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Twisted Things (GT)

In which Jon, Cliff, and Sylvia hunt for cursed deer-- and make a new frenemy along the way.

Warning: Descriptions of violence and blood

Word count: 10,267

A commission for the lovely @fireheart1107 !! ✨ They requested a story that explores the complexities of Jon and Sylvia’s relationship-- including jealousy and reassurance 👀 I absolutely ran with the story, and here’s the result!

Characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5 💕

(( More Shot in the Dark ))

Sunset light poured over the table through the window. Unfortunately, that light gave a view to the gruesome images sketched across the pages of a journal. Sylvia sat cross-legged in front of it, wincing at Cliff’s horrifically detailed illustrations. The top left corner of the page declared what she was looking at—míchearts.

“A catch-all word for animals that have been twisted by magic. Usually rogue witch familiars or cursed land,” explained Cliff’s scrawling notes. “They never seem to sleep and can be active at all hours.”

The hunters must have come across quite a few of them in their career. There were birds with terrible jagged beaks and talons. Dogs with extra-long fangs. Bears that looked like they had been skinned alive. And…

“Is that a squirrel?” Sylvia blurted.

Jon leaned in so close behind her, his warm chuckle stirred the tips of her hair. “Sure is. Cliff didn’t take it seriously enough when we tracked it down. It gave him one of his worst scars.”

She gasped. “Not the one by his neck?”

“That’s the one.”

“You said it was a ghoul bite!” she shouted across the room at Cliff.

He was sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through local news articles on the laptop. He gave Jon an irked look before raising his eyebrows at Sylvia. “The thing had a bite that wouldn’t let go, okay? We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Oh, we definitely have to talk about it.”

Sylvia’s smile faded as she eyed the illustrations once more. The longer she stared, the more her gaze drifted off to a more pleasant sight. It wasn’t often that she had such an up-close view of mountains. It was unlike anything she had seen near her village. The land rose and fell, creating a jagged horizon. The trees dotting the landscape beckoned her natural instincts. If there weren’t cursed deer in there, she would have happily explored the area for days.

Something heavy dragged close to her on the table. All of a sudden, Jon’s hand was beside her like a wall, blocking her view of the scenery.

“Hey!” She jumped to her feet and tried to peek through the window over the top of his thumb.

When she fluttered her wings to get a better vantage point, he reacted by curling his fingers and trapping her in a loose fist. She gave a playful cry of outrage and thrashed in his hold, which prompted a gentle squeeze around her. That was all it took to stifle her movements. She narrowed her eyes up at him questioningly.

“What?” he said, innocent. “You’re supposed to be brushing up on the lore. Can’t have you getting distracted by the mountains.”

“Right, because this—” She gave a pointed squirm. “—isn’t distracting at all. Besides, I can’t help it if I like to look at big things.”

She gave him a coy look, and like clockwork, he smiled wider. If she had joked like that a couple of months ago, his face would have turned pink and he would have stammered. But it seemed lately he was leaning into the fact that he could tower over her so easily—not to mention restrain her so easily.

“Oh, yeah?” Jon brought his face a bare inch from his fist. “I don’t know why you’re complaining, then.” He punctuated his remark by stroking her hair with his thumb.

The touch sent goosebumps trailing up and down her arms, a pleasant sort of thrill that made her breath catch. Still, she didn’t let up on the banter. “You think you can hold a candle to a mountain?”

He closed the rest of the space between them and brushed his lips against her cheek. Heat surged through her like wildfire, especially when his words rumbled against her skin. “I don’t think it’s the mountains that’re making you shake right now.”

Her jaw dropped—half-flustered, half-impressed. Every time Jon teased her, he never failed to push the envelope and send her heart fluttering to new heights. Before she could try to return the favor, however, the bed creaked sharply and another pair of boots stomped over to the table. She had all but forgotten Cliff.

“Okay, that’s it.” Cliff snatched the journal from the table, making Sylvia’s hair whip from the air displacement. “If you two are gonna be gross and not even check the notes, I’m looking into it myself.” He glanced at Sylvia still clutched in Jon’s hand and made a face. “Self-control. Ever heard of it?”

Feeling only a little bad, Sylvia grinned. “Never. Can you explain?”

Cliff rolled his eyes. “Just get it out of your system. I’m not gonna get torn apart by a deer because of you two’s horniness.”

The moment Cliff had reached his bed again to pore over the journal, Jon swooped in to kiss Sylvia by surprise. She gave a startled laugh, falling into his palm as he opened his hand. She sprang up to pepper him with kisses of her own.

It wasn’t the first time she wished they could stay like this and not have to worry about monsters, but at least she could enjoy the moment while it lasted.

“Jon?” she asked.

“Hmm?” His hum vibrated through her like a contained storm.

“When we’re done with the míchearts… Do you think we could go explore the forest? It’s been a while since I’ve been in the trees without having to look over my shoulder for sharp teeth.”

He hesitated a second too long.

“There’s already another case lined up, isn’t there?” she sighed.

“Potential haunting in the next state over,” he said apologetically, pulling back to look her fully in the face. He gingerly rubbed her shoulder. “But… I’ll see what we can do about getting in a monster-free hike soon. I promise.”

She willed her smile to not be so tight. “Of course.”

Naturally, human locals were baffled about the strange behavior of the deer. The first few deaths were blamed on bear attacks. That theory was challenged when a few survivors of a camping group swore that murderous deer had chased them down.

Wildlife experts claimed it was an aggressive case of rabies. Deer in the area had been shot dead for inspection, and no diseases were found. The theory seemed even less credible when campers swore that the deer had sported razor-sharp teeth and milky-white eyes. Considering all five deaths had occurred off-trail in the forest, visitors were simply told to carry on with common sense.

Jon and Cliff knew better the moment they read about the campers’ description of the creatures that had attacked them.

“So those must have been normal deer that were killed,” Sylvia said, taking in the sight of the towering trees as they headed off the trail. There was still light from the late afternoon sun, but the thick canopy overhead blotted it out.

“Had to be,” Cliff said. “Only pure iron or silver can take out a mícheart, depending on what cursed it in the first place.”

“What do you think did it?” Sylvia asked.

“Woods like these always seem to have one cult or coven or other. We’ll have to look into it after the murder-deer are outta the way.”

