there.
Of course she bloody well wasn’t there. But that didn’t stop him from looking every time he came in.
Wet hair dripping rivulets down his shoulders, Quent toweled it dry furiously.
Zoë Kapoor was a bad-tempered and demanding prat, and had nonexistent social skills. God knew where she came from and where she lived and what she did besides hunt
gangas
and snipe at people. She could shoot an arrow as well as Robin Hood, but that was about all she was good for.
Well, that wasn’t precisely accurate, he had to admit. Certainly without her help a few weeks ago, they wouldn’t have been able to save the teenagers who’d been abducted. And the mayor of Envy, Vaughn Rogan, might have died from a lion attack.
And Quent would still be wondering if his dick worked properly after fifty years of hibernation.
But other than that intense, tear-your-clothes-off-and-slam-against-the-wall fuck that he still woke dreaming about, hard and hot and damp, there wasn’t any reason to think about Zoë.
Although he did have that fantasy of her in thigh-high leather boots…and nothing else.
In one of his weaker moments, he’d even gone so far as to wonder how he might find a pair…or have them made. Soft, supple leather that laced up the back…
That was, before he realized he had no way to pay for them. And no skills to barter. A rude awakening for a bloke who’d always had it all.
Now he had nothing. Nothing but the legacy of his murdering father.
Quent flung the damp towel over a chair and stalked over to his bed. He’d expected her before now, to be honest. She’d made such a big deal about those bloody arrows, following him back to Envy to retrieve the ones he’d found after she shot a few
gangas
the first time they’d met.
And yeah, she’d bloody well got them back after that destroy-the-sheets episode, sneaking off with them while he slept in the afterglow…but then Quent had acquired two more of her special arrows after she’d shot a lion and saved the mayor’s life. She’d know he had them.
Yes. He’d expected her before now. If for no other reason than to retrieve—or steal back—her precious arrows.
With a grunt of annoyance, he lifted the mattress and looked down at the box spring.
“Bloody fucking
hell
,” he breathed, staring in disbelief. They were gone. The arrows he’d hidden there were gone.
Quent dropped the mattress back in place and resisted the urge to throw something.
It was bad enough that she’d somehow, sometime in the last five or six hours, sneaked in and taken them…but that she hadn’t stuck around for Round Two of let-me-thank-you-for-keeping-my-arrows-safe-by-balling-theshite-out-of-you was a real slap in the face.
Angered by his rush of emotion, Quent turned away from the empty, lonely bed and stalked to the window. The sun had lowered in the west, but his view faced east and he could see only the faint glow of its last vestiges rising from over the roof above. The sky ahead had darkened, and the glow of Envy lights burned below.
Loosening his jaw, Quent realized he was being a bloody knob-end. There were other women, several of whom had made their interest very clear since he’d arrived in Envy. He and his companions were heroes for saving the teens, and as such had attracted more than their fair share of attention.
Besides, he liked variety. It was the spice of life. And variety meant no complications. No expectations.
And tonight the pints and wine would be flowing freely. Everyone would be in a celebratory mood. He’d have no trouble finding a soft, warm companion.
He never had before.
Simon ran.
It was different from when he ran before—on the streets of L.A. or Hollywood, on a track, round and round and round, on a treadmill.
This was wide-open infinity, overgrown and natural. Ghost towns. Wilderness.
He realized he could keep going, leave the dark, awkward walls of Envy behind him forever. He could no longer be found by anyone or any
thing
if he
Of course she bloody well wasn’t there. But that didn’t stop him from looking every time he came in.
Wet hair dripping rivulets down his shoulders, Quent toweled it dry furiously.
Zoë Kapoor was a bad-tempered and demanding prat, and had nonexistent social skills. God knew where she came from and where she lived and what she did besides hunt
gangas
and snipe at people. She could shoot an arrow as well as Robin Hood, but that was about all she was good for.
Well, that wasn’t precisely accurate, he had to admit. Certainly without her help a few weeks ago, they wouldn’t have been able to save the teenagers who’d been abducted. And the mayor of Envy, Vaughn Rogan, might have died from a lion attack.
And Quent would still be wondering if his dick worked properly after fifty years of hibernation.
But other than that intense, tear-your-clothes-off-and-slam-against-the-wall fuck that he still woke dreaming about, hard and hot and damp, there wasn’t any reason to think about Zoë.
Although he did have that fantasy of her in thigh-high leather boots…and nothing else.
In one of his weaker moments, he’d even gone so far as to wonder how he might find a pair…or have them made. Soft, supple leather that laced up the back…
That was, before he realized he had no way to pay for them. And no skills to barter. A rude awakening for a bloke who’d always had it all.
Now he had nothing. Nothing but the legacy of his murdering father.
Quent flung the damp towel over a chair and stalked over to his bed. He’d expected her before now, to be honest. She’d made such a big deal about those bloody arrows, following him back to Envy to retrieve the ones he’d found after she shot a few
gangas
the first time they’d met.
And yeah, she’d bloody well got them back after that destroy-the-sheets episode, sneaking off with them while he slept in the afterglow…but then Quent had acquired two more of her special arrows after she’d shot a lion and saved the mayor’s life. She’d know he had them.
Yes. He’d expected her before now. If for no other reason than to retrieve—or steal back—her precious arrows.
With a grunt of annoyance, he lifted the mattress and looked down at the box spring.
“Bloody fucking
hell
,” he breathed, staring in disbelief. They were gone. The arrows he’d hidden there were gone.
Quent dropped the mattress back in place and resisted the urge to throw something.
It was bad enough that she’d somehow, sometime in the last five or six hours, sneaked in and taken them…but that she hadn’t stuck around for Round Two of let-me-thank-you-for-keeping-my-arrows-safe-by-balling-theshite-out-of-you was a real slap in the face.
Angered by his rush of emotion, Quent turned away from the empty, lonely bed and stalked to the window. The sun had lowered in the west, but his view faced east and he could see only the faint glow of its last vestiges rising from over the roof above. The sky ahead had darkened, and the glow of Envy lights burned below.
Loosening his jaw, Quent realized he was being a bloody knob-end. There were other women, several of whom had made their interest very clear since he’d arrived in Envy. He and his companions were heroes for saving the teens, and as such had attracted more than their fair share of attention.
Besides, he liked variety. It was the spice of life. And variety meant no complications. No expectations.
And tonight the pints and wine would be flowing freely. Everyone would be in a celebratory mood. He’d have no trouble finding a soft, warm companion.
He never had before.
Simon ran.
It was different from when he ran before—on the streets of L.A. or Hollywood, on a track, round and round and round, on a treadmill.
This was wide-open infinity, overgrown and natural. Ghost towns. Wilderness.
He realized he could keep going, leave the dark, awkward walls of Envy behind him forever. He could no longer be found by anyone or any
thing
if he
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