Chapter 8 : Pursuit

There was a rustling just past the edge of the trees that bordered the clearing. Fynn stepped away, moving his hands to make the vines release me. He hurried in the direction of the noise, gripping at the dagger on his belt. Unfortunately, the sudden release meant that I collapsed to the ground in a heap.

My heart was now pounding in my chest for another reason as I watched Fynn creep along the tree line. I wasn't sure if he could see anything or not, but I couldn't see a damn thing.

After a few moments, Fynn turned back to me.

"Go to bed," he said wearily.

I did as he said, scrambling into the bedroll. He didn't join me, instead propping himself up against a fir tree.

"Should I be worried?" I asked, still trying to clear my mind of the haze of desire that had clouded my judgment only moments ago.

"We're in the woods. There are woodland creatures everywhere. I'm sure it was just a fox," he assured me, though he sounded irritated. His eyes still scanned the clearing and the tree line though.

"A demon fox?" I clarified, only half joking.

"There's no such thing as demon foxes," he retorted.

"Oh, well, excuse me. Let me just tuck that fun fact away for the future," I snapped, settling down deep into the blankets.

Fynn didn't answer, but I could hear him chuckle quietly.

I wasn't sure if Fynn ever came to bed that night, but when I woke up, I felt lonely. He was already cleaning up the campsite, as usual, when I opened my eyes the next morning. The little bit of sky that I could see through the canopy of leaves overhead was a dark gray.

"It's later than it looks. Let's get moving. You can eat something from out of your pack for breakfast while we ride," Fynn instructed.

Something about his demeanor unnerved me. I hurried to pull on my dress and roll up the bedroll. I reached into my bag and grabbed out the first thing I could put my hand on, then slung it back on my back.

I had dug an apple out of the pack, so I supposed I'd have an apple for breakfast this morning.

Fynn helped me buckle the bedroll behind the saddle. Instead of sliding his sword and its sheath into the center of the bedroll like most days, he fastened the sheath at his belt and kept the sword at his side. I didn't like what that implied.

He lifted me onto the horse. I tried to scoot out of the way so he could mount up a little faster, then settled against his back, holding onto his hips as he urged Alastor back to the road.

Fynn was quiet, not that it was unusual for him. However, in the gloom of the morning and the way we had left urgently, I felt uneasy. His head seemed to swivel left and right far more frequently than usual, and sometimes he even turned to look completely over his shoulder.

"Your hands are shaking," he stated flatly.

"You're making me anxious," I informed him.

"There's nothing to be worried about," he told me, but it wasn't very convincing.

"Oh, yeah? Then, what's your problem?" I snapped.

"I think we need to take a shortcut to make up for lost time, and I can't remember where the turn is," he answered unpersuasively.

"Shortcuts are rarely shorter," I advised, though I was talking out of my ass. I just didn't like the idea of leaving the wide-open road where we could at least see a good way in front of and behind us.

"I didn't realize you were a cartographer," he said.

I rolled my eyes. Okay, he could have it his way. If he was scared of something, it had to be bad because I saw the way he had taken on that bear. He was a powerful fighter, I didn't want to know the kinds of things that haunted his nightmares.

We rode in silence for a while. He looked over his shoulder only a few more times. After what I guessed was about a half hour, Fynn turned Alastor down a smaller side road. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he stopped looking over it as much. The trees were much thicker here, and it was harder to see if anyone else was on this trail, but I didn't ask any questions or offer any directions.

Instead, I distracted myself from my worry by thinking about what the hell had possessed Fynn last night. I swore I could still feel his hands on my body, the thin white fabric of the cotton nightgown the only thing between us.

Did Fynn think about me the way I thought about him? Did he want me as badly as I was realizing I wanted him?

What did it matter? Nothing could ever happen between us. He was my captor. I would never forgive myself if I let him have his way with me. No matter how handsome he was, and how good it felt to have him touch me...

Fynn urged Alastor into a trot, though the horse moved his legs lazily so that it wasn't so bumpy. Still, I had to hang onto Fynn a little tighter to keep from rattling myself loose.

