Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
AMARI
Ipadded through the shadows of the Black Forest, my paws silent against the black moss-covered ground.
As we pushed deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, their bark darker, almost charcoal.
No birds sang here, and no insects chirped.
The only sounds were the clomp of hooves, the occasional snort from a horse, and the creak of leather as someone shifted in their saddle.
It was unfortunate that I was forced to go on a rescue mission with the woman who was way too attractive for her own good and her trusty sidekick, who carried a hip pouch with his nuts in it.
Who the hell carried a hip pouch?
My gaze drifted to Samara, perched atop her hell horse as if she’d been born in the saddle.
Buttercup—what a ridiculous name for something that could tear a demon apart with its hooves—worshiped the ground she walked on.
His eyes glowed ember-red whenever anyone else approached, but for her, they softened to a warm amber.
My panther purred low in my chest, and I clenched my jaw and shook my head, annoyed at the reaction.
Traitor. This wasn’t the time to be impressed by a woman who could tame hell horses.
Even though watching Samara handle Buttercup with such natural ease made something primal in me want to roll over and expose my belly.
My inner beast seemed determined to embarrass me at every turn lately, responding to the slightest show of Samara’s quiet confidence like a starving creature offered a feast. I snapped back to attention, focusing on the path ahead rather than the way the shards of moonlight through the trees caught in her purple hair.
We’d been traveling for nearly three hours, and the tension between us was thick enough to taste. Val kept glancing at Samara, his gaze lingering on the way her hips moved with Buttercup’s gait. Each time he looked, something hot and possessive coiled in my gut.
Many say gargoyles are coldhearted; that not only are our bodies made of stone, but so are our hearts. So why did Val’s history with Samara bother me so much?
I’d first met Val shortly after the curse set in when I was a quarter of a century old. Every firstborn male in my line was cursed to a life of turning to stone because my great-great-grandfather cheated on a witch. Everyone knew you did not fuck with witches.
It wasn’t a choice to turn to stone, and it was an inconvenience to turn to stone at regular intervals. I had to do it daily, or I would be stuck in stone forever. The last thing I wanted was to be one of those who sat idle on a rooftop until danger appeared. Some might want that, but I didn’t.
Otherwise, I’d gotten used to being cursed. You sit. You watch. You wait. Protect. Kill. Repeat.
I’ve seen a lot in my years. People forgot we were watching and said some ridiculous things in front of us.
It was how I knew the look of yearning and pain in Val’s eyes.
He’d stumbled upon me in the garden, drunk and rambling about nothing going his way.
He’d pondered if gargoyles could feel anything and began stroking me behind the ears.
Night after night, he came to me, treating me like I was his pet, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d shifted and kissed the anguish right out of him.
The anguish, I now realized, had probably been for Samara.
The squirrel’s obsession with her was even worse.
He rode beside Samara, his eyes never leaving her for long.
He gave her the kind of protective and adoring looks that made my panther want to rip his throat out just on principle.
All I knew was that when he was around, my panther was scratching to get out. My panther never scratched to get out.
What was it about her that had them both so enthralled?
I sniffed the air, trying to focus on the mission. Something was off in this forest. There was a scent I couldn’t quite identify—decay or magic gone sour.
A branch snapped somewhere to our left.
I froze mid-stride, ears swiveling toward the sound. The horses continued forward, oblivious. But my senses, heightened even further by the curse, picked up subtle movement about fifty yards out.
I let out a sharp, guttural snarl that meant danger was near.
Val pulled up on his reins immediately. “Amari?”
I stayed frozen, every muscle coiled tight, staring at the trees. My tail lashed once, twice.
Buttercup snorted a puff of smoke that spiraled upward, and Samara’s hand rested on his neck, her fingers threading through his mane. “We need to keep moving. Standing here makes us easy targets.”
We set off again, me trailing farther behind to ensure whatever had made the noise wasn’t following us. It was most likely another animal, but I couldn’t smell it over the stench.
This forest had once been considered the safest forest and had been a playground for shifters, especially wolves. With its proximity to the castle, many had moved into villages or to the far edges of it, preferring not to deal with Lilith and whatever now lurked among the trees.