With the source of it uncertain, the hunters carried both types of bullets and knives. Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to get that close to them when they were loaded up with so much pure iron. She knew Jon understood, but he still wore a guilty expression every time she winced when he came too close.

The terrain was uneven, especially as the trees crowded closer. They were too deep in the woods by then to see the mountains around them, but she swore she could feel them looming high overhead. Once again, she found herself yearning for a chance to explore without the responsibility of locating bloodthirsty monsters. Nonetheless, she kept her focus on trying to sense any sign of míchearts.

“Whoa!” Sylvia sharply pulled to a hover.

“Sylv?” Cliff eyed her posture tensely. “You sense something?”

“Y-yeah, but…” She frowned and shook her head. “Not a monster.”

Jon and Cliff exchanged a look. “Then what?” Jon asked.

She looked all around, nervous yet somewhat hopeful. “...fairies.”

When she didn’t spot anyone around, she sighed and turned to the boys.

“There’s glamour in these woods,” she said. “I don’t think there’s anyone close to here, though. If I’m feeling magic, that must mean there’s some kind of community nearby.” She gazed wistfully in the direction of the sensation.

Jon approached her with an uncertain smile. “What are you thinking? Wanna go check it out?”

She shook her head. “We should head the other way for now. The last thing we need is for them to think there’s hunters after them.”

Cliff sighed. “You’ve got a point. With monsters on their doorstep, they’re probably wound up as it is.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Hey, after we take out the míchearts, maybe we can swing by and see if they wanna give us any gifts for saving their asses. What do you say?”

Managing a weak laugh, Sylvia shooed him off. “Better start making a list of what you want.”

But she doubted she would be going anywhere near that village, dead míchearts or not. It was too much of a risk. For all she knew, they would be like her home village and try to kill her for fraternizing with hunters.

Even with the glamour fading away the further they went, Sylvia didn’t detect a separate magical presence until it was too late. Like a jolt of lightning, she realized they were not alone.

Her breath caught, and before she could say a word, Cliff gave a startled shout and fell hard on his knees.

For an absurd second, Sylvia thought he had tripped on a root. Then Jon went down too, and Sylvia realized the ground was writhing. Roots sprang from the ground to wrap around their legs. The hunters instinctively reached for their weapons, only to have the roots snake around their wrists and bring their hands firmly to the ground. They fought to break free and stand, but they made little progress.

A buzz of wings swooped in from behind Sylvia. A fairy seized her hand to drag her away.

“Hey! Stop!” She clawed with her other hand, trying to wrench herself free.

“Let her go!” Jon shouted. Even while restrained, his eyes were fixed up at her. He managed to rip one hand loose from the magic vines, only to have it snatched down again.

With a sharp jerk, Sylvia managed to tear herself loose. She whirled to face her assailant, raising her arms in defense. The other fairy was a man not much older than her. His golden-brown arms were sheathed in swirling, interlocked warrior runes—right down to each fingertip. His light green hair sharply contrasted the markings.

Sylvia sized him up stonily, narrowing her eyes at the faint light glowing from his palms as his spell continued to restrain the boys.

“Let them go,” she snapped. “You’re making a stupid mistake.”

The stranger frowned, and the puzzled smile he gave her might have been charming in any other situation. “Is that the appreciation I get for rescuing you from these monstrosities?”

Cold mist gathered around Sylvia's fingertips in warning. “They’re not monstrosities!”

“What are they, then, dearest? Your guards?” he said, grinning at her like they were sharing a joke. “Not very good at their job, are they?”

“Listen, pal,” Cliff hissed, nearly pulling one hand free. “We’re just trying to get rid of the míchearts. Taking out smartass fairies wasn’t on the list, but we’re flexible.”

“He’s joking,” Jon grunted.

“I am?”

“Your friends seem nice.” The fairy still smirked at Sylvia, but she could see the strain in his features. He couldn’t keep up the spell forever. Not only were the hunters’ brute strength threatening to rip through the roots and vines, but they were also carrying iron.

Sylvia palms gave another flicker, little icicles sharpening into vicious points. “Looks like you’re starting to sweat," she said. "How about this? You can let them go now and we can talk this out, or you can wait and see what happens when they break free. Your choice.”

“I must say, I don’t love either of those options.” He still smiled like this was all a game. “And what will stop them from ripping me to pieces the moment I let them go?”

“You could fly out of reach for starters, if you’re scared,” she said. “And maybe I’ll talk them down if you decide to be cooperative right now—and I do mean right now.”

The fairy frowned in thought, then chuckled. “Why not? This might be fun.” He waved his hand, making the roots and vines fall away from the hunters lifelessly.

Sylvia flew to the boys, touching Jon’s face delicately as he recovered. She threw a wary look over her shoulder.

The other fairy backed up a noticeable distance, watching the hunters pick themselves up. He had the look of someone observing particularly fascinating animals. But there was something buried beneath that amused expression—a flicker of wariness as if he owned the forest and they were trespassing.

“You’re lucky you have a fairy to vouch for you,” the stranger said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise you’d be hanging by your necks from the trees.”

“And you’re lucky we’re here to begin with,” Cliff snapped.

“Oh? Forgive me for not throwing a festival in your honor. What would hunters be doing in a glamoured forest if not to exterminate everyone within it?”

“We’re not here to hurt any fairies,” Jon said calmly, though his hand came up to halfway block Sylvia like a shield. “We just want to take out the míchearts and be on our way. Sylvia told us she sensed a community nearby, and we were trying to steer clear.”

The stranger gave both hunters a dubious look before settling his inquisitive gaze on Sylvia. “You… You are leading these hunters around? You brought them here, dearest?” That charming smile again. “Sylvia.”

She was unsure whether he was being serious with his strange formality, but her face flushed either way. “I’m helping them find the míchearts.” She hesitated, figuring it was a good enough sign that this rune-coated warrior wasn’t trying to kill them or alert the entire fairy guard. “They don’t hunt fairies,” she reassured, adopting Jon’s good-natured approach. “You’ll be glad to have the míchearts out of your home, won’t you?”

“Won’t I?” The fairy gave a small bow of his head. “My name is Cressen. And as it turns out, I’m looking for the míchearts as well. They have yet to breach the glamour barrier, but my community fears them all the same.” He raised his eyebrows at Jon and Cliff. “If only my people knew that other monsters may be trying to test their luck.”