Would it be so bad to take a chance on some sort of interaction with Fynn? It was clear there was a hint of a spark between us, no matter how annoying I thought he might be. It could be a one-time thing, just to get it out of our system.

That was stupid, and I knew it. He hadn't even kissed me last night, and I couldn't get it out of my head. If we took things any further, I might develop some sort of sick addiction to him. Maybe I already had.

Fynn clicked his tongue, urging Alastor into a smooth canter. It felt like riding a rocking horse, though it caused my hips to grind against Fynn's backside. Luckily, the bedroll was mostly between us, but every now and then I would get jostled forward, and be pressed right against Fynn.

That didn't help me make my decision. I got lost in the repetitive motion of it all, thinking about Fynn bucking his hips against mine if we ever committed to experimenting with the tension between us. That confirmed it for me. Whether I felt anything other than attraction for Fynn or not, I was hopelessly obsessed with the idea of fucking him.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment at the realization, though no one knew what I was thinking but me.

There was a whistle and a whoop from somewhere behind us. It was entirely possible that Fynn hadn't sped Alastor up just to make up for lost time. Were we being followed? Who was behind us?

Fynn bunched the reins into one hand and held out his other hand. As we rode on, the branches from either side of the path closed up behind us, knitting together and hiding the road. I kept having to look over my shoulder to watch it happen, but that sort of made me motion sick, so I tried to strategically check in on that.

I didn't hear any more of the noises behind us, manmade or otherwise. I could only hear the branches rustling as Fynn covered our path.

"Should I be worried?" I called over the sound of Alastor's hooves.

"No," Fynn answered.

I looked over my shoulder again. The cover that Fynn was providing was getting thinner, as though he was having trouble calling the branches forward anymore. Thunder rumbled overhead, and I wished I had a cloak like Fynn's to keep the rain off. It wasn't raining yet, but I could smell it heavy in the air.

Fynn slowed Alastor back to a walk, putting his free hand back on the reins.

"I think that will do it for now," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Did you run out of energy?" I asked, unsure of how the magic worked.

"Something like that," he answered quietly. He sounded as if he had been jogging, so I wondered what sort of toll the magic took on his body.

The woods were getting darker. I knew we were approaching evening, but it seemed like the storm clouds might also be growing heavy with rain. Thunder rumbled again.

"Is rain here just water, or should I be worried about, like, poison or something?"

I could feel the low rumble of Fynn's chuckle roll through his chest as I huddled against him.

"What would you say if I told you the rain is poison?" he asked.

"I would make you find me shelter," I retorted, resisting the urge to punch him in the shoulder.

"You're in luck. It's just plain water," he answered.

Insufferable. Why were all the most handsome men the most insufferable?

I could hear rustling off to one side of the trail, but I couldn't see anything. Fynn must have heard it too, because he cocked his head to the side to try to hear better.

The woods were eerily quiet. I was thankful that his sword was within his reach today because there would have been no way for me to get his sword to him in a timely fashion if he didn't have it in his belt. If it was tucked in his bedroll still, I would never be able to wrestle it free.

Dropping the reins on Alastor's neck, Fynn peeled off his cloak. He twisted in the saddle, wrapping the cloak around me and then placing it back around his own shoulders. Now, I couldn't see anything, but I was warm and cozy under the cover of the cloak.

I could smell his musk better here. The smell of campfire and pine clung heavily to him, and I breathed it in deeply. They should learn how to make this into a cologne back home. It would be the most popular formula any company had. Women would flock to a man who smelled like this.

Rain began to fall in huge wet drops, the sound like when it rains on a tent canvas. However, the water just rolled right off the cloak, and I was able to stay mostly warm and dry under the cloak.

"Damn it," Fynn cursed suddenly.

"What? What's the matter?" I asked urgently, suddenly regretting being tucked away in the cloak. I couldn't see whatever was worrying Fynn.

"Don't worry about it. Don't say anything until I tell you it's safe," he ordered.

My jaw snapped shut. This time, he wasn't telling me to be quiet just out of rudeness. This was a warning, an instruction that might save my life, I was sure of it.

"Bandits," he hissed.