Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
SADIE
It’s weird to wake up with no semblance of time.
On a typical morning, a glance around the room tells me whether the sun is up, a good indicator of whether I need to get out of bed.
Since I’ve moved to Vermont, I’ve rarely set an alarm.
Instead, I rely on the consistency of having the sun’s rays be my wake-up call.
Without that, all my senses are off-kilter this morning.
If it’s even morning. For all I know, it’s still the middle of the night.
My devices are all dead, no smartwatch or phone to help me.
Maybe I should have asked about that before we went to bed.
I doubt this tree has electricity, but if someone had asked yesterday, I would also have told you no one lived in it.
At this point, nothing seems impossible.
I stretch out carefully, so as not to disturb Gillia, who’s sleeping next to me. Try as I might to avert my gaze, I can’t look away. She’s mesmerizing—the way the meandering curves of her body come alive alongside the unique textures of her skin and hair. She’s nature personified.
A wave of emotion rolls over me. I should probably be more concerned for my safety and well-being.
After all, I’m in a tree with a dryad. Most people would probably think they were in some horrible dream, or maybe that the hypothermia had taken them.
Instead, I feel safe and comfortable. Maybe for the first time in years.
I’ve always known that the forest held surprises.
As a kid, everyone told me I had an overactive imagination when I came home with stories about seeing all sorts of things in the woods behind our house.
My parents would pat me on the head and tell me things weren’t always what they seemed.
Strange shadows? A play of light. Whispered voices?
The wind. No matter how many times I told them about the fairies or gnomes, they always had a rational excuse.
This ordeal has brought me a sense of calm. It’s the proof I’ve always wanted. I was right all along; it’s everyone else who couldn’t see things as they truly are. Too bad no one will believe me.
The thought of returning to my life, my station, and daily duties makes me nauseous.
I don’t know why I’m having such a strong reaction.
Anyone who entered a magical world would want to stay, but it’s more than that.
For once in my life, I’m settled. There’s no pressing anxiety or desire to run away as fast as I can. If I could, I’d stay this way forever.
Gillia shifts, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if she wakes. As much as I want to talk to her again, I’m enjoying the time to examine her thoroughly. It was hard yesterday. I didn’t want her to think I was rude by staring. When she stills, I let out a sigh of relief.
It’s killing me not to know what her skin feels like.
It’s been taunting me since I first set eyes on her.
Not only because it’s so beautiful—which it is—but because it looks impossibly soft.
I swear it glistens, which is improbable given the lighting in here.
It’s not hair, so much as a fiber, like what I might expect on a plant, familiar and foreign all at the same time.
I reach out my hand to touch her arm, running the tip of my finger over the back of her hand.
Soft, yet rough, a juxtaposition that my brain struggles to reconcile.
It’s not skin, at least not any version of that in my vocabulary.
Instead, it’s plush and soft, almost like something I would find on the top of a fallen log.
I suppose it makes sense. For some reason, I keep expecting Gillia to be human when she’s anything but. As much as I know the difference, my brain is having trouble catching up. When I look back toward her face, I find Gillia’s eyes fixed on me, a soft smile spreading across her lips.
“Sorry.” I snap my hand away. God, I don’t know what came over me. How embarrassing to be caught like that. If she doesn’t throw me out into the snow, I’ll be shocked. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“You can touch me. I don’t mind.” Her long lashes flutter a few times before her gaze meets mine. “You’re curious.”
It’s not a question. Why would it be when I’m sure it’s written all over my face how completely taken I am with her? “Are you sure?” My need overwhelms my embarrassment.
Need. The word echoes in my head. Of course, I want to touch her, but at this point, it’s more than that. Gillia is a drug, and I can’t get enough.
“Of course.” Her cheeks flush, a light shade of pink sweeping across her face.
With her consent, I continue my investigation, enjoying the way her skin compresses with the gentlest touch.
I make my way up her arm, toward her shoulder, taking in every small change in color and texture.
