Kinked (15 page)

A hunter’s cabin would be shelter in the form of at least four walls and a ceiling, and probably a fireplace too. Hunters’ cabins were rarely large, luxurious places. They would
be lucky if there was more than one room. It meant sharing a confined space with her again. He heaved a sigh that was halfway to a growl. “We’ll see.”

She tilted the toes of her boots up and looked at them. “I found a passageway.”

Irritable at his meal that had been filling yet not satisfying, and in the mood for something sweet, he had begun to dig in his pack for an energy bar. He frowned at her. “You found
a
passageway?”

She grimaced and lifted a shoulder. “It seems to be in the right location, but I didn’t land like you asked, and I don’t know that it’s the Numenlaur passageway.” She looked at him sidelong. “Thing of it is, I didn’t see any Elves nearby, so I’m not sure.”

He considered that as he tore the wrapper off his bar and took a bite. “Did you catch sight of a camp?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It couldn’t be the second passageway, could it? The one that leads to the Lirithriel Other land?”

He chewed thoughtfully. He wouldn’t have thought she would have flown that far off course, but just in case, he asked, “Can you sketch where you found it?”

She slipped off the tree trunk, found a stick and started drawing in the mud at the edge of the lake. “I followed your directions. Here’s the ridge. It curves around the edge of this outlying mountain that sort of sticks out from the rest of the range like a stubby thumb.”

He lifted his eyebrows. She certainly had a unique perspective from the air. He said, “Okay.”

“The ridge ends here, in a deep big ravine.” She slashed at the mud. “It’s actually bigger than a ravine, more like a canyon. That’s where the passageway is.”

“That sounds right,” he said. “Remember, I’ve never seen the passageway myself, but that’s pretty much what Ferion described. The other passageway is a good fifteen to twenty miles farther on south from there.”

She looked up at him. “So where are the Elven guards?”

“Elves are very good at blending into their environment,” he said as he finished the bar. He rinsed out the
empty cans, crushed them underneath the heel of one boot and tucked the metal back into his pack.

Aryal stood tapping her foot. “I know that.” She scowled. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t actually set both feet on soil, but I flew down really low, right over the tops of the trees and sometimes in between them. I don’t think the guards are there, Quentin.”

He gave her a long look. He didn’t waste time calling her on her legalistic thinking, just focused on her story instead. He also didn’t bother asking her if she had seen any signs of an old campsite. When the Elves broke camp, they removed all traces of their visit on the land. If they had been there and departed, they wouldn’t have left any signs for someone to find.

“So either I found the wrong passageway …” she said.

He glanced again at the map drawn in the mud. “You didn’t.”

“Or for some reason the Elves felt the need to cross over into Numenlaur,” she finished.

“I guess they might have,” he said. “I wonder what could have caused them to cross over, and if they did, why didn’t they leave someone on guard at this end, like they had been ordered?” His shoulders were not happy about his picking up his pack again. He paused before he slipped it back on. “There’s a third possibility. Maybe they never arrived.”

“Whatever the possibilities, they lead to just two questions,” she said. “Where are the Elves now, and why aren’t they where they are supposed to be?” She focused on him. “Stop that. Take your pack off.”

He asked suspiciously, “Why?”

“I’ll take it.” She held out her hand. “You’ll make better time without it. If you can change, you’ll definitely reach the cabin by tonight. The passageway is just a couple of hours’ hike beyond that point. We can be there by mid-morning.”

He paused as he thought about that, studying her face. If he handed over his pack, Aryal would have all of the supplies along with the car keys.

Even if she decided to do something pissy, like take off with everything, the theft wouldn’t hurt him, only inconvenience him. He knew his survival skills were more than good enough to handle the terrain, and he would keep his weapons on him.

He had hesitated a moment too long. Her eyes narrowed in either disgust or impatience. She said, “Don’t be stupid. I thought we were at least past that point.”

“Fine,” he said. “Hold on a moment.”

Along with handguns and knives, they had both brought short swords, the kind that could be stowed along the length of the inside of their packs. Legally, they could have brought long swords, but those tended to be more trouble than they were worth on long airplane flights.

He was already wearing the knife. He opened up his pack and drew out the sword and the gun, then handed the pack over to her.

She slid it on with a near-soundless grunt, and adjusted the weight.

“Where’s the cabin?” he asked.

She gave him directions, shapeshifted and visibly braced herself. She had gone much farther than he had already, and yes, she had a pair of wings that allowed her to cover more distance quickly, but she had also scouted the surrounding terrain with what sounded like a great deal of care. He didn’t think it was easy for a large avian Wyr to coast so low to the ground that she could fly between trees. She had to be tired.

The word he wanted to say stuck in his throat a little. “Thanks.”

She made a face. “I just want to get to the passageway as fast as we can, so forget it.”

“Already done.” He stood back and watched her launch.

Man, she might get under his skin like the most irritating splinter ever experienced, but he had to admit one thing. She was truly something to see when she took flight.

He shapeshifted too, and the panther raced after the harpy, following the direction of her trajectory.

A
ryal landed at the hunter’s cabin with a sense of relief, and as soon as she could, she shrugged out of Quentin’s backpack. As a harpy she could fly for days if needed, but that was if she stayed in her natural state and she didn’t try to carry any extra load. With weapons, some canned and dehydrated food, clothing and the camping supplies, both hers and Quentin’s packs had been significant weights to haul around in the air.

