48. Catch Me
They lay together under the branches of the ancient willow. It sang to them as Wilder napped and Lyra read on a quilt that they had spread on the soft grass. He had his arms underneath his head, and his chest rose and fell in line with the branches that swayed back and forth around them.
It was as he said it would be. The long branches blocked out the outside world, but there was still enough light that she could see the words on the page.
Lyra had started the book about magic and bargains that Queen Aine had lent her. It read like an educational text, but she was still fascinated.
There had been a lot more to bargains than what she knew. Particularly, how her part would not rely only on her using her voice but on being in the places where the original bargain had been struck between the merfolk and mortals.
The book had explained it like a braided cord, and to undo it, she would have to undo the knot and unweave the plait.
Her heart and brain hurt thinking about it, so she switched to something more inspiring, the other book Aine had lent her. She found the chamomile flowers that had marked her place and slid back into the story of Ophelia, the heroine who vanquished a dragon.
Although the beginning had not been as gripping as the romance novels she preferred, the story had picked up. It was strange reading about heroines.
But as Ophelia plucked up the courage to face her fears, Lyra felt the power of the story hum within her blood. There was so much that was possible when you believed in yourself.
Maybe that was why the mermen had blocked access to these kinds of stories.
“What are you reading?” Wilder’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet.
Lyra stopped reading and kept her finger in her place. “It’s the book your mother lent me.”
She looked at him as he continued to lie there with his eyes closed, but turned onto his side to face her. She thought he had drifted back to sleep and had turned her eyes back on the page again when he spoke.
“What is it about?”
Lyra couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips. No one had ever asked about the books she read, or really anything about her interests.
“It’s about Ophelia vanquishing the dragon Turig.”
“Do you like it?”
She looked up from the pages to find his sky-blue eyes locked onto her face.
“I do, very much.”
Wilder smiled, and she felt her heart squeeze.
“Turig the great and evil. Turig, the slayer of knights, the widow maker.”
“You’ve read it?”
He nodded. “It was my favorite bedtime story as a lad. My mother read it to me every night.”
Lyra beamed. “So, the part when Ophelia dons her father’s helmet …”
“Oh, it’s pivotal to the climax, of course,” he finished for her.
“Exactly!” she screeched. “It’s genius.”
Wilder chuckled and pushed up onto an elbow. His high cheekbones were darkened from their brief afternoon in the sun, and the color suited his dark hair.
“I thought you preferred to be outdoors,” Lyra muttered and turned to look at her book to keep from staring at him.
“I enjoy balance. A rainy afternoon requires a good book and a cup of tea.”
The very idea of that was like heaven to her.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Lyra looked up, alarmed.
“Are we safe here?”
Wilder looked behind them and into the distance, where the storm built. When he shrugged, she snorted.
“That’s comforting.”
He fiddled with the blanket near her bare feet.
An odd sensation shot through her feet and her body as the blanket brushed against her skin, and she squirmed.
“Don’t do that,” she tutted.
Wilder’s brow arched nearly into his hairline.
“Legs?”
She gazed at him, and her brow furrowed. “Yes?”
“Are you ticklish?”
Lyra stared and stared. She didn’t know that word, but didn’t like the sound of it either.
“What is ‘ticklish’?”
Wilder’s grin turned wolfish, and he waggled his long fingers against her toes.
Lyra squealed and ripped her feet from his reach and tucked them underneath her.
“Don’t do that!” She laughed and tried to hide her limbs under the layers of her skirt.
He was upon her with a boyish smile that made him look much younger. He prodded her ribs with light fingertips, and she laughed raucously.
She had fallen against the quilts, and he straddled her. She squirmed beneath him, and his eyes turned molten with delight.
“Have you lost your mind?” she squealed.
Tears slipped from her eyes, and his laugh boomed from his chest and intertwined with hers.
Luckily, he didn’t torture her for long and stopped his incessant tickling so that she could catch her breath. Her laughter trilled around them long after she had stopped.
He gazed down at her. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, and when she glanced at his lips, she wondered what they might taste like.
Wilder leaned forward, and Lyra raised her chin as he lowered his.
Their faces inched closer and closer. And she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, and that terrified her.
This was only a temporary truce.
When Wilder’s eyes closed, Lyra flicked his nose.
His eyes flashed open, and she smiled so widely at him that her nose scrunched up.
“Did you flick me?”
Lyra slid out from beneath him and grinned.
“I did.” She put her hands on her hips. “And what are you going to do about it?” she teased.
Wilder got to his feet and flashed her a mischievous smile.
“I’m going to hold you down and tickle you until you can’t breathe,” he vowed.
Lyra dashed out of the branches of the ancient willow.
“You’ll have to catch me first.”