Chapter 33
Anya Delemond
Anya took in Roderick’s sleeping face with bleary eyes as the woods stirred to life around them.
The swish of grass, rustle of leaves, and perfume of blossoming flowers caressed her senses.
The inverted triangle of three tiger’s eye piercings over his right brow caught a little ray of sun from the skylight over their heads.
He shifted and released a soft breath, sending a lock of red hair across his forehead.
She reached a hand to brush it back, then froze at the sight of her bare forearms. Her eyes traced from her wrists to her shoulders, finding nothing but pale skin.
She dared a glance down at her chest pressed against Roderick’s shirt…
…as bare as the day is long.
She cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp as the night before flooded her mind.
The agonizing throb beneath her skin, the pained howls trapped in her chest so tight she feared she would split wide open.
The shift caught her by the throat, something that hadn’t happened in nearly a decade.
Not wanting to undress in front of Roderick was part of her resistance, of course, but the fear that her control over her shift was waning was the driving force.
What if it wasn’t just because of the Aquillan environment or exhaustion?
What if she returned to Eteross, forced into to her beastly form every full moon?
Her parents would put it together if she locked herself away three days a month.
True rulers didn’t get that luxury.
She could practically hear Cyrus’s mockery already.
Don’t worry, Uncle. I am happy to attend the summit in Her Highness’s place.
The Equinox Ball? Oh, sure, let’s just reschedule for a few days after the equinox. The nobles will love that.
She wouldn’t be able to answer questions, or sign documents, or help in emergencies—not without revealing her true self to the world.
Though in these small moments with Roderick, it felt like she’d already done just that.
The firm plane of his stomach was warm against her breasts. His heart thrummed under her ear as she snuggled into his chest. She didn’t have to be anything with him. Not a princess, or a queen, or a leader, or even Lycanian.
She was just…Anya. And she could scarcely remember the last time that was the case.
The memory of the night before and the shared heat of their bodies made desire coil in her belly. The sun was up, but the full moon never truly left. There were simply more distractions in the daylight.
She licked dry lips, realizing they’d only had one quick drink yesterday. She felt like she could drink that stream dry in one gulp now.
Traveling in the cool of the day would be best, but that required waking Roderick.
It had to happen eventually, which left her two choices: try to wiggle out of his embrace and shift before he woke, running the risk of putting her body on full display; or face her nakedness head on and wake him up just like this—and face the potentially delicious consequences.
Logically, either option ended with him seeing her bare. Might as well go for the one that kept her warm and cozy a little longer.
“Roderick,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek on his chest. A pleasant shiver rolled down her spine. So she did it again, repeating his name in a hushed, gentle tone. Then again, and again, and again, until her mind was utterly flooded with blissful waves of instinctual satisfaction.
She thought of nothing but Roderick: his surprisingly gentle, sensitive heart, the story he told to Mabel and the way he tucked her in, the fire in his eyes as they sparred, his endless attempts to make her smile, how his voice and touch alone pulled her out of the trauma that threatened to drown her on the beach.
And of course, those damned fangs.
He’d resolved to show her what kind of man he was—and he’d proven he was more than worthy of the truth. But how? When?
When happy brain chemicals finally diffused, she gave his chest one last brush, then blinked and looked up, finding a wide-eyed Roderick staring down at her, his cheeks flushed with crimson.
Her rational mind seized the reins again. Oh Mother Moon, what was he thinking? Was he embarrassed? Shocked? Aroused? He was impossible to read.
Say something!
“Oh! Oh stars, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She averted her eyes from his, only to land on the intimate press between their bodies. This was a terrible idea. He’d surely think her an instinct-driven maniac.
“You were rubbing your scent on me,” Roderick said, voice low and husky with sleep. He almost sounded pleased. A rush of relief unlocked the breath she’d been holding deep in her belly.
“I…Was?” The feeling had overcome her so quickly, she hadn’t even realized what she was doing. She touched two fingers to her cheek, a little raw from the hair on Roderick’s chest.
He nodded. “It’s why Bernard touches Annette so much. I asked him about it, once. I’ve never been good at social cues. I have a feeling you already know that, though.”
Anya chuckled to herself. “Perhaps.”
He was failing to pick up on her very obvious invitation right this very moment. She was practically dangling herself like a leg of mutton.
