CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mist returns with a dead rabbit dangling from her mouth, and Krivoth carries it off into the trees to skin and prepare, not wanting the blood to attract predators to our camp. I let out a soft sigh of relief. Even though I'm not a vegetarian, I'm also pretty sure I'm not ready to go all "wilderness survival girl" and deal with the reality of butchering meat quite yet. But I've had to hunt in a couple of games, so I bet I can work up to it.

"What about you?" I ask the cat. She's awfully large, and Krivoth's so big he looks like he could eat two rabbits all on his own. "Is one rabbit going to be enough for all of us?"

"Of course it isn't." She licks a paw and swipes it over her face. "I hunted for me first. I've already eaten."

I shove the last of the sticks into the fire and look around for more. I've cleared everything out of the immediate vicinity—everything but pinecones, that is.

A mix of elation and frustration fills me. I'm thrilled I got my power to work and also antsy to get it to work when and how I want it to. "Gotta level up, Taylor," I whisper the old mantra I use whenever I hit a rough patch in learning a new game.

"What's ‘level up'?" Mist stops bathing to stare at me, her green eyes reflecting the fire's light. I hadn't realized it had gotten so dark so quickly. There aren't any streetlights to keep night at bay here, and the trees block the last of the daylight.

"It means to get better at doing something," I say, brushing my hands against my jeans. "I gotta learn how to use my power."

"A kitten does not become a great hunter in a single day."

"Are you sharing ancient cat sith wisdom with me?"

"No." Her ratcheting purr-laugh rings out. "I speak only common sense."

I laugh with her, amused that I assumed she doled out profound sayings like a side character in a video game.

Krivoth returns with more wood for the fire and the rabbit already threaded onto a spit. He nestles things that look like small ears of corn still wrapped in leaves around the base of the fire, then holds the rabbit over the flames. While it cooks, he gives me a first course of long thin pale green stalks that crunch like raw asparagus and taste kinda like cucumber.

"What are these?"

"Cattail shoots." He points to the corn-ear things. "And those are the flower head."

The smell of cooking meat hits my nose, and I effing drool a little as my stomach growls. I sometimes get caught up in a game and forget to eat for hours, and that's exactly what I did today—I got caught up in trying to learn my new power. But all of this has also been a lot more physical than potatoing in my gaming chair, so I'm hungry.

The rabbit's simple—Krivoth only added salt and some dried herbs—but it's still one of the best things I've ever eaten. He peels the outer leaves away to expose the steaming inner cob of the flower heads, sprinkling them with salt. They're so good too, sweet like fresh corn.

Mist watches us, amused. "You're welcome."

I thank her profusely, and Krivoth grunts his thanks as well.

When we finish, he banks the fire and buries these tuber things in the coals. I'm stuffed and yawning from a food coma, but I still ask, "Are those potatoes?"

He shakes his head. "The cattail root. It's starchy like a potato. We'll have them for breakfast."

"Mmm," I hum happily. I love potatoes.

He erects a tent over pinecone-cleared ground, spreads furs across the floor, and waves me in.

I crawl forward, grateful, then look back at him. "What about you?"

"I'll keep watch."

"No," Mist says. "I will. Get some sleep. The clearing's not big enough for a unicorn, a tent, and an orc." She backs into the trees, her body disappearing from sight until only her smile lingers for a few seconds before winking out.

"Come on." I pat the furs beside me, my fingers lingering on their softness. "There's room."

Or maybe I'm wrong, because the reality of Krivoth in the tent with me turns my words into an unintentional lie. He's so big, so present. Even though we don't touch, I feel him all down my near side like a pressure. His scent, pine and leather and male, fills the air.

An owl hoots and something rustles leaves outside, making me jump. It's quiet in Alarria, almost too quiet after the constant hubbub of a city, and that quiet amplifies every noise. The steady rhythm of Krivoth's breaths becomes the sound I focus on as I tumble down into sleep.

Wakefulness creeps in with a feeling of delicious warmth and strength. I effing suck as a morning person, and my alarm hasn't gone off yet, so I don't force it, letting myself drift slowly to awareness. I had the most amazing dream, filled with a sexy green orc and quests and magic and—

A body moves against mine, and I jolt the rest of the way awake. The tan leather overhead tints the morning light to a rich gold that makes Krivoth's skin look greener than ever. The pointed tip of one ear pokes out of his long, loose hair, and deep breaths sigh from between lips slightly parted by his tusks. He's not a dream.

So very not a dream.

He moved—or I moved—closer in the night. He's on his back with me on my side, plastered against him. His shoulder pillows my head, and my arm hugs his chest. Hell, I've even thrown a thigh over his!

It's as if in sleep my body decided to crawl right back on top of him, where it had spent so much of yesterday.

And let's just say my body's not wrong. Lying on Krivoth isn't exactly what anyone would call a hardship.

I must have tensed or something, because he comes awake instantly, his dark eyes snapping open and meeting mine. His arm curls around me, his hand finding my butt, and I suck in a sharp breath as a tingling awareness of his closeness washes over me.

I feel like I could happily fall into his gaze to wander forever, trapped in this sleepy, sexy moment of half-wakefulness where anything can happen.

"Taylor," he rumbles, "my br—"

"You should get out here," Mist says from right outside the tent. "I think the unicorn's about to wake."

"What?" Krivoth sits upright, pulling me with him.

"I saw a leg twitch," Mist says.

I push aside any disappointment I feel at what almost happened. Excitement over Storm skitters through me, washing away the last of my fatigue as I crawl out of the tent after Krivoth.

He crouches beside Storm, pressing his fingers to the unicorn's jaw.

Storm gives a muffled grumble, "Stop pawing at me."

"Stop sleeping," Krivoth growls back, but there's no true heat in it.

