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How can anyone in their right mind not desire him? I chuckle to myself, a desperate sound. I’m mad. Mad as a march hare for wanting him and yet I can’t stop.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll find Ariadne, and when she’s here with us, everything will make sense, somehow. Perhaps I’ll wake up in my tent at the camp and find it was all a weird dream.
Do I want it to be a dream?
Why do I get a lump in my throat at the thought this might not be real?
“Hey.” I turn with the intention of walking over and handing him the jerky, when I see it—a big animal running toward us through the gathering dark like a shape cut from the night.
A feline.
“Jaguar!” I shout, dropping the jerky and pulling out my knives. “Finn, get down!”
A black jaguar, sleek and deadly, picking up speed as it comes right at us, that easy feline lope that eats the distance, leaping at me—
—and Finnen is there, between me and the open jaws of the beast, using a stick—when and where did he pick it up?—as a weapon. He shoves me back and I stumble a few steps to the side, caught by surprise, as he hits the jaguar’s head with the stick.
As if it’s a housecat or something.
The jaguar roars and jumps on Finnen, and I find my footing, moving to grab him and thrust him behind me—but he’s already grappling with the beast, the stick broken and thrown away, muscles leaping out on his arms and legs as he somehow gets the jaguar in a chokehold.
What the fuck? Who the hell is this guy?
And yeah, I know I’ve asked myself this question before.
Move, I tell myself. Do something.
Brandishing my knives, I slash at the jaguar—and the animal roars again, shaking Finnen off, sending him rolling in the dirt as I swipe with my blades at the open snout.
Finnen rolls to a crouch, braces his hands on the ground, and roars back.
A perfect imitation.
The jaguar’s ears flatten, and it retreats a few steps. When Finnen launches himself at the jaguar again, before I can do more than curse him for almost giving me a heart attack, the animal turns and lopes away.
“What the fuck.” I pant, staring after its dark form as it disappears in the gathering night, and turn to Finnen who’s standing there, hands clenched at his sides, long hair in his face. “Gods dammit, Finn! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He doesn’t flinch. “I was trying to save your sorry ass, idiot.”
“Stop putting everyone’s lives before yours, dammit! Have you ever thought maybe we don’t want you dying for us?”
He tilts his head in question. “What? But—”
“Or dying at all? That maybe we want you safe and sound and not running toward death itself with your arms wide open?” I wipe my knives on my pants and sheathe them inside my boots. “Huh?”
“My arms weren’t open,” he mutters. Gods, he’s so literal! He sounds offended. Miffed. Confused.
Terribly, inappropriately cute, dammit.
It’s impossible not to kiss him.
So I don’t fight it. I grab his dirty face and kiss him hard. He tastes of bitter almonds and strong black tea, of dark molasses and sexy man. He’s utterly still, mouth slightly ajar as I taste him, and his eyes fall shut as I slant my head to deepen the kiss.
Then he jerks back. Stills again.
“Okay?” I whisper.
“Oh…” He looks dazed. Blinks. “But Ari…”
