Page 41 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

CHAPTER 21

Sylvie’s fingers trembled as she laced up her boots, the silence of the forest pressing in around them. No playful barks, no thundering paws, no three-headed beast shoving his nose under her hand for attention. The wrongness of it twisted in her gut.

“Bront!” Her voice broke as she called him again. The trees swallowed the sound, offering nothing in return.

Thorn paced the clearing, his powerful body stiff with tension.

“I’m going to track him.”

“I’m coming with you.” She grabbed her camera bag, slinging it across her chest. When his jaw clenched, she lifted her chin. “Don’t even try to stop me. He’s mine too.”

His eyes locked on hers, something fierce and protective flickering in their depths. “If there’s trouble?—”

“I promise I’ll stay back.” She stepped closer, touching his arm. “But I’m not sitting here wondering if you’re both okay.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded once, sharp and quick. “Very well, but stay close. The forest isn’t safe right now.”

She clutched her camera like a lifeline as they set off into the shadowy woods. The weight of it against her chest was familiar, grounding. Maybe she could use it somehow—document evidence if they found the poachers, capture proof of their crimes. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Her heart ached at the thought of sweet, loyal Bront in danger. The massive hound had wormed his way into her heart from the moment he’d found her trapped by the vines. Now it was her turn to help him.

“We’ll find him,” she whispered, half to herself and half to Thorn’s rigid back as he led the way through the underbrush. She had to believe that. Had to hold onto hope, even as worry gnawed at her insides.

She watched him, noticing how his head tilted at the slightest rustle, how his shoulders tensed when branches crackled overhead. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, casting dappled patterns across his broad back. In any other moment, she’d have lifted her camera to capture the play of light and shadow over his powerful body. Now, she kept it close only because its presence steadied her racing thoughts.

“This way,” he said grimly as he paused at a fallen log, brushing his hand across some broken twigs. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating from him.

She drew closer as the forest pressed in around them, simultaneously beautiful and threatening. But with him beside her, reading signs she couldn’t see, the wildness felt less overwhelming.

She automatically reached for his arm to reassure herself. The corded muscle beneath her fingers was solid, real. When he glanced down at her, those green eyes held a fierce protectiveness that made her heart race.

“Stay close,” he murmured, and for once she didn’t tease him about being overprotective. Instead, she nodded, drawing strength from his presence as they walked deeper into the shadowy heart of the woods.

The path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file. She focused on his sure footsteps ahead of her, trusting him to lead them true. His tail flicked back and forth—a tell she’d learned meant he was processing information, tracking something only he could sense.

Her heart leapedinto her throat as a sharp metallic clang cut through the usual sounds of the forest. His hand shot up, his fingers splayed wide, and she froze mid-step. She didn’t need the warning—every muscle in her body had already locked into place.

He crouched down, working his way slowly through the bushes, the leaves barely rustling as he passed. She followed, doing her best to step exactly where he had stepped, to move as quietly. He finally came to a halt and held out a hand to her. She wiggled up beside him and peered through the thick screen of leaves.

A camp sprawled in a small clearing—crude and hastily assembled, but the purpose horribly clear. Her stomach turned at the sight of steel cages stacked against a fallen tree. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke drifted on the breeze, mixing with something darker that made her want to gag.

She looked desperately around the clearing and had to bite back a gasp of dismay. Bront lay trapped beneath a heavy mesh net, the metal threads gleaming dully in the filtered sunlight. His three heads drooped, a soft whine escaping him that made her eyes burn with tears. She’d never seen him look so defeated, so unlike the fierce, joyful creature who’d found her in that snare.

Two men lounged by a smoking fire, their rough laughter carrying across the clearing as they worked at sharpening wicked-looking knives. The steel caught the light with each stroke of stone against blade.

Her hands shook as she lifted her camera, but years of practice steadied her grip. She did her best to document everything—the cruel efficiency of their setup, the stack of empty cages waiting to be filled, the casual cruelty in their postures as they worked. She zoomed in on their faces, making sure they were easily identifiable. Each click of the shutter felt like a promise that they wouldn’t get away with their cruelty.

A tear slid down her cheek as she focused on Bront again. His blue eyes found hers through the leaves, and her chest constricted at the trust she saw there. Even now, bound and hurting, he believed they would save him.

Thorn’s breath warmed her ear as he crouched close, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll distract them. Get to Bront.”

She gripped his arm again, the touch steadied her racing pulse, if only for a moment. His skin burned hot beneath her palm, and she fought the urge to hold on longer. He silently handed her his knife.

“But…”

“I don’t need it.”

His eyes locked with hers, fierce and determined, and she bit back the impulse to argue.

---