The Hunt (By Kiss and Claw #2) - Melissa Haag Page 0,119
stop hiding in the trees. Hey, don’t touch her,” a familiar squeaking voice said.
The cake I’d been eating fell from my fingers, and I frantically looked for skunks. One peeked at me from around a tree, its faint aroma filling my nose.
“No,” I said firmly.
“Stop touching yourself,” Piepen’s voice scolded. “We can’t do that here. There’s a better place for that.”
I’d had these dreams enough to know what the sound of Piepen’s voice meant. He was in my room.
“Your woman, your rules,” the unfamiliar voice said right before the skunk and the faint smell disappeared.
I waited for what they would do next, but there was nothing. Only silence and the lingering scent of cakes. Part of me knew I needed to wake up and make sure I was fine. The other part of me was tired of constantly struggling with everything. I just wanted five minutes of peace and relaxation. Five minutes of simplicity. The gods could at least give me that.
Rather than fight against the dream, I gave in to the part that needed peace and curled up on a soft patch of grass. The light breeze caressed my skin, and I stared up at the sun-dappled canopy.
Prior to Megan leaving, I’d never been much of an outdoors person. Yet, even without the cakes, the grove comforted me. With a sigh, I relaxed. My eyelids closed, and I began to slip away from my grove into that place of deeper sleep. However, my next inhale ripped me from that serenity as I choked on the sudden, cloying skunk smell.
Gasping and coughing, I tried to inhale a clean breath, but the toxic mix was inescapable.
I woke with a start and scrambled out of bed toward the open window. The cold, fresh air was a reprieve from what clouded my room. Without leaving my position of safety, I scanned the area, but there wasn’t a brownie in sight. Despite that, the scent was so strong my eyes were watering.
If Piepen wasn’t in the room with me, he had to be nearby.
My gaze landed on my partially opened bedroom door, and I growled in frustration. It had been closed when I’d gone to bed, just as the window had.
With one last cleansing inhale, I hurried across my room and slipped into the hallway. The scent was even stronger there. Faint sexual groans and high-pitched laughing filled my ears, drawing my watering gaze to the light emanating from the game room.
For a moment, I wavered. I could return to my room, shut the door, and go back to sleep with the window open. Or, I could be responsible and march into the game room and stop whatever activities had the house reeking of brownie lust. I desperately wanted to remain ignorant of what was going on but knew, if I didn’t put my foot down, Piepen would only see that as an invitation to continue these horrible invasions.
The need for air motivated me. I hurried forward, nudged the door open, and froze. It took a moment for what I was seeing to register.
Two brownies hovered in the air above the couch. They wore cowboy boots and western hats and nothing else. Arm in arm, they hooted and swirled in the air while they frantically tugged on their tiny toothpicks to the sounds emanating from the porn that played out on the television.
Sparkles burst from the new brownie and rained down on the already shiny cushions beneath them. Oanen’s gaming couch. The one he’d slept on with Megan the night he asked her to be his girlfriend.
I was going to kill Piepen.
“This was your best idea yet, Piepen,” the creature squeaked.
Piepen didn’t respond. He was too busy tugging on himself. He squealed, and his wings stopped a second before he sparkled profusely.
“We should be safe here, Wetwhistle,” Piepen panted, his wings fluttering to life again. His gaze went to the television, and his hand returned to his tiny twig.
“You are far from safe here, brownie,” I said. “My forgiveness is at an end.”
Piepen’s head whipped toward me, his gaze already filling with adoration.
“There’s my little lady!” He flew at me and stopped at the last moment without me needing to warn him. “I’d like to give you a hug. Are you in the mood for one?”
“I’m in the mood for your blood.”
“She doesn’t sound much different than Dewy,” Wetwhistle said, his eyes locked on the screen and his hand locked on his happy stick. “But, at least this one isn’t demanding your wings.”