Page 21

Chapter 21

Lillian

I am about to lose my fucking mind.

It’s been a week since Erik rescued me from the coyote. Six days since we had sex–the most mind-blowing sex of my life –and started sleeping together in the shelter. Five days since the argument about me staying on the island, and four since I woke him up to what I thought had to be a pretty fucking amazing titty blowjob.

You’d think after all that, the dude would have caught the hint that maybe I like him? Maybe he doesn’t have to be all macho-hero-save-the-girl, and maybe I could actually help him out?

Sure, I get it. The whole “let a Kraken knock you up and we can be free of the curse” thing is a lot to take in. It would be for any woman. But the longer I have time to sit on the idea (and the more romances I read), the more I’m like… would it really be that bad?

And who knows? Maybe my infertility will actually render the whole process moot. Maybe Phorkys will try to put his eggs in me and my body will be all like, “Nope! Psych!” and then everyone will realize what a disappointment I am. But instead of just ruining my life like it did the first time, my miscarriage will set Erik and me free and the gods won’t release their evil babies onto the Midwest and we all can just go on with our lives.

We can’t know until we try, right?

But that’s the other problem. I don’t even know if Erik would be willing to try anything with me anymore. Since that blowjob, the guy hasn’t even touched me. Sure, he still snuggles up for warmth at night, but he doesn’t get handsy. He doesn’t go in for a kiss. He doesn’t even nuzzle me and sniff my hair anymore (which, granted, is a little weird, but like, sweet, once you get used to it), except in his sleep.

He still wakes up with a giant erection, though. The second morning after our fight, I tried to give him a little relief—if you know what I mean—but he just slithered away from me to start making breakfast instead.

It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to me. Again. Even though we clearly demonstrated that we’re compatible.

Or maybe he’s more of a prude than I realized. We joked about it that first night together, but I assumed that meant that he was interested in sex. Maybe even some light pegging. I thought his comments about being a prude were all because of the curse.

Didn’t we break past that, though, when he didn’t go all Ursula Magical Girl Transformation when we had sex?

I’m so confused, I don’t even know how to bring it up to the guy. So I just end up spending most of the week making my way through his bag of Harlequins, until I finally finish the last one. It only took me five days to devour a bag of books.

When I say there’s nothing to do on this island except eat, read, and fuck, I mean nothing.

“Alright,” I say at last, getting up from my reading rock and limping over to what I now call the ‘working fire,’ because it’s where Erik sharpens all of his spears and arrows. “I need something else to do.”

The giant of a man looks up at me from his easy crouch, where he’s testing the strength of some deer sinew to use as a bowstring. Which is both gross and badass.

“I thought you were enjoying your books.”

“I’m out of books.”

“You have read all of them?” His eyebrows raise in surprise, and it’s such a vast departure from his permanent scowl of concentration that I have to hold back a snort. “How is that possible?”

“I’m a fast reader. Even with a full-time job, I usually get through three or four a week. But out here, I have nothing else to do.”

He shifts his posture, examining my ankle as I talk. The bruising is all gone by now, and I can walk fairly easily where the ground is hard. On the beach, where the shifting sand is constantly testing my tensile strength and stretching the ligaments it’s a little rough, but I’m better enough that I abandoned my walking stick yesterday.

His eyes are hopeful when he catches my gaze. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” The word ‘fine’ catches on my throat. If I tell Erik that my ankle is feeling better, well enough to try out a swim, he’s going to want to take me back to the mainland. The last thing he said to me before this weird stand-off began was that I was to focus on recovering so we could ‘put this nightmare behind us–’ a phrase that felt real good to hear less than an hour after sucking his dick.

But despite his distance, in lieu of the unspoken tension that’s stretched between the two of us for the past four days, I don’t want to leave just yet.

By now, the PTO that Tiffany and I had claimed for this vacation has run out. If my calculations are correct, I was supposed to be back at the office yesterday. A no-call, no-show is a pretty unforgivable offense in any legal firm, but considering the one I work at is one of the most competitive in Chicago? I doubt I have a job waiting for me when I return.

I bite the inside of my cheek. At the thought of work, the whole reality of my situation comes crashing down on me.

I’m on a deserted island in the middle of Lake Superior. My best friend abandoned me, and maybe hasn’t even cared enough to report me missing. I haven’t seen any rescue crews or even vacationers in boats anywhere near us the entire time I’ve been recovering from my sprain. And the only human I have any contact with wants nothing to do with me.

Before I even realize there are tears in my eyes, wet trails are running down my sun-kissed cheeks, and Erik is standing before me.

“Lillian? Lillian, what is wrong? Why are you crying?”

A sob wracks my chest, and then his arms are there, wrapping around my shoulders, and I feel positively tiny in his grasp. This is more physical contact than we’ve had in days, and I can’t resist the comforting weight of his muscled chest pressing into mine. I return his hug, smushing my face into the smooth divot between his pecs and cry, wordlessly.

