CHAPTER TEN
R UBY
I don’t know what makes me decide to film my content in the woods instead of the store this time, but as I hang out under the dappled shade of the pine trees, I know it was exactly what I needed to feel like myself again.
Even a few days in the city around people I wanted to impress made my energy all chaotic and confused, and the quiet sounds of the forest around me are instantly restorative.
I set up my tripod and phone on the mossy ground, recording several short videos as I move one by one through the topics I brainstormed during the conference. Since we bought the old bookstore and began sharing its rehabilitation and our plans for the business, both my book blog and the bookstore social media accounts have exploded.
In a world of drop shipping books and huge discount stores, everyone is rooting for us to succeed.
Over two hours later, I’ve finally run through all my ideas, and my voice is a little hoarse. I watch my face back on the phone screen as I edit a little here and there, reflecting on how much easier it is to talk to a camera than a person. No eye contact rules, no confusing body language. I can delete and record as many times as I want to, getting my words just how I want them in a way real life never lets me do.
Still, my heart twists while watching the last video, worry spiking in my chest at the truth I’ve allowed to spill through. The last one wasn’t a planned topic, but inspiration had hit with a shaft of sunlight beaming down through the dense pines, lighting up my small clearing with the kind of golden aura reserved for fairy tales.
“Sure, lots of people read for an escape. A distraction. I’ve certainly done that more times than is probably healthy. Who needs therapy when you have books with happy endings?” A shaky laugh escapes my on-screen self, and my thumb hovers over the delete button. Is the topic too personal? Too weird?
Maybe too negative for my audience, who’s used to my role as a happy-go-lucky bookstore owner and perfect-ending story lover?
I let it play, avoiding the decision a little longer.
“But really, like maybe for a lot of you, stories are more than their happy endings for me. It’s the world I get to escape into that matters the most - not the one I’m escaping from . Don’t get me wrong. I live a dream life now, reading and selling great books with my best friend. But if I found out the magic I read about was real?” Another hesitant laugh, a faraway gleam in my black eyes that the shadowy golden light of the forest highlights, not hides.
I force myself to keep watching through my discomfort. I said these things for a reason. I told some of this to the authors at the conference, in different words. I want to tell them to my followers, but I know it could make me seem just a little too different.
I want to tell Rose, even though I’m guessing she already knows, even if she doesn’t quite believe.
“If I ever found real magic, I would grab Rose and leave this ‘real world’ behind in an instant. I’d embrace the magic and suck it in deep. I want us to dive into that rabbit hole and never look back. Maybe it’s crazy, but... I’ve never felt at home. Never fit in. Anywhere at all, besides maybe these woods. And I know she hasn’t, either. It’s one reason we’re so close, both of us finding home in our favorite stories, together. In the magic that stories describe and hold. When everything else is taken away, I feel like denying the existence of magic is a game of pretend, not the other way around.”
My voice trails off, and I watch for a few seconds as the little me on the screen gets up and moves toward the camera, fumbling to stop the recording. My hand covers the camera for a second, and the beautiful gold forest seems to disappear into a dark cave.
Huffing out a sigh, I swipe away the recording app, staring at the blank phone screen for a few more seconds. In the end, I decide not to delete the video, but definitely not to post it, either. Rose wouldn’t like me sharing those things about her.
Besides, something about it sends the wrong message, I think. Ungrateful. Dissatisfied, even though I don’t mean it that way.
After all, I’m living the dream that so many in my audience have, working for myself and reading all the latest stories, straight from the authors themselves. And I’m talking about running away from it all?
It feels wrong of me to want more. Greedy.
I fold the tripod up and tuck it into my backpack, heading deeper into the woods instead of back to the shop like I probably should. I venture farther than I’ve gone before, drawn by the shifting shapes of sun and shade, and the sweet siren calls of birds I’m learning names for.
The forest speaks to me in a thousand languages, and I’m eager to learn them all. I want to soak it all in, so that if one day, the woods do go silent, I’ll be ready to speak for them.
I’ve just hopped across a swollen stream bed when I see it. Oh, hell yes.
“A fairy ring,” I breathe out loud, my eyes widening as excitement tingles through me. I hurry closer, taking in the delicate mushrooms growing in a near-perfect circle on the forest floor. There are brambles and berries around them, and a cluster of purple flowers that remind me of wild roses. The air seems to sparkle inside the ring, with dewdrops still hanging from the petals, reflecting a perfect shaft of sunlight.