“Stop it with that,” Sylvia said, jolting an inch in Cressen’s direction only to have Jon’s hand stop her. “They’re not monsters.”

“It isn’t unheard of to grow fond of your captors…”

Sylvia bristled, trying to keep her tone calm. “Look, since we’re both after the same thing, why don’t we help each other out? Your village will be safe, and you’ll see for yourself that I never needed any rescuing from Jon and Cliff.”

Cressen gave a harsh laugh. “It is my honor to protect my village. I don’t need the help of a couple of bloodthirsty beasts. Besides, how do I know I wouldn’t be killed the moment I turn my back on them?”

“What, and bring all the hornets swarming out of the hive?” Cliff scoffed. “We don’t have a death wish. If you don’t want our help, tough shit. Your village may be protected, but the campers who come out here aren’t. We’re here to hunt, and you can just stay out of our way if you don’t like it.”

After a beat of tense silence, Cressen snorted and gave Sylvia a curiously impressed look. “You’re very brave to be in the company of these… people. What do you see in them?”

"They're good people," she said. "They put their lives at risk to keep other people safe."

He crossed his arms and looked up to the canopy of branches overhead as he thought. “Very well, I suppose. If you’re going to insist on trespassing, you may as well make yourself useful. But don’t think for a second that I’ll protect your hunters if the míchearts prove to be too much for them.”

Cliff rolled his eyes. “Good to know. See ya around.”

Cressen closed some of the distance he had carefully placed between himself and the hunters. “Oh, no,” he scoffed. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. How else am I going to be sure you’re not ransacking my village?”

“I guess we can’t expect you to take our word for it?” Jon asked. Cressen’s answering scoff said it all. “Didn’t think so. But maybe it’ll work out better this way. You know your way around this forest, and we know how to take out míchearts. The sooner we find these things, the sooner you won’t have to worry about us or the monsters anymore, right?”

“I’ll take care of the míchearts,” Cressen said gamely.

“I’d love to see that,” Cliff muttered.

Pulling away from Jon, Sylvia flew up between them and tried to keep her tone light. “Do you have any idea where the herd might be?” she asked.

“I was just tracking them myself when I heard your hunters stomping around.” Cressen looked around and pointed ahead. “The míchearts originated in the eastern groves, much further in. We would have the best chance of finding them there.”

He gave the hunters a wary look, as though they might strike if he got too close. Nonetheless, he boldly flew right past them to lead the way.

“I don’t like this,” Cliff murmured once Cressen was out of earshot. He threw a glare at the withered vines at his feet. “We’re just supposed to trust him after he did that?”

“He was trying to protect his home,” Sylvia said begrudgingly. She raised her eyebrows at Cliff. “Besides… First impressions aren’t always everything, right?”

Cliff opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself and gave Sylvia a sheepish expression. With an already-weary sigh, he started off after Cressen, muttering that he’d rather deal with the míchearts than this pain in the ass.

“Has Cliff always been so good at making friends?” Sylvia asked as Jon fell into step not far behind.

“Hm?” Jon didn’t seem quite as alert as usual. He gave Sylvia a lingering look and managed to crack a smile. “Nah, he used to be a little more murderous when people introduced themselves by tying him down.”

Sylvia chuckled, but she noticed that his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She pulled ahead and hovered in front of him, flying backward to hold his gaze as he continued walking.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

His step faltered, and he looked faintly embarrassed when he answered her. “Yeah, I’m fine, I…” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “It just doesn’t put me in the best headspace when I’m confused for your kidnapper, you know?”

The steady buzz of Sylvia’s wings faltered, causing her to sink slightly in the air. Jon lifted his hands to catch her without a thought. She dropped to a seat in his cupped palms, frowning up at him. As their gazes met, he smiled sadly. One thumb curled in toward her, but he hesitated. She crawled over on hands and knees, leaning resolutely into his touch.

“You know I don’t care what other fairies think,” she said. “Come on, Jon. He’s full of himself, and he talks funny. Why should his opinion matter?”

“Except it’s not just his opinion,” Jon argued. It came out so readily, she realized this must have been on his mind long before Cressen had sneered at him. “I guess… I just wonder sometimes if it’s ever gonna finally get to you. Hearing all the time that I’m some sort of monster.”

“Jon. Stop walking.”

He slowed. “What—”

“Stop walking. I want to kiss you, but I don’t want to bump into you, so I need you to stop.”

Jon obeyed more out of surprise than anything. Sylvia leaped from his hands and hovered by his face. She left a trail of kisses along his cheek leading to his lips, and then she kissed him some more. The exhalation of his chuckle was warm on her skin. She dropped down to his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, pressing her kisses all over until the tickle of it prompted him to reach up and squeeze her against him.

“No one is going to change my mind,” she insisted, squirming her arms free to hug his finger. “If my own mother couldn’t convince me you were a monster, what hope does some pompous, thick-headed guard have?”

“You got me there.” Jon scooped her from his shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

By then, they had slowed down so much that Cliff was glancing back and rolling his eyes.

“Better keep up,” Sylvia said, slightly muffled by Jon’s affection. She didn’t have the heart to tell Jon that the proximity to iron was making her skin prickle. “Or Cressen’s going to think we’re up to something.”

As Jon fell back in stride with Cliff and kept an eye out for signs of míchearts, Sylvia took to the air again. It wouldn’t hurt to try and smooth things over with Cressen. Though he was irreverent, the judgment in his gaze was undeniable. Since every fairy was hell-bent on trying to change her mind, she had the right to try right back.

“Hunters in my woods,” Cressen muttered as she flew up beside him. “What on earth could be going through that pretty head of yours, joining up with them?”

“You think I’m pretty?” She brushed her hair off her cheek to put her traitor brand on full display. “You sure?”

He gave her an unabashed grin. “Pretty, fascinating, and out of your mind. Are you going to answer my question?”

“I wanted adventure, I guess.”

“Really? Is putting your life in the hands of two beasts the only way you could do that?”

“Maybe not. But it makes for more interesting conversation, doesn’t it?”

Cressen shook his head in an almost fond way. “I simply can’t wrap my head around it. You seem intelligent enough. Why let them drag you around on their quest for blood?”

