Page 13 of Can’t Get No Satyrfaction (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

CHAPTER 13

S ylvie’s mind spun as she tried to process what had just happened. Thorn had taken her up against a tree in the middle of the forest, with the possibility that the poachers were lurking nearby, and she’d loved every minute of it. Her body ached but it was a deeply satisfying ache and when she glanced up and saw him smiling, she couldn’t help but beam back at him.

A flicker of something she couldn’t read crossed his face, and his smile faded.

“We should keep moving.”

“Of course. The cabin.”

She bit back a sigh, but she wasn’t entirely surprised that he was reverting to his previous ways. They had time, and the idea of spending the night in a cozy cabin with him sent a warm flush of pleasure through her. Especially after the way he’d taken her against that tree, hard and dominant, but ever mindful of her pleasure. Her legs trembled a little as she remembered the way his fingers had dug into her hips, the way he’d growled her name as he’d thrust inside her.

She’d had lovers before, but none of them had ever made her feel the way he did. And the way he’d stretched her, the slight burn as he pushed his way inside, that had been a whole new level of pleasure. She wasn’t sure she could even walk straight anymore. Her hand dropped to her stomach as she remembered the way his knot had felt as it swelled inside her. She couldn’t believe how good it had felt, the way it had stretched her to her limit, making her entire body quake as he’d filled her with pulse after pulse of his seed. It felt so right, so perfect, as though they were made for each other.

The path they followed wound through more of the ancient trees, and as they walked, vines began to curl down from the canopy just as they had covered the walls of the shelter, covered with the same small fragrant flowers. It was like walking through soft scented curtains as the vines swirled around them and she gave him a delighted smile.

“This is wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it,” he growled, and she shot him a puzzled look. “The forest is attuned to… me.”

The way he hesitated made her suspect he’d been going to say something else but she didn’t pursue it.

“Then you should feel this way more often,” she teased, reaching for one of the vines. It twined around her fingers in a gentle caress, and he growled again, glaring at the vine. She raised an eyebrow. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, but he was clearly unhappy.

Her stomach churned at the thought that he might be regretting what had happened. She tried to release his hand, but his fingers immediately tightened around hers, not painfully but inescapably. Since she was perfectly happy holding his hand, she stopped trying to pull away.

Confusing male. Or perhaps confused male, she amended, her heart suddenly aching for him. Bront butted his heads against her free hand, and she gently stroked his ears, grateful for the dog’s less complicated affection.

They rounded the last bend in the path and her steps faltered at the sight in front of her. The cabin rose from the forest floor like a living thing, its walls flowing seamlessly from massive tree trunks that must have stood for centuries. But calling it a cabin felt wrong—this was something else entirely. She’d teased him about living in a treehouse and while this was only a few feet above the ground, it had the same feel. Nature itself had been coaxed into creating shelter, living branches woven into intricate patterns to form the walls and roof. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the natural architecture, casting dappled shadows across weathered wood.

Her fingers itched for her camera, wanting to capture the way moss draped like velvet curtains along the curved walls, how delicate pink flowers peeked through trailing vines. The whole structure seemed to pulse with life, as if it might shift and grow while she watched.

Her gaze drifted to him, taking in the powerful lines of his body, the wild grace in his movements. He belonged here, she realized—this magical dwelling was an extension of him, beautiful and untamed and unlike anything she’d ever known.

“This is… yours?” The words came out barely above a whisper, filled with wonder.

His only response was a grunt as he led her up onto a wide porch and pushed open a door that seemed to grow right out of the trunk of an ancient oak. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Bront bounded past them both, his tail wagging with such enthusiasm it made his whole body wiggle. The hound shot her what could only be described as a knowing look before disappearing into the depths of the living house. She followed him, her breath catching at the sight. The interior wrapped around her like a warm embrace, somehow both wild and welcoming. Dried herbs dangled from beams formed from living branches, their subtle fragrance mingling with cedar and woodsmoke. Hand-carved furniture dotted the space—a table that looked like it had grown straight from the floor, chairs with backs that mimicked unfurling ferns.

Her photographer’s eye noticed the unexpected details: a sleek radio nestled among leather-bound books, delicate glass jars filled with what looked like starlight, a worn blanket draped across a huge armchair. Each item told a story about the male who lived here.

That scent though—earth and forest and something distinctly him—made her chest tight with wanting. She lifted her camera, framing the way sunlight spilled across a collection of crystals on the windowsill.

“You can stay here until it’s safe.”

His gruff voice cut through her thoughts. He stood near the door, arms crossed, as if trying to maintain distance even in his own home. Hmm. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that—did that mean he wanted her to go? But he sounded more as if he were trying to convince himself, and she remembered the way his hand had tightened around hers.

Her gaze drifted to the huge bed tucked into an alcove—a gorgeous piece that looked like living branches had woven themselves into the perfect resting place. Her lips curved into a teasing smile as she turned to him.

“At least the bed looks big enough to share.”

His eyes snapped to hers, widening slightly like he hadn’t considered the sleeping arrangements. A flash of heat darkened those green depths before he jerked his gaze away.

“I don’t sleep much.”

