Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(34)

He was already wearing the knife. He opened up his pack and drew out the sword and the gun, then handed the pack over to her.

She slid it on with a near-soundless grunt, and adjusted the weight.

“Where’s the cabin?” he asked.

She gave him directions, shapeshifted and visibly braced herself. She had gone much farther than he had already, and yes, she had a pair of wings that allowed her to cover more distance quickly, but she had also scouted the surrounding terrain with what sounded like a great deal of care. He didn’t think it was easy for a large avian Wyr to coast so low to the ground that she could fly between trees. She had to be tired.

The word he wanted to say stuck in his throat a little. “Thanks.”

She made a face. “I just want to get to the passageway as fast as we can, so forget it.”

“Already done.” He stood back and watched her launch.

Man, she might get under his skin like the most irritating splinter ever experienced, but he had to admit one thing. She was truly something to see when she took flight.

He shapeshifted too, and the panther raced after the harpy, following the direction of her trajectory.



Aryal landed at the hunter’s cabin with a sense of relief, and as soon as she could, she shrugged out of Quentin’s backpack. As a harpy she could fly for days if needed, but that was if she stayed in her natural state and she didn’t try to carry any extra load. With weapons, some canned and dehydrated food, clothing and the camping supplies, both hers and Quentin’s packs had been significant weights to haul around in the air.

The cabin was nestled in a hollow of land and surrounded by trees that would provide some protection from the most severe weather. It was a rough building, not much more than a single room, with a fieldstone fireplace and wood-framed bunk beds, but there was already plenty of firewood stored in a lean-to. There was also a clear running stream for fresh water, and a cleaning station for fresh game or fish.

She tossed Quentin’s pack into a corner, built a fire in the hearth, and as the warmth began to fill the space, she shook her sleeping bag out on the bottom bunk and threw herself on it with a sigh. She guessed it was early evening, around five thirty. Back in New York, it would be approaching midnight. Here, darkness was beginning to spill into the corners of the land, covering the secretive pockets where shy creatures hid. Tonight was going to be cold. It might even snow.

She closed her eyes and drifted. All her drifting thoughts swirled back to Quentin.

Coming upon him shirtless as he ate lunch had been a shock. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if it were high summer. She hadn’t expected the sight of his broad, bare shoulders in the winter landscape, and she had coasted for a few minutes just so that she could stare.

Last night, his face had turned to stone when she spoke the truth as she saw it, and this morning his temper had been so foul, she couldn’t fly away fast enough. She wasn’t sure what she had said that had struck him so hard, but she figured if they really weren’t going to kill each other, the best thing that could happen for the both of them was to get a little space from each other and regroup.

Taking the day to be by herself and surrounded by nature, not by concrete and asphalt, had worked wonders on her own temperament, and when she had talked to him at midday it had seemed to help him as well. He’d been calmer, if not exactly cheerful.

And half-naked.

Win-win.

She stretched, her shoulder muscles aching pleasantly, and toed off her boots. Then she sat up, stripped off her clothes and shapeshifted into the harpy again. Once she had changed, she went outside to splash off in the stream. The harpy loved it, but the biting cold water carried melted snow off the mountains and it was much too frigid for her to enjoy in her human form. The cabin didn’t have running water, nor was there any way to heat up large quantities of water, so this was the closest she was going to get to a bath tonight.

After she finished, she went back in the warm cabin and shapeshifted into her human form. She pulled on fresh underwear, then dressed in the same clothes she had on earlier, enjoying the peace and quiet of having the cabin to herself while she tried to make up her mind about whether or not she would try to seduce Quentin.

Hate sex still sounded awfully good. Biting him while they rolled around on the floor and screwed each other like crazed monkeys … She could take that gorgeous penis of his into her body, lock her legs around him, pump his rocket engine and not let go until they both shot to the moon. Mmmm. Yeah.

But they had already almost gone beyond that point into some other strange place. It was still an angry place that mingled sex and violence together, as they dared each other to do things they would never consider doing.

Except.

It would be truly magnificent to get him, Quentin Caeravorn, on his knees, to harness that sexy man and own him for a little while. He was no submissive, and that would make it even sweeter. The thought of it was almost enough to get her to agree to the dare. A time where he submitted, and gave up control to her, and in return she would give the same to him.

The problem was, neither one of them were submissive types. They were both dominant personalities.

Hell, Aryal didn’t even fit very well into a normal BDSM definition. She had explored clubs for a short time, intrigued, but the bottom line was, the lifestyle was much too intricate and stylized for her. She had neither the interest nor the patience to learn all the codes of conduct. She wondered if Quentin had.