I stepped closer. I didn't try to kiss him, even to touch him, but as soon as I made a move his way, those clouds shifted and twisted, lust flaring behind them. He blinked hard and shuddered.
"You don't want to do that," he said.
I moved closer. "Why not?"
"Because I'm still . . ." He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off again, but it held fast, and when he met my gaze, his breathing came harder. "You don't want me like this."
"You need to shake it. I'm offering to help."
He tugged me to him, just close enough for me to feel his chest brushing mine as he took deep breaths.
"I want to shake it," he said. "Not vent it on you."
"How about a compromise?" I disengaged my hands from his and unbuttoned the top of my shirt. "We'll get a little more fresh air first . . ." I backed up and undid the next button, flicking open my front bra clasp with it. "A little more exercise . . ." I opened two more buttons. "Work off the edge . . ." The last button. "But just the edge. I'll take the rest." I let my shirt hang open. "Or I will . . . if you can catch me." At last I saw that glitter in his eyes, moonlight behind the clouds. "Is that a yes?"
He lunged. I wheeled, laughing, and raced off into the forest.
GONE
Ricky was dreaming of the Hunt. He was in the forest, chasing Liv, adrenaline pounding, the snap and jab of branches only making his breath come harder, lust and excitement tingeing the forest red.
He could see her ahead, naked, the chain around her neck glittering in the moonlight. Hell, he swore he could smell her, her own excitement and adrenaline pulsing from her like threads that threatened to break each time she rounded a tree and disappeared from sight, and he'd barrel forward, fear licking through him, fear that he'd lose her, and when he spotted her again, that relief mingled with a fresh surge of resolve, and he'd find a little extra speed, determined to catch her before she . . .
Disappeared.
He slowed. Liv had darted around a big oak ahead, and when she hadn't reappeared, he thought it was his line of sight, but now he'd come around the tree and found himself staring into empty forest.
He weaved one way and then the other. She had to be there. She never went far. This was a chase, not hide-and-seek. That's what he hungered for and she knew it, as she always knew, absolutely and instinctively. So if she was gone . . .
His heart jolted so hard pain shot through his chest.
No, it's a mistake. She misjudged and thought I was closer. She'll realize it any second now, as she looks back to laugh, to grin, to tease . . .
But the forest stayed silent. No questioning cry. Not even the thump of running feet.
"Liv?" he called.
His heart thudded again, and he gritted his teeth against it. Unreasonable fear. Ungrounded fear. Yet he couldn't help it. If he woke in the night and saw her side of the bed empty, he'd scramble up, dread filling him, a black wave of it that stole his breath, until he'd hear the flush of the toilet or the pad of her footsteps, and he'd sink down again, closing his eyes so she wouldn't see the lingering fear. He'd wait until she crawled back into bed and move against her, as if in sleep, his heart slowing only when he felt her there, nestled against him.
"Liv?" he called. Then, "Olivia!"
His voice thundered through the forest, and even after it died away, he swore he could hear the four syllables of her name, pounding like hoofbeats. Then it was actual hooves. The ground shook with them, seeming to come from every direction.
The hoofbeats stopped. Ricky stood there, watching the forest shift as the moon slid between cloud cover, the trees going light and then dark, the branches above and all around rolling like waves. A horse snorted. He turned fast but saw only trees. Even when the moon snuck out, one patch of forest stayed night-dark. He strode toward it, one hand clenched in a fist and the other holding his switchblade, the weight comfortable and reassuring. He flicked the blade then shut it again, never looking down, no need to look, the move reflexive.
A horse whinnied and stamped. Still the patch of forest stayed dark. Ricky pushed aside branches and stepped into a clearing to see a man astride a stallion. The horse was as black as the surrounding night, and it towered above Ricky. Its eyes glowed a faint red. The man wore a cloak so dark it looked black until Ricky's eyes adjusted enough to see it was black and green, decorated in a swirling Celtic design.
I know that design.
The connection wouldn't quite close, and he turned his attention to the man instead. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark beard stubble obscuring the bottom half of his face, but even at a glance Ricky knew it was no one he recognized.
And yet it was . . .
Again, the connection wouldn't form, like a smashed bridge over rapids, no way across, the thunder of water drowning out thought. The thunder of one question drowning out all others.
"Where is she?" Ricky said.
"Gone." The man looked down at him. "He couldn't stand to lose her and neither could I, so in the end, we both did." Pain darkened the man's eyes to black pits of grief and guilt. "But no one lost more than she did. No one."