Page 22 of Beyond the Cottage

Gretta didn’t have time to admire his stupefied expression. She leapt past him and dove for the short, thick stick laying on the far side of the bench. As he cursed and struggled to rise, she slipped it into her back pocket.

Lab Coat got to his feet, still fumbling with his pants. Gretta’s impromptu plan was complete, but she blew past him, towardthe path. No sense raising his suspicions by not trying to run away.

He awkwardly gave chase, and Gretta took a right, sprinting until she reached the dead end. Glowing soup soaked her shoes as she crept into the swamp. The water didn’t look all that deep, even in the distance. When it came time for her real escape, wading through it might not be so bad.

Something long and scaly sent water rippling around her ankles. Screeching, she hopped onto dry land. Lab Coat came down the path, one hand holding up his pants, the other parked on his hip.

Face stormy, he stalked her backward until the swamp lapped her feet again. “What thefuckwas that?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.” Gretta searched the water, praying the creature had slithered off.

“Take a look around. Even if you did escape, you wouldn’t make it two hours out here.”

I would if I could fly, asshole.Not that she planned to wait that long.

“You made your point,” she said. “The swamp is big and scary. Can I get out now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should leave you out here tonight. See how far you get before you come banging on my door.”

Would he really do that?

The threat tempted her, but twilight would come soon. She’d stand a better chance heading out in the morning, when she could see what was underfoot and in the trees. Though, if he really planned to abandon her out there, she’d call it fate and take her chances.

A chill breeze murmured. Lab Coat looked at the sky. “Let’s go.”

Gretta splashed out of the water and followed him. He walked stiffly, a bit hunched, and as he fiddled with the rest of his trouser buttons, her eyes landed on his crotch.

“Oh my god!” she yelped, leaping as far from him as the path allowed. “You actually gothard?”

Anddamn… She gaped at the bulge between his legs, too stunned to care if she flattered him.

His cheeks went pink above the tic in his jaw. “It’s a biological function I have little control over.”

“But I barely touched you!”

He jerked his untucked shirt lower and side-eyed her. “I live in an isolated swamp, Miss Hacker. I wouldn’t take it as some great compliment.”

“I bet you wish you wore your lab coat today.”

His cheeks got brighter, and she laughed. It probably wasn’t smart to torment a criminal about his hard-on while traversing a deserted path, but seeing him so uncomfortable was too good to resist. She considered whipping up a little-dick jab out of principle, but then he’d never take her insults seriously again.

He walked faster. When they got to the prison, the pixies were gone, and Lab Coat tersely opened the door for her. She followed him into the building’s dank bowels. After being outside, the dripping hallways seemed darker, more oppressive. The stick in her pocket consoled her.

They reached her cell, and Lab Coat mutely swung the door open. Gretta stopped outside the threshold. Her intense terror of confinement had dulled, along with the fear they intended to seriously injure her—to be honest, Lab Coat seemed more like a country moonshiner than a warlord—but her feet refused to take her inside.

“If you don’t believe I can survive the swamps, why can’t I have free rein like the other pixies?”

“Because you’re trouble.”

She regretted her rashness in his office more than ever. If she’d kept her cool and pretended to accept his offer, he might have let her roam the place until she found a boat, or something. Now picking up a stick required subterfuge.

Gretta pretended to mull his words, recalibrating her strategy.

She’d destroyed any chance of earning his trust. Open aggression was satisfying but pointless. The next option left was wearing him down with appeals to his questionable morality.

It was a long shot at best. But every so often, she caught glimpses of an actual person under his cold exterior.

“Please.” Her joined hands gripped his arm. “I really hate confined spaces. I know everyone does, but it’s a particular fear of mine.” She searched his face for a hint of compassion.

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