Page 147 of Rest In Knotty Pieces

Sage chortles. “You are so vain.”

“I am not.”

“You do a hundred strokes of the hairbrush through your hair on each side every night. You are vain, my love, but it’s okay; we like you like that.”

Blaze grumbles. “I like to look good.”

“You do look amazing,” I say without thinking, seeking to soothe his unease.

The bubble of warmth that flows through the bond is enough to make me growl in exasperation.

“You do care!” Sage teases. “So, when do I get to bite you?”

“Never!” I snap.

“Aw, come on, you know you want me to bite you. I saw a piece of exposed skin near your hairline,” Sage wiggles closer. His fingers brush the spot. I shiver. “Right here.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He kisses my forehead, then slides back to his spot.

“Is this what our future could look like?” Rolly asks. “No killing, just sitting here giving each other shit and making out?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sage asks with a laugh.

“Not at all. I think it sounds delicious. Delectable. Completely and utterly divine.”

“Have you had a stroke, Rolly?” Roseland asks.

“Nope, I’m thinking about words that start with D that make me happy.”

“Uh-huh. You want to spit out what you mean?”

“Nope. I swallow,” he says proudly.

It’s just so ridiculous, and he says it so proudly that I get the giggles, and then I’m laughing so hard I’m crying and have to sit up.

Rolly pounces on me, and we roll around, wrestling and play fighting, and for the first time since Blaze let me go, I forget about the fact that I’m underground and that we’re being hunted.

I just…exist.

Kestrel

You know when something is wrong if you listen to your instincts. I’ve been listening so hard and so long that I can feel it long before I step out of the cabin. But the minute I step through that door, I know there is something dangerous out there, something familiar.

I want to be wrong. So badly.

I don’t know if it can see me, but I can feel it in the hostility of the forest, the way it’s holding its silence. The animals are quiet like some big trauma has happened, the birds are gone or hiding, even the insects don’t seem as loud. A predator is lurking out here.

There’s the faintest hint of something in the air that doesn’t belong, a scent I know too well to ignore, but one I can’t accurately describe. It’s foul, and it’s a more visceral reaction. Like my hindbrain just reacts into fear and stops me from thinking clearly.

My brain feeds me horrors and whispers the name of who has done this, but still, I shove it back, needing evidence, needing proof before I have to give up this life I’ve stolen for myself.

Please be wrong.

I slip away, following the forest into the darker, thicker area. Following that stench like its breadcrumbs. The trees grow thinner here, but in thicker density, bushes grow taller than a person, and light is almost non-existent.

My legs tremble and ache, but I force myself to keep going because I need proof.