Page 45 of Tempt

“Christ. We’d been in the Peaks for only a hot minute, and that’s all the credit you gave me? I enjoyed spying on your dragonfly disco, like I enjoyed you bathing in the courtyard, like I enjoyed you shooting a moment ago.”

“I thought you didn’t watch me in the pool.”

“I didn’t. And I did. Take your pick.”

“Hunting for my weaknesses?”

“Confirming your strengths—and the span of your hips.” He traces her curves with the tip of his bow, moving it like a drawing pencil. “I like your hips.”

She nocks her weapon. “Do you like your scalp right where it is?”

A smirk leaks from his voice. “Aim south. I dare you.”

“I’d rather aim for that husk you call a brain. It matters more to you.”

“More than my cock? Maybe true. Possibly true. Likewise, I’d say you value your own brain more than your target skills. On the other hand, both are equally impressive.”

“Was that a compliment?” Truly, the statement surprises Wonder, especially when it curls like a tease, on the precipice of a chuckle. She rectifies the situation by clearing her throat and gesturing to his weapon. “Why wood archery?”

Malice sets his longbow against the tree and stalks toward her, the hydrangea of dawn slashing across his countenance. “Because it burns,” he says. “Why quartz?”

“Because it doesn’t,” she replies.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sings, halting an inch from her. “Heat resistant, it might be, but everything has its limits.”

“Because it heals.”

Her amendment crinkles his brow. He glances past her, reflectively. “That must be nice.”

Wonder dodges him, slipping around his body. Divesting herself of weaponry, she sets it beside his own and scales the nearest tree. Elevated a few yards above him, she hooks her limbs over a branch and hangs upside down, her hair unraveling like a banner.

She cannot say why she has always fancied this position. Perhaps viewing the world from an inverted angle makes addressing serious topics bearable.

Amusement springs across Malice’s face. It turns out, he’s a good climber, settling on the branch below her, where he reclines against the trunk. He sprawls one leg along the bark and bends the other.

They study one another, until Wonder says, “I can see up your nostrils, dearest.”

“So immature," he observes. “You should be more worried that I can see up your shirt.”

Her thighs stiffen over the offshoot, then go limp as she reminds herself the blouse is tucked into the pants. “You shall never get that lucky.”

“Let’s say your honesty this morning won me over. Ask me what you’re dying to know. You only get one question, so make it a good one. Choose your ‘What the fuck’ carefully.”

“Also, I have never had the misfortune to know someone this condescending.”

“Why, thank you.”

What are your nightmares about? Who do they feature? How much does this legend mean to you?

“Does it hurt?” Wonder asks. “Does it hurt when you scream?”

Malice startles. “Not what I expected.”

Neither had she. The tint of morning trickles through the foliage, freckling the grass.

His jaw flexes. “You shouldn’t have barged in.”

“Let me guess. Your malevolent ego doesn’t want anyone seeing you like that.”

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