“They’re not forcing me to do a single thing. I can defend myself just fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “Is that so?”

In response, she sent out a small gale of ice that froze an upcoming tree from root to branch.

“What the hell, Sylv!” Cliff called from further back.

She wheeled her flight backward and cupped her hands over her mouth. “Just proving to him that I could put you in your place if I needed to! Don’t worry!”

“Got it,” Cliff said, giving her a thumbs-up.

Much to her satisfaction, Cressen’s eyes were wide as he flew past her display of ice. She waved her hand and released the tree from her enchantment, lest she offend him by killing it.

“I suppose monster hunting would give your magic opportunities for practical use,” he said without the faintest hint of sarcasm. “Impressive.”

“Your earth magic is impressive too,” she admitted. “But if you ever touch my friends with those roots again, I’ll freeze these woods so hard that nothing will ever grow again.” She gave him a cheerful smile.

To her surprise, he laughed so hard that he sank quite a bit in the air before reorienting himself. “I’d like to see you try.” But he sounded playful rather than challenged. “Come now, dearest, I don’t think you’d destroy these woods. I also have an affinity for animals, and I’m sure they’d be quite sad to have their home frozen out of season.”

Sylvia wrinkled her nose. “I’m not crazy about animals, if I’m being honest. Part of me still wanted to be an animal affinity, though. Much less danger in roaming around when I can reason with an owl who wants to eat me.”

“You seem to reason with hunters perfectly well.”

“Ha-ha.” She rolled her eyes. “But really, no wonder you’re so confident out here. You don’t have to worry about anything making a meal of you.”

“I am quite fantastic.” He gave her a warm sideways glance. “But I don’t think I could match your confidence… Idiotic as it is.”

“Thanks… I think?”

“What I mean is, you’re traveling with hunters. I suppose you’ve seen quite a few monsters, then? What did you hunt before coming here?”

She shivered, flying lower as the forest canopy thickened further. “A pack of ghouls. They don’t have a long lifespan, but they cause enough death to make humans think there are wild animals or serial killers doing the work. I managed to freeze one of them to death—well, second death—this time.”

Most other fairies would have disdainfully berated her for choosing to put her life in danger, but the growing admiration in his expression only deepened. “Perhaps it isn’t a complete disaster that I ran into you and your monst—friends, Sylvia. I have always wanted to prove myself as a true defender of my community. It seems that you’ve already proven yourself several times over.”

Her heart soared. Maybe Cressen’s praise stemmed from his blind hunt for honor, but anything was better than having magic vines thrown at her or the boys. “Well, I know you’ll be plenty of help when we find the míchearts,” she said. “You’ll even be able to take all the credit when you go back to your village.”

“Actually… If I may be so bold, I was wondering if you would like to accompany me back to the village after.” He slowed his flight, and she followed suit. There was a spot of hesitation in his posture—a hint of bashfulness. “My people would love to meet you. What do you think?”

At an utter loss for words, she smiled breathlessly. “You really think so? It… it wouldn’t hurt to visit.”

She felt a prickle of a gaze on her. Glancing back, she saw Jon looking directly at her and Cressen from down below. His worried expression made her falter. Clearly he wanted to say something, but he held back and turned away pointedly, very interested in pushing forward.

“I’ll think about it,” Sylvia finished, turning her attention back to Cressen. “Let’s keep moving.”

Although Sylvia had been awed by the vastness of the forest through the motel room window, she hadn’t been prepared for just how vast it was. She couldn’t imagine how much bigger it looked in daylight; flashlights and fairy glows could only go so far. The trees ran so deep among the rocky terrain, doubling back to get the car would be pointless.

The only natural light came from the full moon by the time the hunters decided to take a break. They found a secure enough area—the trees were packed tightly together and the rocky base of a mountain jutted upward behind them, meaning less chance of an ambush. Although Cressen didn’t seem thrilled about the pause, he also didn’t mind having another opportunity to go in on the hunters.

“I assumed bloodlust would keep you energized until you found your prey,” he said.

“Nah, that’s not until we’re within half a mile,” Cliff sneered.

“I hope you know he’s joking,” Sylvia said, feeling as though she needed to clarify that each time Cliff responded to one of Cressen’s quips. She beckoned the other fairy. “You’re not going to stay all the way over here, are you?”

Cressen eyed the hunters dubiously as they settled against the rock face to rest. “I’d rather keep my guard up if that’s alright with you, dearest.”

“Come on,” she goaded, grabbing his wrist. “You need to eat. I’ll protect you from the big, scary hunters.”

For a single moment, Cressen wouldn’t budge. Then he heaved a sigh and allowed himself to be led. The tension in the air became clear immediately; Cressen had not gotten so close to the hunters in their hours together so far. Sylvia noted the grimace that formed on his face, sensing the pure iron.

“Have you ever had a Pop-Tart before?” she asked to break the awkward silence.

“A what?”

On cue, Cliff rummaged through his bag and pulled out a half-finished Pop-Tart still tucked in the wrapper. He broke off a piece, holding it out for Sylvia.

She swooped in to snatch it and presented it to Cressen. “Just wait till you try it! It’s a human food—”

“Don’t let her fool you, it’s not an actual meal,” Cliff snorted. “She just likes to pretend it is.”

“Protein bars aren’t a meal either,” she retorted.

“Better than Pop-Tarts.” He smirked when she stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re not gonna stop until you’ve got every fairy as addicted as you, huh?”

She handed off the piece to Cressen, who held it away from himself like it was a bomb. Throwing her hands up, she responded to Cliff’s grousing by shooting a playful gale of ice at him. He ducked away, cursing, and turned his attention to digging a couple of protein bars out of his bag.

Cressen gave a startled laugh. “Did you just attack him?”

“Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “He’s being rude about Pop-Tarts.”

“You do have a death wish,” he said, somehow sounding endeared.

He flew up higher, finding a perch on a branch that was far out of reach from the hunters. Sylvia followed, noting how he scooted in closer the moment she took a seat. They shared the pastry piece for a silent minute before he spoke up.

“It’s a little stunning,” he admitted. “This absurd situation isn’t what I expected… You’re not what I expected.”

Sylvia felt uncertainty tingle up her spine as he gave her a prolonged meaningful look. She leaned back in faint realization, a blush forming on her cheeks. Before she could tell him to back off, he glanced aside and gave a small huff.

