The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens #7)(3)

This time, I didn’t go as far back as the first instance. I merely returned to five minutes before I presented Petra with the challenge. And just as before, Petra had had no idea about any of it. It seemed only I could remember.

With the first time loop, there’d been a subtle change to the present path of time, but with the second, I’d only lost my challenge and Petra’s kiss.

Petra’s long sigh and stomp of goat’s hooves on the red-clay dirt brought me back to the present. Solid-green eyes stared up at me. Petra and I were so very different. A centaur and a satyr, we were not common bedfellows. And yet we found ourselves thrust into a strange new world that neither of us were fully prepared to navigate.

“Did you feel that magic, Tymanon?” he asked, shoving thick waves of dark hair out of his kind eyes. His voice was soft, not as deeply masculine as most males. If I had to classify Petra, then he was firmly a beta in every sense of the word. Not as abrasive as many of the other males in the game had been, he was gentle and introspective—traits I rather admired, if I must be honest. I had more than enough of an alpha temperament for the two of us.

I raised my brow and nodded. “Aye, I did.”

He puffed out his chest with a heavy sigh, looking around and peering deep into the forest beyond.

There were no creatures as in tune to the world around them as centaurs were. It was simply in our chemical make-up. As hybrids, we’d adapted the very best of both species. We were more intelligent than a human and far more intuitive than a horse.

But, Petra was no slouch either. In fact, he was rather surprising at times. “I sense nothing around us,” he said with a slow frown. He turned to me, giving me a small shrug of confusion, as if wondering what our next step should be.

And for once, I found myself just as befuddled. Usually, I was clever enough to work through a riddle, but I confess this one eluded me almost entirely. I still wasn’t quite certain what had caused the disruption in magic, or why we were out of the game with no word or warning from the gods who ran it.

“There is only one thing we can do, satyr. We must make camp for the night. Until we figure out what’s happened, there is no sense in wandering off into madness or, worse yet, danger. Powerful magic has been unleashed. We wait, watch, and learn.”

He nodded. “In this case, I must agree. I’ll go gather some twigs to start a fire.”

“Mhmm.” I nodded, watching as he walked off, his heels thump-thumping loudly on the trampled trail.

Generally, I wasn’t much for company, preferring to be alone in most things. I didn’t even travel with a herd. I was one of very few centaurs that favored the silence of my own thoughts over the noise of another’s.

But not once had Petra irritated me. In fact, I rather looked forward to our shared evenings, to talking into the wee hours of the night. I found my companion to be stimulating in the most wonderful of ways. I enjoyed his mind, enjoyed hearing of his escapades before meeting me.

He was so very different from the satyrs I’d read about in books. Satyrs had always been depicted as sensual creatures, obsessed with seduction, the chase, and lusts of the flesh. I’d thought them all silly and simple creatures before I’d met him. But he was so contrary to what I’d read about his kind that I found myself fascinated and curious about everything—above all, why he’d been brought into the games in the first place, and why he’d been brought for me, of all people.

Sighing heavily, I shook my head. Sunlight was fading fast. I had to make camp quickly.

I might be a female, but I was powerful. Reaching into the spelled pouch I always kept belted around my waist, I created a harness with the thick rope I found within. I attached one end to the trunk of a fallen tree and tied the other end around my waist. Working quietly but efficiently, I’d soon dragged enough timber into a large clearing and set about creating a comfortable lean-to. I was just slipping the final log in place when Petra returned with an armful of dried kindling.

We worked in silence as we built the campfire. He placed the twigs just so and I gathered enough large, flat stones to safely encircle it all. Once done, I withdrew a small sliver of flint from the leather pouch and, using one of my arrowheads, created an immediate spark.

“I suppose I should gather meat for us,” I said.

Petra blinked his eyes rapidly then looked up at me as if I’d startled him. He’d been staring into the fire with a mile-long look, the same look he’d been wearing the past month back at the games. I’d often wondered at the emptiness of it, but never questioned him about it. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me.

“Yes.” He rubbed his thick palms down his doe colored trousers. “Yes, and I will gather whatever edibles I can find.”

I used to think it odd that Petra wore clothing. As a female, I wore a leather halter over my breasts, but more to assuage the fragile sensibilities of the humans I’d been surrounded by in the games. Normally, I didn’t wear clothing. Being covered was considered an act of shame by most hybrids, something vain and silly. I’d grown accustomed to Petra’s use of pants, though I did sometimes wonder what his legs might look like beneath them. I’d read that satyr’s legs were far furrier than a centaur’s.

“Good.” I nodded once then turned and headed deeper into the forest, looking for any sign of life.

Centaurs were intensely curious. We lived for solving the most impossible of riddles and puzzles. Yet, every time Petra went silent, I didn’t seem to know what to think, say, or do. He was a puzzle I hadn’t quite cracked. Not even close.