The Hunter's Husband?

His escort rose with the others, and Matt reached toward her arm before catching himself. She had been beside him through most of the night. Watching her leave him alone with Zoë’s attention was apparently worse than having her sit there looking at him like that. “You can stay.”

“I was hoping you would ask.” She turned back readily, her dark ponytail swinging across one shoulder, and shifted the quiver at her hip before sitting. Their shoulders brushed. The contact made him straighten, which left him looking directly into warm brown eyes beneath sharply arched brows. From this close, he could see the lighter strands in her hair and the faint colour rising beneath her cheeks. He had noticed she was beautiful before. Having her watch him as though his invitation had made her morning was making it difficult to remember much else.

Her hands settled carefully in her lap, drawing his attention away from her face. The white tank top left her shoulders bare, and the arm beside his looked quite capable of hauling him back through the woods again. Yet she was sitting with her fingers folded over the hem of her denim shorts, apparently waiting for him to decide whether she had come too close.

“You weren’t this worried about sitting beside me at breakfast.”

“At breakfast I thought you were embarrassed by the teasing.” A loose strand fell against her cheek as she glanced down, and he followed the movement of her fingers when she tucked it behind her ear. “Now I’m afraid you would rather I went, and are being kind because I helped you.”

“I asked you to stay.” He managed to meet her eyes again, though the smile that brought her did very little for his concentration. Being dragged through the woods had given him plenty of reasons to doubt this Hunter’s judgement. He had never expected to find himself reassuring her because she doubted whether he wanted her company.

“I know. I keep reminding myself.” Her fingers relaxed, and she turned a little more toward him. “Pisidice, by the way. After everything last night, I realised I had never told you my name.”

He had been watching her mouth. By the time he registered what she had said, she was waiting for an answer, and his face had become unpleasantly warm.

“Pisidice,” he repeated, hoping he had pronounced it correctly.

“Yes.” Her smile widened at hearing it from him, leaving him to wonder how saying somebody’s name could possibly encourage her that much.

“Matt,” he supplied, then shut his eyes briefly. “Which you already know.”

“I do.” There was amusement in her voice when he looked back, but she gave him time to recover before adding, “It is still nice to be introduced properly.”

Across the log, Phoebe reached for his empty cup. “Would you like more?”

He nodded, following the movement of her bare arm as she lifted it. The muscle along her shoulder shifted beneath that nicely sun tanned skin, reminding him how little effort it had taken her to shove him against a tree. Daylight made her strength considerably easier to appreciate, which was an unfortunate choice of word for what he caught himself doing as she turned toward the pot.

Beside him, Pisidice shifted to give him more room. He almost asked her to stay where she was, then decided he had said enough things without considering them first. Artemis had repeated his own ridiculous prediction and departed before anyone could ask what she meant. Perhaps there were conditions. Gods were fond of conditions, especially the ones they neglected to mention.

The cup returned beneath his eyes before he had found a reassuring possibility. Looking up brought him face to face with Phoebe, copper-red hair falling in thick waves over one shoulder, the other side shaved close above her ear. Without the scowl he remembered, there was nothing to distract him from her high cheekbones or the startling blue of her eyes. Unfortunately, looking lower brought its own difficulties. Her white sleeveless top fitted closely over a full bust, with a leather strap crossing diagonally toward her belt, and he reached for the cup with rather more haste than accuracy.

His fingers closed over hers around the cup. “Sorry.” He adjusted his grip, conscious of her watching him, but she waited until he had it securely before letting go.

“You need not apologise.” Her attention lingered on his mouth, and he almost raised the cup to hide behind it. Last night she had looked at him as though she wanted another chance to hit him. This was considerably harder to account for, especially when she caught herself leaning closer and stopped. “Would you rather I sat elsewhere?”

There was an empty log a few paces away. He looked toward it, giving himself somewhere to direct his attention besides the copper hair spilling over her shoulder and the faint mark on her otherwise lovely mouth. He had put that mark there while fighting her off. Finding her beautiful now felt like forgetting something he could scarcely afford to forget.

“I didn’t ask you to go,” he said, and took a drink before he could complicate the answer.

“Then I would like to stay.” She settled on the empty log, leaving the path beside him clear, though her gaze returned to him almost immediately. With her forearms resting on her knees, she seemed ready to listen to anything he might offer. He could think of nothing suitable.

The arrival of Zoë from across the fire saved him from having to answer, although relief proved difficult to sustain once she stopped beside him. Sunlight caught the silver circlet beneath her swept-back black hair, and he lowered his cup without drinking. Pisidice had already left him struggling through an introduction; Phoebe had nearly made him miss the cup altogether. Somehow Zoë was worse. His attention lingered on the fine line of her cheek, the warmth of her brown eyes, and the full mouth that curved slightly when she caught him looking.

“Where wert thou travelling before our patrol found thee?”

“Camp Half-Blood.” He moved along the log at her gesture, then had to make himself stop before he crowded Pisidice. As Zoë sat, her thick braid slipped over one shoulder, its silver fastening resting against the yellow fabric of her top. Following it brought his gaze lower than he intended, and he returned hastily to her face.

“Dost thou live there throughout the year?” She settled her quiver clear of the seat, apparently willing to spend some time over the answer.

“Sometimes. Depends.”

“Upon what?” The question came gently enough that he looked at her again. She had turned toward him with one knee resting on the log, giving him her full attention while he searched for an answer that would keep this ordinary.

“Whether I’ve got somewhere else to go.”

Her smile faded a little. “Then thou wouldst have somewhere here, if thou wished to remain. There is no need to return to sleeping beside a road.”

