Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

Untouchable—despite how much closer she was now. He studied her—enraptured as the gasp escaped her mouth, followed by a laugh—as if such a simple act in life like bathing in the rushing waters of a creek was startling to her.

He could not fathom living in a desert. There were many aspects of Toula’s wolves he could not quite understand.

Something sinister that lay beneath, perhaps—veiled by an act of perfection that even their Pharaoh might have been lied about.

Or, perhaps, it truly was changing from the times he had heard of—the report from both the soldier of Mereo and a quicksilver spirit.

She proclaimed he looked like a God—one she had considered kissing. His mouth remained dry, despite the cooling waters he stood firmly within. He had children—he had his fair share of lovers. A dead wife once, another departed far from him by choice.

There was something about the diminutive stranger before him that made him feel youthful and once more inexperienced.

What he should have done is ask her if she had heat stroke from the gilded lands of sand she had come from—if she needed to see their healer.

What he did instead was duck down under the waters—resurfacing after closing only a few more inches between them, and yet enough to tease more of her scent to him—not only of mother nature’s baiting lure, but her. This dark beauty with bright eyes and a sharp tongue. Water droplets pooled along his chin—his eyes were intent upon her.

He was not only emboldened by the burn of the berries—loneliness, too, perhaps played a stronger role. Tilting his head down to study her, he found his smile fading, his lips inching closer to her— “May I?”