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RAPUNZEL

I dream of a man with amber eyes that glow like molten gold. His slitted pupils expand as he watches me from the shadows.

Every night, it’s the same. He is always just beyond reach, his features obscured by darkness. “You are mine,” he says, his voice deep, rich, and edged with a possessiveness that sends a delicious shiver rippling down my spine.

“Who are you?” I ask. “Tell me your name.”

A loud clap of thunder shatters my dream, startling me awake.

My entire body is flushed, and my heart is pounding as I sit up in bed.

Heavy rain lashes against the tower window.

Reaching for my sketchbook on the side table, I flip to the page that holds the image that has haunted my dreams for the past three months.

The flickering glow from the hearth across the room dances over the drawing. The familiar eyes of my mysterious stranger stare back at me, their amber gold color vivid against the shadows that hide his face.

A strange longing aches in my chest as I trace my hand over the parchment. “Who are you?” I whisper.

Lightning flashes as thunder crashes overhead, shaking the room.

My heart clenches as I lift the covers and find a tiny ball of brown fur shivering against my side.

Finik raises his head, his cute little squirrel nose twitching furiously as his dark eyes meet mine. “It’s just a storm, Finik,” I soothe, gently stroking his fur and fluffy tail. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sitting up in bed, I glance around the tower room. Fire burns low in the hearth, casting wavering shadows over the entire space. Shelves line the curved stone walls, filled with novels, sketches, and jars of herbs.

The plush, worn sofa across the way is piled with folded, clean laundry. The two chairs beside it are covered with spools of yarn and thread from my novice attempts at knitting and crochet.

Strong wind howls from the storm outside, seeping through the small cracks around the window, swaying the green velvet curtains and the ivy trailing from a pot on the sill.

In the kitchen area, across the room, Finik’s woven basket nest rests beneath a wooden table, laden with dried flowers and healing ointments.

It’s cozy here—small, but safe. We’ve weathered many storms, but when another deafening crack of thunder slices the air, we both jump.

“All right, fine,” I mutter, holding him close. “Maybe it's not entirely normal. It’s been a while since we’ve had a storm this bad, but I promise you we're perfectly safe here.”

Finik squeaks doubtfully, his fluffy ears twitching.

A soft creak echoes from below and my breath freezes in my lungs. Finik stiffens, his tiny paws gripping my sleeve tightly.

“It's probably the wind,” I whisper.

The sound of a door slamming shut echoes up the stairwell, followed by heavy footsteps.

Worry spikes through me, but I force myself to push it back down. This part of the forest is surrounded by a magical barrier, concealing it from outside eyes. Even if someone somehow found a way through it, the door at the base of the tower is hidden by a thick layer of vines.

“We’re fine. I’m sure it’s just the storm,” I say under my breath, and I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more—myself or Finik. “There’s no way anyone could have discovered this place.”

With a heavy sigh, I start to lie back down but go still as the footsteps grow louder.

Finik chitters anxiously in my ear, his panic matching my own.

“Quiet,” I whisper urgently. “It could be bandits.”

My heart stops as someone knocks on the door. “Hello?” a man’s voice calls out. “Is anyone there?”

Finik and I remain silent, frozen in fear as the doorknob begins to rattle.

Quietly, I slide out of bed and grab the candlestick from my nightstand. The weight of the metal is reassuring in my trembling hands. Dressed only in my shift, my long silver-white braid trails behind me as I tiptoe across the room and then press myself against the wall, beside the door.

Finik scrambles up onto the bookshelf on the opposite side, his eyes wide, tail twitching nervously as we hear the bandit picking at the lock.

I wish Glinda was here. She’s warned me countless times about thieves and bandits roaming these woods. It’s the reason she created the magic barrier to hide the tower and why she insists I stay here for my own safety.

Gripping the candlestick tightly, I spread my feet wide, ready to defend my home.

I’ll admit, I’ve doubted her terrifying stories of the outside world, but as the clicking lock goes silent and the handle begins to turn, icy dread washes over me.

Blood roars in my ears as I raise the candlestick overhead.

If this bandit thinks I’ll just let him break into my home without a fight, he’s wrong.

My breath freezes as the handle slowly turns. Everything seems suspended—the storm outside, the creaking of the door—as a tall figure, wrapped in shadow, steps into the room.

Fear spikes through my veins, and I swing the candlestick at his head. It connects with a loud thud, and he falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Relief washes through me. Taking a small step closer, I study his unconscious form.