He knew how to deal with questions about his parentage, his weapons, or why he had supposedly offended somebody. Concern about where he would sleep was considerably harder to accommodate, especially from Zoë Nightshade. There was something almost motherly in the way she glanced toward his tent, already considering whether he had everything he needed, before returning her attention to him. Unfortunately, sitting this close to her left him with thoughts that made accepting such concern awkward.

Pisidice had stopped adjusting the bow beside her. Across the gap, Phoebe was listening too, and he became conscious that all three were waiting for him to respond to an offer of somewhere to live.

“It is alright if I live with the Hunters of Artemis.”

He had intended a question. Hearing it come out as a statement made him hesitate, but Zoë accepted it readily.

“Aye. There would be room for thy things, and a place for thee when we travel.” Her hand came to rest beside his on the log. “Thou needst bring only what thou wishest to keep. We can provide the rest.”

“You’ve thought about this?”

“I am thinking about it now.” The admission brought back her smile, and with it the distracting softness around her eyes. “I should like to know that thou wilt be here tomorrow. Though thou needst not settle everything before finishing thy drink.”

He looked down at the cup. Artemis had only just left, and already Zoë was discussing space for his belongings. He had spent the night trying to leave this camp. Somewhere between breakfast and being offered another blanket, that had apparently become a discussion about where to put his things.

“Right. Apparently I live with the Hunters of Artemis now. Permanently.” He glanced toward the tent. “Good thing I brought everything.”

“It is natural for a husband to dwell with his wife.” Zoë followed his glance, then considered Pisidice beside him and Phoebe on the opposite log. “Or wives, in our case. We shall need to arrange something more suitable than a spare cot, but thou needst not keep thy belongings packed beside thy bed.”

Matt turned back before she had finished. There had been several words in that answer which required attention, and she had somehow reached the storage arrangements without stopping at any of them.

“Husband?”

“Aye.” Her hand settled over his, warm against the fingers tightening around his cup. “I would hardly expect thee to sleep apart from us indefinitely.”

Beside him, Pisidice leaned forward. “There is a chest we aren’t using. I can bring it over.”

He looked at her, hoping she might have noticed the considerable distance between being invited to stay and acquiring several wives. She was looking toward the tent. So was Phoebe, who appeared to be considering whether the chest would fit.

“I was asking about the husband part.”

That brought Zoë’s attention fully back to him. “What wouldst thou know?” she asked gently, leaving him with the unnerving impression that she considered it the simplest part of the arrangement.

“Because of what Artemis said?”

“Our lady released us from the vow that forbade marriage, then named whom we should love.” Zoë’s hand remained over his as she spoke, her certainty considerably more troubling than another misunderstanding would have been. “We looked upon thee. Thou hast said that thou wilt make thy home among us. I took thy meaning to be the same as hers.”

The cup shifted in his grip, spilling a little over his thumb. He set it beside his boot and wiped his hand on his trousers before attempting to answer. “She said love. You said husband.”

“Aye. To love thee, to share a home with thee, to remain together.” She followed his glance toward the tent. “When maidens wed, they make offerings to Artemis before leaving her protection for their husbands’ households. Our lady hath permitted us to remain in hers. Thou art the husband she hath chosen for us.”

He looked toward Pisidice, whose expression suggested that this had explained matters perfectly. Across the gap, Phoebe had stopped considering the tent and was watching him instead. Apparently he was the only person present who thought several rather important steps had been skipped.

“I thought we were discussing somewhere to sleep.”

“We were.” The answer came with such gentle sincerity that he found himself looking back at Zoë. “Forgive me. I have spoken as though thou hadst understood.”

Her thumb moved once across his knuckles. She seemed concerned that she had confused him, which left him wondering how to explain that he understood considerably more now and liked the implications considerably less. Or ought to. Having her this close was making that distinction difficult.

“And what does being your husband mean?”

“That thou wouldst have a place beside us. That we would care for thee, and thou for us, that we hunt live and sleep and fight together,.” Her eyes held his while someone farther around the fire began gathering the breakfast bowls. “I wish to know what pleases thee, what troubles thee, where thou hast gone when there was no one waiting for thy return. I would have thee know there is someone waiting now.”

He had expected something about duties. That answer left him without a useful objection, and she gave him time to find one, her hand warm around his. From here he could see the fine dark lashes framing her brown eyes and the loose hair caught beneath her circlet. Of all the Hunters watching him, she was still the one he found hardest to look away from.

“I love thee, Matthew,” she continued. “The thought of sharing my life with thee pleases me. I have got ahead of myself in speaking of it.”

“Quite a bit, I think?.”

A small smile acknowledged that, though she did not release his hand. “Then ask what thou wilt. The chest can wait.”

That cause Matt to almost laughed. Pisidice had been about to rise and settled back beside him, leaving him conscious of how closely the others were listening. Before he could decide which of his questions was least likely to make matters worse, Zoë’s attention dropped briefly to his mouth.

“There is something I would ask of thee as well,” she said. “May I kiss thee?”

She waited, which he had not expected after the certainty about where he would live and whom the camp had chosen, and the slight uncertainty made her lovelier in a way that did not help him think. He nodded before the nod had time to become a decision he would have to defend. Her palm settled against his cheek, a loose strand of black hair crossing his skin as she closed the distance, and the kiss was gentle enough that the bracing went out of him without his noticing when. His hand rose on its own and found her waist, yellow cloth warm under his fingers, though a day ago that would have been the sort of reaching that ended with arrows or worse. His mind made no argument about it. The tent and the morning slipped out of reach until there was only her mouth and his hand where it had no business being.