He rubs his fingers up and down my back, alternating between cradling my head with one hand and running his fingers through the seemingly endless tangles. When I shift my weight, he adjusts to lift me off the ground entirely—hugging me to his chest and carrying me into the shady forest, where the tips of the canopy of foliage are just beginning to turn yellow.

There is a giant oak that’s fallen and covered with soft moss a little ways in, and he sits upon it, nestling me in his lap and arranging me so I’ve got one arm draped over his shoulder and the other woven with his. A giant hand supports my back in a splayed grasp.

It’s the closest thing to comfortable I’ve been since swimming away from the cabin.

“I have been cruel to you,” he says, so quietly I almost can’t make out the words over the sound of my own sniffling. When I do, though, I shake my head.

I mean, he hasn’t been the easiest guy to be around the last few days, but that wasn’t what brought me to tears.

“It isn’t you, Erik,” I sniffle, wiping my nose when my voice comes out all stuffy and warbled. “It’s… everything else.”

He holds me steady as I try to regulate my breathing, which still gets broken up every few seconds with a stuttering sob. Eventually, though, the tears slow, and I can breath through my nose without getting a mouthful of snot.

Hoo boy, I bet I look great right now.

But when I’m calm enough to meet Erik’s eyes, he’s not looking at me like I’m disgusting or ugly. His gaze is far away, as if he’s looking past me instead of at me, and his lips are tilted down in a slight frown.

When he realizes I’m looking at him, he refocuses, and the overwhelming affection in his eyes is enough to set my lungs stuttering all over again.

“Please tell me what is wrong,” he says, and as he does, I feel his fingers tremble against my back. “I wish to help you anyway I can.”

I let out a sound that’s something between a huff and a cough. “You can’t help me. I mean, not with this stuff. You’ve already been helping me this whole time. But it’s not exactly like you can write me a recommendation for a new job, or a doctor’s note to my boss to make up for me not showing up to work.”

“Work? What work are you talking about?”

“I have a job on the mainland. I’m a paralegal—someone who does all the actual work for a team of lawyers in the city. You know, people who argue over who’s right and who owes who money when there’s a big disagreement between companies.”

He nods as he takes this in. “Do they disagree often?”

“Oh yeah,” I snort. “Constantly. It’s a big job. We’re always super busy. This vacation was the only time off I had for the year; they hardly give us any vacation because they need us in the office to handle reading all of the cases and client forms and filing paperwork.”

“I am sure you are very good at it. You are smart, and you read exceedingly fast.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “I mean, sure, yeah, but the reading I do for work is very different from reading the books you gave me. It’s not exactly something I can skim most of the time; it’s exhausting. Takes a ton of focus.”

“Skim?” He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like when you scan over a page to get to the good stuff.”

He shakes his head a little, scrunching his eyebrows. The movement is surprisingly boyish, and it makes him seem younger than his 800-odd years. I try to control my face.

It’s hard to stay mad around him when he’s trying this hard to understand.

“That is not how I read. It is still difficult for me. My sessions are few, with many days between them, and the rarity makes it challenging.”

As he says this, a blush creeps up his cheeks, as if this embarrasses him. I reach up to touch the place on his face where his pink cheek gives way to beard, the coarse hairs dotting the transition from soft skin to hard jaw.

“I could teach you.” The words come out breathy, even though I don’t intend for them to. He starts to lean into my fingers, then shakes his head.

“We should not…” he begins, trailing off when I let my hand trail down to the firm muscle of his pec. Dark, tribal ink swirls in patterns across his chest and arms. It’s striking, and when I think about the primitive tools he would have used to mark his skin in such a permanent way in the middle ages, I shudder.

“How about this?” I shift a little in his hold, straightening my back so we’re more eye-to-eye, less cuddly. “Every day, you teach me a little about hunting, and I teach you a little about reading. A trade.”

He considers this.

“A trade.”

“Yeah. After all, I don’t have much else to do on this island while we wait for me to get strong enough to swim to shore. But I still need to get some exercise, stretch out my ankle some, otherwise the muscles will atrophy.”

He hums, tilting his head at the last word, but seeming to piece it together with context clues.

“What lesson would you like first, my treasure?”

The endearment surprises me a little. He hasn’t said it in a few days—hasn’t said much of anything, honestly– so the sweetness in his tone gives me pause.

“Well… you were working on making a bow just now, right?”

“Yes. I have made many arrows, but my best bow is at my other shelter.”

“How about we start with that?”

He slowly inclines his head, before speeding up into a true nod as he thinks it over.

“I believe this is a good way to spend our time together. We will prepare for the hunt while the sun is high in the morning, engage in exercises to strengthen you after mid-day, and then study books by firelight after dinner each night until you are well.”

“What book would you like to start with?” I ask him, curious. He mentioned that he’d read every one of the stories in the bag that he gifted me, but now that I’ve read them all, I’m dying to know which one is his favorite.

“ The Highlander’s Pirate Bride. ”