The Beastkeeper's Bride

15: It Started With A Grub

15: It Started With A Grub

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Oh my God!

Her voice practically shouted through his mind, the effect as startling as if mental hands had slapped against his temples, and Blayne's eyes snapped open.

"Millie," he groaned, reaching through the furs for her, sure that he had fallen asleep with her in his arms after hours on the back of a beast. His hands met only the softness of the furs and that flooded him with concern, then the sound of her voice, frantic and fretful, mildly disgusted, thrust against his consciousness again.

Oh my GOD! OhmyGodohmyGod!

"Millie!"

He bolted upright then, his entire body shouting its protest at the movement. His muscles ached, his head swam with the exertion, but he ignored it all as he dove forward with his concern for her. After a brief assessment of the interior of the cottage, he deduced that she was indeed not within and he rolled to his feet. Staggering slightly, he strode swiftly to the door, yanking it wide and stepping outside. The cool air was bracing and Blayne knew he was still in a weakened state from the night before, a shiver uncoiling across his skin that he felt reverberate from deep within him. He needed food and, judging from the pungent odour pouring from his skin, a good scrubbing.

"Millie!" he called, surveying the property in search of her. He sensed she was nearby, and the repugnant disgust and fear tumbling through her thoughts indicated that she was in a state of excitability, and it almost made him sigh for it if he wasn't so damn worried about her. "Tell me where you are!"

A slew of foul oaths met his words and then she suddenly careened from the foliage at the perimeter of the trees bordering the property, sprinting towards him with something extended in her arms and a grimace of distaste on her face. Alarm made his heart increase in tempo, sure that she was being chased by something, but then he eyed what she had in her hands and he had to fight to keep the amusement from his visage.

She jolted to a stop before him, her feet scraping into the dust and gravel, and she brandished the grub-like creature at his face. What is this? Millie demanded and even her thoughts sounded a bit high-pitched and wobbly. Does it have a name?

"That is a wunbil," he told her, brow raised in question to her antics, and the creature- which was about as large as her arm and probably felt revolting with its slick, pink skin- squirmed fearfully between her hands.

Wunbil, she repeated with a nod and then pivoted, sprinting back into the trees. She wore the same dress he had left her in the day before, the skirts billowing out behind her as she crashed into the bracken. Wunbil, wunbil, wunbil, she repeated thrice more and his curiosity peaked.

Millie, when agitated the wunbil emit-

His warning was cut off abruptly, a shriek of disgust echoing through his thoughts. A stream of putrid smelling mucus, he finished for her. He knew well how she felt, having found out firsthand for himself many moons ago how malodorous the grub-like creature could be, though he could not help but feel amused at her right then.

Of all the- There followed a lot of cuss words. He wasn't aware young duchesses were well-versed in the art of swearing, but Millie clearly had a colourful repertoire from which to draw. She swore profusely as she continued to burst forth from the bushes once more, this time her long-legged gait sprinted towards the pool on the other side of the property. Gods, she had a lot of energy.