The cabin was nestled in a hollow of land and surrounded by trees that would provide some protection from the most severe weather. It was a rough building, not much more than a single room, with a fieldstone fireplace and wood-framed bunk beds, but there was already plenty of firewood stored in a lean-to. There was also a clear running stream for fresh water, and a cleaning station for fresh game or fish.

She tossed Quentin’s pack into a corner, built a fire in the hearth, and as the warmth began to fill the space, she shook her sleeping bag out on the bottom bunk and threw herself on it with a sigh. She guessed it was early evening, around five thirty. Back in New York, it would be approaching midnight. Here, darkness was beginning to spill into the corners of the land, covering the secretive pockets where shy creatures hid. Tonight was going to be cold. It might even snow.

She closed her eyes and drifted. All her drifting thoughts swirled back to Quentin.

Coming upon him shirtless as he ate lunch had been a shock. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if it were high summer. She hadn’t expected the sight of his broad, bare shoulders in the winter landscape, and she had coasted for a few minutes just so that she could stare.

Last night, his face had turned to stone when she spoke the truth as she saw it, and this morning his temper had been so foul, she couldn’t fly away fast enough. She wasn’t sure what she had said that had struck him so hard, but she
figured if they really weren’t going to kill each other, the best thing that could happen for the both of them was to get a little space from each other and regroup.

Taking the day to be by herself and surrounded by nature, not by concrete and asphalt, had worked wonders on her own temperament, and when she had talked to him at midday it had seemed to help him as well. He’d been calmer, if not exactly cheerful.

And half-naked.

Win-win.

She stretched, her shoulder muscles aching pleasantly, and toed off her boots. Then she sat up, stripped off her clothes and shapeshifted into the harpy again. Once she had changed, she went outside to splash off in the stream. The harpy loved it, but the biting cold water carried melted snow off the mountains and it was much too frigid for her to enjoy in her human form. The cabin didn’t have running water, nor was there any way to heat up large quantities of water, so this was the closest she was going to get to a bath tonight.

After she finished, she went back in the warm cabin and shapeshifted into her human form. She pulled on fresh underwear, then dressed in the same clothes she had on earlier, enjoying the peace and quiet of having the cabin to herself while she tried to make up her mind about whether or not she would try to seduce Quentin.

Hate sex still sounded awfully good. Biting him while they rolled around on the floor and screwed each other like crazed monkeys … She could take that gorgeous penis of his into her body, lock her legs around him, pump his rocket engine and not let go until they both shot to the moon. Mmmm. Yeah.

But they had already almost gone beyond that point into some other strange place. It was still an angry place that mingled sex and violence together, as they dared each other to do things they would never consider doing.

Except.

It would be truly magnificent to get him,
Quentin Caeravorn,
on his knees, to harness that sexy man and own him
for a little while. He was no submissive, and that would make it even sweeter. The thought of it was almost enough to get her to agree to the dare. A time where he submitted, and gave up control to her, and in return she would give the same to him.

The problem was, neither one of them were submissive types. They were both dominant personalities.

Hell, Aryal didn’t even fit very well into a normal BDSM definition. She had explored clubs for a short time, intrigued, but the bottom line was, the lifestyle was much too intricate and stylized for her. She had neither the interest nor the patience to learn all the codes of conduct. She wondered if Quentin had.

Giving up total control to someone else either called for a radical kind of trust and immense self-control, or it called for a certain kind of suicidal craziness.

She didn’t trust Quentin, and she was certain he didn’t trust her.

That only left the other option. She threw herself on the bottom bunk again, stretched her arms over her head and laughed.

The cabin door opened. Quentin walked in, bringing the scents of the forest in along with him. Fresh cold air gusted through the room.

He looked around the cabin and took everything in with one quick, assessing glance. Only then did he look at her, eyes narrowed. He shut the door behind him.

Inane words ghosted through her head.

There you are, so you made it. About time you showed up.

Feel like taking off your shirt again?

She asked, “What are you going to fix us for supper?”

He glowered at her, so apparently his mood had returned to normal. “I fixed supper last night, and you didn’t stay around to eat any of it.”

“That was then.” She yawned. “This is now.”

“You could have fixed something for supper yourself by now,” he pointed out.

“No, I couldn’t. I did a lot today, and I only just got clean.” She put her arms behind her head, watching him
under lowered eyelids as he hefted his pack from the corner where she had tossed it and set it on the cabin’s only table. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

His head lifted, and he looked around the cabin again, then at her with his eyebrows raised. She smiled and pointed to the door, and he laughed.

The sound was even more shocking than the sight of his bare chest had been earlier.

Listen to us, she thought. I crack a joke, he laughs. We are actually being halfway civil to each other.

The concept was so strange, she felt as though they were screwing around with some kind of law of physics.

After he dug through the pack, he set containers of food on the table. They both had a few cans of beef stew left, along with some energy bars, and a few dehydrated meals that Aryal would rather be near death’s door before she would touch. After contemplating the selection, he shook his head. “Screw it. This is good enough for now. I’ll hunt tomorrow.”

She grunted and pushed off the bunk. “I’ll heat up a few cans of stew.”

She took two cans from him, and two from her pack. While he disappeared outside, she opened up the cans and set them close to the fire. He came back shortly afterward, with his hair damp and his tanned skin ruddy from washing. He watched her stir the stew and, using the sleeve of her sweater, rotate the cans so that they heated from all sides.

The silence grew weighted. More words occurred to her, things she imagined another female might say.