My stinger flies toward her before a cognizant thought runs through my brain. All I want is to hurt the people who hurt my mate—whether physically, mentally, or emotionally. How dare she say something so insulting and rude?
“Your sister,” the words are a growl as I slide my hat up to pin her with my stare. My tail stops inches from her, “is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I suggest you keep your vile thoughts to yourself. Especially if you don’t want to be left behind.”
“Hyacinth,” my mate whispers, voice trembling. “My name is Hyacinth. And I don’t need you to protect me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” She waves the words away like they’re a pesky fly, her voice gathering strength with each word.
“Hyacinth,” the name is honey on my lips. Rich, sweet, flowing. It’s my new favorite word, flower, sound. “This is where you are wrong. It’s my destiny to protect you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sting. Now, both of you, get on if you want a ride.” I turn away, readying myself for whatever they both choose. Something tells me that Hyacinth won’t leave Lily. Loyal, devoted. Lily doesn’t know how good she has it.
“I’m sorry, Hy,” Lily whispers, her voice full of tears. Her sister shushes her and reaches out a hand for her. Then she pauses.
“Sting? Are you in a band?” Hyacinth asks. I catch the hint of a smile in her eyes.
“I could be,” is all the response I give.
Together, they slide a leg over my back, and I take off, not bothering to ask if they’re ready. Though I wish it were only Hyacinth on my back, straddling me, riding me into the sunset, I’ll take whatever I can get. I may look monstrous on the outside, but I’m not one on the inside.
Most of the time.
My ranch is humble looking from the outside, purposefully. I enjoy Lily’s scrunched nose as she takes in the outside of my small, dusty home. Once again, Hyacinth isn’t put off by me or my house, making me wondering how the two are related.
Hyacinth slips off my back, her feet gently thudding in the sand. My back aches—not from them riding me, but from the absence of her. Every cell craves the feel of her presence on me.
“Gods, I hope it has air conditioning,” Lily groans as she walks away from us and toward the front door.
Hyacinth hisses at her to be quiet, then looks at me with an apologetic look in her eye. I never want to hear her apologize to me. I shake my head at her. “The house is fully modern,” I say, voice loud for Lily’s benefit, too. “Climate-controlled. I even have an ice machine.” A smile twitches at Hyacinth’s lips at that, making my heart twitch in response. Such a lovely barely-there smile.
“What do you do way out here by yourself?” Hyacinth asks, curiosity in her voice and in her eyes as she takes in the sight of my home.
“Come on, let’s get you some water and the phone.”
Chapter 4
Hyacinth
When Lily hangs up the landline phone—how retro!—she looks confused. I pat the sofa next to me and she flops herself down. It doesn’t look like much, in fact all of the furniture is very simplistic, but incredibly comfortable. Before I can ask, she puts her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. I rest my hand on her back and wait, studying Sting’s abode and ignoring how blistery red her back is.
It looks like adobe construction, right out of some Western lifestyle magazine. Smooth stucco walls, rough hewn beams along the ceiling. Stunning sketches and paintings adorn each wall. The one across from where I’m sitting is abstract, full of grays and blues, a little green. With every inhale and exhale, I notice little details, each one making me feel sadness. Not for myself, but a yearning and resignation that the artist inserted into their work. Without getting up to look at the signature, I know in my bones that Sting painted this.
It takes effort to drag my eyes away from the painting. Paned windows are inset into the thick walls, letting in the orange light of sunset. One window is not clear glass but blue circles inlaid into the stucco, a kind of modern stained-glass feel. It’sstunning. The kitchen is small but efficient. And clean, which surprises me. I guess I didn’t think scorpion-men did a lot of cleaning. Well, I suppose I don’t know what scorpion men do a lot or little of.
Speaking of, after showing Lily the phone and bringing us a large pitcher of iced water and two glasses, he disappeared. Our pitcher is almost empty. I gave myself a brain freeze guzzling the water so fast while Lily was on the phone. Leaning forward, I refill Lily’s glass and hand it to her, nudging her hand with the glass. I still can’t believe we spent all afternoon stranded in the desert. Even the tops of our hands are painfully red with sunburn.
On the edge of my awareness, I can sense Sting. It’s a weird sensation—as if his shadow lingers here next to me. I’ve never sensed another person before like this. Just thinking about him makes my spine tingle—in a curiously good way.
We rode on a scorpion-man’s backside. That sentence stops my heart every time I think it. Which is a lot right now. He was fast, scarily so. And didn’t complain once about the weight of us, or about the little sounds we both made at times. Squeaks and “oof” as we bounced along. A scorpion man. A shifter? I swear he only had two legs when he approached us originally. And no tail.
No one will believe our story, of this I’m confident. Heck, I barely believe our story, and I was there. Part of me wonders if we were hallucinating, being full of margaritas and dehydrated. Then I pondered if James, our driver, possibly drugged us in some way. Anything feels possible right now. Though what the purpose of that would be, I don’t know.
But the sofa and the iced water aren’t hallucinations. Behind me, I can now hear Sting moving around—maybe in the kitchen—but I keep my attention on Lily.
“He isn’t coming,” Lily says, finally sitting up. Her face is stoic. No red blotchy eyes or streaked cheeks—the faces of Lily I’m used to when she gets upset. There’s something solid to her that I’ve never seen before; I’m impressed. Even if it seems to take her a lot longer to come to the same conclusion that I knew as soon as we watched the limo fade into the distance.
“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my voice as steady and gentle as possible. We’re both fragile right now.
“He has a meeting. But he said he’d send a taxi for us. I’m supposed to call him back with the address. I told him our rescuer was feeding the horses. I couldn’t say I was rescued by a giantscorpion.” She huffs out and leans back, sinking into the sofa, then sits back up wincing at the fabric against her back. Our sunburns are ones for the record book.
“I’m not sure how comfortable I am with his taxi,” I say carefully. Lilly nods. Then shakes her head. Then her head is doing circles—possibly a yoga move, possibly just trying not to explode from the day. I refill her glass with the last of the water from the pitcher.
“I know. It’s wild. Hy, the weirdest part of the conversation is how surprised he sounded when I said my name. Like he didn’t expect to hear from me.”
