She untied her catch with a satisfied smile. Squatting down, she pulled out her skinning knife and made quick work of both rabbits, one for dinner, the other to attempt a rabbit jerky. Then again, the pair was lean without much in the way of meat, and she was ravenous. Fresh air and exercise did that to her. Maybe both were destined to hit the plate for supper.
She changed knives to butcher the meat, reserving the feet she had left intact.
“For luck,” she said aloud, setting them aside.
The late chatter of birds eager to finish their conversations trilled in the trees, a pleasant sound along with the quiver of leaves that were no doubt happy to shrug off what had been an interesting winter. Storms had roiled early on, heralding what many thought would be an apocalyptic, even dangerous, season. Suddenly, the winter had gone mild and whispered its way into spring.
The occasional shuffle of playful squirrels kept Harper company while she worked. Some people preferred to camp with the comforts and distractions of home, firing up radios or televisions, perhaps blocking out the sounds of nature with headphones. But this was all the music she needed to feel right at home.
“Isn’t that right, Dad?” she asked aloud, her quiet smile fading slowly. On his visitation weekends, while other girls in town were getting their nails done and planning outfits to attract boys, her father was teaching her to hunt and track. He had not been a talkative man, nor a particularly demonstrative one. Camping and hunting was how he communicated, and luckily, she had gotten the message that he loved her before he died.
By the time she got her meat prepared, the afternoon was slipping away. Her knees and back ached from her cave woman posture. There was an unpleasant stickiness on her hands, and when she used the back of a forearm to brush an escaped strand of hair from her eyes, she made a face.
“You’ve smelled better,” she announced.
She glanced upward. Trees stretched toward the sky in a more or less perfect circle around her, leaving enough room for her small campsite and a decent view of the sky, which was a requirement for those who liked to sleep under the stars. Or in her case, sleep under a small tent with a ceiling flap that gave her a skylight view.
The sky still held a tinge of afternoon blue, but the brilliant shade was rapidly dulling to the flat, deep shade of twilight. She rose, her knees protesting the effort, and stiffly grabbed the water jug to give her hands a cursory rinse. Inside her tent, she rummaged for a change of clothing and a towel before heading back to the lake.
The earth was still when she approached the water, and a tingling at the back of her neck made her turn around. Nothing was there. She was just feeling paranoid about being discovered, unlikely though that was. She rarely saw anyone up here. Still, she spent a good minute scanning the area, still feeling that tingling, but finding nothing to explain the sensation of being watched. She peeled off her clothes and tiptoed to the water, clenching her jaw when she dipped her foot in.
Spring had sprung, but the evidence of a winter that had begun harshly was evident in the chill of the water. Summer camping was better for swimming, but this dip was more of a survival mission. If she didn’t wash the blood and sweat off herself, she might not live through an entire night sharing a tent with the ripe aroma.
Holding her breath, she waded in, feeling the cold bite into her skin. She didn’t duck her head under, but the rest of her got a quick submersion up to the shoulder. She stood facing the bank, scrubbing harder in some places than others, while she kept an eye on her surroundings. The feeling of a presence was still there, of some woodland something or other watching her. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes tracing a line around the lake. Nothing was there.
A small rustle turned her back around, but it was just a small twig falling into the water. Why was she being so paranoid? She’d camped alone plenty of times before. The only times she thought she was being watched was at night, around the campfire, when she smiled up at the stars and imagined her dad smiling back down. Nonetheless, she cut the bath short.
“That’s clean enough, I think,” she said, wading out of the water. She reached for the towel she’d hooked over the now-empty branch and frowned. The towel was missing.
“What the hell?”
Where had it gone? For that matter, where were the clothes she’d draped over the same branch? She searched the ground and the area around her, but there was no sign of her things.
Shivering, water drops flicking every which way and her feet growing dirty all over again, she raced back to camp. Ducking inside the tent, she grabbed a blanket to dry herself with. She was halfway into pulling on a spare pair of jeans when the soft snap of a twig outside stopped her short.
That feeling of being observed hadn’t been paranoia after all.
She yanked clothes on faster, wishing for the reassuring weight of the knife that had been sheathed on the belt that was also missing. She had other knives, however. Outside.
Harper stood for a moment, wondering whether she really wanted to leave the tent. Just because she’d never encountered anyone in this part of the forest before didn’t mean she wasn’t vulnerable. All her weapons were out there, and someone could be helping themselves to them right at that moment. Damn it. Why hadn’t she kept something inside the tent?
She stood there, frozen, listening for any more sounds to feed the rising panic. Meanwhile, her eyes darted around the dim light of the tent, searching for something she could use to defend herself.
Her eyes landed on something, and she made a silent grab for it. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t stand here all night, too afraid to venture out. In any case, she wasn’t truly safer inside a thin nylon tent than she would be by stepping out of it.
“Whatever you’re doing out there, stop it right now,” she called out, wishing she could stop shaking. She hefted the weight of the flashlight in her hand. “I’m armed.”
She stopped and listened again, feeling foolish. Maybe an animal had run off with her clothes, lining a den for its young. She breathed a sigh. Yes, that had to be it.
