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Steph nods. "That's what it sounds like. To see if we're compatible. Some sort of matchmaking thing, I guess."
I let out a snort of disbelief. “It sounds like eHarmony meets Survivor.”
This has got to be a prank. A twisted, cosmically unfunny prank. I'm running for my life from a brutal and bloodthirsty drug cartel and the Marshals stick me on a cross-cultural version of The Bachelorette?
I glance out the window, taking in the dense forest whipping by. We're definitely in the mountains, probably the Blue Ridge range, given that we're in Kentucky.
My mind starts to conjure images of the kind of men who might inhabit a secluded mountain town. Burly, bearded, flannel-wearing lumberjack types. Or inbred, toothless hillbillies straight out of Deliverance.
I shudder. But then again, is that really worse than what I'm running from? Maybe the Marshals are on to something. At least in some backwoods town, I'd be far away from the reach of the Vega family. It's so crazy it just might work.
The woman is talking. Still. Not sure what she’s saying since I tuned out a few minutes ago, but I catch something about full agency and returning to our lives in thirty days if it doesn’t work out. Heck, after the last seven months I've had, thirty days in a remote village sounds like a Club Med vacation. It’s the part about returning to our lives that stings. Since I’ve got nothing to return to.
As if on cue, a collective gasp ripples through the van. I whip my head around, following everyone's gaze out the front windshield. My heart leaps into my throat.
We're careening towards a sheer cliff face, the rocky wall filling the entire view.
And we're not slowing down.
Panic seizes me. We're going to crash. Instinctively, I grip the seat bracing for impact and wondering if this is some kind of sick WITSEC idea of retiring witnesses. Just as I'm about to start a string of frenzied Hail Mary's, the solid rock seems to ripple, like a mirage in the desert heat. And then, it splits wide open, revealing a gaping chasm.
I stare in awe as we shoot into a long tunnel, the rock walls blurring past on either side. Beside me, Steph is chattering under her breath. The other women are silent, gripping their seats with white-knuckled intensity just like I am.
The tunnel seems to go on forever, winding deep into the heart of the mountain.
Finally, the van rolls to a stop. Still in the tunnel, but in a well-lit portion. A stooped old man with a craggy face, a long yellowish beard, and a wide-brimmed felt hat, hops out of the driver’s seat, opens the back of the van, and calmly instructs us to exit the vehicle.
We file out one by one, blinking in the bright light. As I try to get my vision to focus, I hear gasps and shrieks, and I'm pretty sure one of us faints.
And then I see it. Them. Whatever you want to call the hulking masses of fur and muscles.
Muscles…and…fur…?
No way. This can’t be real. I fell asleep in the van and I’m dreaming.
But nope. As I pinch myself, HARD, I realize I'm wide awake. It’s real.
Kiki, you're not in Kansas anymore.Or New York, or any version of reality you ever thought existed.
I recall Chatty Steph’s words—a secluded village…another culture…to see if we're compatible. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
As my brain grasps for purchase, a bouquet of flowers is suddenly thrust in my sight line and I look up into the furry face of an eight-foot tall shag carpet with arms. Slightly hysterical laughter bubbles up inside me but when I open my mouth, what comes out isn’t a laugh. Nope. It’s a top-of-my-lungs screeching wail that would make a B-movie scream queen proud.
Chapter 4
Gruffydd
"Make it a double this time."
Huw, the bartender, a grizzled old Squatch, raises a bushy eyebrow at me but then nods, reaches for my quart-sized stein, and fills it to the brim with the potent, amber liquid before sliding it over. I grab it and take a long, deep pull, the burn of the alcohol searing my throat.
The barstool creaks under my weight.
My soulstone, nestled on the tip of my cock, thrums with a steady, annoying pulse. Like an itch I can't scratch. I press a hand against it, as if that might soothe the sensation. No such luck.
As I suck down another huge swallow, I hear the scrape of stools and look up to see Olwydd and Taredd settling in on either side of me. Great. Just what I fucking need.
Olwydd claps me on the shoulder, nearly making me slosh my drink. "Thought we might find you here, buddy. Where’s your mate? Oh, wait, I remember she took one look at you and screamed in fright.”