“Why does that one keep looking at us?” he asked.

Sylvia followed his gaze to the base of the rock formation, where Jon was watching them raptly. He gave her a questioning look, and she could only hope that he discerned the nod of assurance she sent his way.

“He’s my boyfriend, after all,” she said pointedly.

Cressen snorted. “What a shame. And what does that make Cliff?”

“A very annoyed third wheel is what he calls himself.” The tension in her shoulders loosened when he didn’t pry about her and Jon’s relationship. Instead, he simply laughed again and shook his head.

“May I ask how you found yourself in their company to begin with?”

She doubted the plain truth of the matter would go over well. She didn’t owe it to him, so she chose the vague route. “My village didn’t take kindly to my friendship with them. That’s why they marked me.” She brushed her fingers over the traitor brand, letting her hair fall in front of it. “They planned to execute me, too. Jon and Cliff saved me. They’re my home now.”

“You feel that you owe them,” he surmised, his expression drawing into a frown as he leaned in closer. “I’d say you’ve repaid the debt several times over. With magic as useful as yours, surely you’ve saved their lives more than once.”

“You don’t understand. They’re my friends. My family. I’m not a servant paying off my debt to them, so get that out of your head.”

“Alright, alright.” He held up his hands placatingly, then laid one of them on hers. She pulled her hand away, but he went on, unbothered. “But surely you wouldn’t be putting your life on the line if your people hadn’t shunned you.” He hesitated, looking almost shy. “Sylvia… I’m sure my community would be honored to welcome you. Traitor brands are outdated and barbaric. And no one would attempt to execute you, regardless of the company you’ve kept.”

“I don’t think you get it,” she said, an edge rising in her tone.

“Listen to reason.” He sighed, lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s criminal what they did to this spellbinding face of yours.”

She snatched his hand and shoved it away. “Cressen, stop—”

“Hey!” In the same instant, Jon was on his feet, storming closer to the tree. “Keep your hands off her!”

“I suppose you think you own her?” Cressen fired back, wings buzzing to life. He descended, putting himself at eye level with Jon. “What, your pet can’t have a little fun?”

Sylvia leaped away from the branch, taking to the air to hover in front of Cressen. “I told you,” she snapped. “Jon and I are together! We’re a couple!”

Cressen’s arrogant expression twisted with doubt. “You… you were being serious?” He looked between her and Jon, opening and closing his mouth several times as he tried to come up with something to say. He even glanced down at Cliff’s hardened expression as though he might admit the whole thing was a joke. Finally, Cressen chuckled at Sylvia. “Exactly how long do you expect that to last, dearest?”

Anger bloomed like fire in Sylvia’s chest. She glanced back at Jon, who looked like he wanted to tear Cressen apart. For a terrible moment, she thought he might.

“Don’t listen to him,” Sylvia said, her voice wavering.

The sound of her voice seemed to disrupt his anger. He gave her a long look, then simply clenched his fists at his sides and strode away from the rocky terrain, deeper into the trees.

“Jon!” Sylvia called after him. She gave Cressen a scathing look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Just because you don’t understand our relationship doesn’t mean you can pretend it doesn’t exist!”

“Sylvia, I meant no harm,” Cressen said, the slump in his shoulders looking surprisingly regretful. “I’m sorry.”

She pursed her lips. “You should be.”

As she flew off in pursuit of Jon, she heard Cliff give a heavy sigh. “Buddy, I’m gonna explain a couple of things to you, so I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and listen.” She could only hope that he and Cressen wouldn’t kill each other by the time she got back.

“Jon?” She didn’t need him to answer in order to find him. It was an attempt to assure him that she was coming after him. When his footsteps didn’t purposely storm in the opposite direction of her voice, she felt a warm measure of assurance that things were still salvageable.

She found him pacing in a small clearing. As his long strides carried him from tree to tree and back again, his frustration seemed to fill the modest space.

“Jon,” she said again in a softer voice as she came up behind him.

He turned slowly, eyebrows knit with shame and aggravation.

“He’s an idiot,” she assured. “An absolute idiot. I have no feelings for him, so if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“I’m jealous,” he blurted. Silence hung heavily in the air for a few moments. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m jealous I can’t hold you the way you deserve. I can’t push your hair back like that or be beside you like that.” He hesitated and gave her an aching look. “When I see another fairy next to you, I… I know I’m too big for you. I’ll always look like a monster to you, won’t I?”

She inched closer, and he looked like he wanted to retreat that much further. “You don’t get to decide what you look like to me,” she said firmly but gently.

He opened his mouth to argue, then breathed out sharply. “Okay. Fine. But that doesn’t change that you’ll always have to deal with fairies looking at us like we’re freaks. I… Damn, Sylv, you deserve better than that. It’s terrible that they always put you down when you try to defend us. Doesn’t it get exhausting? It… it makes me worried that eventually you’re gonna get too sick of it.”

“And then?” she prompted gently. “What are you worried will happen next?”

“You’ll leave. We’ll come across a village or a group of nomads you feel comfortable with, and… you’ll stay there. And I’ll never see you again.” His voice broke, shattering her heart.

“Jon.” She flew in closer to his face, relieved when he didn’t pull away any further. He simply stared at her approach defeatedly. Tears pushed at her eyes, but she held them back. “I love you the way you are. No one is going to change my mind on that.” When he attempted to look away, she stubbornly flitted to stay in his line of sight. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” he whispered.

“Prove it.” A shudder entered her tone. “Because the way you’re talking is scaring me.”

Her words seemed to startle him, and he frowned at her with rapt attention.

“Do you think I’m too small for you?” she asked, softer.

“Never,” he croaked immediately.

“Could anyone ever convince you that I am?”

“No, Sylv. Never.”

She closed the space between them and pressed kisses to his lips. Finally, her tears spilled over. He held perfectly still and did not attempt to retreat. Relief flooded her heart, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he rejected her affection.

“I love you,” she murmured between kisses.

One of his palms came up from underneath and cupped her in its hold. Her flight paused as she fell to a seat. In an instant, his own kisses were upon her—soft at first, then playfully pushing her down onto her back in his hand. She embraced it, grinning from ear to ear as he smothered her with the affection she so desperately yearned for.

