Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat
The power flickers, thunder crashes, and she draws a hair closer. I could get used to this.
The thought hits like lightning—dangerous, impossible. But it roots anyway, stubborn as hope.
“You afraid of lightning?”
“Not my favorite.” Her voice trembles.
I open my mouth to speak, but my body interrupts, chest humming again. I pull back with a sharp exhale. Last thing Ineed, atop the pile of all my other rebellions, is a resonant pairing with a human. It would seal my fate—and hers.
Still, it builds in my chest until I swear I can taste her in the charge. The resonance doesn’t ask permission—it claims.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I nod. “Just … surprised. That’s all.”
“By me? Maybe I should go.”
The hum under my ribs surges, demanding I say the word. Her breath catches. Mine stalls. The regulator strains to flatten the surge but can’t.
I lick my lips, and her eyes follow. Heat pricks low, curling into the base of my spine. “You could stay,” I offer. “Road washes out with this kind of weather. Might as well stay warm and cozy until it passes … just till morning.”
She shifts her weight, eyes appraising me. “I don’t know.”
“It’s either that or you head back out into the rain and the cold only to get stuck … in the Starborn Range. Alone in the dark. Haven’t you seen the signs, read the stories?”
She shakes her head. “I’m new in town. Remember.”
“Not a place you want to be alone after dark. Trust me.”
Her eyes narrow, a thrill of terror shuttling through her that I canfeel. She looks half ready to sprint back to the door she came through moments before.
“Cider? Hot chocolate?” I ask, grabbing a blanket off the couch and handing it to her. I never use them; my body temperature is well-regulated, no matter the season. But I keep it for appearances. Now I relish watching her snuggle into it.
She bites her bottom lip, face conflicted, and every primitive part of me wants a taste.
“Just till the storm stops?” I’m starting to sound like I want her to stay. I know the humming behind breastbone does, abomination or not. “More Star-honey?” I ask, lifting the plate.
She smiles, wicked and bright, and grabs another piece. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“Now, how about that drink?” I press, voice rougher than before.
“Cider sounds amazing.”
I fill the kettle, set it on the flame, and watch it simmer—like what this human woman’s doing to me.
It whistles. The regulator hisses in sympathy.
Outside, the mountains growl back, and inside, something far older than programming starts to wake—slow, bright, and irreversible.
Chapter
Three
EDEN
The kettle hisses angrily as rain hammers the windows and roof. The air smells metallic, the lights flicker, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Besides a fear of lightning, I’m no big fan of the dark. Then I giggle, reminding myself I’m hanging out with the human equivalent of a walking, talking night-light.
Sure. Either I’m dreaming, or Bishop’s tourism board seriously undersold the local nightlife.