To her horror, she heard a man’s deep voice in reply. “Fair enough,” he said, and her mouth fell open. “I surrender.”
***
Tallisun waited, wondering what manner of weapon the woman had trained on him and whether she could unleash it before even setting foot out of the tent. Perhaps it would be wise to declare his intentions before he earned an arrow or bullet for his efforts. He set her garments on an old canvas folding stool and paused beside a ring of stones surrounding a campfire that had not yet been stoked for the night.
The whim to steal her clothing had been foolhardy, truly. He had been possessed of a touch of his mother’s spirit, no doubt, when the trickster in him had grabbed the pile and ducked into the woods to watch her reaction. Why the blazes had he done it? He’d been curious when he first followed her back to her camp, and admittedly impressed when he’d watched her skin a pair of conies with skillful, and yet delicate, hands. What had truly thrown him was when he’d trailed her back to the water, where she’d pulled off her garments before he could blink.
Perhaps he was a god who normally visited the earth while invisible to its inhabitants, but spying on bathing women wasn’t his style. He hadn’t meant to keep staring when she’d spun around, gloriously naked and displaying every inch of bare flesh to him, but how could he tear his eyes away from such perfection? The swollen rounds of her breasts, creamy and inviting, had bobbed so seductively, glistening in the water and lifting slightly when she raised her arms. Then came the pear-shaped beauty where her waist flared out to the sweet temptation of her bare ass. And there was the triangle of dark curls pointing the way to a place his cock was destined to explore on a woman before the sun set on Ostara.
Beautiful or no, she had distracted him from the hunt and cost him his kill. Not to mention he’d suffered the horror of nearly killing a woman. So he’d had a sudden and irresistible urge to exact a bit of payback for her intrusion.
&nb
sp; She had sensed him there, when she had been bathing in the lake. He could see it in the nervous flick of her gaze and constant tossing of glances over her shoulder. She knew, even though he had tied the veil pendant back on to hide himself, that something was amiss. Perhaps she had a hunter’s instincts after all. And now she knew he was in her camp, and her fear was evident in the quiver of her voice. She assumed he had something far more sinister in mind than returning the items he shouldn’t have taken in the first place.
He needn’t have replied when she’d called out. He still had the pendant on, and even if she emerged from hiding, he would make a most difficult target while invisible. He could have just returned her items and gone. Still, guilt nagged at him not just for the claiming of her garments, but the expression on her face when she had realized they were gone. He had laughed to himself when he first squirreled her clothing away, but she had appeared genuinely frightened, and for good reason. He had not seen any other humans out here, which was why he chose the spot for his own sport. No doubt she felt very much exposed, and not because she had been naked. The hunter had become the hunted. If he did not confess, explain his crime, she would spend the rest of the night—if she remained at all—in fear for her life. While perhaps a few moments of reflection might be deserved after stumbling carelessly in front of his arrow, a night of ongoing terror was something else entirely.
With a sigh, he removed the pendant once again. Revealing himself to a human, one who was conscious and able to see him, was not generally done. Still, he knew no other way to assure her the woods were not full of men who meant her ill.
Before he could speak another word, the flap of the tent was shoved back, and she emerged, wide-eyed and gaping. The weapon she’d declared was a long, heavy-looking flashlight, an item he knew from times spent in woods where humans sometimes tread. It was not dangerous, so far as he knew, but it might hurt if she managed to strike. She would never get close enough, though. Either way, she was no match for his bow nor any of the knives that lay within his quick reach.
She tried to speak, swallowed, and shook her head. He watched as she took in every inch of him, lingering on the tribal tattoo curving from one shoulder around his bicep and up over half of his bare chest. Dark eyes dipped down as she checked out his leggings and moccasins, and he hoped she didn’t noticed the twitch when that gaze had dared sweep over his groin for a brief, but agonizing moment.
“What the hell,” she murmured, her gaze landing on the most conspicuous part of him after touring the rest. He did not dress in the vogue of humans, and his golden brown eyes, much like his father’s, did not pass as entirely normal in this realm. But the rack of antlers jutting out from his head decreed quite prominently that he was had no place there, at least none outside the duty for which he was running late to attend.
“What kind of costume is that?” she asked, taking another quick sweep before returning to his head.
“Costume?”
“Are those attached to some kind of headband?” She tilted her head a bit, changing the angle of her view.
“They are not.”
“Well, they’re obviously fake. They have to be attached somehow.”
He gave a short laugh and considered going along with her. But no. He couldn’t pass for human with or without antlers. “I can assure you that they are quite real.”
For one more night, at least. After he mated with the spring maiden, they would come loose and shed. A new set would begin growing within a month.
“I wanted to apologize for my little joke,” he went on, nodding to the garments he had laid aside. “I realize it was poorly timed and has caused you distress.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me naked.” She lifted the flashlight as she spoke, pointing it at him in accusation.
“Not on purpose. It was only my intention to follow you. I had no idea you were about to take off your garments.”
