Chapter 5
Hyacinth
The moon wakes me, shining bright on my face.
Reminding me that I’m alive. And safe. Peeking outside the window beside my bed, the desert yard is lit up in a bluish light, almost bright enough to be day.
My burn hurts too much when I shift and roll over in bed, so I get up to slather on more aloe.
Beside me, Lily is sprawled out, snoring softly. She won’t miss me.
After applying aloe and getting some water, my feet are weirdly antsy. The tingling in my spine is intense, and I know it means Sting is nearby. And while I sound like an idiot, I let my feet guide me to my flipflops and outside.
It’s surprisingly cool outside; I expected the same wall of heat that consumed us during the day.
In the distance, crickets chirp and sing their song to the moon.
A coyote howls, sending a different kind of chill down my arms. Reminding me of my fear of what would happen if Lily and I were still out in the desert, trying to find our way to civilization.
I can see a faint light shining out from under the door at the garage or shed…
outbuilding, let’s say. My feet guide the way, letting me argue within myself.
This poor guy, he doesn’t want me invading his space any more than I already have.
I know this; I would think it was creepy if the person I rescued came to visit me in the literal middle of the night.
My hand isn’t even on the door, when I hear his deep, resonant voice telling me, “Come on in.” I ignore the flutter that travels from my spine to my belly as I step inside.
It is a potting shed of sorts, though it’s hard to imagine anyone gardening in this habitat.
Harsh soil, harsher sun. Sting is in the corner, kneeling beside a pen, the light shining. A quiet mewing sound.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks. I nod, but he isn’t looking at me. His attention is on whatever is in that pen. His tail curled behind him appears as sentry—protecting him. It’s regal, he’s regal.
“The moon is so bright,” I start, hoping it doesn’t sound like a complaint.
“Mmm. Yes. It will be full tomorrow night.” A slight smile plays on his lips. Cautiously, I step forward, curiosity winning out once again.
“Do you want to feed one?” He asks, standing to shift and make room for me. I forgot how tall he is, and the mass of his body catches me off guard. Gasping, I step back, tripping over my own feet.
In a flash, his hand is on my arm, pulling me toward him. His tail wraps around me, the stinger of his tail appearing on my other side. Another gasp before I’m able to control myself.
Sting chuckles. It’s low and rumbling, almost not there, except for the amused expression on his face, the crow’s feet at the corner of each honeyed eye.
Heat travels from his hand to my arm and up to my chest. If I weren’t looking at his thick, scarred fingers gripping me, I’d wonder if I was having a stroke.
It takes a lot of effort to move my eyes away from his hand.
“I’ve got you,” he says, barely a whisper. It takes me a couple of minutes to calm my heart and brain down enough to think. To speak.
“Yeah, you do. I’m really lucky—twice! I guess I was wrong. I should go to the blackjack tables.” He huffs, just enough to feel like half a laugh, then straightens me up and releases me. My arm feels like it’s missing something now. His tail though…his tail is still wrapped around me.
Breathing deep, his scent is leather, oak, spice.
Then there’s the wood of the shed we’re in.
And the straw by his feet. That reminds me, why is he out here?
Licking my lips, trying to jump start my brain yet again, I step back.
His tail snakes around me, leaving me. The feel of it is hard, armored, but also silky smooth.
“You—your—why—” the words just won’t form coherent thoughts. I’m imagining the tip of his tail sliding along my skin. His lips on mine. Those scarred hands touching more of my heated skin.
“Would you like to meet the baby foxes?” He asks in that husky voice, still a half-smile playing on his lips. That certainly perks my ears up.
“Why do you have baby foxes?” I ask as I step up to the pen, my almost bare feet next to his booted ones.
Nestled in a neat bed of straw and flannel shirt are three baby foxes.
Complete with large ears, adorable whiskered snouts, and poofy tails.
I let my vet tech training take over for a minute, inspecting them and their little nest. They’re all bright-eyed and healthy looking.
Their bedding is clean. Sting is taking good care of them.
