Hooked [Complete]

7. Tipsy Goddess

Author's Note:

Song for this Chapter: Spoil My Night by Post Malone feat. Swae Lee

https://open.spotify.com/track/5VuxWXbt7XENQCtE9TzpTv?si=8E1kI-8YR2COLvu1pB7msA

Carrie skipped up the path, humming the last tune she had played before packing the violin away. She'd left Malone's amidst protests and pleas for her to stay. She couldn't remember the last time she had that much fun—or that much whiskey. It had been three hundred years since she played the violin—not since she came to America, and she hadn't had that much to drink since Prohibition. It was nice for a change, to feel like the girl she looked like.

She patted her cheeks, trying to relax the smile that resisting fading. She couldn't let Hearne see how much she was really enjoying herself in this backwoods he had drug her to.

She slowed on the path up to the overlook, taking the time to arrange her face into an expression of jaded boredom. Hearne was just ahead, she could feel him. They had been far apart for two millenia, but now that they had traveled together for a few days, she could sense his presence and knew exactly where he was, at least while they were within a mile or so of each other.

Despite the weather, he had stripped to the waist—the way he always did, in the forest. The glow of the campus and downtown were strewn out like fairy lights beneath the overlook. Hearne sat perfectly still, with hands on knees, spine straight, a content expression on his face. With his marked dark body glowing in the moonlight, he looked like the primal Lord he was, surveying his Wilderness Kingdom with satisfaction.

Carrie flounced down beside him, spreading her panted legs suggestively on the granite couch. He ignored her.

She pouted. Despite the fact that they were truly and finally over, she still liked to see his face melt into desire at her approach, for old time's sake.

"What ho, my Lord?" she baited him. They had missed seeing each other in the Medieval Days entirely. She had wanted to say that to him for five hundred years.

He looked at her speculatively, but played along. "Naught but your cups, it seems." His disapproval was evident.

"I'm not in my cups. Goddesses don't get drunk. How dare you suggest such a thing."

"Hmmm." Then sourly, "Enjoy your pub wenching? I would dare to suggest such a thing is below a goddess."

"Wenching? I was providing the entertainment, not the drinks," she noted, bending toward him, her eyes cut to slits. "And they adored me, in case you didn't notice."

"They adored more than your skill with the violin, I noticed." He hooked one finger into the low cut neck of her top, taking full advantage of the cleavage she made available. "Are you going to sleep your way through the whole student body?" he asked casually.

She ignored the finger that stroked the crevice between her breasts, but she watched his face, reveling in his attention. "If I did, it would be but a mere pittance compared to the number of men I've already had—since you."

His eyes met hers, finally, and the green that flared was not of forests, but of jealousy. "Tell me...these multitudes of mortals you've bedded, how did they compare to me?" he challenged.

She snorted. They didn't, but she would never give him the satisfaction of admitting it, so instead she said, "Don't get your horns twisted over my conquests. Oh wait, I forgot—you can't twist what don't have." She grabbed his head and made a show of feeling for his horns. "Not even so much as nubs, yet. Dear Dru seems resistant to your charms."