The bandit lies sprawled on the floor. His lean, muscular body glistens with droplets of rainwater.

He has a thin silver chain with a green gemstone pendant around his neck.

My gaze travels over the sculpted planes of his chest, down to the contoured ridges of his abdomen until—

Oh, dear gods!

He’s completely naked. I’ve never even seen a man this close before, that I can remember, much less one without any clothing.

My gaze trails helplessly over him again, my pulse fluttering uncontrollably. He’s so… undeniably male. My entire body flushes hotly, and something deep within tightens, an unfamiliar sensation pooling low in my belly.

I can’t stop staring at the powerful lines of his body, the strength radiating from every inch of him, even as he lies unconscious. Part of me wants to touch him, to run my fingers over his skin, just to see if he feels as warm and solid as he looks.

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I quickly snatch a blanket and toss it over his hips, trying desperately to ignore the thrilling flutter of excitement inside me.

Mentally, I chastise myself. This awareness is dangerous—entirely new and wholly improper.

I should not be gawking at a nude man, especially one who is more than likely a bandit.

“Who breaks into a tower naked?” I say aloud, still in shock.

Finik sniffs at the stranger’s wet, short red hair, and I gasp when I notice two fluffy fox ears peeking up through the strands and a sodden red foxtail sticking out from beneath the blanket.

“A Fox Shifter,” I murmur.

Finik chitters agitatedly at the invader, tail flicking wildly, and then lifts his tiny head to me, as if asking what’s next.

But I’m finding it terribly difficult to think straight at the moment. My face grows hot, and I swear the air itself thickens as I stare down at this naked, mysterious Shifter sprawled out at my feet.

He broke into my home. So, I shouldn’t be noticing how utterly gorgeous he is, with his broad, powerful shoulders and chest, the ripple of muscle along his stomach, and the thick corded strength of his arms and legs.

And I definitely shouldn’t be noticing the way his coppery-red hair falls across his brow, framing those elegantly pointed ears.

But oh gods, I am noticing. And it’s doing something terribly unsettling and yet exciting in the same measure as my heart beats wildly in my chest.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Even the heroes in my favorite romance novels pale in comparison to this man. I’m drawn to him, though I can’t quite understand why. He's beautiful in a wild, dangerous sort of way.

His face is partially hidden in shadow, and my fingers twitch as I fight the urge to brush the hair back from his forehead to study him closer. Curiosity wars with reason, before I finally force myself to take a small step back.

“All right. We'll tie him up and question him when he wakes.”

Closing my eyes, I raise my hands and call upon my magic deep within. When I open them again, wisps of green smoke curl around my fingers. Focusing my power on the potted ivy near the window, I watch in wonder as the lush green tendrils grow and spiral out.

The vines snake around the Fox Shifter, lifting him from the floor and setting him onto my bed. Concentrating, I direct them to coil around his wrists and ankles like living rope, tying him securely to the bedposts.

Finik hops down onto the mattress, his tiny paws sinking into the quilt as he cautiously edges closer, sniffing the stranger's red hair.

Lighting a candle, I place it on the side table, next to the bed. My pulse quickens as I stare down at the Fox Shifter. When Glinda warned me about bandits and thieves, I always pictured rough looking characters, like the pirates described in the books I’ve read.

But this man is undeniably attractive. His features are strong and sharp, with an elegantly sloped nose, a powerful jawline dusted faintly with coppery stubble, and full, perfect lips. Thick, dark lashes fan across his cheeks.

A thin scar starts just above his right brow and ends at the top of his cheekbone, lending a lethal edge to his already handsome face. The pale silver color indicates it’s old, and I wonder how he came by this injury.

As I lean closer, I’m drawn once again to the two plush, foxlike ears nestled in his tousled hair. For all they are odd to me, they do not take away from his appearance. If anything, it only adds to his allure.

Cautiously, I reach out, grazing my fingers over the tip of one ear.

He releases a deep, husky moan, and I jerk my hand back. Finik leaps nearly a foot into the air, tail fluffed out comically as he scrambles behind the pillow.

The Fox Shifter slowly shifts his head, lashes fluttering as he opens his eyes. My breath catches.

Amber eyes, intense and familiar, lock onto mine.

My heart stumbles in my chest. “It’s you,” I whisper, completely captivated, feeling a strange pull that goes beyond any logic or reason.

I know these eyes—I've sketched them countless times.

They're the same ones from my dreams.