gemstone. Now, if only she had a belt to help hold them up. She looked under Riggs’s bed, not finding anything to use as such. When he returned, she’d have to ask him where he kept his rope.
A pair of woolen socks darned many times over had been rolled together and stuffed into the right boot. Just looking at the boots, she kent they’d be too big. But beggars should not be choosers. At least they fastened with leather laces, so they wouldn’t fall off. She supposed she should be thankful he had spare boots from when he’d been a child.
While she imagined Riggs as a child—all boundless energy and wild black curls—she put on the boots and tied them up nice and secure. She took a few jarring steps. Might as well have bags of sand strapped to her legs, they were so heavy. But the thick soles, like cork seasoned with pitch, would protect her feet. ’Twas definitely different from walking in her doeskin shoes, but she’d get used to it. Had to, since he’d burned her shoes along with her dress.
Riggs was, in fact, gone “a while.” She ate the half-loaf of warm bread he’d left her, sipped some strong tea, swept up the ashes from the fire, tidied his workbench, and fetched fresh water from the brook that ran near the cabin. She’d just thrown open the shutters for fresh air when she caught sight of a towering dark form loping out of the forest and splashing into the brook.
She gasped with fear until she realized it was Riggs. In all his naked glory, like he’d been when she’d first laid eyes on him. Only then, he’d been too close for her to notice the animal grace infusing each of his movements, the beauty of his coat of masculine hair as it grew thick on his chest, forearms and lower legs and thinned on his shoulders, thighs and flank. Her eye went immediately to where that coat was thickest, between his legs. Her cheeks warmed as she stared. She had yet to look her fill before he turned his back and bent to wash himself.
He scooped up great handfuls of clean water and let them trickle down his powerful hips, across his broad back, over his head, turning his black hair blue with a wet sheen.
As the water returned to the brook, it was pink. His skin grew fairer, as though the water carried away something dark. Not dirt. Blood.
He was covered in it. Especially his hands, beard, and neck. She hadn’t noticed before, so enthralled was she with his form.
A pang of worry struck her. She looked at the bandage around his thigh, relieved to see the blood that had seeped through made a spot no larger than a thumbprint. Searching his fine body for other wounds, she found none. ’Twas not his blood. That meant it belonged to someone or somat else.
“ I was hunting,” he’d said when they’d first met.
“You hunt naked?”
“ Doesn’t everybody?”
He’d hunted this morning. That’s where he’d gone. And he hadn’t brought anything back with him, which meant he’d already eaten whatever creature whose blood he was washing off. He’d eaten it raw. After catching and killing it with his bare hands. And those large teeth.
A chill swept through her.
He was not human. She’d kent it before now, but the reality of it struck her anew.
Riggs stepped from the brook and raised his chin, looking toward the cabin.
She ducked away from the window, heart thundering.
She’d instinctively trusted him, but she’d done so without truly understanding what he was. He hunted and ate like an animal. But he also baked bread and heated water for tea. He was built like a beast, but he slept on a beautifully crafted bed in a cozy cabin. Were all the people in this place like him?
The sound of a door closing made her return to the window and look toward the shed twenty paces from the cabin. He must have slept there last night. Was he changing the bandages on his tusk wound? Clothing that powerful body? Och, none of her business.
Forcing her attention to matters that concerned her directly, she moved toward the
A pair of woolen socks darned many times over had been rolled together and stuffed into the right boot. Just looking at the boots, she kent they’d be too big. But beggars should not be choosers. At least they fastened with leather laces, so they wouldn’t fall off. She supposed she should be thankful he had spare boots from when he’d been a child.
While she imagined Riggs as a child—all boundless energy and wild black curls—she put on the boots and tied them up nice and secure. She took a few jarring steps. Might as well have bags of sand strapped to her legs, they were so heavy. But the thick soles, like cork seasoned with pitch, would protect her feet. ’Twas definitely different from walking in her doeskin shoes, but she’d get used to it. Had to, since he’d burned her shoes along with her dress.
Riggs was, in fact, gone “a while.” She ate the half-loaf of warm bread he’d left her, sipped some strong tea, swept up the ashes from the fire, tidied his workbench, and fetched fresh water from the brook that ran near the cabin. She’d just thrown open the shutters for fresh air when she caught sight of a towering dark form loping out of the forest and splashing into the brook.
She gasped with fear until she realized it was Riggs. In all his naked glory, like he’d been when she’d first laid eyes on him. Only then, he’d been too close for her to notice the animal grace infusing each of his movements, the beauty of his coat of masculine hair as it grew thick on his chest, forearms and lower legs and thinned on his shoulders, thighs and flank. Her eye went immediately to where that coat was thickest, between his legs. Her cheeks warmed as she stared. She had yet to look her fill before he turned his back and bent to wash himself.
He scooped up great handfuls of clean water and let them trickle down his powerful hips, across his broad back, over his head, turning his black hair blue with a wet sheen.
As the water returned to the brook, it was pink. His skin grew fairer, as though the water carried away something dark. Not dirt. Blood.
He was covered in it. Especially his hands, beard, and neck. She hadn’t noticed before, so enthralled was she with his form.
A pang of worry struck her. She looked at the bandage around his thigh, relieved to see the blood that had seeped through made a spot no larger than a thumbprint. Searching his fine body for other wounds, she found none. ’Twas not his blood. That meant it belonged to someone or somat else.
“ I was hunting,” he’d said when they’d first met.
“You hunt naked?”
“ Doesn’t everybody?”
He’d hunted this morning. That’s where he’d gone. And he hadn’t brought anything back with him, which meant he’d already eaten whatever creature whose blood he was washing off. He’d eaten it raw. After catching and killing it with his bare hands. And those large teeth.
A chill swept through her.
He was not human. She’d kent it before now, but the reality of it struck her anew.
Riggs stepped from the brook and raised his chin, looking toward the cabin.
She ducked away from the window, heart thundering.
She’d instinctively trusted him, but she’d done so without truly understanding what he was. He hunted and ate like an animal. But he also baked bread and heated water for tea. He was built like a beast, but he slept on a beautifully crafted bed in a cozy cabin. Were all the people in this place like him?
The sound of a door closing made her return to the window and look toward the shed twenty paces from the cabin. He must have slept there last night. Was he changing the bandages on his tusk wound? Clothing that powerful body? Och, none of her business.
Forcing her attention to matters that concerned her directly, she moved toward the
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