There’s a few species of plants I can pick out easily, thanks to studying the local wilderness guide.
Others are completely new to me. Maybe new to humans in general.
Even as that thought occurs to me, I know I’ll never tell anyone about what I saw here.
There must be protections in place, but the wrong person could come looking for her.
“This too?” I whisper, pointing toward her hair. It’s the part I’m most fascinated by, the way the vines somehow look like true strands of hair, except for the flowers and mushrooms that are growing throughout. That’s something I’ve never seen before.
“Yes,” she says, her voice practically a whisper, the warm air tickling me as she exhales. “You, Sadie, can touch me anywhere.”
I swallow hard, ignoring the implications in that sentence.
I reach out, slow and steady, unsure what I’m about to experience.
When my fingers run over the first piece, I’m shocked to find it smooth and flexible.
The strands move and bend as I run my hand through her hair.
Not quite as easily as they would on a human, but I’m still shocked.
There’s absolutely nothing like this. At least, I think.
I’ve spent a lot of time in forests, though rarely with the freedom to touch.
That’s not a good idea given the number of potential dangers.
Touch one too many things with thorns or needles, and you’ll learn that lesson real quick.
Trust me, I’ve dug many a thorn and spine out of my skin with tweezers. It’s never a pleasant experience.
I reach for one of the small pink flowers, and it closes, instinctively protecting itself.
As soon as I retract my hand, it opens again.
“That’s incredible,” I whisper. It’s so tempting to try again, see if I can replicate the results, but I don’t want to push.
Maybe if I’m here long enough, the flower will start to see that I’m not a threat.
How long would that take? Right now, I’m perfectly content to be here, but there must be an end in sight. This is her world, not mine. My life is back at the Ranger Station, several miles away. It’s not home, but it’s where my stuff is.
I shake the thoughts from my head. Right now, a dryad—a freaking dryad—is letting me explore her body.
That is the only thing I need to focus on for the foreseeable future.
I smile and continue working through the rest of Gillia’s locks, avoiding touching the horn-like sticks protruding from the top.
They appear fragile, like the slightest touch might snap them.
Satisfied, I scootch down the bed and resume my exploration of her body, avoiding touching anywhere that I think might be overly sensitive. Though I’m basing that entirely on human anatomy and what I know of the identifiable plant species, rather than anything factual.
The nudity still gets me a bit. Not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because I’m so used to everyone around me being dressed.
Gillia probably thinks it’s weird that I’m wearing clothes.
I’m sure she’s seen many humans come through, and, if nothing else, she’s been watching me.
But all those times, I’ve been in full trekking gear.
Even on a warm day, I tend to wear lightweight pants and a long-sleeve shirt.
I’m not a prude, not by any stretch of the imagination, but hiking in nothing is a good way to end up with a nasty case of poison ivy and mosquito bites in uncomfortable places. Or, this time of year, frostbite.
I glance back up to make sure she’s still comfortable with the way I’m touching her.
“You’re fine, Sadie. It feels good.”
I duck my head, cheeks heating at her words.
Is it my imagination or does she sound a little breathless?
The images of fairies and nymphs that I’ve seen over the years portray them as thin beauties.
Gillia’s soft edges and strong appearance match what I know of nature.
Curves and swells have replaced sharp angles and crisp lines.
I can’t resist the opportunity to trace the patterns across her midsection, following the natural flow of her skin.
The form is so much more alluring than anything I’ve seen depicted.
I shake the thought from my mind. I do not need to develop a crush on a mythical creature.
Though falling for a supernatural creature is pretty on brand for me.
One foot in reality, with the other lost in a fantasy.
I’ve always preferred the company of fictional characters to real people.
It bothered my parents, mostly because they worried I was lonely.
I wasn’t, though. Not really. Just like I haven’t been lonely at this outpost. Maybe that’s because I was secretly being watched, but I think it’s more than that.
I don’t believe in fate, but this situation is testing me.
Destiny, serendipity, kismet. Whatever it’s called, I think I was supposed to end up here.