Page 29 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
“That’s it,” I breathe. “Follow my voice.”
He coughs harshly and turns his head with a groan. Color seeps back into his lips. The cords in his throat loosen. Another breath, deeper. Then another. His lashes flutter. His beautiful green eyes open and find me, dazed and fierce all at once.
“Hey,” I choke out, laughing and crying. “Took your time.”
His mouth crooks. “Bossy,” he whispers, his voice raw.
He lifts his hand and clumsily brushes a lock of my hair away from my face. “It’s shorter,” he murmurs, his voice full of wonder and relief.
I laugh, half a sob. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it,” he says, and the way he sayslovemakes my bones melt.
I press my forehead to his. “We’re free, Brannock. I can feel it. It’s over.”
He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “No, princess. It’s just beginning.”
Chapter 13
Brannock
I wrap my arms around Rapunzel as she stands in the window with the moonlight on her face. Her hair rises like a tide, and the living vines answer, uncoiling from the sill, testing the air, then braiding themselves into a wide, green ribbon.
“Ready?” I murmur against her temple.
“I am and I’m not. Catch me if I faint.”
“Always.”
We climb over the sill together. The vine cradles our weight and lowers us slowly. The tower stones glide past. I see claw marks from the roots; the ghost of Rapunzel’s old life etched into the mortar. A second vine slides across our backs like a safety bar. A third loops her hair into a tidy knot at the nape of her neck so it won’t dangle.
“Someone’s showing off,” I rumble.
She beams at me. “Isn’t it amazing?”
I laugh softly. “Yes, you are.”
We drift below the branches, then into them. The leaves shiver as the canopy parts like a curtain. Fireflies gather like lanterns on strings. The ground rises to meet us, the moss as thick as a mattress, and fern fronds extend like helpful hands.
Rapunzel’s feet touch the earth for the first time.
The vines loosen and slide away, pausing long enough to squeeze her waist in what looks like a hug. She presses her palm to the warm soil, and the forest hums under her hand. Straightening, she looks up at the tower, her expression hard to read.
“You okay?”
“No. Yes.” She grimaces. “I may throw up.”
I thread my fingers through hers, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. “We can breathe now.”
She does, pulling the sweet-scented air deep into her lungs.
A nosy squirrel creeps down a branch to get a look at the escaped prisoners. A willow swishes its slender branches, and the squirrel scampers off.
“We’re going to need a little privacy,” she tells the trees.
I frown. “For what?”
Her violet eyes darken with lust, and her cheeks flush with color. “Because I’m about to climb you like that tower.”
