Page 10 of Pets in Space 10

The way her aura had flared and tried to entwine with his had left her stunned. A raw, instinctual pull that no spell could explain. She should be focusing on the ring, the serpent, the disturbance in the mage lines. Instead, she was thinking about his bare feet.

Her cheeks burned. Toes — of all things.

She’d never once in her life thought of toes as…

provocative. But his were. Strong, slender, long with neatly cut nails.

And his scent — the subtle, warm musk clinging to the fabric she wore — made her want to bury her face in the collar of his shirt and just breathe.

A deep ache pulsed low in her belly, and her nipples tightened beneath the fabric of the borrowed flannel.

What is happening to me? she wondered, wiggling her own bare toes against the warm wood.

The screen door creaked open.

She looked up, startled — and there he was.

Landry walked toward her with her boots and socks in one hand, a rifle slung across his shoulder, and a quiet storm in his eyes. The early sun caught on his stubble and glinted against the barrel of the pistol at his hip.

“Thanks,” she murmured as he handed her the bundle.

She bent her head, focusing on pulling on her socks, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, solid and steady as cypress roots in deep water.

When she glanced up again, he was already stepping down into the flat-bottom boat, moving with easy, practiced efficiency as he stowed the rifle and checked the gas line.

“You won’t need those weapons,” she blurted.

He didn’t pause. “The serpent isn’t the only thing that bites out here.”

Her lips twitched with reluctant understanding. She rose to her feet and moved toward the boat, her hand hovering over the edge. Landry reached out without hesitation, offering his hand. She hesitated, then slid her fingers into his.

Shock.

Her breath hitched as magic sparked between them — again — and she faltered just as Pug and Lilypad barreled up from the water, shaking off drops and sending the boat into a lazy wobble.

She stumbled. Landry caught her.

His arms locked around her waist, solid and warm, pulling her against the broad plane of his chest. Her breath tangled in her throat. Their eyes met. His mouth parted, as if to speak — then he growled something low and hoarse and covered her lips with his.

The kiss wasn’t tentative.

It was heat and hunger and the kind of chemistry that could ignite galaxies.

His lips were firm, urgent, moving over hers with a depth that stole her breath.

Her hands slid up his arms, trembling slightly, before wrapping around his neck.

She answered his kiss with equal fire, tasting him, losing herself in the moment where everything else — serpents, magic, even time — disappeared.

When they finally parted, they were both breathing hard, lips tingling, hearts racing.

Harmonia dropped her gaze, her cheeks flaming from the heat of Landry’s kiss and her passionate, unrestrained response.

She stepped carefully around Pug, who was scuttling toward the bow to lounge like a bow ornament, and took her seat on the bench in front of the center console.

Lilypad watched her with a knowing grin.

“Not a word,” Harmonia muttered, though her lips curled despite herself.

Behind her, Landry muttered something that sounded like another curse as he untied the ropes and pushed off. The boat slid from the dock and glided into the open channel, the engine rumbling low beneath them.

They headed deeper into the swamp.

The water grew darker, the light more diffuse as moss-draped trees closed in around them.

Spanish moss swayed like tattered silk in the breeze.

Cypress knees jutted up from the water like ancient, bony fingers.

Birds called in the distance — woodpeckers, herons, the occasional trill of a mourning dove.

“I used to run this stretch barefoot,” Landry said, breaking the silence. “Before the hurricanes made it impassable.”

She turned slightly, drawn to the softness in his tone.

“I was ten when Katrina hit. We were lucky — our cabin’s floating, built by my grandfather during the ‘56 flood. Whole families camped out with us that year. We cooked on propane burners, used rain barrels for water. Mama strung up bedsheets like curtains so the adults had privacy. It wasn’t pretty, but it was home.

Cap and Hog brought in fish every morning. ”

His eyes stayed on the water, but Harmonia could feel the warmth behind his words.

“This place… it’s not just a swamp. It’s a village without roads. Everyone knows everyone. When one person’s roof leaks, three others show up with tarps, wood, and nails. When a kid gets sick, there’s always a ride waiting to get ‘em to the clinic. Even now, when things are rough… we show up.”

He paused, his voice roughening slightly. “After my dad died, Mama lasted another year. Said the quiet got too loud. She moved to Florida, found herself a man with a golf cart and an HOA. They send postcards now and then. I haven’t really talked to her in a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Harmonia said softly. “Losing my father… I can’t imagine.”

He glanced at her, his smile tight. “I stopped trying to, honestly. Just… learned to breathe again. And stay busy.”

They drifted through a curtain of hanging moss. Harmonia exhaled slowly, the magic in the air humming like a distant song.

“My parents are still very much together,” she said quietly. “They’re on a different world at the moment — Nysus. Visiting my sister and her husband.”

Landry raised an eyebrow.

“Wynter was adopted,” Harmonia continued. “Her mother was dying… she sent Wynter through a portal to save her. We didn’t know she was a mage until later. She’s powerful — kind, fierce. Her husband’s human — from your world. He’s a king.”

Landry blinked. “So your brother-in-law’s a king from another world?”

She nodded.

He gave a low, incredulous laugh. “I kissed a space princess.”

Harmonia’s blush deepened. “Wynter is the princess, not me. I’m just… mage-born. My parents are researchers. We grew up traveling between worlds. Learning. Studying. We’re a big family. Loud, chaotic. But close.”

She stared out over the still water.

“Sometimes… I forget how rare that is.”

Landry was quiet. She turned to find him watching her with a softness that melted something inside her.

The boat slowed.

A curve in the bayou opened ahead, and suddenly the trees thinned — revealing devastation.

Charred trees. Scorched earth. A sulfurous fog curling low along the ground like a living thing. The water was slicked with an oily sheen, and every animal noise — the chirp of frogs, the calls of birds — was gone.

Dead silence.

Landry cut the motor. The boat drifted.

Pug scrambled to Harmonia’s side, tail low. Lilypad pressed close, her usual chirping gone. Harmonia stood slowly, the ring in her pocket thrumming with heat.

This place pulsed with wrongness.

A wound in the land.

Beside her, Landry whispered, “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even after a storm.”

She reached out, fingers brushing his, grounding them both.

“Something’s feeding here,” she said quietly. “And if we don’t stop it… it won’t stay here.”

The wind picked up, tugging at her braid.

And somewhere along the bayou, beneath the surface of the still water, the serpent stirred with anticipation.