Page 44 of Tempt

She yanks the strap back in place. But it only encourages his gaze to detour, an excursion down her unkempt locks, then continuing across the satin plains of her sleepwear before making a return trip, ascending to the freesias at the crooks of her eyes.

She cannot remember a time when Malice has ever been this quiet. No snarls or sarcasm.

“I’m telling you this because of the nightmares,” she says. “Because nightmares are usually about fears or guilt or injuries. Whatever’s plaguing you, it’s feeding on your soul, and don’t get me started on what it’s doing to your sanity. I cannot embark fully on this mission if your capriciousness keeps getting in the way—not when you consider this quest a mutual abduction, and not with you ruining my sleep. If you recover your heart, perhaps success shall reward you with a piece of…of whomever you used to be before those nightmares.

“This isn’t a merciful or kindly gesture. It’s a pragmatic one, so don’t get fussy about it. There, I’ve done my duty and told you,” she finishes. “It’s your choice whether to believe it or not, but I don’t have time to sit around and wait. I have my own priorities to hack through.”

Wonder exits the room and rushes to her dorm. She needs to peel these garments from her skin before she does something stupid like trace the satin contours. Fates, it’s like he’s cosmically bound himself to the material so that she can feel his stare all over her.

She rips off the camisole and pants, then gets dressed in a hurry, choosing fresh harem pants and a customary off-the-shoulder blouse. To complete the look, she affixes her ponytail with a chrysanthemum.

At last, she harnesses her archery. Dangers abound outdoors, as they do indoors. Nevertheless, she selects one peril over another, because research can wait.

In other words, she needs air.

Inside the palm of the valley’s woodland, the repository bridges the distance between the heavens and the underworld. Beeches climb into the hemisphere while their roots thread into the grass, the environment half celestial landmark, half sylvan shrine. It’s of the sky, earth, and soil.

Pausing beneath the arcade of gnarled branches and leaves etched in amethyst, Wonder indulges in a deep, spectral breath. And the instant she steps into the woodland, her mood improves. Even a goddess needs a hiatus, or a holiday, or at least a siesta.

Caution first. A month of spiritual withdrawal though it may be, breaking curfew for a brief session of merrymaking is a minor infraction. Someone might partake in a stroll, a gallivant, or a tumble. She stands vigil, scanning the vicinity for signs of frolics or escapades: the tinkle of a deity’s voice, chimerical laughter or moans, the crackle of bracken, or the twang of a bowstring.

There’s nothing but the serene drone of adolescent dragonflies, glowing creatures that flit through the boughs, their organza wings vibrating. Soon enough, they will grow larger than she. For now, they’re content to hunt pollen and chase dawn’s starlight.

Wonder hikes along one of her favorite trails, which winds into the mystic netting of brambles and lithesome blooms. Her stomach grumbles, because it’s been a while since her last proper nourishment. On the way, she collects a sprig of edible crocuses, nibbling on the tart stems, the purple petals releasing sugar on her tongue.

A glade of lilac florals and lavender toadstools spreads before her, the area encased in willow drapes and canopied by climbable offshoots. A brook carves through the soil, water bubbling over stones and feeding blackberry shrubs.

Whenever not perched on the hyacinth hill, she’d made bookish camps here, as an archeress-in-training. Life was simple then, though not nearly as rich.

Wonder sets her eyes on a knot in one of the tree trunks. It’s hardly a challenge, especially from so few paces away, but she’s not in the mood to be picky. Nocking her bow, she cranks her arm and lets a quartz arrow fly. The tip slams into the bark and vanishes in a splash of light, the weapon reappearing in her quiver.

After a few rounds, she feels secure and isolated enough to challenge herself. She spins and shoots, targeting the same spot while in motion. The dragonflies play along, offering themselves as kinetic hindrances, cavorting around her in an attempt to thwart her aim. Laughing, she whirls among them while striking her mark.

She looses a final arrow. It whistles, slicing the air.

The sound doubles just as another projectile shears past her, torqueing from behind. It punctures the willow, landing beside her arrow to the very second.

Wonder has enough time to register the turkey fletching as it vanishes. Whipping around, she aims her bow at the dark figure slouched against a willow’s column. A nebula of golden hair caps his murky silhouette as he taps the swan’s neck of a longbow against his hip.

Fates. If his relaxed posture after taking that shot is any indication, he moves with stealth.

She has often admired that choice of hickory for his weapons. The rustic appearance is modest, a deceptive contrast to its power.

The demon god watches her. There’s something compelling about the obscurity of his features, screened off despite the break of morning. Against her better judgment, this encounter reminds her of fairytale scenes between a heroine and a villain, that first inciting incident when they meet. The prospect sends a tingle through her navel.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Staring at you,” he murmurs. “Call me a voyeur, but it’s becoming a hobby. I watched you party with the dragonflies on the night we got here.”

“You were following me?” She plants her fists on her hips. “You rascal. Why didn’t you announce yourself? What were you waiting for? A smoke signal? For all I knew, you’d landed in enemy hands, on the other side of the dale.”

“Having dropped into Joy’s bed, maybe?”

Wonder goes rigid. She’d had that exact thought upon their arrival. “Are you clairvoyant?”

“If I were, you’d know it. I’d give you so much shit for everything flitting through your perky skull.”

“You could have misdirected yourself.”

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