“H-hey,” she teased. His kisses paused, lips hovering over her middle. “You can worry about your size all you want, but I know you love how I fit in your hand.”

The brief silence made her worry that he would become self-conscious again, but his chuckle rumbled through her like pleasant thunder. “You got it,” he whispered, the warmth of his words washing over her. He pressed one last kiss to the side of her face.

When he pulled away, his expression appeared far more at ease. In turn, her racing heart relaxed.

“Are you ready to head back?” she asked.

Jon made a face. “That depends. Is he done making a move on you?”

She chuckled. “I’ll freeze his hands if he tries to touch me. Deal?”

“I like the sound of that.”

Sylvia took the lead, flying back to their rocky rest area with Jon following behind her. To her relief, it seemed that Cliff and Cressen hadn’t torn each other apart. Cliff was packing up their things to continue the journey through the woods. Cressen paused in midair, looking like he had been doing the equivalent of pacing in flight. He appeared relieved when he saw Jon and Sylvia together.

“I apologize,” he blurted before either of them could get a word out. “I meant no disrespect, I can assure you. You must understand, this is my first time seeing a relationship like…” He struggled for words. “Yours.” He cleared his throat and looked humbly at the ground. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Sylvia glanced back at Jon with raised eyebrows to gauge his reaction. He merely shrugged, which she took as a much better sign than him glowering.

“I’m glad we don’t have to explain ourselves any further,” she said curtly, though she softened her tone right after. “No hard feelings. Let’s just carry on with the hunt.”

Cressen nodded readily, a thankful sigh making his shoulders relax. “And once that’s over, I hope you’ll still allow me to show you my village. I can give you supplies. Anything you need. It’s the least I can do, both for my wrongdoing and for your help in protecting my forest.”

“That sounds fair to me,” Sylvia said, already excited at the thought of fairy-made clothes to add to her collection.

“We should get moving,” Cliff said, interrupting her thoughts. “Last thing we need is another attack on a camper.”

With that, the four of them continued their trek.

“We’re nearing their territory,” Cressen announced after nearly another hour of travel. “Perhaps we should discuss how we’d like for this to play out?”

Sylvia slowed to a hover not far from him. “Jon and Cliff have dealt with míchearts before. I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”

“How many at once?” Cressen challenged. “There’s no telling the numbers of this herd.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Cliff said, double-checking the bullets in his gun. “We’ve got plenty of iron and silver, either way.”

“That won’t matter if you get overwhelmed,” Cressen argued. “But… with the amount of glamour we’ve had to put around our village to keep them from wandering too close, I’d say it’s clear they are distracted by fairies.”

“Great.” Jon fixed his gaze on Sylvia. “Any chance I can ask you to sit this one out?”

“Oh, you can ask,” she scoffed.

“But think about it,” Cressen said. “We could use that to our shared advantage, can’t we? Sylvia and I can stay out of reach and distract the monsters while you two slay them.”

Clearly the stay out of reach part was appealing to Jon. He gave Sylvia a pointed look. “And you’ll stay out of reach?”

Smiling faintly, she flitted down to kiss his cheek. “Of course. As long as none of those things get near you.”

He rolled his eyes, but reached up to brush his fingers against her side lovingly.

Once the hunters had their weapons fully prepped to use at a moment’s notice, they ventured forward.

“We’re lucky this place isn’t crawling with investigators,” Cliff mused.

“It must be the glamour,” Cressen said, sounding a touch apologetic. “There’s so much in the woods, it likely deters most humans from investigating further. I hope you don’t blame my people for the deaths that followed the first attack.”

“Investigators wouldn’t have been able to take the míchearts out anyway,” Jon said. “Chances are, there would have been even more of a slaughter.”

Cressen nodded solemnly.

The forest became so thick with trees that the four of them needed to stay closer to share their lights. For a while longer, the only tension came from anticipation. And then, Sylvia felt it. The drop in her stomach. The scuttle of goosebumps along her arms. The catch in her breath.

“We’re very close,” she announced.

Like clockwork, a twig snapped somewhere to their right.

Both Jon and Cliff swiveled their flashlights in the direction of the sound. But there was nothing.

Then another snap and another. The hunters redirected until their beams landed on a creature that stood perfectly still between the trees several yards away.

“Stars,” Sylvia whimpered.

It was a deer. Its milky-white eyes glowed like the moon. Its spindly legs were crouched like a predator lying in wait. Stringy material hung from several prongs of its antlers, swaying slightly as the deer cocked its head in a bizarrely intelligent manner. Like a switch flipping on, it charged toward them, skittering on its unnaturally bent legs.

Sylvia screamed, but the sound of it was lost as the hunters fired their guns at the mícheart. Jon’s gun had silver, while Cliff’s had iron. Clearly one of the substances was effective because the deer collapsed on the ground, motionless.

The hunters circled it tensely, Cliff prodding its back with his boot to make sure it was dead. Sylvia eased lower cautiously, Cressen at her side as they beheld the creature. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried not to retch when she realized the stringy material tangled in its antlers was rotted gore.

Half the bullet holes had created darker, more fatal marks than the others. Cliff wrinkled his nose and dug out a bullet from one of the more effective wounds. He examined it between his fingertips and said, “Iron.” Jon immediately switched his gun.

“There are more coming,” Cressen announced, swooping down to urge Sylvia to fly up higher with him.

She nodded breathlessly. “I can’t tell how many,” she told the boys.

“Stay out of reach,” Jon said in a low voice, his gaze fixed on carefully roving the darkness. “Please, Sylv.”

“Hang on…” Sylvia narrowed her eyes further into the trees. “It… it feels like they’re leaving.”

“Perhaps they sense the iron,” Cressen said.

“Which way?” Cliff demanded. “Maybe we can take ‘em out while they have their backs turned.”

Sylvia flitted off toward the sensation, Cressen close by her side, and the hunters followed. Her breath caught as she sensed an influx of fairy magic up ahead.

“Cressen,” she said. “Are there more of us out here, so far from the village?”

His eyes widened. “There were others who wanted to investigate the míchearts,” he said slowly. “But… No, they wouldn’t…” His flight faltered, and he turned his head suddenly to the right and gave a growl of frustration. “They’re in danger! They have no clue what they’re doing… The míchearts will make short work of them.”

“What should we do?”

