Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Finishing even one post felt like a miracle. It was a surprise that the team completed eight of them.
“It’s concerning that we took over two hours to do that,” December said, panting.
The posts weren’t the prettiest, but they were sturdy. And that had to be good enough for the first day.
“A concern for another day,” I decided, struggling to catch my breath as well.
Octavia seemed pleased enough with our work to invite us to have stew tonight.
And Wilson seemed to pity us enough to offer us their showers.
So, while the rest of my team got cleaned up in the house, I opted for the RV’s shower.
I wanted quiet, a breather from the constant chatter overlapping my thoughts.
The demon’s trap hadn’t been going well. No matter how many times Daylan walked me through it, I couldn’t get the words to the ritual right.
“Your cadence needs to be faster,” he’d scolded. “You think this thing’s going to wait for you to put it in handcuffs?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know a string of tongue twisters was the prerequisite to taking down something from hell.”
“Well, now you know. So, figure it out.”
I was part of a hunting family who’d had the highest success rate of any hunter in the Guild and beyond.
I had a team with an incredible amount of potential.
A career that could stabilize if I gave it time.
And the ability to talk to people in a way that most would dream of.
This was a good life. I had a good life.
And I helped people have good lives, too.
Once I got back on track, I could help Octavia start her good life. Win back her power. Fulfill her dream.
That thought crashed down on me like a thousand tons. I was underneath the rubble, bleeding out in sheer agony.
Because anytime I saw that woman, I needed to be more. To give from a well that’d dried up long before I realized.
A knock at the RV door jerked me back into place underneath the low-pressure, lukewarm water.
I turned off the shower and stepped out. Another knock sounded as I tugged on my robe. “Coming!”
On my way to the door, I tossed things into drawers.
Amid our practice sessions, we hadn’t been keeping the RV clean.
Everything from snacks, wooden arrows, and garlic necklaces.
I shoved a couple of signed copies of Your Ghost, Your Story into the microwave before fixing my high bun in the reflection.
The nerves in my belly whenever I expected to see Octavia felt like I was gearing up to unwrap something new and untouched. It was Christmas when I was still young enough to believe in flying reindeer.
When I opened the door, she stood there looking up at me with her bottom lip between her teeth. Her arms were full of some knitwear, clutched to her chest like a shield. Half her body turned to the house, leaning toward it as if it had a magnetic pull.
“Hi.” My voice was unusually high. I tugged at the robe, trying to cover more of my chest.
“Hey.” Octavia's throat bobbed. Her gaze strayed to my legs, the most skin she’d ever seen from me. I’d already got a glimpse of her post-shower over a month ago, so it felt fair to let her enjoy the same for a moment.
“Hi,” I repeated with a small smile. The nervousness in my stomach lessened when her brow shot up. She released her lip and an inaudible sigh to go with it.
“Hey.”
We stood there like two teens who didn’t know how to make sense of the world, much less the warring feelings of a body in hormonal chaos. I shouldn’t do it. Every part of me screamed not to, but I said, “Come in. You can hang out in the kitchen for a second while I get on some clothes.”
“Okay, sure.” Octavia paused on the first step, taking a beat before she followed me up the stairs, shutting the door behind us. “I’ve never been in one of these before.”
“Really?” I asked, gazing over my shoulder to see her taking everything in.
It was surreal having her in this space. In this world. She didn’t quite fit, her earthy tones clashing with the vibrant neon decor. But I loved it. She was a pine tree surrounded by palms.
I disappeared into the bedroom at the back, grabbing underwear, sweats, and a tee.
From a distance, Octavia’s voice was muffled as she said, “It’s bigger than I thought it’d be. Smells nicer, too.”
I snorted as I tugged on the tee, banging my elbow into the wall because of how quickly I moved. “Why wouldn’t it smell nice?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just imagined it’d smell funny. Enclosed places like this always smell like burnt rubber or old eggs, you know?”
I pulled on the sweats, nearly falling on my ass.
Rae, I scolded myself. Slow down. She’s just a woman.
Yeah, there was no ‘just’ about her.
I pressed my hands against the wall, taking a breath to calm my excitement before starting back out.
Octavia’s forehead wrinkled as she examined the bulletin board December had put up. “These are all the places you guys have had cases?”
I nodded, joining her side. She smelled of fresh linen. I longed to press kisses against her exposed collarbone.
“You’ve been everywhere,” Octavia marveled, not pulling her gaze away from the map. “Twice over…what are all those?” She pointed to a cluster of pins. “The same job?”
“All different. Those are the hotspots we’re monitoring. It’s a long-term project.”
Octavia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, forehead wrinkled. “Does it ever make you nervous? Not knowing what’s next? That always used to make me so nervous.”
Her warm, brown skin glowed under our dim lights. Her hair was down, locs flowing past her shoulders in a lovely wave. And I wanted to massage that wrinkle right out of her brow. Coax the relaxation of her jawline using nothing but my lips.
“Sometimes.” I dug my nails into my palm, pushing away the urge to “accidentally” bump the back of my hand against hers. I stood close enough to feel her heat. Smell worn leather and peppermint oil on her skin.
“How do you deal with it?” She finally looked at me, eyes flickering to how tightly I held my hands.
“Get busy.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “Distract myself with writing or research. Those always are…nice guiding posts.”
“And do they always work?”
“Not always. Sometimes the anxiety’s too much, and I can’t do anything else but move. Go on a walk or run…an attempted run.”
Octavia laughed. “Gotta practice in those heels, I’m guessing.”
“You and these heels.”
“Oh, no, it’s definitely you and the heels.” Octavia lifted the stack of clothes she’d brought. “That's why I’m here. A gift for my new ranch hand.”
“Oh?” I accepted the stack of softened knitwear, a pair of denim jeans, and a pair of fresh work boots.
“It’s not fancy or designer,” she said. “But it’ll keep you warm and safe out there mending fences and whatnot. Wouldn’t want you to ruin your workwear before your next TED Talk.”
“You’re always trying to dress me in something else,” I teased. “In your clothes.”
She shrugged. “They look good on you.”
“Do they?” My voice went lower. I shouldn’t poke at this. At her. Not when we hadn’t had time to catch up. But time was always racing. And there would never be a moment in which something wasn’t happening in our lives.
“They do.” Octavia picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I have…a thing for seeing you in them.”
“Should I put them on now, then?”
Octavia looked up, her jaw tight. My breath caught in my chest, waiting for orders on how to proceed.
She stepped closer, reaching for the sleeve of the sweater.
I moved in too, hoping to have even the back of her knuckle brush against my skin.
Hell, I’d take the tip of a nail. The flutter of an eyelash.
I needed something to feed the ache in my chest for her. Something to anchor me.
“Why not?” Octavia whispered.
I raised a brow and set the clothes down on the table. It was a terrible decision (perhaps) to lift my shirt. But I couldn’t help it; I’d been due for one.
As soon as I tossed the shirt aside, Octavia’s lips were on mine, parted, searching, and hungry.
I kissed her back, offering my tongue. Something fell from the table, causing her to pull away.
But I shook my head and grabbed her waist, so she’d stay pressed against me.
I backed her until she pressed against the wall in the hallway.
My nipples poked against her soft tee as the pressure of her breasts urged them to harden.
I didn’t know what to focus on first. How long I’d have.
“Is this—” I pulled back, needing her to look at me before letting desire become my latest guidepost. “Are you okay with this?”
Her eyes were barely open, and her mouth barely moved as she confirmed, “It’s literally all I dream of nowadays.”