Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
CALDER
Milo Hart had apparently decided I needed flowers.
His fingers had barely brushed the small white blooms before I snatched his wrist and yanked him back against my chest hard enough that the flowers trembled on their stems.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“Do not touch those.”
Milo blinked, then glanced from me to the delicate bell-shaped flowers still swaying beside the trail. “...You saw that?”
“I observed you reaching for them.”
A faint flush climbed into his cheeks. “They were for you.”
The words landed somewhere unexpectedly deep inside me. I had not realized anyone might think to do such a thing for me. I looked back at the flowers. “They are poisonous.”
Milo let out a quiet groan and tipped his head back toward the trees. “I was trying to surprise you.”
“...By dying?”
His gaze snapped back to mine. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“It appeared to be progressing in that direction.”
A reluctant laugh escaped him.
He stared at them another second before looking back at me. “See, this is why humans used to think ancient things in forests gave cryptic warnings before people died.”
“They died because they touched dangerous things.”
“That somehow isn’t any less ominous.”
“You continue approaching unknown plants too confidently.”
“You continue saying things that make you sound like an irritated park ranger.”
“I do not know what that is.”
“I know,” he said softly, smiling up at me. “That’s what makes this fun.”
Milo huffed softly under his breath when I gave him a look, but let me guide him away from the flowers, our hands remaining linked even after I released his wrist.
“If I can’t bring you flowers,” he said, “what exactly does one gift an ancient forest being?”
The question carried amusement, not fear or mockery, and I understood immediately that he meant it with affection.
“There,” I responded.
I pointed toward the pale green growth at the ends of several nearby spruce branches.
Milo squinted upward. “Pine?”
“Spruce.”
“You can tell the difference?”
“Yes.”
“That was apparently a stupid question.”
“It was.”
Milo laughed under his breath while I reached up and pulled several fresh tips free before handing them to him.
He turned them over between his fingers curiously before bringing one closer to smell. “That actually smells good.”
“It makes better tea than the bitter black water you insist on drinking.”
Milo looked personally offended. “Coffee is not bitter.”
“It tastes like burned dirt.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“I would rather chew pine needles.”
The words left me before I considered them carefully.
Milo went very still for half a second.
Then the sound escaped my chest unexpectedly.
Low.
Brief.
A laugh.
Milo’s eyes widened immediately before his grin spread slowly across his face, bright and startled and so openly pleased with me that it landed somewhere beneath my ribs.
“There it is,” he hushed, like he had just discovered something important.
I frowned slightly at that. “You act as though this is unusual.”
“It is unusual. You laugh like once every three business days.”
“I do not know what that measurement means.”
“That just makes it funnier.”
Another quieter laugh escaped me before I stopped it.
Milo kept looking at me after that, no longer teasing.
The expression on his face softened into something warmer, something that held enough open affection that I felt suddenly, sharply aware of the fact that his hand was still wrapped around mine.
“You know, I think that might actually be my favorite sound.”
I did not know what response humans typically gave to statements like that, but Milo’s smile softened further anyway, like the silence itself had already told him enough.
“It was only a laugh.”
“Exactly. You usually say funny things like you’re delivering weather reports.”
Another laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, and Milo looked absurdly delighted by that fact.
An odd warmth spread through my chest as his laughter joined mine again.
Not because I understood the humor completely, but because I understood his happiness.
Milo was still smiling when the forest changed around us.
It was not silence, but a disruption.
One moment wind moved softly through the trees while evening insects pulsed steadily beneath the undergrowth.
The next, something interrupted the rhythm.
The warmth vanished from my chest, and I stopped moving.
Milo noticed at once. His fingers tightened slightly around mine. “What is it?”
I raised my head, listening. At first, I caught only the ordinary sounds of the woods—the groan of branches shifting high above us, the distant rush of water farther downhill, the restless movement of smaller creatures hidden beneath leaves and roots.
Then the sense of wrong returned.
Faint.
Metal brushing softly against metal.
Bootsteps.
More than one.
Human.
The hunters had returned.
Milo saw the answer on my face before I spoke. His posture straightened, the easy warmth between us giving way to alert stillness. “How close?” he asked quietly.
I listened again.
Closer than I wanted, yet far enough that they had not caught our scent yet.
It was near enough to matter.
Then another sound moved through the trees behind them.
Fast.
Controlled.
The second presence.
My attention snapped toward the deeper woods as something large crossed between shadows too quickly for human eyes to track. Branches stirred. A low shape disappeared between the trunks. The hunters slowed immediately somewhere farther downhill, reacting to movement they could not fully see.
It was still here.
I felt irritation stir beneath my ribs.
The unknown presence should have left this territory days ago. Instead, it lingered near the edges of my forest like something undecided, disturbing the balance every time it crossed paths with the hunters.
And now Milo stood in the middle of it.
I stepped in front of him without thinking. “Stay behind me.”
