CHAPTER NINE（Untitled）Grace

CHAPTER NINE

Grace

God, it's heady to have a guy's full attention. It's a little easier that I can't see his face and how gorgeous he is. I kind of forget and talk to Branikk like he's a normal guy instead of a movie star.

He certainly talks to me like I'm worth talking to instead of someone to ignore.

By the time we stop for the evening on the edge of a wide meadow, I've shown him three more of my favorite Bridgerton season two clips, trying to explain all the things that built up to the kiss I first showed him.

"So you want to be stung by a bee," he says as he lifts me down.

"What? No!"

"Good." He smirks, looking sinfully handsome. "I'm not sure I can produce a bee on demand."

"I can find you one," Aurora says.

"You want an excuse to eat flowers." Branikk waves his arm toward the meadow, the tall grass dotted with blue and pink flowers.

"As if I need an excuse to eat flowers." She snorts, and her skin flinches on her back like she's got an itch. "Now, get this saddle off me."

Branikk laughs and does as she asks, his clever fingers quickly unfastening the buckle. Then he stands in a fluid movement, lifting the saddle and saddlebags from her as if they weigh nothing.

My waist tingles, remembering how effortlessly he keeps lifting me. God, the sheer strength of him is sexy as hell.

I turn away from Branikk and his distracting everything , focusing on the view in front of me. The sun's setting over the trees to the far left, sending slanting bands of gold light across the open space, the sky overhead turning a brilliant orange and pink. A last few birds sing out, fluttering through the air as they fly to their night perches. A gentle breeze cools my face, bringing the clean scent of pine.

I don't know where I am, but it's so beautiful I almost don't care.

"I will hunt now." Branikk sets down the saddle and packs.

"Can I help?" I've never hunted a single day in my life, but I also hate the thought of him doing all the work while I do nothing. Though for all I know, he's going to walk off set for an hour of movie-star pampering and return with an animal one of the producers prepared for him.

"Gather wood for a fire, and clear a three-foot spot of grass." He pulls out a knife in a sheath and hands it to me. "You can use this."

It's a foot long, a good half of that blade. It's got to be a hunting knife. I wiggle it in the air. "Won't you need this?"

"I have another." He pulls out an even longer one.

Just how many weapons does this guy carry? The costume department must have been working overtime when they did him.

"Don't stray too far into the woods. Make sure Aurora can get to you quickly if anything happens." He raises his voice and calls out to her. "Watch out for Grace for me?"

She lifts her head from grazing. "Of course."

I catch his arm as he starts to turn away. "What do you mean by ‘anything'?"

"The sluagh aren't our only enemies. Many will have seen the Moon Goddess brighten the sky last night and will come looking for the sky gift." At my puzzled frown, he adds, "You're the sky gift, Grace. They'll want you."

I stare at the spot where he disappears into the trees for long moments. Enemies? Exactly what kind of reality TV show is this? Are they going full fantasy adventure? Shit. Clearly, I should have paid attention to more than Henry Cavill's butt when I watched Witcher .

They're not going to actually hurt me, right? They can't—I didn't sign any waivers or anything. But what if I'm not in the US anymore? What if they flew me to some country without a lot of laws, where the locals are all too happy to have Hollywood money flow into their economy? Or what if there was something in my employment contract that gave Stanley the rights to offer me up for something like this? It would be just like the carnival boss. Anything to make a buck.

I take out my frustration on some grass, gouging the knife into the ground and prying up chucks of the heavily rooted greenery. The fresh green smell of it mixes with that of rich dirt.

"Stop wasting it unnecessarily," Aurora says from right behind me. Her horn bats at my shoulder until I scoot out of the way. She rips up a large mouthful of grass and grinds it between her jaws.

How the hell did they get a horse to come over and help me like this? Who's controlling it?

Aurora's horn flashes in the last of the sunshine as she dips her head again.

"Can I touch it?" I point.

"Go ahead." She sounds grumpy but leaves her head down as she chews.

It's hard and slick instead of feeling porous, like bone, and my fingertips follow one of the whirls as it spirals around. "What are the grooves for?"

"To channel blood."

"Blood!" I yank my hand away.

