23. Cato #2
“Heading off-road could be dangerous, too,” Taryn argues. “You’ve already said the path gets more difficult. How much worse will it be out there?”
Aryn nods, chewing on his lip. “Can I see the map?” Ronan hands it over, and I lean in, watching as Aryn traces a path. “Thulga said the river meets the road soon… right here… then connects again further down… here. That would put us close to the trading post.”
“Is it worth the extra travel time?” I ask.
Aryn presses his lips together as he thinks. “It might allow us to slip past unnoticed. It’ll add an extra day, day and a half, of travel, but with the water at our backs, we’ll only have to keep watch from three sides. That eliminates the risk of someone hiding in the trees.”
“The murder monsters,” Cameron adds with a nod.
Aryn flashes him a tight smile before glancing back at Ronan, who considers it for a long moment before agreeing.
We set off again, though the chatter stays to a minimum as we keep our guards up.
As the sun drops, the temperature plummets fast. The wind cuts through my coat like it’s nothing, and I kick myself for being spoiled by a single day indoors by the fire.
The river curves in to meet the road like Thulga said it would. It runs parallel for a short stretch, half-frozen and so wide the trees on the other side look like miniature replicas. As it twists away, we step off the beaten path to walk along its winding edge.
Aryn bumps my shoulder with his, and I glance over to find him watching me.
Ever since we discovered the camp earlier, he’s taken on that prowling stance that makes him look as sleek as those mountain cats that attacked him.
That pull in my gut cinches again, fueling me with that same confusing rush that’s been messing with my head for days now.
“You alright?” he asks.
I shrug like it might knock away the weirdness. “I might’ve rather traveled in the murder woods. It would’ve been infinitely more exciting.”
He chokes on a surprised laugh, flashing me a fanged smile. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I stare at those sharp, curved canines, then nod at them before meeting his eyes. “Are those just for decoration, or can you use them for something?”
His lip lifts and his tongue drags along the tip of one side. “Anything sharp can be used in a pinch.”
“Fuck yeah it can,” I agree.
He half rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “They have their uses.”
“Well, don’t leave me hanging, pretty boy.”
Aryn stares ahead, his cheeks darkening. “They’re useful in a fight, especially in close quarters.”
“That’s why you like fighting on the ground,” I realize.
“It is. It gets my opponent closer.” He hesitates for a moment before he adds, “We can also use them to… infuse pleasure.”
My eyebrows shoot higher. “Infuse pleasure?”
“Mm,” he hums with a nod. “It’s one of the reasons why we were considered such prized pets during our captivity. A bite from a Dreven can be lethal, but it can also activate pleasure receptors in your brain. It depends on the intention.”
“And you, uh, say you used to be able to do this?”
“Oh, we still can, though from what I’ve read, it used to be more potent. A single bite could incapacitate an enemy if timed right.”
“Wait,” I say through a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me you could just bite somebody and… what? Make them come so hard they can’t fight back?”
“More or less,” he says with a casual shrug.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “What a fucking way to go, I guess. Die with a smile on your face.”
He grins wider, shooting me a sideways glance. “Over time, the potency has gone down. Our venom can still cause pleasure, but it’s not as powerful as it used to be.”
“So, what you’re saying is I won’t willingly lay down my life after you’re done with me?”
He side-eyes me with a wicked grin. “Well, I never said that.”
“Aryn!” I say with a booming laugh. Ronan and Taryn both shush me as Aryn fights back his own laughter, and everyone turns around to stare at us curiously. I cover my face with a gloved hand, trying to muffle myself.
“Dear gods, I did not think you had it in you to be a pervert,” I mutter when everyone has faced forward again.
“I’m quite old, Cato. Don’t assume me to be innocent.”
“I… don’t,” I say, suddenly struggling for words.
By human standards, Aryn looks to be close to my age—in his mid-thirties—so it’s easy to forget how old he really is.
Now I’m picturing everything he might’ve done in his life, and all that experience that comes with time.
I’m fighting a very confused boner that’s suddenly very jealous of everyone who’s ever touched him.
I clear my throat, curiosity getting the best of me. “You said your… wife? Was a female?”
“My shaelin,” he corrects softly. “And yes, she was. But the gender of my partner doesn’t matter, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You don’t have a preference?” I push, then shake my head and gesture at myself. “Like, I get that. Pan pride all the way, baby.”
“Pan?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.
“Pansexual… like you, I think, at least? Gender and labels don’t matter, you’re interested in the person and not the parts?”
He nods slowly. “That sounds accurate, yes.”
“Right,” I say with a huff, glancing away. “So, I’m pan, but I tend to be with guys more often, and…” I trail off, glaring at the way he’s rolling his lips between his teeth to keep from grinning. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” I interrupt.
Lillith glances over her shoulder. “Maybe because you basically just asked him if he likes dick while very enthusiastically assuring him you do.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” I argue, but she only continues to grin. “It wasn’t!”
“Well, if the murder monsters find us now, they’ll be educated in Cato’s sexual preferences,” Cameron drawls, causing Lillith’s shoulders to bounce in another laugh.
I scoff and flip Cameron off. “I’m fucking done with all of you.”
Aryn looks like he wants to say more, but everyone is paying too much attention to us now.
We keep walking, the mood lighter despite the grim scene we passed earlier.
The river stays close on our left, its half-frozen surface reflecting the dying light.
Eventually, the path curves and opens into a valley.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, slowing to a stop.
Tall, graceful trees line the river’s edge, their branches impossibly thin and cascading down in long, flowing curtains that brush the snow. They’re a soft, pale yellow that’s beautiful against the darkening sky, swaying gently despite the lack of breeze.
Ronan stops ahead of us, staring at the trees with an expression I’ve rarely seen on him. “Dirdira trees,” he says softly. “I haven’t seen one since I was a child. They grew along the river in our village.”
“These are the ones that glow, right?” Cameron asks.
“They are,” Ronan agrees, jogging ahead to get closer.
Lillith’s eyes are wide. “They’re beautiful.”