I moved ahead, then circled back, my instincts screaming at me to stay close and to protect.
But protect which one? Val was my... what? Lover seemed too simple a word for what we had. And Samara was nothing more than a stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere to complicate everything.
Except my panther didn’t seem to agree. He kept pulling me back toward her, drawn by something I couldn’t name.
Maybe she was a succubus. That would explain why both Val and the squirrel looked at her like she hung the fucking moon.
And why I couldn’t stop noticing how her body moved in those tight pants and how perfectly her body would fit under mine, even though I definitely wasn’t into women at the moment.
“We should stop to water the horses soon. There’s a stream about a half mile ahead.” Nico folded his map and tucked it into his bag.
Val maneuvered his horse closer to Samara’s, their legs nearly touching as they rode side by side. I watched him lean in, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper. “Remember that time we got caught skinny-dipping by that grumpy river troll?”
Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It made my fur bristle and my claws flex against the earth. And it was hitting me hard right now.
I slowed my pace as the scent of water mingled with the heavy forest air. The stream was wider than I expected, a silvery ribbon cutting through the dark woods. The sound of flowing water drowned out the forest’s eerie silence.
No threats that I could detect. No signs of disturbance around the water’s edge. But that strange odor still lingered, fainter here but persistent.
My muscles tensed and released as I shifted forms, bones cracking and skin stretching until I stood on two feet instead of four. My clothes felt suffocating for a moment before my body adjusted.
Val dismounted and stretched his back, eyes scanning the tree line. “Everything okay?”
I rolled my shoulders, working out the last kinks of transformation. “Nothing immediate. No tracks and no signs of passage.” My nostrils flared. “Can’t smell much beyond the stench of rodent, though.”
Nico’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Better a clean rodent than a wet dog.” His fingers tightened on the hilt of his dagger, knuckles going white. “Some of us actually bathe.”
“Some of us don’t need to compensate.” My gaze flicked meaningfully to his hip pouch.
The squirrel’s face darkened, a flush creeping up his neck as he stepped forward. Val positioned himself between us with a sigh, one hand raised toward each of us.
Samara slid off Buttercup’s back. “If you two are finished measuring, we need to make this quick.”
My attention turned to the horses, and I stopped next to Buttercup, considering if he would let me ride him.
The hell horse’s ears flattened against his skull, his red eyes meeting mine with unmistakable challenge.
Heat rolled off his massive frame, and I caught the faint whiff of smoke beneath his earthy scent.
Samara’s hand came to rest on his flank, her eyes hard as she read my expression. “Buttercup is fiercely protective of me and will only allow you to ride him if I give you permission. And I won’t, so don’t ask.”
I squared my shoulders, drawing up to my full height. “I don’t want to ride your horse.” My lips curled into a smile that showed too many teeth. “He probably couldn’t handle me.”
Buttercup’s nostrils flared, and he huffed smoke directly into my face. The sulfurous blast burned my eyes and coated my tongue with ash.
I coughed, blinking away tears, then surprised myself by laughing. The tension in my chest eased slightly. “Not bad.” I met the horse’s glare with newfound respect. “Got some spirit in you.”
Buttercup snorted again, this time without the smoke, as if he’d made his point and didn’t need to waste the effort.
Nico took Buttercup’s lead, and the massive beast lowered his head, nuzzling against the squirrel’s shoulder with unexpected gentleness. The contrast between Buttercup’s fearsome appearance and his affection for these two was unsettling.
Nico looked over at me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he stroked Buttercup’s mane. The smugness in his expression made my blood boil.
I snapped my teeth at him, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet forest. The squirrel didn’t flinch, just widened his smirk into a grin that said he knew exactly how much his easy rapport with Samara and her hell horse irritated me.
I turned away from Nico, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d gotten under my skin.
After the horses had their fill of water, we continued on, leaving the stream behind us. That strange, sour scent grew stronger as we traveled, and the forest was still unnaturally silent. Even the horses seemed to sense it, their ears flicking nervously, hooves striking the ground with hesitation.