Standing cautiously, and with a lot of whispered curses and grumbles, I make sure my feet are beneath me before I straighten all the way. Thankfully, I only stumble a bit, but catch my balance with my arms out wide.
The dirt floor is compacted through most of the space, providing no obstacles for tripping. Moss and large rocks block out some of the sections in the open room, but there doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to it. The walls, if that’s what they actually are, are made of stone, trees, leaves, branches, you name it.
I’ve never seen such rustic quarters. This place looks like it belongs in Middle Earth. It’s actually fairly interesting to see how creative they were at piecing this place together. It reminds me of those social media videos of people going off the grid or building their secret hideouts on their property.
Now I have to see what kind of person lives like this.
I limp along with my bum ankle, taking small steps and keeping my arms out so I don’t face-plant.
Of all the wild adventures I’ve gotten myself into, this one really takes the cake.
Emerging from the fairy grotto, an electric tickle runs beneath my skin, and I grip onto the necklace Yasmine gave me through my shirt. The sensation is similar to when I passed through the wards at her shop, but there’s nothing on the floor. It’s not until I take a deep breath to ground myself that I notice them carved into tree trunks that make up the doorway.
Even more curious about my host, I look around at my surroundings. The clearing in the woods is surrounded by large trees. No electric lights to be seen. In fact, the only artificial lighting appears to be torches scattered throughout the space.
We must bedeepin the woods.
Standing twenty feet from me is possibly the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous man ever. His long brown hair is braided and has fallen over his shoulder. He’s dressed rustically in an animal skin wrap shirt, or perhaps just a really thick fabric. A large, pointed tool is gripped tightly in his hand as he stabs it into the ground before pulling up a small plant, roots and all. His hands and forearms are covered in soil, proof he’s been tending to the garden for a while.
I glance into the sky, curious how long I’ve been out, but I have no clue how to tell based on the bright presence of the moon and stars.
Returning my focus to the man’s garden, I can’t garner any details on the plants in this poor lighting. But I think they all look to be the same plant, so he must be pulling weeds. They appear to be a bush more than a flower, though they’re covered in flowers of various colors. When the god-like man bends over, he disappears between the plants.
I take a few more steps to the side to keep him in my sights in time to see the man dig something out of the ground, delicately dust it off, and then hand it to a small rodent on his shoulder. The little creature gratefully takes the offering and nibbles away, which makes the man smile.
I squint hard, double checking what I just saw. One—there is for sure a rodent on his shoulder who seems to be his pet. And two—the way his face lights up when he smiles nearly makes my knees buckle. Seriously, it should be illegal how fucking stunning he is.
“H-hello?” I squeak out and roll my eyes at myself.
Seriously, he’s just a person. Who cares if he’s hot? We don’t need to sound like a pre-pubescent teen.
The man stands, and I wipe my mouth quickly to make sure I haven’t drooled all over myself. And I ogle the shit out of him shamelessly. I, at least, have the basic decency to do it —mostly—subtly.
His broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips and long-ass legs that are hugged sinfully in leather. His bared arms are shapely without being humongous, and they’re lined with tattoos. Symbols that look similar to the ones in Yasmine’s cabin and the doorway of his home.
“Th-thank you for saving me?”
Why the fuck did I phrase it as a question?
The smile returns to the man’s face, and he dips his chin. “How is your head?”
I bob my head back and forth and immediately regret it. “Whoa,” I mumble and stumble a little. Gripping my forehead with one hand to fight off the headache that’s still lingering. With my free hand, I use it to balance myself again.
By the time I open my eyes, he’s standing mere inches from me. At this proximity, I can even catch his scent—manly musk,freshly turned earth, and an underlying spiciness I can’t quite place.
“Please, sit,” he says, gesturing to a small tree trunk. He keeps a mostly respectful distance, holding out his hands to direct me.
I nibble on my bottom lip. Butterflies erupt in my belly as I stare into his bizarre, light brown gaze. I do love a consent king. The rigid set of his brows and lips tells me he’s really hoping I don’t fight him on his request. So, I do as he suggests, feeling marginally better now that I know that I’m not going to fall over.
“What can I get you?” His voice remains calm but attentive.
“Is Tylenol too much to ask for?” His brow furrows in the middle, blinking in confusion. “It’s medicine, good for headaches,” I explain.
His eyes widen, and he rushes into his house. I hear some banging around before he emerges with a cup. “I grow the mint and ginger myself, aids in lots of ailments.”
I reach out for the cup only for him to jerk away. His eyes darken and his lips pinch into thin lines as an emotion I can’t read crosses his face before he schools it back to being more impassive. He quickly sets the cup on a stump next to me and backs up out of range.
Raising a single brow, I eye his stiff form more closely. His eyes drop to the cup and then back to me. And when I reach for the cup, a whisper of a smile curls his lips as his shoulders lower, assuring me that I followed his instructions properly. Taking a tentative sip, the spice of the ginger tickles my throat, and the aroma of the mint fills my nose, both settling comfortably in my stomach. I finish the cup in two swallows. It’s so good. It reminds me of the tea Abraham makes.