Before Cressen could answer, there was a rustle through the trees. A glimpse of matted brown fur streaked between the shadows. Jon and Cliff hurried ahead so they wouldn’t lose track, already splitting off to corner their target from either side.

Sylvia started to follow, but Cressen grabbed her hand, panting. He pulled to a stop, forcing Sylvia to do the same. “We have to keep the others from getting involved. They may be under attack already. Please—come with me.”

“B-but Jon and—”

He shook his head. “They’re experts, aren’t they? They have iron, and we don’t. With our combined magic, we could at least deter the míchearts long enough to get my people to safety. We’ll go right back to your hunters. They can hold their own for a few minutes can’t they?”

Sylvia hesitated, and Cressen gripped her shoulder desperately. “Please!” When she still didn’t move, he released her and backed off frustratedly to turn around. “Fine, I’ll—”

“No,” Sylvia gasped, adrenaline racing through her veins at the thought of fairies getting torn apart by the míchearts. “Let’s find them and then double back. Hurry!”

The relief in his expression was palpable. She followed him, heart racing at the sensation of the míchearts so nearby. The mental image of those twisted limbs and gory prongs stay firmly planted in the forefront of her mind. She tried to focus instead on how she and Cressen could convince the other fairies to stay out of the way—go high into the trees and don’t come down until it was safe.

Far behind them, she heard gunshots.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she murmured.

A quick series of more gunshots. Then silence. And yet, she could still sense the monsters in the woods, along with the glimmer of fairy magic.

A single gunshot.

Something about the cutting finality noise followed by another round of silence sent a sharp sense of clarity through Sylvia. She began to slow her flight.

Cressen was not leading her toward the fairy magic. He was leading her away from it. And away from the míchearts.

“Sylvia?” Cressen shouted when she came to a complete stop. “What are you waiting for?”

She looked over her shoulder, in the direction she had left Jon and Cliff. Where she had abandoned them.

It was then that she realized the horrible sensation of the míchearts and the familiar hum of fairy magic were not separate, but wholly twisted together. She turned her wide eyes back to Cressen who stared right back with an unreadable expression.

“You liar,” she hissed.

For a second, he looked like he might deny it, but she didn’t give him a chance. She turned and darted back toward the boys. She didn’t make it far before pliable green shoots snaked from the nearby branches and seized her arms. She fought madly, but each tug only resulted in the vines wrapping further along her body, until even the base of her wings was pinned. Within seconds, she was utterly immobile, suspended from the taut binds.

“You could have made this much easier on both of us if you didn’t catch on,” Cressen sighed, moving to a hover in front of her.

She started to shout an incantation, but one of the vines crept up and wrapped around her neck, forcing the sound down. She gasped, the air around her shivering with a faint cloud of ice that wasn’t nearly strong enough to break her free.

“Those monsters,” she rasped. “You… Did you—”

“Make them? Of course.” His smile was soft, friendly. “I fused my earth and animal magic and blessed the area where the deer grazed. I made them to protect our home.”

Her expression twisted with disgust that required no words.

His triumphant look faltered as he held her gaze. “It seems you and my people share the same ignorance. They were so disgusted by my creations, in fact, I was shunned. They couldn’t understand—the humans were pushing closer and closer every day. The glamour could only do so much. Without my míchearts, there would have come a day where we’d be prisoners within our own glamour bounds. So why not give the humans a good reason to stay away?”

He hummed contemplatively, looking to be in a better mood the more he thought about it. “But my people will understand now. My creatures are about to kill two trespassing hunters—ones who have driven you mad, no less.”

Sylvia choked out a laugh at the suggestion that Jon and Cliff would lose this battle.

He answered with an amused smile. “Well, as certain as you were that they could break free from my binds earlier, they may not have enough time before the míchearts rip them to pieces.”

Her heart dropped. There had been no more gunshots. No screams either.

Whimpering, Sylvia squirmed violently and fruitlessly against her binds. She was cut short when Cressen approached to calm her down. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said, his voice drenched in genuine sympathy. “You’ve been brainwashed. It’s understandable. When you feel you have nowhere left to go… When your own people turn their back on you—” He sighed heavily. “Anything can feel like a new home.”

He reached out and placed a rune-coated hand on her cheek, even when she tried to rear back.

“I’ll help you be a fairy again, dearest,” he said softly.

She pretended to relax, breaking down and leaning into his touch. Then she jerked her head aside and bit down on his wrist as hard as she could. In an instant, ice raced from her mouth, shards needling up to his elbow and drawing a sheet of blood.

Cressen shouted and flew backward, and the moment of broken concentration was all she needed. The vine loosened from around her throat, and she screamed a stronger spell, shards slicing through her binds. She sent a blast of frost out, pinning Cressen to a tree. She knew her spell wouldn’t last, but there was no time. She flew off like a bullet.

She doubled back all the way to the boys with Cressen roaring after her. Sure enough, both hunters were on the ground, restrained and gagged by vines that had been lying in wait. Every time they managed to rip one vine free, another would replace it, tighter.

There were three míchearts dead around them, but Sylvia could sense more coming.

She reached Jon first, screaming his name. She landed on the ground and slammed her hands into the earth. Ice climbed up the restraints and made them brittle. He broke free, and Sylvia sent a sheet of frost over the ground around him, preventing nearby regeneration.

And without a moment to lose.

The edge of Jon’s fallen flashlight beam illuminated a figure half-galloping, half-stumbling through the trees. The mícheart’s eyes glowed viciously. Its mouth opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth as it made a horrible bleating sound. Its very existence was agony.

While Sylvia darted to free Cliff, Jon shot the monster cleanly between the eyes. It stumbled, but it did not stop. The moment Cliff got his hands on his gun, both hunters filled the mícheart with bullets until it finally collapsed, weakly inching toward them until it fell still.

Both hunters were on their feet, frost crunching beneath their boots.

“Sylv?” Cliff prompted.

She shook her head. “There’s more,” she warned, turning to look all around. “Cressen…” Her voice caught. “He made them. I… I should have figured it out earlier. I’m so sorry.”

Jon spared her a reassuring look. “This isn’t your fault, Sylv.”

There was no time for comfort. Three more míchearts charged between the trees, all in various stages of decomposition. The one in the center lowered its head, fully intending to gore Cliff with its antlers.