She laughs, throwing her head back in a whinny. "What did you think a unicorn horn was for, human?"

"I don't know… Being pretty?"

"It's my sword." She stamps at the ground, kicking up the patch of grass she just cropped short to show bare dirt. Her hooves aren't shoed, and the front edge is sharp. "I am a warrior."

God, I can believe it. If she's actually a unicorn, then she's nothing like the sweet stories teenage girls love to read.

She rips up more of the grass, over and over, setting it aside instead of chewing. "There. You can dig your fire pit now."

"Thanks." I jab the knife into the ground. Now that some of my anger has left me, I realize it's probably horrible to do this to the blade, but Branikk gave it to me for this, so I keep going until I've cleared a three-foot wide circle. "That should do it, right?"

Aurora looks up from the pile of grass she's now eating. "It's fine. I'll stay here close to the trees while you gather wood."

It's weird, but I actually feel touched that she cares. Then I shake my head and stomp into the forest. Stop being a fool. None of this is real.

Branikk returns with two rabbits, already skinned and cleaned. They even have what look like arrow holes in their sides. It's a nice touch. Whoever fixed them for him did a good job.

Yet he handles them with ease, rubbing salt and spices into their surfaces and threading them onto branches. He also starts a fire easily, building a little cone of twigs stuffed with dried grass that he lights with a crystal that looks kind of like the one on my necklace.

I open my mouth to ask how it works, then snap it shut, knowing he'll say it's magic.

Then he adds larger and larger sticks, pulling from the collection I gathered. Soon, he's got a healthy fire crackling and sending sparks shooting up into the darkening sky. He cooks the rabbits like he knows what he's doing, turning them on the improvised spits until the smell of meat fills the air, setting my stomach grumbling.

As soon as they're done, he sets the rabbits on pewter plates. Then he picks up two oblong leaf- and vine-wrapped packets and tosses them into the fire, using a large branch to drag coals over them.

"What are those?"

"I found a patch of carrots while hunting and thought you might like a little variety." He uses his huge knife to carve up one of the rabbits, handing me a plate with two meaty thighs.

My teeth break through the slightly charred crust and sink into tender meat. It's hot and salty and seriously delicious. It also tastes real and satisfying in a way all the highly processed carnival food never does.

I eat several bites as quickly as the hot meat will allow, far from graceful and dainty, before I remember I have an audience.

Instead of disgust, Branikk looks at me with approving eyes and takes his own large bite of rabbit, using his tusks to rip away a hunk of meat.

When we finish with the rabbits, him devouring one and a half of them in a way that makes me stop worrying about my own healthy appetite, he fishes the packets from the fire. His knife slices across the charred vines and leaves, exposing steaming orange carrots, which he sprinkles with salt. They're only lightly cooked and still crunchy, but more flavorful than any carrot I've ever eaten.

We're quiet, both too interested in eating to talk. The wind sighs through the trees, and a few birds let out final sleepy chirps. It's nice after all the lights and noise of the fairgrounds, and I relax more than I have in months.

Finally, Branikk offers me blueberries, but I'm too full. He tucks them away in a saddlebag. "Breakfast, then."

He finds a clear spot just inside the cover of pine trees and smoothes the needles to flatness. "This will cushion us nicely."

He sets down the other saddlebag and pulls out a large piece of leather and various poles. With the speed of practiced familiarity, he erects a tent and spreads several fur pelts inside. When he stands, he throws me a wicked grin. "Although it might be nice if you wanted to make us some of those pillows for a softer bed."

I gape at him. "You can't seriously think we're going to share a bed!"

"I have only one set of furs, my bride." He imbues the word with heat and promise, his tongue curling around the sound.

"Don't call me that!" I press my hands to my hot cheeks. God, I'm so flustered, my body eager while my mind keeps shouting to be wary.

"What should I call you then?" His voice drops deeper as he steps closer, coiling a lock of my hair around his finger. "My wife. My mate. My moon bound." He brings my hair to his nose, his nostrils flaring on an inhale.

My hands drop. God, is he smelling me? Why is that hella hot?

"Mine," he growls, his voice losing all playfulness.