And without her promise to stay even if I lose, I have no plans to go easy on her.
“Get ready!” Root calls out.
Blossom kicks off her sneakers and peels off her socks, left only in a matching set of green leggings and a sports bra.
Fuck, I want to drag her into the woods and peel the athletic gear off her and fuck her on the forest floor like last night, only in broad daylight this time.
Not now,I reprimand myself.Win this. Get her to stay.
“Get set!”
The wood witch crouches in a sprinting position. I leisurely strip off my shirt, enjoying the way her eyes flick to my bare chest, then to the water, then back to my chest.
That’s not all I’m releasing, my beautiful Blossom.
“Go!”
I drop my shorts, unabashed that I’m bare-assed in front of a good fifty mythics.
Blossom stumbles in the middle of her lunge toward the water before whirling on me with a heated glare. “Don’t you dare!”
But I only grin, the expression turning into a grimace as I coax out my wolf.
“Foul! That’s a foul!” the angry witch shouts.
“Sorry, Blossom,” I hear her dad say, the man not sounding contrite in the least. “You used magic in the maze. That means fair is fair.”
Damn right.
“Fucking wolves,” she snarls.
Then, there’s a splash, and I know she’s off, her lithe body arrowing toward the closest apple. My eyes can’t track her though, my sight blurring as I shift. I need another few breaths to push through the pain of the change.
Some of my kind can transform as fast as a blink with little more than a twinge.
Lucky bastards.
Still, even though the switch to my lupine form lost me half a minute, once I’m in my canine state, I charge into the water. The liquid parts easily as I paddle fast for the bobbing orbs, my strong strokes pushing me forward at a pace my human body wouldn’t have managed.
Blossom has already reached her first apple. She’s an adept swimmer, having spent most of her summers in this lake. Theproblem is, the chill water drags at her muscles while I now have a thick coat to protect me.
And there’s also the issue of grabbing an apple with that sassy mouth of hers.
My lengthened jaw makes it easy to snatch a bobbing piece of fruit from where it floats. I kick my legs in a quick turn and shoot back to the shore. After dropping off my first treasure, I don’t bother shaking the water out of my fur before plunging back in. As I plow through the waves, I spy Blossom’s powerful freestyle, her teeth clamped on an apple of her own.
She’s not giving up without a fight.
We continue on, back and forth, cheering from the shore following our progress. When the horn goes off, signaling the end of our ten minutes, Blossom and I return to land.
She collapses on the red rocky beach, her chest heaving with pants, soaking wet sports bra clinging to her chest and revealing the outline of a rigid set of nipples.
I want to warm the peaks with my mouth, and if we didn’t have an audience—one that includes her father—I’d do exactly that. Instead, I focus on the competition.
Her pile has three apples.
Mine has seven.
Root steps forward, grinning broadly at the gathering.