I drop my bag and kneel at the edge, my eyes sweeping around and around the tiny clearing as the forest floor dampens my knees. Stories I pored over as a child always painted these circles of mushrooms as places where tiny fairies gathered and socialized under mushroom umbrellas, dancing through the petals and spreading their sparkling magic throughout the forest. Stories I’ve collected since then warn about fae traps, places where humans disappear for good, subjected to the whims of whatever fae was lucky enough to trick them.
Either way, it’s a magical place, and I’m not afraid, even if all those stories say I should be.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and take a ton of pictures and videos, working to get the best angles. These would be perfect for our socials. Even if it’s nothing more than folklore, it’s enchanting, and so on brand.
I’m so drawn into the experience that a shriek leaps from my mouth when my camera lens pans across a pair of hiking boots across the fairy ring. I stumble up with muddy knees, looking warily at the broad-shouldered man standing opposite me. He’s only a few feet away, and I didn’t even hear him walk up.
How long has he been here, silently watching me like a creep? And what can I do if he’s dangerous? The woods have never worried me, but people often do. People are unpredictable.
I step closer to my bag and tuck my hair behind my ears as I watch him like a skittish animal, memorizing his appearance in case I have to describe him to police later. A ball cap hides his hair and puts his eyes in shadow, and his thick coat makes him feel enormous to me.
And weirdly, he looks almost as surprised as I am.
TORRENCE
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” the pretty little human snaps, confirming that she can, in fact, somehow see me.
I’ve been watching her hike here for two weeks now, and she’s never once seen me behind my fae glamor. Why is today different?
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I try, gathering my thoughts and aiming to sound like a nonthreatening regular guy. The human just glares, and something in the way her dark eyes flash at me tugs at my memories. Today, she reminds me even more of my sister. That is, if Rinna had been allowed to grow up.
This human is cautious, but she’s no runner. This one would fight back, and that peaks my interest in her even more.
“Well, then don’t sneak up,” she repeats. “And don’t step on the mushrooms,” she adds as I take a step to the side, pushing my hands in my jeans pockets.
I glance down at the mushrooms growing in a rough circle. They mean nothing, arranged like this.
“Fairy rings are sacred.” The lie slips out before I can stop it, disproving another silly human belief about the fae. She narrows her eyes at me, and I can tell she knows I’m teasing her.
“All of nature should be sacred,” she says, her bitchy tone revealing the nerves that have begun to catch up with her bravado. Yes, I scent it now. The uptick in her pulse, the slight sheen of sweat along the nape of her neck.
She would taste fucking delicious right now, with the tang of adrenaline that’s swirling through the lace of her veins.
But she’s a local, and the balance here is delicate. Our presence has to stay hidden, and I’ve just warned Arlo not to contact Rose again. Our ways work because we leave the residents alone.
“You shouldn’t be here, hiking alone. Woods like these are full of animals,” I tell her, speaking both a truth and a lie.
She huffs, annoyed with me. I have to stifle a laugh at her utter lack of awareness and self-preservation. A choice prey who’s never met a true predator. It’s tantalizing, really.
“Am I supposed to be relieved that a big strong man showed up to rescue me from the wild chipmunks? You know, statistically, men are much more likely to attack than bears.” She takes another step toward her backpack, and I wonder if she’s planning to run after all, or if there’s something in there that she thinks could be a weapon against me.
Either option could be such fun, and I haven’t hunted in so long. I close my lips to hide any glimpse of my sharpening teeth.
“This time of year, all sorts of creatures are waking up from hibernation. More than just bears.” I lean against a tree, taking my cap off and running my hand through my hair. Something changes in her posture, a softening, and I feel my lips hook up in a lopsided grin. My fae glamor might not be working on her, but my gobbelin charm seems to be.
I wonder what I look like to her, what picture the gobbelin magic paints in her mind. What does her personal perfection look like?
I can feel her eyes sliding down my body like a touch, and it sets fire to the hunger already crackling through my chest. I remind myself again that she’s a fucking local. New, but permanent here, with a sister who would miss her. I can’t play with her - it’s too much to risk.
“Animals aren’t the only dangerous things in the woods, you know. How do you know I’m not a sweet little serial killer?” she asks finally, actually startling a rare laugh from me. I swallow it back down as she bends to grab her pack in one smooth motion. I can almost hear her thoughts, wondering if she should run now, try to lose me in the dense undergrowth. Still, her feet stay planted in the dirt.
“I tend to take my chances with death.” Already my mind is swirling with the overpowering desire to chase her. Hunt her. I want to thrill at her screams before drowning them with her moans of pleasure.
Neither of us makes a move to leave, even though both of us know we should.