"Storm!" I throw my arms around the unicorn's neck as best I can with him on the ground. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

His skin twitches in that way horses have, and his legs churn. "Let me up, the both of you. This is undignified."

I back away, but Krivoth puts a hand on Storm's neck and holds him down. "Take it easy. There's no shame in any of this. You fought off deathsleep."

The unicorn stills, then snorts. "You're right. I'm clearly a superior fae."

Krivoth laughs, and I love the sound. "First the cat sith, now you. I'm surrounded by the best."

"Cat sith?" Storm asks, straining upward again.

Mist walks around until he can see her, her steps almost a prance. "You have the honor of being in my presence, unicorn. I am Mist, and I have watched over you all through the night."

"I did not consent to such a debt!" Storm barks, surprising me with his anger.

"Hey, now!" I hold up both hands. "We're all friends here."

Storm glares at me, and Mist's eyes glitter with amusement, as if I've said something incredibly stupid.

"Okay, maybe not friends." I backpedal. "But we're all… quest mates, and quest mates have each other's backs. It's a rule."

"Whose rule?" Storm's horn seems extra pointy when he's mad. "I know of none such."

"Uh." Think fast, Taylor! "It's a rule decreed by the High Mage of the Swordhold Seven." It's not even a lie, since I'm that mage and just made up the rule based on how gaming guilds work.

Krivoth shoots me a sideways glance—he clearly remembers that's the way I introduced myself to him—but he doesn't call me out for declaring myself an expert. And it's not a lie, not when it comes to quests and games. My guild really did name me their "High" Mage.

"Let me up," Storm snaps. "No one needs to watch over me. I'm a great warrior!"

Oh, boy. Someone's feeling vulnerable.

"That deathsleep is nasty stuff," I say. "It's so amazing that you shook it off."

"You're right. I am amazing." He stretches his front legs out and rolls onto his stomach, shaking his head as if clearing away cobwebs. Then he surges up onto his feet and locks one back leg, canting that hip.

Krivoth packs away the furs and takes the tent down in record time. Then he digs into the ashes of last night's fire, fishes out the "potatoes," and kicks dirt over the whole area to smother any lingering embers.

"Let's go to the creek." He attaches the saddlebags to the saddle and lifts the entire thing onto one shoulder.

For all the unicorn's protests of being fine, he doesn't demand to carry the saddle, let alone any of us.

We head out. Krivoth goes first, followed by Storm, then me, with Mist bringing up the rear.

We pass one of the blue birch trees, and it makes a papery rasp when I touch the silver curls of its bark. The leaves wave overhead in the pure blue of a clear summer sky. It's beautiful and magical all rolled into one.

Bright-yellow birds dart from branch to branch, singing warbling songs.

"What do you call those?" I point at one and glance back over my shoulder at Mist.

"Barely a mouthful." She grins, wide and fangy.

I laugh. "No, really."

"They're golden larks. Quite tasty, but far too small."

"I don't think we have those on Earth, but we do have turkeys." I shoot her a playful smile. "They're a bird that can grow to thirty pounds."

"I want to hear more of these turkeys."

"Mom bought a thirty-pound bird last Christmas because one of the grocery stores had this mega sale. Only, once she got it home, it was too big to fit in the oven."

Mist snorts. "This obsession with cooking meat. I don't get it."

Before I can mount a proper defense of Aunt Marge's impromptu barbeque pit, we arrive at the creek.

Krivoth moves out of the way and sets down the saddle. He stands near Storm's side, not saying a word but clearly ready to… what? Catch the unicorn if he topples? The orc's seriously strong, but Storm's built like the largest of horses. He must weigh well over a thousand pounds.

Still, I like that Krivoth's willing to try.

Storm spreads his front legs and lowers his head. As soon as his mouth touches the water, he sucks in great gulps, clearly very thirsty.

I feel bad, like I should have had a bowl of water ready for him or something, but no bowl would have been big enough. And Krivoth realized that and made sure we got to a viable solution as quickly as possible.

Mist pads over to the creek and crouches to drink, her tongue a pink blur as she laps at the water. When they're both done, Krivoth refills the waterskins and offers one to me with the cleaning cloth.

"Thanks!" I snatch them up and turn away, heading into the woods to take care of business and wash up. The cleaning cloth is amazing! I'm even able to run it over my lacy undies and give them a freshening up.

When I return to the creek and the others, Krivoth disappears into the trees for his own bathroom break, and I refill my waterskin.

The water rushes by in a happy burble, and the sun filters through the trees just enough to strike the surface with flashes of diamonds. It's peaceful and lovely. A good game writer tries to put in little moments like these, the daily things that make a game seem more real. I love adding them as touches, but I've never been one of the players to linger, always eager for action. But this? This is nice.

Especially when Krivoth returns, rinses the "potatoes," and slices open the thick rind to expose the soft, cooked inside. He sprinkles them with salt and hands me mine, and we eat, using our fingers to scoop out the soft starchy flesh. It's not quite as tasty as a potato, or maybe it's the lack of butter, but it's not bad.

"What are we eating?"

"Cattails." He points to a stand of tall plants growing right at the edge of the creek, like someone hit the "super grow" setting on grass. Long-bladed green leaves stand upright, with stalks topped with the little "corn on the cob" heads we ate last night.

"I thought cattails had brown hotdog thingies on them." I mime the shape with my hands.

"That's what the flower heads turn into after they've bloomed."

"Ohhh." God, he knows so much more than I do about everything it takes to survive here. I swallow the last bite of my breakfast, then turn to him. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found me. Even if I'd gotten away from the ogre, I don't know what to eat or who to trust or anything about this world."

His eyes widen, looking both amazed and a little lost, as if no one's ever thanked him before, and it makes me want to throw my arms around him and tell him just how wonderful he is.