With that satisfying thought, I let my normal animal loving self take over.
“They look like they popped straight out of a picture book!” It’s a struggle to keep my voice at a whisper. They’re so adorable. “Can I pet one?”
“You can feed one. They just started real food, but they still like milk at night, especially on the cooler nights.” He hands me a beer bottle filled with white liquid I assume is milk, and topped with a tiny nipple. Then grabs one of the kits and hands it to me.
“It’s so tiny! So light!” It takes a couple of tries for the fox to smell the milk, then latch onto the nipple. For being tiny, it’s ferocious. It’s tiny heart pounds against my hand as I hold it.
“This one is Cupcake. I’m not supposed to name them, but it’s hard to care for a creature without a name.” I nod, trying to keep my face focused on Cupcake, and not on the fact that this desert scorpion cowboy in actual cowboy boots named a baby fox Cupcake.
“I was keeping an eye on them. Their mother was hit by a car. So rather than let them starve, I brought them here.”
“What will you do with them once their weaned?” Impressed with his attention and care.
He huffs out a breath and takes one of those classic cowboy postures, one boot out, thumbs in his belt, and I melt all over again.
“Well, the wild animal rescue in Las Vegas yelled at me for bringing them in. So then I made contact with a rescue in the small town north of here, Westfang. It’s just a couple of orcs bumbling about, I think.
But they agreed to take them once they’re weaned.
Not too much longer now.” He reaches out a hand and scratches behind Cupcake’s ear as she chugs. His voice is sad as he talks.
Oh. My. Gods. He’s going to miss feeding baby foxes! Be still my heart and ovaries. My encounters with monsters and shifters is minimal, but I certainly never imagined one having such a soft heart for wild baby animals. Is it hot in here or just me?
“Maybe you can visit them,” I say, cringing internally, my vet-tech self knowing that it doesn’t make sense to visit re-released wildlife as if they’re old friends.
And yet, I don’t want him to be sad. He gives a one shouldered shrug, an attempt at nonchalance.
Runs his fingers through his hair. “Fostering requires a golden soul.” The words come out, and I work hard not to tear up at them.
Lily and I had foster parents. Two sets, before we found a family that was willing to love us for us.
I have huge admiration and respect for anyone who fosters—animals or humans.
I thought we would never really know what family felt like again after our parents’ died in a car accident, but the Stearns showed us.
Each and every day. They still do. In fact, we’ll need to call them once we get back to the hotel and let them know we are okay.
Bottle empty, the little fox yawns, nips my finger, then snuggles further into my arms. I can feel her full milk belly, so warm and fuzzy.
Gosh, talk about a total serotonin hit. “Do any others need to be fed?” I ask as Sting carefully takes Cupcake from me and sets her down with her siblings.
One of them sniffles, its tongue sticking out as it dreams. They’re all asleep.
“No, but you can feed them in a few hours, if you want. Not nearly as cuddly in the morning, though.” He turns off the light over their little bed. The moon is still overhead, lighting my way back toward the door.
“Thank you. That was really special.” Our feet crunch along the crushed rock path that leads to the adobe house. I yawn, grateful. Maybe I can fall back asleep.
“You know, those kits don’t just warm up to anyone.
When the rescue folks came by, they growled and snarled and bit.
It was adorable, because they’re babies, but they clearly weren’t having those orcs touch them.
So when you walked in, and they stayed calm, I knew they would like you. You give off an aura of peace.”
One day, this man will not make me freeze and go idiotic at my lack of stringing coherent thoughts together. But that day is not today.
When I say nothing, he opens the front door, leaving space for me to enter first. “We’ll have breakfast in the morning.
Then I’ll drive you two back to the city.
” I step over the threshold and turn around to ask a question, but he’s already shut the door.
Not hard; it was so gentle I didn’t hear it click.
Looking out the window, he’s stalking off into the moonlit desert, his tail on full display.
I’d never thought of tails as sexy before. But that was before I met Sting.