Page 7 of Can’t Get No Satyrfaction (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

CHAPTER 7

T horn swore under his breath as he followed Sylvie down the trail, automatically raising a vine that hung down in her path and pushing aside some branches that were close enough to the path to scratch her delicate skin. She was a remarkably exasperating female.

So why was it that every time that she teased him, he wanted to snatch her up into his arms and kiss that pretty little mouth?

She’s human , he reminded himself—a destructive, untrustworthy human—but it was hard to summon his usual antipathy. She was fascinated by her surroundings, but her fascination didn’t lead her into carelessness. Even when she was concentrating on the subject of her photographs, she was careful about where she stepped and what she touched.

She stopped again when she spotted a bird perched on a branch high overhead. As she lifted her arms to raise her camera, her shirt rose as well, revealing a few more inches of bare, creamy skin. His tail lashed as he fought the urge to put his hand on her back again and run his fingers across that tempting little strip of bare skin. She had told him he could touch her…

No. It was bad enough that he’d given into temptation once and he could still feel the press of those slender curves against his body.

He was so focused on fighting the urge to touch her again that it took him far longer than it should have to realize what the trees were trying to tell him. He only had enough time to give a resigned sigh before the bushes rustled and Bront burst through them, launching himself at Sylvie and practically knocking her down. He started to admonish his dog, but she’d already bent over him, hugging as many of his necks as she could reach, and running her fingers through his fur.

As Bront’s tail wagged happily, the suspicion that his own tail would be just as enthusiastic if she were hugging him the same way didn’t improve his temper.

“Fluffy,” she cried happily. “You found us. Aren’t you a clever boy? Yes, you are.”

She scratched under the central head’s chin, and his dog threw himself down on the ground and flopped over on his back like an oversized puppy.

“Do you want your belly rubbed too?” she cooed as she ran her fingers through the thick, short fur that covered Bront’s stomach. “See,” she added triumphantly, looking up at him. “I told you he was lonely.”

“And disobedient.”

The closest head gave him a smug look, not at all fazed by his annoyance, and he sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle against his dog’s infatuation with her.

Not that he could entirely blame the animal.

“I don’t suppose we could bring this touching reunion to an end and actually make some progress? I know,” he added when she opened her mouth. “It’s not about making progress.”

She laughed. “You admitted it! I think that means I’m making progress after all.”

He couldn’t help it. He smiled at her triumphant expression, and her smile widened even further.

“A real smile, finally. I knew you could do it. I think I’ll start calling you Smiley.”

“Why do I suspect that telling you not to will only encourage you to use it more often?” he grumbled.

“Because you’re getting to know me pretty well?”

Not as well as I’d like to know you.

He pushed aside the unwanted thought, but he still reached down and pulled her to her feet. Bront rose at the same time, and either by accident or design, managed to push her against him. Those sweet little curves were plastered the full length of his front again, and his body responded, his cock throbbing against his sheath.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, and once again he had the foolish impulse to bend down and press a kiss to those pretty lips. Instead he forced himself to take a step back, this time managing to avoid Bront’s oversized body, and pointed at the path ahead.

“Walk,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir, Captain Smiley, sir.”

She pretended to snap a salute, and once again he couldn’t prevent his lips from twitching. The triumphant look returned, but she didn’t comment before setting off along the trail.

Although her enthusiasm never faltered, he could tell her steps were beginning to lag as the day drew to a close. Remembering his frustration at watching her wrestle with the tent the previous night, he debated their other options.

He had an emergency shelter not far from their current path. It wasn’t much, but it was already assembled, and would provide more shelter than her ridiculous little tent. He refused to admit he liked the idea of seeing her in a place that he had built, but when they came to the fork in the path, he didn’t hesitate to direct her down the branch that led to his shelter.

She didn’t even question him, and he couldn’t decide if he was more pleased by her trust, or irritated by her lack of caution.

He forced himself to concentrate on the path ahead, ignoring her questions and cheerful comments about their surroundings. Her voice was like birdsong—soft, curious, persistent—but he refused to let it get under his skin. The pretty little photographer might be tempting, but she was still human—impulsive and reckless. Dangerous.

His ears twitched at each lilting question, and he clenched his jaw to avoid answering her. He couldn’t encourage her—or let his guard drop. His tail flicked in agitation as he fought the urge to drop back to her side where he could watch her expressive little face or even take her hand. Instead, Bront padded happily beside her, all three heads focused on her as if she were the most fascinating creature in the forest. Traitor.

“The mushrooms here are incredible! Look at those colors?—”

He told himself he didn’t care when her questions started to taper off, but the increasing silence gnawed at him. Against his better judgment, he glanced back—and cursed under his breath. Her face was pale, her small white teeth biting into her lower lip as if trying to hide her pain. Fuck.

He crossed the distance between them in two swift strides, his hooves silent on the mossy ground.

“Stubborn little thing,” he growled, scooping her up before he could think of all the reasons why he shouldn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me your ankles were bothering you?”

She let out a small gasp, her hands flying to his shoulders. The contact burned through his skin, and he fought the urge to pull her closer. She weighed nothing in his arms, fragile and warm against his chest. Her tantalizing scent wrapped around him, making his head spin as she gave him an apologetic look.

“I don’t understand. They’ve been fine up until now.”

