Page 57 of Hexy Beast

Yeah, that is one way to describe it. I’m about to tell him that when Hylo and Nessus trot back over. The branches of the oak tree are glowing red, as if they’re burning from the inside. Across the way, a corresponding palm tree lights up in response. That, I’m assuming, is our signal that we’ve been given permission to enter Pholoe.

I turn toward Darius, but he’s not looking at the glowing palm tree in the distance. His attention is focused on something behind me. Heart hammering against my ribs, I turn, expecting to see more of the Council’s werewolves on our tail, but there’s no one there.

Instead, I spot what is becoming a very familiar waterfall.

“Look,” Darius says, pointing to the cave set into the hillside next to the winding creek and hidden by the flowing water coming from the hills above. He turns to Prince Nessus and Hylo. “It seems we’ll be visiting the Court another time.”

“Mother will be disappointed,” Nessus says as he holds out his hand toward Darius. “She misses you. Every time I’m in trouble, all I hear about is Darry, who would have made a great centaur if the Fates had their heads on straight.”

They both laugh as if it’s been a common lament by the centaur queen over the years.

Darius grasps the prince’s forearm in what for centaurs must be the equivalent of the alpha werewolf hug where they clasp hands. They bring each other in close and slap each other on the back. Hylo and I exchange men-what-are-you-going-to-do-make-them-express-their-feelings eye rolls behind their backs.

Then we watch Nessus and Hylo go galloping down the hill thick with trees leading into Pholoe as a flock of toucans takes flight. They cross the invisible border between the Aetos woods and the centaurs’ tropical paradise.

The sun sets as we hike up to the cave. We’re holding hands, which is starting to feel way too normal for my own good. The warm rays turn the woods a gorgeous golden color tinged with autumn’s oranges and browns from the changing leaves.

We walk in a comfortable silence, but somewhere along the way Darius lets my hand go to lift a low-hanging branch, and he never takes it again. By the time we get to the cave, the sun is nearly set, the moon is almost up, and the quiet between us is no longer so cozy. I have no idea what changed between the edge of Pholoe and here, but something definitely has.

Trying for once to just let things unfold instead of grabbing them at both ends and shaking until everything spills out, I go inside the cave. This new-to-me approach is not fun or easy. I am telling you, I’m not made for the whole wait-and-see thing. Darius, however, isn’t about to say anything until he is good and ready.

He stays outside long after the sun sets, just looking up at the moon, already less blue than it was when we left Arcadia. By the time he finally comes inside, I’ve already downed the protein shake and a few of the nonperishable snacks in the cave’s wall storage.

Darius’s face is all pinched, and the vein at his temple is bulging. He stops just inside the cave, crosses his arms, and gives me a hard look. I don’t know what he’s gearing himself up for, but I have no doubt that I’m not going to like it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says without preamble.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing? We’re going to fight. Okay. Fine. Whatever. I can give as good as I get—better, even. I’ve had enough whiplash in the last few days with Darius. He wants me. He doesn’t want me. He needs me. He kisses me like he can’t breathe without me. Now I shouldn’t be here. The man needs to make up his mind.

“I’ll leave as soon as we figure out how to reverse the proximity charm and go so far away you’ll never see me again,” I shoot back. “It’ll be like I don’t exist, like I was never here at all.”

I swear I hear the crack of one of his molars getting split in two before he clears the space between us in two long strides and looms over me. Anger and frustration and desperation come off him in waves. He’s wound so tight that he’s got to be in danger of imploding. It’s like he can’t decide if he’s mad at me or himself.

I don’t have that problem.

I am not currently acting like an asshole.

“It doesn’t matter how far you go,” he says, his voice a low rumble of barely repressed emotion. “I’ll always know where you are. You’re imprinted on me like a tattoo that will never fade.” He cups my cheeks with his large hands and tilts my face up so I can’t help but look him in the eyes. They’re dark and wild, and there’s a desperate energy pinching his aura. “You will always be here.”

“Even though I shouldn’t be,” I say, throwing his own words back at him.

He grimaces as if I’ve just jabbed a wand between his ribs and twisted. “I don’t want you here.”

But when he kisses me, he outs himself as a liar.

I’ve been kissed by a lot of men, women, and everyone in between in my life, and never have I been kissed like this—as if I’m every good thing there’s ever been in the world. His hands are on my hips, fingers curled around my belt loops (seriously, the man has a thing for belt loops) as if he thinks I might actually go somewhere.

That’s not going to happen for a couple of very solid reasons.

One, he’s obviously forgotten about the proximity spell.

Two, the man may not talk a whole lot, but he sure has a mouth on him.

Everyone should be kissed like this at least once in their life, but I’m greedy. I already know that if it ever stops, I’m gonna want to be kissed like that again.

And again.

And again until I’m drunk off them with no hope of ever getting sober.