Page 6 of Claimed By the Forest Reaper

I don’t pull away.

TOUCH-STARVED TENSION

His heartbeat doesn’t slow.

It hammers against my cheek like a war drum, wild and unfamiliar. I wait for him to let go. He doesn’t. His arms stay locked around me, fingers splayed across my back like he’s mapping the ridges of my spine. The forest holds its breath.

Finally, I push against his chest. “Okay. *Okay*. We’re done here.”

He releases me so fast I nearly faceplant into the moss. I scramble upright, brushing dirt off my dress. My palm still tingles where he touched me.

“What was that?” I demand.

He sits back on his heels, sigils dimming. His gaze drops to my hand.

“Don’t,” I warn when he reaches for it again.

He freezes.

“You can’t just—grab people. We’ve talked about this.”

A lie. We haven’t talked at all. But he tilts his head like he’s replaying the words, committing them to memory.

I retreat to the moss bed, putting the campfire between us. My ribs ache where the bond-thread hums. *Not magic. Something older.* I hate how I know that.

---

He builds me a bath.

Not a metaphor. One minute I’m sulking by the spring, picking leaves from my hair. The next, shadow vines erupt from the ground, weaving a basin into the rocks. Steam rises as the Reaper dips his hand into the water, heating it with a red glow.

“Show-off,” I mutter.

He flicks a droplet at me. It hits my forehead, warm and startling.

“Real mature.”

But when he leaves—vanishing into the trees like smoke—I strip fast. The water smells like lavender. *Actual* lavender. How? I sink up to my chin, sighing as the heat unknots my muscles.

His cloak hangs nearby. I ignore it.

Halfway through scrubbing three days of grime off, I feel eyes.

“If you’re peeping, I’m feeding your fancy hair to badgers.”

Silence. Then a huff—almost a laugh—from the shadows.

---

He’s everywhere.

Not suffocating, just… present. When I wake, he’s mending my boots with meticulous stitches. When I forage for edible mushrooms, he materializes to pluck a deathcap from my grip. When I snap at him to quit looming, he leans against a tree. Still watching.

The third time I catch him inhaling near my neck, I whirl on him.

“What’s your deal? Do I stink?”

He blinks. Sniffs the air deliberately. Shakes his head.