“The vines contain a slow-acting neurotoxin. I thought your socks and boots had protected you.” An unforgivably foolish assumption on his part. “Instead they only delayed the reaction even more.”

“I think I can walk,” she protested, but she was still clinging to him.

“You’ll only slow us down,” he said gruffly.

He expected her usual protest about not needing to move faster, but for once she was silent. He gave in and adjusted his grip to tuck her closer against his chest, telling himself it was for practicality, nothing more. But her soft curves pressed against him, and heat coursed through his veins.

The forest blurred at the edges. How long since he’d held anyone like this? Since he’d let someone close enough to?—

No.

He tightened his grip, jaw clenched. She was human, and humans only brought destruction and heartbreak. He’d witnessed it firsthand, carved the scars into his memory.

She shifted in his arms, and his pulse jumped.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck.

He grunted, fighting the urge to look at her face. To see if her eyes held the same warmth as her voice. Instead, he tried to focus on the path ahead, to ignore how perfectly she fit against him. But when she tilted her head back, he couldn’t resist looking down.

She smiled up at him, blue eyes wide and bright despite the exhaustion etched across her face. “You’re not as grumpy as you want everyone to think, are you?”

Before he could deflect the question, her head dropped against his shoulder, and the simple gesture knocked the air from his lungs. Her hair brushed his chin, soft as silk, her breath warm against his chest.

His grip tightened. When was the last time someone had trusted him like this? Had dared to lean into him instead of away?

No. He couldn’t let her slip past his defenses. Couldn’t let her gentle teasing and unguarded trust crack the walls he’d spent decades building. And yet…

Her fingers curled against his chest, and something inside him shifted. Like roots breaking through stone, her presence worked its way into spaces he thought he’d sealed forever.

He clenched his jaw, fighting a rush of satisfaction at how naturally she fit in his arms. At how she’d chosen to rest against him despite what he was. Despite his horns and hooves and sharp edges.

Dangerous thoughts. He forced his gaze ahead, pretending he couldn’t feel her warmth seeping into his skin. Pretending his heart hadn’t started beating in time with hers.

He reached a huge pine and the branches pulled aside to let him pass into the small open clearing behind it. Late afternoon sunlight painted patterns across the rough-hewn structure he’d built seasons ago—little more than a primitive lean-to, although sturdy enough. Moss draped the weathered wood like a living blanket, nature slowly reclaiming the structure.

The rich, loamy scent of earth filled his lungs as he ducked inside. Careful not to jostle her, he lowered her onto the thick bed of moss along the back of the shelter. A small sound escaped her throat—pain flickering across her features—and his frown deepened, something protective and unwanted stirring in his chest.

Bront’s three heads peered through the entrance, ears perked with concern. The sight only heightened his unease. Even his most faithful companion had fallen under her spell.

Despite her obvious discomfort, she looked around curiously, then smiled up at him.

“Compared to a burrow, I would say this is a five star accommodation.”

Even though she was clearly teasing, watching her take in the sparse interior through those bright eyes made him acutely aware of its shortcomings. It was intended for shelter, not for comfort.

“Not all of us need fancy trappings,” he growled, but his hands were already moving. Green energy thrummed through his fingertips as he touched the wall beside her. Vines responded instantly, weaving themselves into a natural cushion behind her back.

“Oh!” Her delighted gasp threatened to work its way through his defenses.

He pressed his palm to the ground, coaxing softer moss to spread beneath her swollen ankles. Fragrant herbs sprouted between the green shoots—plants he used for treating injuries—and their sweet scent filled the small space.

“That’s amazing,” she breathed, reaching out to stroke a vine that had curled near her shoulder. “How did you?—”

“It’s nothing.”

He turned away from her awed expression, busying himself with encouraging more plants to strengthen the shelter’s walls. Delicate white flowers bloomed along the vines, their petals catching what little sunlight filtered through the remaining cracks. He hadn’t meant to add those—they served no practical purpose—but her murmured appreciation made his chest tighten.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, though the words lacked bite. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“You could have fooled me.” Her smile was audible in her voice. “Five stars for the magical plant manipulation alone.”

His tail flicked in irritation—at her teasing, at himself for showing off, at the warmth spreading through him at her praise.

That’s not why we’re here , he reminded himself, kneeling down next to her, trying to focus solely on her injured ankles. He gently removed her boots, and then her socks. Both ankles were swollen and bruised, but still ridiculously small compared to his big hands. His fingers brushed her skin as he examined the bruising, impossibly soft.

“I’ll apply a healing oil and some additional herbs, but it will need binding,” he said roughly. He looked around the shelter, even though he already knew there was nothing suitable, then sighed. “Give me your shirt. I’ll cut a strip off to use for a bandage.”

Her eyes widened, the dim light filtering through the vine-covered walls turning them dark and mysterious. He half-expected her to object, but she simply pulled it off over her head and handed it to him. He snatched the garment from her outstretched hand, jerking his gaze away from creamy skin and delicate curves, focusing instead on cutting even strips from the bottom of her shirt.

“Here.” He thrust the shortened garment back at her without looking. The rustle of fabric as she slipped it back on made his ears twitch. When he finally glanced up, the shortened hem revealed even more of her stomach. Even though the rest of her was mostly covered, the memory of what lay beneath the thin cloth was now permanently seared into his mind. He was in so much trouble.