Page 37 of Dryad’s Treasure

I wouldn’t exactly call it hoarding, but it was close enough, and I didn’t think now was the time to argue. “Do you want some company?” I asked, unsure if I should leave Henry alone with his memories or not.

A few seconds passed before Henry shook his head and answered, “I think I’d like to be alone.”

“I can do that.” Standing, I could no longer see Henry or his memorial hoard. Heart heavy, I turned on my heel and left Henry alone with his grief. Martin’s spark of magic flared, as if asking me what was wrong. Feelings a jumbled mess, all I could think was that I wanted to get back to my anchor. Maybe Henry wanted to be alone, but I didn’t. With that thought in mind, I concentrated on Martin’s magic and allowed it to lead me back to my dryad.

Next time I went searching, I wanted Martin by my side.

What in all the seven hells is this? I stared at the object, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly impart all its secrets. At this point in time, I’d settle for a smidgen of a secret—like what it was.

I wasn’t the only one staring. Martin was beside me. Neither one of us wanted to touch the thing. He’d transformed a finger into a single branch and gotten within an inch before the end of Martin’s branched finger sizzled, a small line of smoke trailing skyward as his wood burned. Thankfully the fire went out as soon as Martin pulled his appendage back. Needless to say, neither one of us had been brave or stupid enough to try that again.

“We should take a picture of it,” I said before looking at Martin. “Do you have your phone?”

In answer, Martin pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures. The object was small, no bigger than a single dice, but it was irregular. I couldn’t count how many sides it had—an amazing feat given how small it truly was. If it were a little flatter and not so creepy, it would have made a good foot stool for Henry.

The object hadn’t required a lot of room, just a small nook behind an electrical panel. Getting around the panel had been the toughest part. I was honestly surprised whatever this was hadn’t short-circuited the thing.

Martin fiddled with his phone a few more seconds before I heard the whoosh sound of the pictures being sent.

“Keir?” I asked, and Martin nodded.

“We’ll start with him. My guess is that he’ll need to either consult with a witch or warlock. My bet’s on one of them knowing.”

I shivered, not liking the vibes this thing gave off. I’d hated its song even more. Unlike the wyvern eggs, this object’s song hadn’t been one of sadness, anger, and longing. It was difficult to describe, but this treasure’s song had been more cajoling. Something in the song sounded wrong, or maybe untrue. It was as if the treasure was trying to lure me in for nefarious reasons, its intentions far from pure. This treasure wanted to be found, but not just for finding’s sake. It wanted to be used and whatever that usage was, I did not get the impression it was for the betterment of society.

Martin’s phone dinged and his lips pulled into a slight frown. “Keir doesn’t know. He’s reaching out to Warlock Holland first.”

That made sense, given that Nikodemus Holland was now head of the Warlock Council and that Keir was on relatively friendly terms with him. It was odd to even consider those words in the same sentence. Friendly and Warlock Council didn’t traditionally mesh well.

I got the feeling Martin wanted to poke at it again and I said, “Don’t even think about it.” Martin’s raised eyebrows and wide eyes appeared innocent, but I knew better. Tapping my chest, I said, “I’ve got a piece of you sitting right here. You can’t fool me.”

Martin’s lips parted before lifting into a pleased grin. “No? Well, guess what, that goes both ways.” He made a similar tapping against his own chest.

Heat radiated up my neck, filling my cheeks with warmth. By all rights, I shouldn’t feel this warm and fuzzy given the suspicious item sitting in front of us. We hadn’t really had time to talk about us, if there even really was an us beyond this crazy search. That piece of Martin flared, warming my insides and radiating outward. I had to believe that meant something.

Since sitting around and wondering never did anyone any good, I decided to take this dryad by the roots and blurted, “I like you.”

The smile dropped from Martin’s face, but his eyes remained wide. Head tilted to the side, Martin said, “Um…I like you too? I mean, I know I wasn’t the nicest when Keir hired you.”

I scoffed. “A bit of an understatement, but okay.”

My answer flustered Martin, making him appear even more adorable than normal. “That’s… I mean, you have to admit that our two species don’t have the best track record.”

I nodded. “Fair point.” There was no use arguing the truth. Waving away the current discussion, I went back to my original point, one that I think Martin didn’t fully grasp. “When I say I like you, I mean I like-like you.” There, that should make the situation clear.

“You like-like me? As in…?”

Evidently not. I needed to step up my game. Going up on tiptoes, I gripped the back of Martin’s head and pulled the dryad down. “Damn, you’re so tall,” I whispered before I pressed our lips together.

That first touch sent little sparks jolting down my spine, curling my toes. That happy aura faded when Martin just stood there, as stoic and unmoving as the tree he transformed into. Sadness consumed me, along with shame. Pulling away, I gazed down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first. I just kind of assumed that⁠—”

Martin yanked my head up and slammed his lips into mine. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground, fitting us together better. This was nothing like a few seconds ago. I’d thought Martin was uninterested. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Lips pliable, Martin molded his mouth to mine, slipping his tongue past my lips when I gasped. Martin’s magic intertwined with mine, dancing and sliding past each other, their edges temporarily melding before slipping apart. It was a heady feeling that rivaled the call of any previous treasure.

I gasped for air when Martin finally pulled away. If my eyes were a reflection of his, then I probably looked stoned.

Clapping sounded behind me, along with a whistled catcall. “Don’t stop on our account. That’s a damn good show. And here I was thinking Martin was hung up on Keir. Can you believe I was wrong, Niki?”