Page 16 of Can’t Get No Satyrfaction (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)
CHAPTER 16
O nce again Thorn drifted awake to a gentle weight pressed against his chest, Sylvie’s soft curves molded to his body like she belonged there. The thought of waking without her caused an almost physical pain in his chest, and his arms tightened fractionally around her slender frame, needing to keep her close. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat echoed through him, matching the pulse of the forest beyond the walls.
Something deep inside his chest cracked open—an ache he’d thought long buried beneath years of isolation and duty. The feeling squeezed around his heart, both tender and painful. Her gentle breaths ghosted across his skin, stirring emotions he’d sworn never to feel again.
But it’s too late . He might not have physically marked her, but he had claimed her nonetheless. The warmth of her skin against his felt like coming home—a sensation he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now.
He wanted to tell her that he didn’t care that she was human. That he didn’t want to live without her. He swallowed hard and she stirred, murmuring something in her sleep. Her fingers curled against his chest and the words died on his tongue. Not yet. She needed her rest. And he needed time to find the right way to say it.
And yet—his chest tightened as memories of his sister flooded back—her gentle smile, her broken spirit after the human had betrayed her, the light fading from her eyes. What would she think of him now, wrapped around a human as if the past meant nothing? His jaw clenched until pain shot through his temples.
He had avenged her, of course. The males who had hurt had disappeared into the swamp, never to be seen again. He felt no remorse about their deaths, but neither had they served to purge his hatred.
Years of carefully constructed walls, of keeping humans at a safe distance—all undone by one small photographer with too much curiosity and not enough fear. The thought burned like acid in his gut. He’d sworn never to trust their kind again, to remember the lesson written in his sister’s tears.
Sylvie murmured something unintelligible in her sleep, nuzzling closer. Her small hand moved to its favorite position on his chest, right over his thundering heart. The simple trust in that unconscious gesture made his breath catch. How had she slipped past his defenses so easily? When had her smile become something he looked forward to instead of something to guard against?
And how could he move forward with the guilt of the past still holding him down?
He sighed, then carefully eased his arm from beneath her head, freezing when she shifted in her sleep. Her fingers clutched at his chest for a moment before falling away. The loss of contact left an ache he refused to acknowledge.
He slid from the bed, careful not to disturb the blankets. Morning light filtered through the woven branches of his roof, casting dappled shadows across her peaceful face and striking fiery sparks in her auburn hair. The sight of her there—so trusting, so vulnerable—squeezed something deep in his chest.
One step back. Then another. But his hooves wouldn’t carry him further. She looked so right there, curled in his bed as if she belonged. His fingers twitched with the urge to brush that errant strand of hair from her cheek, to trace the curve of her jaw.
The bed creaked as she rolled into the warm space he’d left, seeking his heat even in sleep. Her small hand reached across the empty sheets, and his throat tightened. Every instinct screamed at him to return, to gather her close and breathe in her sweet scent.
Instead, he forced himself to turn away. The forest needed him. His duty called. These stolen moments with her were just that—stolen. Temporary. She had her world, he had his. The sooner he accepted that, the better. Claiming her fully was an impossible dream.
But he couldn’t just leave. Not yet.
He filled the iron kettle with fresh spring water and set it on the back of the stove, then filled an open pan to make porridge. The familiar motions should have calmed him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the little female asleep in his bed. He selected mint and other herbs from his mother’s old herb box, measuring it into the teapot with practiced care. The scent mingled with woodsmoke, but couldn’t mask the lingering sweetness of her scent in the air.
The porridge needed stirring. He added a pinch of salt and some dried berries he’d gathered last autumn. Why was he fussing over her breakfast? She wasn’t staying. Couldn’t stay. But his hands betrayed him, reaching for a honey pot she’d lingered over the previous day when she was inspecting his cabin.
A log shifted in the stove, sparks dancing. His ears twitched at the soft rustle of blankets from across the room, and his grip tightened on the wooden spoon. Even without looking, he felt her presence—warm and alive in his space.
The kettle began to sing and he quickly lifted it off the burner before the whistle could wake her, pouring steaming water into the teapot, then placing it on the table, wrapped in a towel. He chose a pottery cup with a hand painted flower, small enough for her small hands, and set a place for her at the table.
His chest ached. Such simple things shouldn’t feel this significant. Shouldn’t feel like pieces of himself he was giving away with each domestic gesture. He stirred the porridge again, then spooned it into a heavy pottery bowl. He placed it on the table as well, covering it with a thick cloth and tucking in the edges to trap the warmth. He added a small pitcher of cream and the jar of honey. A simple enough breakfast, but it satisfied something deep inside him to provide for her.
He glanced over at the bed again, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on her sleeping body. Sunlight painted her skin golden, caught the copper threads in her hair. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm.
The cabin felt too small, the air too thick with her scent. Even the familiar comfort of his home had shifted, reshaped itself around her presence. He couldn’t think straight with her so close.
Bront’s three heads lifted from his spot by the hearth, glowing blue eyes tracking his restless pacing. The hound’s tail thumped against the floor boards.
“Guard her,” he growled, voice rough.
Bront huffed but padded over and jumped up on the bed, watching him as he settled down next to her. He had to fight back a jealous growl at the sight of his dog where he longed to be. Instead he slipped quietly out of the door. He didn’t look back. Couldn’t bear to see her curled in his bed, looking like she belonged there.
The forest beckoned—familiar, uncomplicated. He needed its silence, its ancient wisdom. Needed space to sort through the mess of emotions tangling in his chest. But as his hooves padded quietly along the mossy trail, he had to fight a constant battle with himself against returning to her. The familiar whispers of ancient trees did nothing to quiet the storm in his mind. Every breath brought memories of Sylvie’s scent, sweet and warm against his skin.
Even the forest seemed to conspire against him. Twice he found himself turned around and headed back to the cabin before he realized it.
Fuck. Even here, surrounded by the wilderness that had been his sanctuary for decades, he couldn’t escape memories of her. Her eager response when he claimed her against that tree. The way she’d shattered beneath his mouth last night. How she’d traced his scars without flinching. The trust in her eyes before she’d fallen asleep against his chest.
A branch snapped beneath his hoof and he growled, frustrated by his own distraction. He was the Guardian of Elderwood. He had no business letting a human female cloud his judgment.
But she wasn’t just any human. She saw past his gruff exterior, challenged him, made him want things he’d sworn never to pursue again. The thought sent a spike of panic through his chest.
His sister’s face flashed in his mind—her bright smile dimming after that human had betrayed her to his friends. The memory should have hardened his resolve. Instead, it twisted something deeper inside him. Sylvie wasn’t like that. She was… different.
And that terrified him more than anything.
He sighed, letting his head fall back against a tree trunk. The rough bark grounded him, but couldn’t stop the ache spreading through his chest. He’d spent years building walls around himself, protecting what was left of his heart. Now Sylvie had slipped through every defense like morning mist, leaving him raw and exposed.
He didn’t know how to claim her and keep his duty to the forest. Didn’t know how to trust a human and still honor his sister’s memory. Didn’t know how to let himself love without risking everything he’d sworn to protect.