Unless he was purposely avoiding it. Her mind wandered to the moment in the cave, when she tried to take things a step further, and the firm, almost angry tone he had when he pushed her away.
Hot embarrassment crept up her neck to her ears.
Twice. This was twice now she’d been spurned.
Had she taken leave of her senses? Did she really want to go for the trifecta of unrequited desire?
Roderick continued, his voice far more even-keeled than most folk would be in this situation.
“Millicent was always very blunt with me, see. If I did something that displeased her, she told me quite plainly. She’d known me practically my whole life, so she knew how I was.
Then, well, I tried to woo you, and that ended rather frigidly.
So I asked Bernard, because I’m trying to be better. ”
“I could’ve handled that more diplomatically,” she admitted.
The chuckle that puffed his chest renewed her awareness of their physical predicament.
“Perhaps,” he said, mimicking her earlier tone.
“But I think you’ve more than made up for it.
Especially now. Bernard said the touches are more than just for pleasure.
It reminds other folk, mostly Lycanians, that a person is important to them.
He said it comforts Annette too, and helps her anxiety.
The ‘Lycanian love language,’ I believe he called it. ”
Anya’s throat went dry.
Love?
Was love what overcame her just now? Was the tugging at her cheekbones, the flutter in her belly, and the light, airy hum in her head…love?
“Am I important to you, Anya?” he whispered.
Anya froze as underbrush kicked up mere paces away from their shelter.
“How much fartherrrrrrr?” a voice whined.
A low growl rolled in Anya’s throat. Her hackles rose. Her mind flooded with possessive, wolfish thoughts. She gripped Roderick tighter and glared daggers out of the shelter.
Mine. He’s mine, mine, try to take him and I’ll—
“Just a few miles south,” an exhausted man replied.
“I’m tired, Papa. My paws hurt.”
“Think about the breakfast we’ll have at Virherrgan’s Place. I’ll even let you eat the blueberries on my pannu kakku.”
Anya’s growl disappeared. Panuka-what?
“Eee! Thank you, Papa!” Yips of joy bounced off the trees.
“Ay! Soren! Watch your tail!”
“Oo-pah, sorry.”
The cluster of steps and voices faded ahead of them. They carried an accent Anya had never heard before, with w’s that sounded distinctly like v’s, and an almost melodic quality to the lilt up at the end of each sentence.
Roderick feigned a gasp. “Oh no! A child! Thank you for protecting me!”
Anya shoved him into the side of the shelter, sending the entire thing collapsing atop them.
She shifted in the privacy of the pile, then popped up between the mass of twigs and fir boughs, throwing twigs off her head with a dramatic shake.
Roderick followed suit, and they looked at each other and laughed.
She was grateful for the distraction from the feelings-analysis unfolding before. It was best to keep that unwritten.
The result would only be a recipe for heartache.
Roderick brushed a few leaves from his arms. He almost offered her a hand as he stood, then thought better of it. Anya stared up at him and huffed through her nose.
You’ve got sap in your hair.
“Yeah? There’s a whole bird’s nest in here!” Roderick ruffled her fur, mussing it the wrong way. She shook it back into place and stood.
Oh, piss off and come on, she barked, leaping from the pile on to the mossy path. Let’s follow their trail!
An intriguing combination of paws and shoe prints preceded their way. Just like on the beach, Anya could sense so much more than normal. The travelers ahead of them had eaten venison, and the youngest was clearly a messy eater, given the amount of meat stuck in their claws.
The sun streamed between the pink blossoming canopy overhead, warming Anya’s bones with every step.
Despite her own shabby state, optimism was growing in her.
A town was just a ways away. They’d find a map, plot a route, take a damn bath, and find the Lupus Star in no time.
Thank the Moon, too. She needed Blackbird.
She needed to spill her guts before she did something she couldn’t take back.
Roderick Bryson
Roderick’s pulse kicked up as the dirt path slowly turned to gravel, then polished cobblestone. A town had to be close.
The route followed the base of the snow-capped mountains that carved out the contours of the river. He smiled as he watched Anya trotting alongside him, her nose wiggling furiously.
Anya’s simplified, wolfish thoughts occasionally flitted into his mind, like he was cupping his hands over his ears, then removing them quickly over and over.
Splinters. Horse manure. Apple seeds.
More audible sniffing.