Chapter 16
Amara
The first sensation to reach my consciousness is the unmistakable weight of another person.
I open my eyes.
For several moments, I simply stare at the arm resting around my waist.
Curious. I cannot recall the last time another human being occupied this couch, let alone my bed.
Several centuries, perhaps.
My gaze shifts toward the mortal sleeping beside me.
His breathing is slow and wonderfully untroubled, his dark hair hopelessly disheveled against the cushion beneath his head. Deprived of his endless commentary, he appears unexpectedly peaceful.
It is… rather misleading.
Only recently he displayed an almost supernatural determination to disregard every warning I offered, addressed me by an intolerably absurd nickname on multiple occasions, and somehow persuaded me to tolerate behavior that would have earned anyone else an exceptionally unpleasant death.
Now he sleeps as though none of it ever occurred.
Ridiculous man.
My attention returns to the hand resting against my waist. He is not holding me with intention. It is merely instinct. An unconscious gesture performed without expectation, calculation, or desire for anything in return.
How peculiar.
I could remove his arm. Instead… I find myself wondering how long it has been since someone reached for me without first intending to kill me.
Soft, sleepy sounds draw my attention back to the man beside me.
His brow furrows ever so slightly before those remarkable mismatched eyes slowly open, one blue, the other brown, still clouded with the remnants of sleep.
For several silent moments, he simply looks at me.
Then, quite predictably…
“…Wow.”
His voice is rough.
“You are so beautiful.”
The compliment is delivered with such effortless sincerity that I find myself momentarily uncertain how one ought to respond.
“…Thank you.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“You say that like nobody’s ever complimented you before.”
“I have received many compliments throughout the centuries,” I reply. “Most of them immediately before someone attempted to kill me. They lose a certain degree of credibility under such circumstances.”
His quiet laugh fills the room.
“I guess that’s fair.”
Supporting myself upon one elbow, I allow my gaze to settle upon the place where, only yesterday, a bullet had torn through his chest.
The wound is gone. Not merely healed. Gone. Only smooth, unbroken skin remains.
Satisfied, I let my fingertips brush lightly across his chest before withdrawing my hand.
“You have recovered entirely.”
His expression shifts from amusement to confusion.
“My blood ensured that outcome.”
He blinks.
“…Your blood?” His hand instinctively rises to his lower lip.
“The blood from when I bit you?”
I shake my head.
“No. The blood I mixed with the medicinal herbs while treating your injuries.”
For a moment, he simply stares at me.
“You… gave me your blood?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
There is no accusation in his voice. Only genuine bewilderment.
I consider the question more carefully than I expect to.
“It was necessary.”
He continues watching me with obvious disbelief.
“I don’t think that’s the real answer.”
“No?”
“No.”
Silence settles comfortably between us.
Finally, I exhale.
“Because the prospect of allowing you to die had become… considerably less appealing than when we first met.”
His eyes soften.
“You know,” he says quietly, “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I assure you,” I reply, unable to suppress the faintest suggestion of a smile, “it was not intended as a compliment.”
“No?”
“No.”
“It definitely sounded like one.”
“…Then you heard more than I intended to say.”
“That’s all right, my queen,” he says before leaning forward to place the gentlest kiss upon my lips. “I like you too.”
The gesture is so impossibly simple that, for one profoundly confusing moment, I forget how to breathe.
No desperation.
No expectation.
No desire to take.
Only… affection.
An unfamiliar warmth spreads across my face. Curious, I lift my fingertips to my cheek. It is warm. Am I… Blushing? Surely not. That would be absurd.
I rise from the couch with considerably more haste than dignity permits and cross the room toward the wardrobe standing against the opposite wall.
After selecting a long white dress for myself, I hand Colt a plain black T-shirt to replace the one I cut from him.
Only then do I slip the dress over my head and smooth the fabric into place.
As I fasten the final button, my gaze drifts back toward the couch.
He has not looked away. Colt remains exactly where I left him, one arm tucked behind his head, watching me with an expression I cannot immediately identify.
There is no hunger in it. No triumph. No calculation. Only a quiet tenderness that unsettles me far more effectively than desire ever could. It is unlike any gaze that has ever rested upon me.
For centuries, men looked at me with fear, greed, obsession, or worship, each believing they desired the woman while, in truth, they desired the power they imagined she possessed.
He looks at me as though none of those things matter. As though I am simply… Me.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says while climbing off the couch and reaching for his clothes, “but I should probably check on my friend. He’s probably losing his shit by now since I haven’t called him in two days.”
“Your friend?” I ask. “Why would he be concerned?”
He pulls the shirt over his head before gesturing vaguely toward the walls surrounding us.
“Because he’s the one who told me about this place. Well… the forest.” He scratches the back of his neck. “He told me it was haunted.” A grin spreads across his face. “Then he mentioned a cursed witch who lived here.”
I stare at him for several moments.
