Page 96 of Beyond the Cottage

He whipped it off and put it on properly.

More silence. More staring. His eyes strayed to her mouth, her throat, and lower. Another twitch came between his legs.

You’re patheticanddepraved.

Those words didn’t begin to describe him. She’d come to offer forgiveness, the exact thing he’d longed for, and in turn, he leered at her on the verge of a hard-on.

Thiswas why he shouldn’t be alone with her, no matter how well they mended fences. Besides inspiring emotional whiplash, she turned him into a horny piece of shit. If he wasn’t careful, his cock would destroy their newly-formed truce.

He wouldnotgive her a new reason to hate him again.

“Well…” she said. “I guess I’ll see you at supper.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “See you at supper.”

Chapter 34

That night, Ansel pushed his plate away, unable to consume another bite. Lil had profusely apologized for the simple food—lake trout the size of a marlin and roasted vegetables—but to Ansel, it had been the finest thing he’d eaten in ages.

The plates were cleared from the low tables, and Ansel listened to Lil tell a story about some heist gone wrong. The room hummed with conversation, the tables surrounded by nereids sitting on cushions. Two of them settled in the corner with guitars, tuning them, and another joined with hand drums.

Apparently, the celebration was soon to begin.

As the band warmed up, the other nereids left their tables to cluster in couples and groups on the scattered cushions. Fingertips dragged across skin, and the nereids toyed with each others’ hair.

Ansel shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he could politely excuse himself before the copulation commenced? The last thing he needed was an evening spent with Gretta watching strangers casually fuck.

“What’s the deal with train robbing?” Gretta asked Lil. “It doesn’t line up with what I’m seeing here.”

Ansel’s attention returned to the conversation—he’d had the same question.

“The land and lake provide,” Lil said, “but there are still things to pay for.”

“Okay, but stealing?”

“Do you know who we steal from, munchkin?”

Gretta frowned. “Yeah. People trying to get from point A to point B.”

“Nope. We only steal from passengers when a private car falls in our lap. Today, we were looting goods being shipped by a coal magnate to decorate his new mansion. More important, do you know who owns the train line?”

“Gildevrek Industries,” Ansel said. Gretta raised a brow, and he shrugged. “It was printed on the side of the train.”

Lil winked at him. “And what do you know about Cornelius Gildevrek?”

“He’s rich,” Gretta said. “He owns half the real estate in the capital. Isn’t he also the guy whose daughter fell asleep for seven years?”

“One and the same. Besides gobbling up property and defiling the land with railways, he built a textile mill a few miles from here.”

“What’s the big deal about a textile mill?” Gretta asked.

“The chemicals and dyes are toxic,” Ansel said. “Irresponsible waste management could devastate the local environment.”

Lil nodded. “It also sucks water from the lake like a siphon. He’s been robbing us a lot longer than we’ve been robbing him.”

Lil went on a diatribe about the nefarious Mr. Gildevrek, and Ansel returned to scanning the room. The band had begun a lively tune, and three nereids danced by the fireplace, robestransparent in the firelight. At another table, a woman had her hand up her neighbor’s dress.

Gretta let out a laugh, startling Ansel. Heron had moved closer to her, his broad shoulders flagrantly invading her personal space.

---