“Holy shit,” she breathes as we reach the top, and the valley spreads before us like a topographical map. “Is this how you see the world all the time?”
“My vision is primarily adapted for detecting movement and reading minute vibrations,” I explain, pausing to let her absorb the view. “But yes, mobility has its advantages.”
“Advantages,” she echoes faintly. “That’s one word for it.”
We continue across the ridge, my pace quickening now that we’ve reached flatter ground. I can move at over forty miles per hour on optimal terrain, though I’m moderating my speed for June’s comfort. Even so, the wind whips her scent toward me—that intoxicating blend of her natural pheromones, my silk underwear against her skin, and the lingering traces of our mating.
Mine. The word pulses through me with each stride.
“You okay back there?” I ask, noting her increased heart rate.
“I’m… yeah.” Her voice sounds strained. “Just processing the fact that my boyfriend can outrun a car while carrying me like I weigh nothing. It’s a lot.”
Boyfriend. The human term seems comically inadequate for what we are to each other. In Vyder terms, she is my mate, my intended, my forever. But humans require different labels, different timelines. I’ve learned to accommodate.
“Is it unpleasant?” I ask, concerned.
“God, no.” Her fingers tighten on the grips. “It’s the hottest thing ever. Like, inappropriately hot given that we’re heading toward a potentially life-threatening confrontation.”
I allow myself a moment of pride. “Your arousal is noted and appreciated.”
“Of course you can sense that,” she mutters. “Your spider senses are unfair.”
I consider explaining that it’s less about “spider senses” and more about the specific chemical changes in her perspiration combined with minute alterations in her body temperature and heart rhythm, but decide against it. June prefers when I don’t over-explain biological processes.
We reach a stream, and I leap across it in a single bound. June lets out a startled laugh.
“Show-off,” she accuses, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
The terrain becomes more challenging as we approach our destination. The logging site lies in a remote section of the mountain, deliberately difficult to access to discourage casual hikers from witnessing the devastation. I slow our pace, senses heightening as we near the edge of my regular territory.
“We’re close,” I tell June, voice dropping. “From here, we proceed with caution. Kestra is… unstable. And powerful.”
June’s posture shifts from relaxed to alert. “Tell me about her. What exactly is she?”
It is now that I finally broach the topic of my suspect. “Dryad is the closest human classification, though inadequate.” I navigate around a fallen tree, stepping carefully to minimize noise. “She is a forest guardian, symbiotically connected to a specific ancient tree—an Old One. They live for millennia under normal circumstances, growing in power and wisdom.”
“And the logging company cut down her tree,” June concludes.
“Yes.” The word comes out harsher than intended. “A tree over three thousand years old, felled in minutes for lumber. Even I felt it from across the mountain.”
June’s hand rests gently on my shoulder. “So you knew Kestra before?”
“We had an understanding. Mountain territories often overlap. She kept to her forest; I kept to my caves and ridges.” I pause, an unfamiliar sensation of guilt washing over me. “I should have done more to help her.”
“What could you have done? Attacked them? Gotten yourself killed or captured?”
“Perhaps.” The guilt doesn’t abate. “But I did nothing. I watched. I waited. I hoped they would stop before reaching her grove.”
“And now she’s targeting the mountain for revenge,” June says. “Though I still don’t understand why she went after me specifically.”
I hesitate, then admit: “Because of me. Because you smell of me, of my territory. She knows you’re important to me.”
June is silent for a moment. “So I’m caught in some kind of monster territorial dispute? Great.”
“It’s more complex than—” I stop abruptly, all six of my eyes detecting the subtle shift in the landscape ahead. “We’re here.”
Before us lies what was once the heart of an ancient forest. Now it’s a graveyard of stumps stretching across fifty acres, the ground bare and lifeless. In the decade since its destruction, nothing has grown back. Not a sapling, not a weed, not even moss. The earth itself seems poisoned with grief.