Milo frowned immediately. “Calder—”
“Behind me,” I growled, perhaps a bit rougher than intended.
He looked like he wanted to argue, then he moved closer behind my shoulder instead, near enough that I could still feel the warmth of him on my back.
The hunters continued approaching through the trees below us.
I could smell them clearly now.
Gun oil.
Gasoline.
Sweat soaked into heavy fabric.
One carried cigarettes in his jacket pocket. Another smelled faintly of dried blood and old antiseptic beneath the sharp scent of adrenaline.
A branch cracked downhill.
The second presence moved again in the same instant, circling wide around the humans instead of retreating from them.
Not prey behavior.
Watching.
Calculating.
My jaw tightened.
Milo’s voice came quieter behind me. “Is it the same thing that hurt you?”
“Yes.”
Milo went pale.
He was not afraid for himself, but for me. I could smell it.
I wasn’t ready to address that feeling quite yet.
The hunters spread farther apart below us as they tracked movement through the trees. One flashlight beam swept briefly through the undergrowth despite the fading daylight.
Too close.
I released Milo’s hand reluctantly and stepped farther ahead of him. “If they come any closer, you will go back toward the cabin.”
“No.” His answer was immediate and firm.
I looked back at him.
Milo lifted his chin slightly, stubbornness settling across his face in a way that should not have affected me as much as it did. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
Something in my chest pulled painfully tight at those words. No one had ever said something like that to me before.
Another sound rolled through the forest below us.
Voices, closer now.
I drew in a slow breath and let a warning call move low through the trees.
The sound carried outward naturally, threading through branches and shadows in a way human voices never could.
The hunters stopped moving.
Silence stretched for half a second.
Then one of them cursed quietly downhill, and another changed direction.
Good, but the second presence moved again almost immediately afterward, faster this time and crossing behind them through the trees with enough noise to pull their attention deeper into the forest instead of away from it.
Too chaotic.
Too unpredictable.
The hunters moved again, this time toward us.
Another branch snapped downhill.
Closer now.
I drew in a slow breath and let out another warning call, stopping the hunters in their tracks once more.
Silence stretched briefly through the woods.
Then somewhere farther to the left, another call answered.
I went completely still.
That was not mine.
The second presence slithered through the trees again, hidden beyond the lower ridge. Another warning sound followed from a different angle this time, rougher than my own but close enough to unsettle anything listening.
The hunters reacted immediately. “What the fuck was that?”
Branches cracked downhill as one of them stumbled backward through the brush.
I let another growl rumble through the forest, deeper.
The responding sound was nearly immediate from farther right, circling them.
Confusion spread quickly beneath the sharp scent of human fear.
“They’re moving around us.”
“There’s more than one.”
The second presence growled again.
Closer.
The hunters broke formation completely, then another warning call rolled through the woods behind me.
My entire body locked. If I had not known better, I might have mistaken it for my own voice.
I whirled toward it.
Milo stood several feet behind me beneath the trees, eyes fixed downhill toward the hunters as he repeated the sound again, lower this time, rough around the edges but unmistakably close to my cadence, and the unknown presence returned a sound.
Then Milo answered too.
The woods erupted into chaos below us.
“Fuck this.”
I added another warning call from our position.
“Go! Go! Go!”
“I thought it was just one!”
“You fucking thought wrong, dude.”
The other presence growled, followed by Milo Hart.
Branches snapped beneath retreating boots as the hunters fled downhill through the trees, no longer caring how much noise they made.
One of them nearly fell hard enough that I heard another curse violently beside him before they disappeared farther into the forest.
The sounds faded steadily into the distance until only the woods remained.
Slowly, the familiar rhythm returned.
Wind.
Insects.
The distant rush of water.
Life rebuilding its rhythm after disruption.
Milo Hart stood very still beneath the trees, breathing hard, adrenaline sharp in his scent, but he was alive—and unharmed.
Relief hit hard enough that it left me briefly motionless. “You sounded like me.”
Milo Hart’s mouth twitched slightly, breath still uneven from the adrenaline. “That good, huh?”
“Yes.”
Something that looked suspiciously like pride flashed across his face.
The answer left me quietly. Certain, because he was close enough to fool armed men.
Close enough to pull the hunters away from him.
Close enough that something deep in my chest tightened with a feeling I still did not fully know how to name.
Pride.
Trust.
Belonging.
Milo studied my face carefully. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?”
“That I interfered.”
I looked at him for a long moment. Then I closed the distance between us and reclaimed his hand. “No.” The word came easily. “You listened,” I added quietly. “You understood what I was trying to do.”
His expression softened at that before he looked down at our joined hands.
But something had changed.
Not in the woods.
In me.
Milo Hart no longer felt separate from this place.
The forest had heard him tonight.
And somewhere deep beneath my ribs, I realized I had begun thinking of him as something precious enough to guard with violence if necessary.