Her pouty lips twisted into a frown. “So you accidentally saw me naked because you were stalking me?”
“Yes. No,” he corrected when he saw her expression. He chuffed out a breath. “I wouldn’t have been following you at all if you hadn’t almost gotten yourself killed.”
The eyes popped wide. “What are you talking about?”
“Earlier, by the lake, you came out of nowhere and scared off a stag. Remember?”
She nodded. “So?”
“I had that animal in my sights. You almost took an arrow because you got between my prey and my bow. You didn’t hear it hit a tree branch went I sent it wide at the last minute?”
The implication sunk in, judging by the way her mouth fell open. “No.” She eyed him. “So am I supposed to thank you for not shooting me? Or did you follow me for some other reason?”
“Following you was an impulse. I was curious.” He lifted his chin. “And I was a bit annoyed about you chasing off my kill, so I confess I found hiding your clothes an amusing idea at the time. I thought it might make us even.”
She folded her arms, the flashlight still clutched tight in one hand. “Since you scared the hell out of me, I’d say we’re more than even.” She stared at his face. “Are those contacts?”
“What?”
“Your eyes. They’re sort of a golden color.”
“Yes, I know. I have seen them before.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tallisun.”
“That’s quite a name. I’m Harper.”
He flashed a grin, and she scowled. “What’s so funny about my name, Tallisun?”
“Where I am from, there are tales of harpies who look like women from the waist up, except they have wings and the talons of birds of prey.”
“My name is Harper, not harpy. And where I’m from, grown men don’t run around wearing antlers and stealing women’s clothes.” She narrowed her gaze. “Just where are you from, anyway?”
“Nearer than most humans think.”
“Most humans? Funny how you make that sound like you’re not one of them.”
“Pull on my antlers.”
That earned him a scornful laugh. “Like I’ve never heard a man drop that line before.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “You have met men with antlers before?”
“Not quite, but I know your type.”
Now it was his turn to fold his arms. “Do you indeed? By all means, enlighten me. What is my ‘type’?”
“You’re gorgeous and built, so you obviously take care of yourself to impress women. And you think you can steal my clothes, smile that ‘I’m-a-hunk’ smile, and I’ll fall all over you. Hell, women probably fall all over each other trying to pull on your horns.”
The smile that apparently irritated her grew wider with each word. “Though I am considered a horned god, they are technically more akin to antlers than horns.”
“I’m not so sure. I’d say you have a bit of devil in you.”
“You paint quite a picture of me. I am not certain I can live up to it.”
“Don’t bother trying. I’m not your average woman.”
“That you most certainly are not.”
Their eyes connected, and they stood that way, staring at one another, long enough for his pulse to quicken. No, Harper was not like other women. She was a hunter, a beauty, and possessed of a rather amusing wit. If he could, she would be the perfect choice to join him in bringing forth the rites of spring. And he would do it with her fully aware of him every step of the way.
His heart wobbled at that. Why couldn’t he? There was no law saying he couldn’t choose the spring maiden. He had simply never had an interest. But how to present his cause? He normally had only to speak to the females long enough to obtain consent for the act of ritual joining—and that was often done with them half asleep. On occasion, he had to ask two or even three women before getting their consent. But once he had it, they were unaware of his actions.
“I have a proposal,” he heard himself say, and he winced at
the words. He could hope for a persuasive and compelling speech, but he had the feeling he wasn’t going to get his wish so readily.
***
Harper listened to the words, her brows raised, wondering how she’d managed to bump into such an unstable man. What must have happened to him to make him disavow belonging to the entire human species?
Tallisun, if that was his real name, was the most attractive man she’d met in a long time, and how crazy was that? His looks didn’t matter, though, only the fact that he was clearly disturbed. He thought he was a god—the god of some spring sabbat—and he wanted her help with a pagan ritual to make spring official. Ha! She bet he did. No doubt he’d lured women in with this speech before. How many “spring maidens” had he conned into bed with his fake horns and golden contact lenses? Or maybe they weren’t fooled at all, but they just didn’t care. He was certainly gorgeous enough to contemplate doing all sorts of rituals with.
What would he do when she turned him down? Her eyes kept flicking to the bow and quiver sticking up behind him, as well as her knives that were closer to him than she would like. What if he didn’t give her a choice about this “ritual”? Then again, if he had plans to harm her, he could have done so already. He could have taken advantage of her when she’d been naked in the lake. Or he could have barged right into her tent and overpowered her. Her head only came up to his chin, and those muscles, well, there was no question who would win in a struggle. So maybe he would go away quietly when she turned him down. She just had to make sure to do it politely, so as not to agitate him.
“Well, I must say I’m flattered,” she said, trying on a smile. “And of course it’s tempting. But I’m afraid I’m not up to such an honor.”
His head cocked. “You are not being sincere.” He took a step closer. “You do not believe me.”
She backed away. “No, it’s not that at all. It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Pull on my antlers.”
“We went through that already.”
“I will make you see that I’m telling the truth.” He reached up and pulled them himself. “See? Try.”
Tallisun: God of Ostara (Sons of Herne, #3) Page 2
