff or someone else when I let my control over myself slip.
I hang my head. I expect her to approach any moment and gently tell me off for entering a competition which could have risked half the people around us, but when I look for her, she has vanished again into the crowd.
Gryff is watching me closely, as usual. He places a gentle knuckle under my chin to lift my gaze to his. “What’s happened?”
I try to shrug it off, but a cloud has passed in front of the sun, and the sudden chill matches my sudden guilty reflections. I should have been more careful. I don’t get to forget what I am and how that affects people, not even for one carefree morning.
It’s strange that I can’t spot Mom anywhere after I accept my winner’s voucher and we head back into the crowd. Gryff shelters me from the worst of the crush, but we’re both jostled now that the day is reaching its peak and the festival grows busier still.
A handsome older woman is standing by a deep-purple tent, her hair decorated with a teardrop tiara of silver stars and moons strung around the crown of her head and dangling down to mix with her salt-and-pepper waves.
“You were quite something out there,” she says to me.
Her voice isn’t raised but somehow carries over the music and the crowd.
I pause. “Thanks.”
Gryff looks around at me questioningly.
The sign above the tent reads fortune teller.
The handsome woman is dressed the part in a long, purple velvet dress that seems too hot for the season and long full sleeves that cover her arms. When I look closer, though I notice they’re not arms, but wings with clawed fingers on the ends.
I try to work out what sort of monster she is, but I can’t.
I’m sure Gryff would know. I get the sense she’s new in town or just visiting for the festival.
“Do they know what you are?”
I blink. “Do you?” Most people can’t tell at first sight. Not even monsters. It’s only after it’s too late that they realize there’s something different about me.
The fortune teller laughs. “It’s written all over you, child. The way you move, in your voice, in your smile. I would very much like to talk to you. I’ll read your fortune if you like.”
I don’t bother to question whether she can really read the future. It doesn’t occur to me until later. I suppose if she’s a scammer, she’s good at what she does.
“Honey—” Gryff’s hand tightens on mine. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”
He clearly doesn’t, but I have to admit, I’m curious.
“How much?”
“For you, it’s free.”
I lift a brow. Even I am not that innocent. “Really?”
She laughs again, the sound musical and alluring. “You can pay if you like, but I believe there’s something in it for me either way. Come inside and let me show you.” She gestures to the tent.
I expect Gryff to stop me, but at that moment, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, staring down at the screen. It looks like the call might be important if the expression on his face is anything to go by. I squeeze his hand and slide from his grip. “Back in a moment.”
He grunts, not looking up, so I follow the fortune teller into the tent.
As soon as the flap is shut, she leads me to a little table with a crystal ball. Unexpectedly, she sets the ball aside unceremoniously and reaches across the table for my hands. “Come, Honey. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”
Hesitantly I reach forward, probing with my magical senses to test whether she is mistaken or not.
I sense a power in her, welling up and growing in pressure, but it’s different to what I normally feel.
Could this be a different type of hunger?
Something that’s not sexual? “W-what kind of monster are you?”
She grins. “I’m a harpy. I feed on the dreams of others. We are not so different, you and I.”
I suppose she’s right. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
“Two reasons.” She eyes me speculatively for a moment before continuing. “I won’t lie, your dreams smell like a royal feast, girl. Laid out in front of me like a twelve-course banquet. I bet they’re delicious. You are delicious.”
“Okaaaaaay. And the other reason?”
“I know what it’s like to be like you, and I wonder if I can help.”
“So what’s the real cost?” I chew my lip, wondering if it’s worth it. It seems like there’s got to be a catch.
She hums low in her throat. “If you let me taste your dreams, I’ll tell you what I know.”
“What will happen to my dreams if you taste them?”
She waves her claws in the air between us. “They’ll just get a little fuzzy for a while. It won’t last long.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you won’t forget them. Not these dreams. They’re too strong. Especially around that big hunk of wolf. But you might feel a little odd for a day or so.”
I look around at the tent flap, half expecting Gryff to charge in and put a stop to this, but he doesn’t and I am wrestling to stop my curiosity from getting the better of me. What harm can there be in my dreams being fuzzy for a day or two?
Before I can stop myself, I reach across the table and take her hands. “Can you tell me anything about succubi? About why I might have gone into heat like a shifter?”
Her eyes light with a spark, and she smiles. “I think anyone could go into heat for that gorgeous wolf, but succubi in particular are susceptible to the desires of their fated mates.”
I blink. “Excuse me, what now?”
“Do we have an agreement?” She lifts a brow.
I need the answer to all the questions I suddenly have, so the answer sort of jumps out of my mouth. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
The harpy sucks in a breath, and I feel a reverse of the energy exchange I’m used to flow between us. In my mind’s eye, I see Gryff holding a tiny child with golden hair and pointed wolfish ears and a grin crinkling the corners of his eyes and giving him a softness I’m not used to.
The harpy moans. I feel her hunger rise, gnawing at the bond where we’re joined. “Oh yes. You are delicious. Show me more.”
Now it’s summertime, and I’m walking on a warm beach hand in hand with Gryff while people to the left and right of us ignore us. I glance down and realize I’m wearing a skimpy bikini yet no one but Gryff seems to be looking at all.
The harpy chuckles. “More!”
This time Gryff has me on my back. We’re in the woods, and soft light filters through the trees onto our naked sweaty skin.
He plunges into my body and growls a command into my ear.
“Give me your neck, babygirl. Right there. That’s where my mark belongs.
” He looks at me with such desire. So clear it’s written all over his face, but even though I feel a draw, his gaze remains sharp and he’s still him.
There’s a stinging pain in my palms, and I gasp and pull my hands from the harpy’s grip.
She blinks open her eyes, looking rather dazed, and dabs demurely at a dribble of saliva that escaped the corner of her mouth. “Mmmm. Even better than I expected. Thank you.”
I try to remember what on earth she is talking about. I’m sure I know, but my mind is cloudy. “You’re welcome?” What am I doing in here anyway? And where are Mom and Gryff?
“Now to your question, a succubus becomes what others most desire. It’s hardwired in you. Let’s call it nature’s gift. To help you feed. But the change can be permanent if it’s sparked by a soul mate.”
I frown. I don’t understand what she’s talking about. I need to find Gryff.
“Wait.” She stops me as I get to my feet to leave the tent. “You can’t steal what is already yours.”
I frown. “Huh? I’m sorry. I don’t remember what we were talking about.”
“You will. Just remember that, OK? Shifters call it fated mates, but those of us who know, we call it soul mates.”
I shake my head. None of this makes sense.
Just then a growl from outside the tent raises gooseflesh on the backs of my arms. I know that growl. That growl sounds alarmingly like Gryff…