Page 6 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

How could someone that tall and that muscular disappear quite so easily, Sylvie wondered as Thorn disappeared into the surrounding bushes without a trace, the leaves barely rippling behind him. Her gaze lingered on the spot a moment longer before she shook herself, adjusted her backpack, and started walking again. Her ankles were a little stiff but they loosened up as she walked.

The day was just as pleasant, the forest just as magical, but this time her attention wasn’t focused quite as much on her surroundings as it had been previously. Thoughts of the big—annoying—sexy—annoying—satyr kept running through her head. The feel of his big hands on her waist seemed to linger, making her skin feel unusually sensitive.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. If you’ve seen one big, growly monster, you’ve seen them all.

It sounded good in theory, but she wasn’t entirely sure that it was true. Not many Others lived in her city, but there were enough that she’d passed them on the street, or seen them as guests at some of the events she’d coordinated. They’d rangedfrom minotaurs to orcs to dragons, but she’d never had quite that same reaction to one before.

When he’d hauled her up, and she stumbled against him, she’d felt the weirdest combination of safety and arousal. Part of her had just wanted to nestle into his arms, and the other part had wanted to climb him like a tree. And some climbing would have definitely been involved, given the difference in their heights.

Then again, I’ve always been good at climbing trees.

She laughed at her wayward thoughts, then did her best to concentrate on her surroundings. A short time later, she discovered a perfect circle of gleaming white toadstools. A fairy circle. She snapped some pictures, then paused there for a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the elusive creatures. But aside from a faint sparkle that seemed to linger in the air, no one appeared, and she finally gave up and moved on.

But it wasn’t only the magical elements of the forest that enthralled her. She managed to capture an image of a fawn and its mother, curled up together beneath some bushes, resting during the heat of the day. A jay who squawked as she approached and sailed off into the canopy in a flash of blue. The plant life was just as impressive, with a number of rare and endangered species flourishing in this protected environment.

By the time the afternoon shadows were slanting through the trees, she was tired but happy, almost overwhelmed by the number of enchanting images she’d captured. She found another stream, slightly larger this time, with a mossy clearing alongside it large enough for her tent.

After a careful inspection to make sure there were no more of those sneaky purple vines around, she pitched her tent. Moreaccurately, she attempted to pitch her tent. The supposedly foolproof pop-up tent was not in fact foolproof, and it took several tries before it seemed relatively stable.

Thorn would probably have had it up in two seconds, she thought ruefully, then shook her head. She doubted satyrs actually needed tents. Just because he had that air of unshakable confidence didn’t mean that he was capable of everything. He would probably have been just as befuddled, she told herself firmly.

Her next task was building a fire. She gathered up all the dead branches she could find, and managed to use her cute little axe to chop them into smaller pieces. Mostly. It was a lot harder than she’d imagined, but she didn’t chop off any of her fingers, so overall she considered the process a success. She piled the chopped branches into the rough teepee suggested by her survival manual, and then tried to light the fire.

Ten frustrated minutes later, she gave up. Either the match would go out before she even got it under the pile of wood, or she’d get it under there and it would immediately go out, or she’d try holding it to the little clump of tinder and end up burning her fingers. She finally sat back with a disgusted sigh and decided she really didn’t need a hot meal. It was summer after all.

She’d just have to hope that one of her freeze-dried meals would still dehydrate, even in cold water. Remembering some other advice from the survival manual, she moved a little way upstream to fill her water jug before carrying it back to the camp.

To her delight, the fire was actually burning when she returned. Apparently one of her matches had continued to smolder and started the fire after all. Excellent. She pulled out her little folding grill and carefully positioned it over the fire, keepingher fingers crossed that she didn’t manage to put it out in the process, and then started boiling a pan of water over the flames.

While it was heating, she went to put her pretty flowered sleeping bag into her tent. She unzipped the door a little cautiously, afraid of knocking the tent over, but found it was sturdier than she’d realized.

I guess I’m not so bad at the survival stuff after all, she thought triumphantly.

Even hot, her meal turned out to be considerably less appetizing than it had appeared on the package. Although it was called chicken and dumplings, she didn’t find anything that was recognizable as either chicken or dumplings. But it was warm and filling, and she filled up any empty spaces with a chocolate chip protein bar.

She sat by the fire a little longer, going through the shots of the day, and adding her favorites to a separate folder. She couldn’t help wishing she’d managed to get a few shots of Thorn, even though his image was still engraved on her memory. Perhaps if she ran into him again…

Which is not likely to happen, she told herself firmly. The forest was too large for random encounters. She finished reviewing the pictures and settled back by the fire, but as she sat there, she became aware of just how dark the night was outside the ring of firelight. She was used to streetlights and headlights, brightly illuminated store signs and the glow from apartment windows. It didn’t help that she kept having the feeling that she was being watched.

The surrounding forest was full of mysterious sounds that only added to her unease. There were odd little rustles in the bushes.A chorus of chirps from some unknown insect. The occasional shriek of what she hoped was an owl. It was all a little more unnerving than she’d anticipated, and she finally decided that she might as well have an early night. Not because she was afraid, of course, but she’d had a long day.

She climbed into her tent and stripped down to her cami and matching panties before crawling into her sleeping bag. It wasn’t really cold, but there was something comforting about having it wrapped around her. Unfortunately, the mysterious night sounds continued. In fact they seemed to grow even louder in the darkness outside the tent, and her imagination went into overdrive.

She sometimes listened to a recording of nature sounds before she went to sleep, but the recording was far more soothing than reality. The memory of the recording gave her an idea and she pulled out her phone. She still didn’t have a signal, but she searched through her downloaded playlists for something soothing. Settling on an old favorite, she plugged in her earbuds and eventually drifted off to the sound of John Denver singing Take Me Home.

The next morning she was awake before the sun rose. The location on the mossy bank had helped, but sleeping on the ground was certainly not the most comfortable thing she had ever done. Still, it meant she could get an early start. She yawned and stretched, then climbed back out of her tent.

The pale grey light of pre-dawn gave a mysterious air to the forest, a slight mist drifting around the base of the trees. A serene hush surrounded her and she took a deep breath, the previous night’s nerves seeming foolish now. She retrieved her camera and took several shots of the misty morning before turning to more practical matters.

It didn’t seem worth bothering to fight with the fire again, so she went downstream to attend to her morning needs and then back upstream to gather some more water. She poured some of it into her metal mug with the Rather Be Camping motto and stirred in a packet of instant vanilla latte, trying to convince herself that it would be like iced coffee. It wasn’t, but it was close enough.

By the time she’d finished the coffee and another protein bar, the sun was above the horizon. Time to get moving.

She pushed aside the door flap of her tent, then gave a startled scream. Someone was standing in the middle of her tent—a short someone with a bald head, a long bulbous nose, and a ragged assortment of clothing. He hissed at her when she screamed, and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet in the process. She felt herself falling, but before she hit the ground, two huge muscular arms caught her. A wild, intoxicating scent surrounded her and even before she looked up, she knew it was Thorn.

CHAPTER 4

Once again, Thorn found himself with an armful of warm, soft, sweet-smelling human female. And once again, it felt entirely too right to have her there. He quickly put her back on her feet, doing his best not to let his hands linger. Or his eyes.

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