She arched an eyebrow at the obvious lie, fighting back a grin. For someone so stoic, he was remarkably bad at deception. She sauntered towards him, taking a great deal of pleasure in the way his eyes heated as she approached.

“There are other uses for a bed, you know.”

He growled and started to reach for her, then his fists clenched and he took another step backwards. So he wanted to pretend that what had happened hadn’t rocked both their worlds. That he hadn’t claimed her with a hunger that still made her knees weak. That she couldn’t still taste him on her tongue and feel the lingering ache of his possession. Fine. She could play that game too.

“Besides,” she said, her tone light, “I’ll probably spend all my time outside. It’s so beautiful here, I want to capture every inch. Your home, this forest, you. Everything.”

His eyes snapped to hers at the last word, and heat flared between them. She held his gaze, letting him see the desire coursing through her. He swallowed hard and then tore his eyes away and she grinned. Point to her.

“On film, of course,” she added innocently as she moved over to the polished wood table and opened her camera bag. She’d dropped it when he backed her against the tree, but fortunately it was well-padded and nothing had been damaged. “I might as well get some shots of the forest while I’m here.”

His head whipped towards her so fast she heard his neck crack. Those green eyes darkened, pupils dilating like a cat’s. “It’s not safe.”

“I thought you were going to deal with the poachers.” She kept her voice light, casual, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.

His jaw clenched, muscles working beneath his beard. For a moment, she thought he might forbid her leaving. But then his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering just long enough to send heat coursing through her veins.

He looked away quickly, but not before she caught the flash of desire in his eyes.

“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered, and finally entered the cabin, moving past her to the fireplace and building a fire with quick, efficient movements.

She paced the cabin’s perimeter, inspecting the smooth curves where branches turned into walls. Everything about the space felt alive, as if the trees themselves had decided to shelter its occupant. When she paused to admire a particularly artful branch, a tiny flower sprang up in a crevice of the branch. A quick glance over the shoulder revealed that he was still bent over the fire. That was interesting. Could the wood be responding to her?

She stroked a careful finger across the delicate petals and the flower released a delicate fragrance. She smiled and continued exploring, finally pausing in front of a shelf lined with leather-bound books. One of them caught her eye—an illustrated guide to local plants, its pages dog-eared and well-worn.

She settled onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa, the book heavy in her lap. The pages fell open to detailed sketches of healing herbs, notes scrawled in the margins in a bold, slanting hand. His handwriting. She traced the letters, imagining his fingers marking these same pages.

But she couldn’t focus on the words. He’d finished with the fire and settled at the table, his big body bent over whatever document he was examining, his shoulders rigid. Her skin tingled with awareness. Every breath felt charged, like the air before a storm. He hadn’t looked at her once since they’d entered the cabin, but she felt his nearness like a physical touch.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything unsaid. Their lovemaking burned in her memory—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the way he’d pressed her against the tree like he couldn’t get close enough.

And now this wall of silence.

She couldn’t take it any longer.

“Having regrets?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice light.

“No!” he burst out immediately, his eyes focusing on her face with that hungry intensity that made her breath catch. “I mean…”

“You mean what?”

She put the book aside and went to join him, moving as cautiously as if she were approaching a wounded animal. His fists were clenching again, as if he were trying to prevent himself from reaching for her. She laid a careful hand on his arm, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles beneath his smooth skin.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said finally, his gaze fixed on her hand on his arm. “Not until you know… everything.”

“What do I need to know?” she asked softly, sliding into the chair beside him. She wanted to be closer, but sensed he needed the illusion of distance.

“About me.” His voice was hoarse, strained.

Her fingers tightened on his arm and she waited, holding her breath.

“I’m a satyr.”

He said the words as if they were torn from him and she blinked. That… was not what she’d been expecting.

“I know.”

“That means that when we claim a mate, it’s for life.” His tortured gaze met hers. “Humans do not do that.”

“Some of them do,” she said carefully, but he was already shaking his head.

“It’s not the same. You—my mate would be everything to me.”

Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. Was that why he was holding back? Because he was worried that she would leave him? His eyes dropped to her neck, and she ran her finger over the spot where he’d nipped at her skin, the pieces suddenly coming together.

“Is this how you claim a mate?”

“It’s the traditional place for a claiming bite.”

His eyes were still fixed on that same spot.

“But you didn’t give me one?”

It wasn’t really a question but he shook his head anyway.

“No. I wouldn’t do that without your permission. I mean, without my mate’s permission,” he amended rapidly but she knew exactly who he meant.

Was she ready for that? Her heart whispered yes, but her mind wasn’t quite as sure. As strong as the connection was between them, they really hadn’t known each other very long.

“Does not being mated mean you can’t… enjoy each other?” she whispered.

He growled and started to reach for her, then slammed back his chair as he hurried to stand.

“I need to check on the poachers. Stay in the cabin. Please,” he added when she frowned.

“Okay”

The word was barely out of her mouth before he’d disappeared through the door, his hooves surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor.

“Be careful,” she called after him, then sighed and looked over at Bront, sprawled on the floor in front of the fire.

“Is he fighting me? Or himself?”

All three heads just gave her a soulful look, and she smiled and returned to the couch, picking up her book again. But even as she read, she found herself listening for his return.