Page 33 of The Tanglewood Witches (The Three Sisters 1)
A strange, tightly coiled tension began low in her abdomen. She’d never seen anything like him. His skin was even darker than Isis’s, and it created a stunning presence against the bright blue sky and green tree. She thought she might like to watch him for the rest of the day, perhaps paint his likeness. Having known no other man but her father, she desperately wanted to study the way his muscles might stretch and bunch when he moved.
“I’m coming down.”
With her body reacting so strangely to the man, all she could muster was a nod. Two dark wings unfolded from his back, not gossamer like the nymphs who were common in the garden but webbed like a bat’s with black scales that reflected gold in the sun. She’d seen that color before. Gilded obsidian. Her mind blanked again as he floated from his perch to the sand in front of her.
“Oh.” The sound came from deep inside Medea’s throat. Without even thinking about the repercussions, she reached for his wing, longing to touch it, then stopped herself, her hand floating in the air between them. Quickly she retracted it, resting her fingers instead on her stomach.
“Who are you?” she asked. “How is it you came to be in the garden?”
“I came to ask you the same question.”
She took a step back, turning her chin away but keeping her eyes on him. “Ilivehere. It is you who are new to this place.”
He laughed. “I most certainly am not new.” He tipped his head. “Although I don’t usually come here specifically. I grant you that.”
“I’ve never seen you before,” she said defensively. “And I was born in this place and have lived here my entire life.”
“You were born in the garden?” One eyebrow peaked, and she was enchanted by the way the corner of his mouth elevated with it.
She nodded. “Yes. Of course. Outsiders are not allowed. Unless you are a god? A friend of Hera’s?” She took another step away from him. Strangers were unheard of in the garden, and anyone powerful enough to get in was someone to be feared.
“I am not a god.” He paced around her.
He stalked around her like a lithe predator. How distracting he was when he walked, and the sunlight kissed his skin. Her stomach did a funny little flip. She inhaled deeply in response to the feeling and was rewarded with a full breath of his scent: fresh-cut wood, ginger root, and a hint of woodsmoke. Intoxicating! She caught herself leaning toward him before she remembered her good sense.
“Do you always inspect others like this?” She pressed a hand to her quivering stomach. Her words sounded more defensive than she’d intended, but the man flustered her.
“Not always. Just you. What are you?”
“I recall asking you the same thing, and still I have no answer. Are you Hermes, the winged god?”
“I told you I am not a god.”
“Then what?”
“Are you a nymph? You don’t look like a nymph.”
The base of Medea’s skull tingled, and her father’s warnings screamed in her brain. Technically they were not supposed to be living in the garden. Who was this man who dropped out of the sky? Surely it would not behoove her to tell him the truth. But lying seemed equally risky. She had no idea who he was or what he already knew about her.
“I am no more or less exactly who I am, a lifelong resident of Hera’s garden and thankful for my life here.”
He smiled, and the sheer radiance of his white teeth and his dimpled cheek made her heart slam against her rib cage. Surely he’d lied. He must be a god with a face like his. He was too perfect to be anything else.
“Now I’ve told you what I am, I deserve the same respect.”
“I…” He hesitated, his eyes roving over her as if he was trying to decide if he should trust her. “I am the Guardian at the Gate. I saw you in the field today and did not recognize your kind.”
All her muscles tensed in horror as she realized what he meant. All the signs were there. The amber eyes, the obsidian wings lined with gold. Could this be the transformed dragon? Truly the Guardian at the Gate?
“You are the dragon transformed?” She forced herself to swallow past the lump of fear forming in her throat.
He bowed at the waist. “Although you say you were born here, I’ve never seen you before this morning. I was unaware any creatures but nymphs lived here.”
“We rarely go near the gate, but my sisters wanted to see the flowers.”
He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Nymphs rarely spend time there, but then you are not a nymph, are you?” His tone sounded accusatory, but then his question wasn’t a question at all.
Medea licked her lower lip. “I’ve never had a need to call myself the same or different from the others who live among us. I simply am, as are my sisters.”
