Her voice falls gently upon my ears, like the hush of falling snow. And oh, how I long to hear my name fall from her lips in worship. Let it drift over my skin, praising me as I pleasure her. Listen for her to call out for me across our home.
It has been so very long since I have heard the sounds that make up my name from another. The thought spears throughme, sharp and unwanted. My gaze lingers on her face, searching for something even I cannot name.
She sits near the fire, her face glowing in the flickering light. There is a shadow to her aura, a weariness that was not there before, but her spirit has not dimmed.
Her friend, the small one she calls Sita, leans in, listening. They share words weighted with meaning, gestures that speak of old pain and new determination.
And then, she smiles. Not at me, but at Sita. A smile that is easy, familiar, given freely.
Seeing her with a measure of happiness should bring me peace. Instead, it twists something in my gut because that warmth is not for me. And I want her smile as much as I want to hear my name fall from her lips.
My greedy eyes take in her every move, and when I see her gesture toward the river, her arm sweeping toward the darkened stretch of forest beyond, my heart stutters.
She points tomyforest. To the place where the mountain calls to her. To me.
A low, warning rumble builds in my chest. If she crosses into my territory, I do not know if I will be able to stop myself from not just showing myself to her—but claiming her.
Does she know what she is asking? Does she feel it, the way the air changes when she speaks of stepping beyond the boundary?
My heart stutters at the thought of her crossing that line. Into my woods. Into my reach. I imagine it too easily—finding her lost beneath the dark canopy, eyes wide, heart racing, as her breath exits her perfect lips in sharp pants that feather into clouds.
How would she look if I stepped from the shadows? Would she run? Would she scream? Or would those iridescent eyes meet mine with something else?
Curiosity? Recognition? Desire?
I press a clawed hand into the frost-covered earth, grounding myself. She is not mine.
Not yet,my heart whispers again.
The one called Sita leaves, moving toward the guesthouse. She does not see the moment that follows when a stranger, a man, settles beside Dahlia. Not a beast like me. Another human, one she could turn her smile on, too.
I do not know him, but I know he does not belong here with his sharp voice. He is too easy around her. A true male would be on guard, protecting her from the monsters in this wood. Protecting her from me. He does not deserve her smile.
I shift forward, my massive form hidden among the trees. His posture is relaxed, his grin easy, but his movements are measured. Calculated. His hand lands on her knee, his fingers flexing just slightly.
I see the way he leans in, the way he touches her. A small thing. Maybe an innocent thing. And yet, the sight of it sets my blood to a slow, burning simmer. For what man is truly innocent?
I see her stiffen at his touch. She does not want it. Something hot and ugly unfurls inside me. I do not understand it.
No. That is another lie. I understand it too well.
A warning growl rumbles in my throat, a sound that does not belong to these peaceful foothills. But, before I can stop myself, I reach for a thick branch above me—snap.
The crack echoes through the still night like a thunderclap. Exploding like the pain resounding in my heart. A warning, unintentional, yet wholly deliberate.
Even the fire jumps, my anger pulsing through the night like a concussive force. The forest stills, small creatures ducking into their burrows, attuned to the presence of clear and present danger—to me.
She hears me. I know, before she even turns towards the sound, she senses me. Feels my soul calling to hers. I see it inthe way she stills, the way she glances over her shoulder toward the tree line, toward the darkness where I stand. Searching.
Her companion startles, laughing uneasily, brushing off the sound as nothing more than a forest creature, or a trick of the wind. A harmless thing.
What a fool he is. I am not harmless. I am the dark of the mountain.
He hesitates. Just for a breath. He glances toward her, toward the empty space beyond the fire. And then he waits. That is the only thing that spares him. Had he left her alone, had he abandoned her to face whatever lurked beyond the firelight, I would not have restrained myself.
I rarely take life, but I am not above enforcing the balance. And a male who would leave a female unprotected in my mountains has no place in them.
He waits for her companion to return, only leaving when Sita arrives. That is why I let him go. For now.
