It’s cute that she thinks I don’t know how humans work—fine, there’s a strong rationale for that, but still. Obviously, she can’t sit in a frozen stream without turning fifty shades of blue.
“There’s a hot spring nearby.” It’s not too hot either. It’s a perfect way to relax while also meeting her needs. Her facebrightens, so I must be onto something. A few moments later, the spring comes into view, the water a vibrant shade of green.
“Is it safe?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t bring us here if it weren’t.” While not all springs are safe—either because of the minerals or the high heat—this one is a well-guarded secret. The kind of thing the forest doesn’t show to everyone. Only a handful of humans have ever seen it. Most either walk by, not seeing it through the forest’s cloak, or never make it close enough to take it in. It’s one of the places protected by my magic to help preserve the natural beauty.
Sadie steps toward it and drops to her knees. Tentatively, she sticks a few fingers in the water, swirling them around several times. “Oh, it’s perfect,” she confirms.
I grin, thrilled my land can meet her needs. “Good. Let’s get in.” Since I don’t need to strip off any clothing, I make it into the water first. Sadie takes a minute to shed all the layers she wore for our walk. Before she pulls off her undergarments, she looks around a few times.
“It’s only us,” I say. Campers and hikers stay away in these conditions, especially since no formal trails run through the area. Summertime will bring a few backcountry hikers, but for now, we have the place to ourselves.
“It’s just…” Sadie looks around again, then lowers her voice. “Are the trees watching?” She shivers a few times, obviously getting cold from standing around nearly naked.
The forest immediately grows noisy, various creatures either laughing or assuring me they don’t mind. I don’t think Sadie can hear the specifics, but she tenses, as though she senses a shift in the air. There’s nothing I can say to reassure her, unless I lie. The fact that they don’t care probably won’t ease her fears much. It’d be better if they could turn away and not see my mate when she’s in her most vulnerable state.
That’s not an option, though, so instead I reach out my hand. “Don’t worry about them,” I say. “Get in so you can warm up.”
SADIE
The hot water soothes my skin and nerves in ways I can’t explain. The minute I submerged myself up to my shoulders in the water, I instantly relaxed. I’m not one for daily showers in the wilderness. Even when I’m home, saving water is essential, so I only shower every other day. When I’m camping, a few wet wipes or a dip in the river is usually enough for me. Then again, I’ve never been out like this before. Especially while being intimate with someone. Maybe for a single overnight camping trip, but none of them ever could get me as hot and sweaty as Gillia.
I was skeptical about this idea, even after Gillia assured me it was safe. As a ranger and nature enthusiast, it’s been drilled into me that natural springs aren’t the places you want to be. They are unpredictable, like everything in the wilderness, with temperature fluctuations coming on quickly and without warning. There are a few grisly case studies in my training that drilled that point home in excruciating detail. Luckily, I’ve never happened upon any such hikers, but I know people who have.
I can’t help but moan a little as I arrange myself so I can rest my knees on the bottom of the spring. “This is incredible,” I say. “I didn’t know this existed.”
The stream is marked on the forest service maps. But no one’s ever mentioned a hot spring. It’s the kind of thing someone would have marked on a map if they happened upon it or heard about it from fellow hikers.
“The forest keeps secrets,” she says, as though that explains everything. Maybe it does. The more time I spend with Gillia,the more I realize some things can’t be explained—and maybe I don’t need an explanation. It’s enough to know they’re real. A little more information wouldn’t hurt, though.
I shift around, making sure every inch of my body is submerged under the surface at some point. After a few days without a shower—especially with the added physical activity—I’ve been in desperate need of a little soap and water. Soap might not be happening, but I still feel cleaner than I’ve ever been. And much better about letting someone touch or even lick my body. I shiver at the thought of her teasing her tongue over my most sensitive parts. From the glimpse I got, it looks mostly human, but I can’t wait to find out how it feels.
“Are you cold?” she asks.
“Oh, no. Just thinking and enjoying.” I get the words out before I realize she might follow up, ask me exactly what I’m thinking. I’m not sure I’m ready to answer that question. Especially when I’m acutely aware that we’re not entirely alone. Just because I can’t hear the ongoing discussion doesn’t mean I’m not aware of it. Somehow, I can feel something inside me shift every time a tree speaks up. I’d think I was imagining things, but there’s usually a corresponding shift on Gillia’s face, something that tells me she hears it too.
Except she gets the words; I’m left to imagine all the things they’re saying about me. Talk about anxiety-inducing.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she says, as I breathe a sigh of relief. “This is one of the great hidden gems in the forest—the perfect place to relax and recover.”
“Tell me more,” I say.
“About what?” she asks.
“Everything.”
She gives me a skeptical look. But it’s true—I want to know everything and anything she’s willing to tell me about herself, the forest, and nature. I’ve spent a lifetime studying everyreference book I could find, but it’s left me woefully unprepared to enter this version of reality.
“Please,” I beg. I’m desperate to understand better of the world I’ve stepped into. It’s selfish, but for the first time in my life, my soul is settled. My place in this world seems secure and important. Not because I serve some role in the workplace, but because I’m part of something bigger than myself.
Or maybe it’s because of the way Gillia looks at me, like I’m some prized treasure she’s discovered.
“Well,” she starts, “the forest is ancient. It’s been this way for over four thousand years.”
“Have you always been here?” I ask.
“Not me personally,” she says. “Others have. It’s rare to survive that long. I’ve inhabited my tree for almost two hundred years now.”
