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This deep in the valley the trees were so thick that he couldn’t see the sky, leaving no sun or smoke to give context to the map. Fortunately, he’d taken a compass from one of the shelves, brass and vintage like so much of the tower.
Northwest. Toward the smoke.
He smelled it long before he saw it—warm and charred and surprisingly savory.
Sandy’s assessment of a campfire seemed right. This didn’t smell like the acrid smoke of pine needles and green vegetation. If anything, it was more like barbecue.
As he got closer, a gray-blue mist settled between the trees. It carried a sweet note of burned sugar and rich dinners. Like every puff was laced with a strangely pleasant combination of caramel and roasting meats.
Ahead, the tree line thinned and the smoke thickened. The ferns underfoot melded with lush ryegrass.
And then, Luca was out of the forest and into a clearing.
On the right was a wide but shallow river, no more than waist deep.
On the left was an unexpected log cabin, the only other house he’d seen in the woods. It looked sturdy but ancient, with a steep roof and thick glass in the compact windows. The front door was open, with laundry draped over the porch. The only thing missing was a rocking chair and a jug of moonshine.
And in between the cabin and river, among a gentle field of swaying green, was the strangest fire that Luca had ever seen.
Because it wasn’t an ordinary campfire.
It was some kind of smoking hut.
The fire itself was as big as three normal campfires combined, which probably explained why Luca hadn’t seen anything from the tower before now. This wasn’t the kind of fire you’d use to cook up some bacon.
The smoking pit was dug well into the ground and ringed by large rocks. Above it was canopy of lashed wood and green leaves, capturing the sweet smoke that billowed between strung-up lines of trout, their delicate flesh already colored like cumin.
And at the fire’s edge, sitting wide-eyed and practically licking its lips with anticipation, was the fox he’d seen on his first morning in the tower.
Luca was sure it was the same one. The fur pattern was too similar to be a coincidence.
“Bowie,” came an unexpected voice from beyond the smoky veil. “Keep your paws back, buddy. I’ll give you one when they’re done.” The fox gave a high-pitched whine and slumped to the grass. “Yeah, I know. I’m so mean to you.”
Luca crept through the gray. The voice was familiar, but it couldn’t be him.
That was over a week ago.
Luca stopped as soon as he cleared the smoke—eyes bulging and mouth slack.
Oh, wow . . .
It was indeed Artair Osmond.
And he was completely naked.
The man was lazing on his back by the grassy banks of the river. Despite the cabin just twenty feet away, he’d set up a separate camp near the fire—a thick, old-school canvas tent, held by strong ropes at the side and a lashed crossbeam along the top. Heavy cooking gear was stacked neatly out front, alongside a well-worn pair of boots. Peeking out of the canvas flaps was a luxe but vintage-looking air mattress, the low and squishy kind that self-inflated, rather than the blow-up balloons that always deflated overnight.
But there was no risk of deflating at this sight.
Surprisingly, Artair’s skin wasn’t burned pink, but had picked up a slight tan in the week since Luca had seen him, something he wouldn’t have assumed from someone with such an Irish complexion.
Stocky arms were rested against thick and ruddy locks, the position revealing his unkempt armpit hair. Beefy legs were spread in a jumping jack against the grass, covered in rusty fur up his thighs and across his belly and thick on his shoulders, which were scattered in the same freckles that blessed his face.
And among that thatch was the single most perfect bear dick that Luca had ever seen—chunky and cut and pink-headed and hefty, even at total rest. It wasn’t a monster, not some terrifying porn-star dong that draped over his hip and kissed the grass. Instead, it was the perfect size and girth to say: Come on, big boy, you know you’ll never get tired of playing with this thing.
Luca gawped, wondering for a moment if he was dreaming. After all, this was the guy he’d thought about in so many spare moments and dark nights. The man who was so perfectly matched to his ideal body type that Luca had barely been able to restrain himself last time.
And now, he was right there.