“Are you a native animal, then? Or just a tourist,” I ask, giving her an edge of a smile as I pretend I don’t already know all about her. Her hip cocks to the side, and the power she had a moment ago changes, rounding into sex appeal instead of the scent of violence. Disappointing, though not unexpected.
Humans never can resist gobbelin charm, and I know she’s already eaten my food. Consumed my blood. It’s only a matter of time, now. If I wanted, I could force her under my control.
“I just moved here, so I’m still looking for a hiking partner. Are you local?”
“For now. But woods like these always feel like home.” This time, the truth slips out before I can stop it.
She smiles, softer now. Her human ways betray exactly what she wants, and for some reason, I hate to see it. I want her to resist and slide back to self-preservation. I want her to understand how dangerous I am, to be skeptical and cautious of my interest, like I should have taught Rinna to be.
Instead, she flutters her lashes.
“Woods like these have always felt more like home than anywhere else to me,” she murmurs, those coal black eyes lifting to the canopy, exposing that tempting throat even more.
“It’s not safe, though.” I bite out the words, thinking of the other gobbelins in these woods who are never as careful as they should be. Thinking of Julianna especially. “Even for a seasoned serial killer,” I add, and the scowl smooths away from her pretty face.
“Well, maybe you should walk me home, savior.”
I snort, surprised yet again. “That’s not a title I’ve been given before.”
She steps carefully around the ring of mushrooms and reaches to tuck her hand in the crook of my arm. I stare down at it for a moment, frozen by the heady scent of her skin so close. I know the gobbelin blood magic is what makes her trust me so quickly, but it’s still startling. I’m much more comfortable being feared by humans.
I should shove her off. I should make her afraid again, to protect both of us. But I never agreed to be a savior.
She gives a little tug on my arm, and despite everything I know I should do, we start to walk back toward town together.
“What did you say your name was?” she asks as we pick our way through the brush.
“I didn’t,” I snap, aggravated with myself. Her steps falter, and I do the thing I never do - backtrack. “But it’s Torrence.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ruby.” Her smile is more hesitant now, and as much as I want her to be afraid of me, I fucking hate it, too.
“Of Under the Covers ? The new bookstore?”
She nods, looking wary again at my pretended guess.
“There aren’t many people who move here,” I offer as explanation, playing with her as I toe the line between stalker and sex appeal. With some human women, that line is so deliciously blurred.
“And here I thought I was already famous,” she teases, pulling harder on my arm as her feet stumble over a root. I find myself steadying her without thinking, and a warning flashes in my brain as I snatch my hand from her hip.
She’s off-limits, I remind myself again.
“I wanted to name the store Cliterature , but my friend and I ultimately decided that would be too much for some of the tourists.” She giggles and turns her big black eyes up to me, and I feel a dangerous heat crackle between us. “What about you? Do you have a store, too?”
“Restaurant. I own Goblin Market . My brothers help run it.”
A gorgeous smile breaks across her face, and her little fingers squeeze my arm in excitement. “I freaking love that place! I was just there the other night for the first time, and it was fantastic.”
“I know. I saw you when I came out of the kitchen for a minute,” I say, cursing myself when the admission causes her to flush, and my cock stiffens in my jeans at the sight. I did see her leaving with Rose, and inexplicably, I really wish she hadn’t already tasted our food.
I find myself wishing my magic didn’t work at all on her, and suddenly everything in me is churning to anger. I have to get away from her now, before I do something I can’t undo.
Luckily, the bookshop has just become visible through the trees.
“I have to go, but you’re almost there.”
I pull my arm away from hers, and confusion washes over her face for a split second before she hides it away. She’s too good at that sort of pretending, and I wonder why before locking down the thought.
I remind myself that I don’t care about her. I don’t care about any humans. They’re nothing more than a source of blood to make the gobbelins stronger.
For someone like me, they can never be more than that.
“Well, thanks for the chaperone, I guess. Maybe we can hike again sometime, just a serial killer and her savior.”
“I stay busy.” I regret the gruff words as soon as they’re out. A tight smile is all the apology I give her, though, and she studies me for a brief moment, like she’s trying to figure me out. Her eyes flick down my body again, and I try to turn away before she can see how fucking hard I am just from walking next to her.
“See you around, Torrence,” she says softly, a smile playing around her lips as she hoists her backpack higher on her shoulders and heads out of the woods toward her store.
Fuck. I grind my teeth, turning and crashing back into the woods, in a different direction. That was a Goddess-damned mess.
Maybe Arlo is right, and I do just need a good fuck to clear my head. It can’t be Ruby, though.
I shouldn’t have her, not even once.