Sylvia threw out a blast of ice to slow them down, while the hunters dodged sharpened teeth and prongs, filling the beasts with iron bullets. The stench of the substance was thick in the air, but Sylvia pressed on with her magic, focusing to keep her spells from disintegrating.

The center mícheart dropped. Sylvia turned her attention to one of the others just before Cressen appeared from thin air slammed into her.

They fell several feet, wings catching them before they could hit the ground. He tried to physically restrain her, but she shook herself free and darted away, wheeling around to face him. His features were twisted into something feral, fueled by malice and adrenaline.

The frost on the ground below burst open, spiky roots aiming to drag her down. She dodged, cutting down his spells with sharp bursts of ice. But she couldn’t keep it up. Before long, she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of roots. One snagged her ankle and slammed her to the ground.

She was immediately disoriented by the earthquake of Jon and Cliff fighting the míchearts—still more came. Perhaps Cressen hoped the boys would kill her themselves by accident.

The root dug deeply into her ankle drawing blood as she desperately tried to free herself. She looked straight up and saw Cressen turn his attention to the hunters, who were too distracted to see him return.

“No!” Sylvia aimed a volley of shards at Cressen’s wings.

He gave a cry of pain and dropped to the ground not far from her. He picked himself up, wings twitching with several holes.

“You really are their slave,” he snarled, charging at her.

Just as he was upon her, Sylvia heard a voice boom her name, and a shadow fell over them.

Jon’s hand snaked around Cressen and yanked him away from her, pinning him to the ground under his palm.

Cressen did not hesitate. He growled a spell, and a thick vine exploded through another spot in the ice to wrap around Jon’s neck.

Cliff was too busy trying to take down two míchearts at once.

As the vine receded back into the ground, firmly coiling against Jon’s throat, Jon had no choice but to lift his hand and free Cressen. He clawed at the vine, trying to fight it from pulling him down.

The tug of war was so violent, Sylvia wasn’t sure if the vine or Jon’s neck would snap first.

Cressen staggered back from Jon’s vicious struggles, a sick little smile tugging at his lips as he watched Jon suffocate.

A primal scream tore through Sylvia. Still restrained by her leg, she threw her hands out at Cressen. A torrent of razor-sharp icicles flew at him. He turned at the sound of her voice just in time for her spell to impale straight through the front of him and out the other side.

He made a choking noise and fell to the ground, red spots blooming all over.

All at once, there was nothing.

The root that held Sylvia loosened. The vine around Jon’s neck fell apart. And the final mícheart that Cliff was dodging collapsed as though its life had been ripped away.

The silence was broken as Sylvia gave a soft cry.

She stood there, frozen, staring at Cressen’s mangled body. Her hands trembled. Bizarrely, some part of her wanted to race forward and try to heal him. He was awful, horrible, nearly killed them all, but she hadn’t intended to kill him.

But how exactly was this supposed to end?

Breathing deeply, Sylvia stood up. The world spun, and she would have fallen right back down if Jon’s hands hadn’t cupped around her. He whisked her up, looked her all over silently.

“Sylv?” Cliff asked gently, stepping closer. “Are they all dead?”

She nodded slowly, staring down at her hands. Her fingers were pink. Tiny snowflakes clung to her palms.

“Yes,” Jon murmured for her when she didn’t say anything.

He clutched her to his chest, muffling out the world around her. She faintly listened to their conversation. It was decided that Jon would get Sylvia away from the carnage, and Cliff would stay behind to burn the míchearts’ bodies. And Cressen’s.

“I’ll catch up with you,” was the last thing she heard Cliff say before Jon took off at a stride.

She wasn’t sure how long Jon walked, holding her close while he whispered assurances to her. That she was alright. That he was alright. That they were all alright.

When his hands began to unfold, she nearly asked him to close them back up. But the familiarity of the forest surrounded her, and despite what had happened within it, she found her breath slowing. The trees weren’t so close together here. Gray dawn light peeked between the branches overhead.

No more míchearts were plaguing the woods. Even the sensation of iron had been left behind with Cliff. All she could feel was the faint buzz of glamour in the distance, emanating from the village that had rightfully rid itself of Cressen.

Jon stopped under a tree and lifted her higher to examine her once again.

“Sylv?”

Her gaze rose to meet his.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, and she swore she could hear a slight rasp in his voice from the vine that had almost killed him.

She murmured a spell and brushed her hand over her ankle. The little gashes from the sharp roots were reduced to scrapes. Then she shook her head, shifting to hands and knees to look closer at his neck. “Are you?”

He rubbed his throat. “I’ve had worse.”

As she sat back in a slump, her eyes filled with tears. “I… I can’t believe he… I should’ve known. I should have realized he was the source. I’m so sorry, Jon. I let him join us. None of this would have happened if I just—”

“Shh,” he said gently, curling one hand to touch the crown of her head with a fingertip. “Cliff and I didn’t guess it either. We should’ve stopped to think about where the míchearts originated from in the first place. This isn’t your fault, Sylv.”

Guilt still weighed heavily upon her, but she allowed relief to flow in as well. The longer she looked up at Jon’s worried expression, the more grateful she was to still have him at all.

The way his eyes danced over her, she was certain the feeling was mutual.

He leaned in closer and pressed his lips to the side of her face. He paused there, allowing the both of them to relish the feeling. She sniffled and rubbed her cheek against his lower lip, surrounded by his warmth as his hands cupped her securely.

His worry about being too big suddenly felt so far away.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered, managing to smile despite everything.

He rubbed gently between her wings, giving a rueful chuckle. “If I was, you wouldn’t be sad right now.”

She shook her head. “You are perfect, Jon. And don’t you forget it.”

“Then you’re more than perfect,” he said, nuzzling her tenderly. “Do you wanna head back to the car?”

Peeking through the gaps between his fingers, she slowly shook her head. “Can… can we stay out here just a little while longer? I want to feel the way this forest is supposed to be. Without those things in it. Without him.”

Jon sank to sit at the base of the tree, opening his hands to give her a full view of the landscape. “We’ll stay here as long as you want. I'm right here with you, Sylv. Is there anything else you want right now?”

She relaxed against the curve of his fingers and took a deep breath. “Just stay with me. And hold me.”

His thumb curled in and gingerly pushed her hair off her tear-stained face. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

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