“You are truly extraordinary, my little man.”
“Little man?” He lets out a quiet laugh. “My queen, I’m six foot three. You’re, what, five-five on a generous day?”
“Five foot five is perfectly respectable.”
“Then stop calling me little.”
“I shall consider it.”
“I’m not little.”
“Compared to me, perhaps not. Compared to the forest?” The corner of her mouth lifts. “You are very little.”
“…Okay, that’s actually hard to argue with.”
“So you entered my forest already knowing the tales surrounding it, and, more importantly…” I allow myself the smallest pause. “…knowing who dwelled within it, yet you still wandered beneath those ancient trees entirely of your own choosing.”
“I did.”
His answer arrives without hesitation.
“In my defense…” He closes the distance between us until scarcely an inch remains between our bodies. “I really wanted to meet you.” He smiles.
“And I don’t regret it.”
I search his face for even the slightest indication that he is exaggerating.
I find none.
I remain uncertain what conclusion I ougt to draw from such reckless honesty.
This man learned that my forest was cursed. He learned that I existed. He learned precisely what became of those foolish enough to seek me out. Then he mounted his motorcycle and came anyway.
Even when I sought to frighten him… Even when I sought to kill him… He never looked at me with fear. And last night… Last night was something altogether different. It was not merely desire. There was something else woven quietly between every touch and every glance.
Something I have not yet found the courage to name.
“…Am I really that little?” he asks, sliding an arm gently around my waist.
“Wha—?”
My eyes drop instinctively.
“Oh.”
The evidence before me renders the question rather difficult to answer with complete sincerity.
“Well… no,” I admit, unable to suppress the smile threatening to betray me. “You are most certainly not little, my dear.”
“Damn right.”
“I simply believe I have grown rather accustomed to addressing you by that particular name.”
He laughs.
“So that’s revenge for calling you Pixie?”
“I prefer to regard it as balance.”
“Yeah?”
“Indeed.”
He pulls me a fraction closer.
“I can live with that, my queen.”
Before I can produce another suitably clever response, his hand rises to my face.
His thumb brushes slowly across my cheek.
“So…” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Am I allowed to kiss my queen, or am I risking another tree branch to the head?”
“I imagine you are risking it regardless.”
“Fair enough.”
He closes the remaining distance without another word. His lips find mine with remarkable gentleness.
There is none of the urgency that consumed us only moments ago. No desperation. No hunger. Merely a slow, lingering kiss that somehow proves infinitely more unsettling.
I feel my hand rise of its own accord before my mind has the opportunity to object.
My fingers slip into his dark hair, threading effortlessly through the soft strands at the back of his head.
He exhales quietly against my lips. The sound alone is enough to persuade me to deepen the kiss.
I draw him closer until scarcely any space remains between us, my other hand settling against the side of his neck while his arms encircle my waist with that same effortless familiarity that continues to confound me.
He kisses me as though there is nowhere else he would rather be.
As though time itself has ceased to exist beyond this room.
When we finally part, it is only by the smallest of distances.
His forehead rests against mine, his mismatched eyes searching my face with that same impossible tenderness.
“I should probably leave before I convince myself to stay forever.”
“You are already doing a remarkably poor job of convincing yourself otherwise.”
“…Yeah.”He lets out a quiet laugh.
“I suppose,” I say after a thoughtful silence, “that I shall accompany you.”
He blinks.
“You are?”
I incline my head ever so slightly.
“There is, strictly speaking, no necessity. Nothing within this forest will harm you now. Every tree, every creature, every root beneath your feet obeys my command. Should anything attempt to forget that fact, I would remind it rather quickly.”
A grin spreads across his face.
“So I’m basically VIP now?”
“I would not phrase it in quite such inelegant terms.”
“I knew it.” He folds his arms with exaggerated satisfaction. “I knew the homicidal forest liked me.”
“The forest remains deeply uncertain about you.”
“Oh?”
“It simply finds you considerably more tolerable than before.”
“I’ll take it.”
Despite myself, I smile.
“Even so…” I continue, “…I believe I shall accompany you.”
His playful expression softens.
“You don’t have to.”
“I am aware.”
“Then why?”
The question lingers between us, and I consider several possible answers.
That it would be prudent to ensure he reaches the edge of the forest safely.
That I ought to examine the place where I found him.
That there may yet be traces left by the hunters.
Each explanation possesses a certain degree of truth.
None of them is the real answer.
“I find,” I say at last, “that our time together has proven… unexpectedly agreeable.”
His smile grows wider.
“So that’s your fancy way of saying you want to spend more time with me?”
“…It is my considerably more dignified way of saying precisely that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He answers, smiling.
“So it would seem.”
He reaches for my hand, his fingers slipping between mine with effortless familiarity.
“Come on then, my queen.”
I glance down at our joined hands.
“…Very well.”
For reasons I cannot adequately explain, I make no attempt to let go.