Page 16 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

Sylvie traced the delicate vines climbing up the shelter walls, marveling at how they’d sprouted and grown before her eyes. The crude structure had transformed into something almost magical—branches weaving together overhead, moss thickening beneath her, creating a soft cushion. Fresh leaves unfurled, casting dappled shadows across the earthen floor.

But her attention kept drifting back to Thorn’s hands as he worked on her ankle. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so large, his fingers careful.

Heat rose to her cheeks as she remembered his expression when she’d pulled off her shirt. His eyes had darkened, pupils dilating before he’d jerked his gaze away. That split-second reaction had sent a thrill through her body—one that lingered even now.

“Stop squirming,” he growled, his breath warm against her leg.

“Sorry.”

She bit her lip, trying to focus on anything but his closeness. The shortened hem of her shirt rode up as she shifted, exposing awider strip of skin above the waistband of her shorts. His fingers faltered for a heartbeat. She watched his face, catching the way his jaw clenched when she deliberately moved again. The air thickened between them, charged with something that made her pulse race.

A stray lock of hair fell across her face. Before she could brush it back, his hand moved—then stopped, hovering inches from her cheek. His eyes met hers, intense and conflicted. The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, before he looked away again, reaching for the small glass bottle he’d pulled from the leather pouch on his belt.

The scent of pine and herbs filled the air as he uncorked it and the oil inside caught the filtered sunlight, amber-gold and mysterious. He poured a few drops onto his palm, then began gently massaging it into her ankles.

His touch sent lightning through her veins. The oil spread warmth wherever his fingers touched, seeping deep into her sore flesh. She fought to keep her breathing steady as his thumbs worked in slow circles around her ankles. The pain melted away, replaced by a tingling heat that had nothing to do with the medicine.

He bent over his task, silver-streaked hair falling forward. This close, she could see the intricate patterns in his horns, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. Her fingers itched to trace the strong line of his jaw, to discover if his beard was as soft as it looked.

He gathered a few broad leaves from a plant that had sprung from the ground at his touch, then wrapped them around her ankle with careful precision. Each brush of his fingers againsther skin felt deliberate, almost like a caress. The strips of her shirt followed, binding everything in place.

His face hovered inches from hers as he checked his work. When he looked back at her, she could see the amber flecks scattered through the deep forest green of his eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the subtle curves of his lips. Those amazing eyes flicked to her mouth, darkening for a heart-stopping moment. Her breath caught in her throat as the air between them crackled with possibility.

Then he blinked, breaking the spell. He turned away, leaving her skin burning where his hands had been, wondering if she’d imagined the heat in his eyes.No, she decided. He was as attracted to her as she was to him—but he was fighting it a lot harder.

He pushed to his feet and ducked out of the shelter without a backward glance. She heard a rustling, the sound of wood scraping against wood. When he returned he carried a pair of makeshift crutches.

“To help you walk on your own,” he said gruffly, setting them down next to her.

He helped her to her feet, supporting her as she tested the crutches, finding them sturdy despite their simple construction, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to make some dinner. Do you want to rest or would you rather?—”

“I’d rather join you.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips before he ducked out of the shelter again, and she hobbled after him. He gestured to a log to one side of the clearing and she sat down gratefully.

He’d already built a fire, sparks dancing upwards into the gathering darkness, and strung strips of meat over the fire. Her stomach growled at the rich, smoky aroma wafting from the cooking meat, but the food wasn’t what held her attention.

He moved with fluid grace as he tended the flames, his big body highlighted by the golden glow. Muscles rippled beneath sun-bronzed skin each time he adjusted the strips of meat. The firelight caught the silver threading through his dark hair, making it shimmer like starlight. He didn’t look at her, but she was sure he was as aware of her as she was of him.

“You know,” she said, just to break the charged silence, “if you’re as good at cooking as you are at making shelters, I might have to kidnap you for my next photography expedition.” Her voice came out low and husky, seductive. “Think about it—you could be my personal wilderness chef.”

His lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile before he ducked his head, focusing intently on rotating the meat. What would it take to make him truly smile again?

Heat pooled in her stomach as she watched his hands—those strong, careful hands that had so gently tended her injury. She shifted, trying to ignore how the movement made her shortened shirt ride up. “Though I suppose you’d hate that, wouldn’t you? Being stuck with a chatty human who keeps taking your picture.”

His shoulders tensed slightly at her words, but he didn’t look up from his task. The flames painted shadows across his angular features, making him look wild and dangerous and impossiblyappealing. She bit her lip, wondering what other reactions she might coax from him.

“Why did you decide to become a forest guardian?” she asked. “It must get lonely out here with only the trees to talk to.”

His hands stilled for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “I didn’t decide. The Elderwood chose me.”

She leaned closer, drawn in by the low rumble of his words. “What does that mean?”

He turned his head to meet her gaze, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “Some places have a… consciousness. They choose their guardian, and I’m the one this forest picked. It’s not a decision, it’s a bond.”

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