Everything was almost exactly as he'd left it. The trees gave way to a narrow clearing that he'd set up with a tent of furs, a neat circle of stones with wood arranged for a fire when he returned. The scent of pine lingered in the crisp air, and the late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy in golden shafts. To the untrained eye, it might simply look like a rabbit or deer had stumbled through the makeshift camp before moving on.

But you couldn't fool a hunter. One of the stones had been kicked slightly out of place. The tent flap was hanging open a little. The furs inside looked suspiciously larger and more ruffled than he'd left them. A faint blue glow emanated from within the tent, evidence that his visitor wasn't mortal.

Never a cause of panic, of course. An exasperated sigh left Simon as he strode into the clearing, his hunting boots crunching on the forest floor. This had happened enough times for him to not need to wake the sleeping figure inside the cozy tent. As if his lover would miss out on some precious beauty sleep to track him down out in the wild when he could just make himself at home wherever Simon had set up shop for the night.