The presence beside her distracted her from the fact the Woods was literally meters away.

Paris smiled at something Vivian was saying. It's about her day hunting in the thick forests surrounding Stonedenn. Hanging above their heads was the porcelain moon peeking through the shadowy silhouettes of the numerous peaks, all making up what's supposed to be the Woods—a thing most people in Stonedenn feared beyond measure.

She didn't really know what the big deal was with the forest. Every year, during the day the moon turns blood red, the Council shoves a citizen of the kingdom of Lycranse into the Woods as an appeasement to whatever force was curling in and out of the darkness. The reasoning handed down to Paris was that these human sacrifices were supposed to push a wave of bad luck, sickness, and death for another year.

Of course, to Paris, it was a load of bollocks. The Council could send how many people into the forest. It wouldn't change a thing. Everyone would die eventually. There's no amount of believing would change that.

When Paris walked her thoughts with Vivian, the clever woman had just thrown her head back and laughed. "You won't convince the Elders with just that," Vivian had said, her words pulsing in Paris's head every now and then. "It takes guts to change minds."

Paris remembered pursing her lips at the subtle implication that she didn't have guts. Well, she didn't. Vivian wasn't wrong on that part. Not only did Paris not have guts, she also had the propensity to lock up and never come out at the slightest hint of provocation.

It's a miracle Paris even thought of Vivian the way she did now.

Beside her, atop a ledge made from the remains of a building whose roof had caved in long ago, Vivian pushed strands of her straight blond hair away from her face. Her dark brown skin was a direct contrast with Paris's pale complexion. Even her bright chestnut brown eyes seemed to be picking a fight with Paris's inky ones.

Vivian cocked her head to one side, the thin locks sliding off her shoulders. "And that's how my day went," she stuck her bottom lip out. "Make that three days. It's been a while since we last hung out."

Paris eyed the clumps of grass with shafts of bell-shaped, pink flowers growing in the crevices between chunks of quarries which had once been the mighty walls or the ceiling. The scratches of rodents' feet darting through the canopies, the hoots of the nocturnal fowls, and the distant howls of pack animals accompanied them. During odd intervals, the loud sea of buzzing emitted by mating insects rang from the forest.

On Paris's periphery, Vivian's gaze searched her face, its prodding burning a trail of self-consciousness in her skin. A cold breeze blew from the thick canopies blotching Paris's horizon, inducing another prickling sensation down her arms. She should have brought a shawl or something. Suddenly, coming down here with just a sleeveless dress didn't sound like a good idea.

Especially with the way Vivian was studying her.

Paris clamped her jaw shut before she said something stupid. Vivian scooted closer to Paris, her movement stirring a thin layer of debris settling on the ledge they were perched on. She shoved her face closer to Paris, the soles of her boots scratching against the worn cobblestones at the base of the ledge.

"Hey, what's going on with you?" Vivian asked, dropping her voice into a slow, wicked whisper. It sent Paris's nerves on fire with want. It was something she still has to make sense of. "You're even more quiet. Not that you've been much of a chatterbox before."

"I'm fine," Paris's breath stuttered, for some unknown reason. Vivian was close. Too close for Paris to bump shoulders with her. Close enough for Paris to see the twinkle of stars being reflected in Vivian's crystalline eyes. Then, maybe Paris would lean in. Let their noses and breaths brush. Tug once or twice against her lips. Something like that.

Vivian snorted. "Really?" she said. "You sounded pissed earlier."

Paris scoffed and relaxed a bit when Vivian drew away a couple of inches. "Since when was I never pissed?" she said. Then she blew a breath. "It's just a bad day at work. And at home. But when is it not, right?"

"Tell me about it," Vivian answered. Paris raised her head from the dusty chunks of rock scattered around them only for her gaze to lock straight into Vivian's. The woman had a curious smile plastered on her lips. "Please? I'd rather you be talking about it. Don't keep everything to yourself."

A small flutter raged in Paris's chest. She did like it whenever Vivian encouraged her to talk, to tell her anything. And like all the cold and not-so-cold nights they'd shared since they met five years ago, Vivian would listen to everything, hang on to every word.

So, Paris gave in, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"It's the husband-talk with Farda and the others," Paris picked at the hem of the vest acting as her bodice. It hugged her chest and waist quite tightly, showing off her nonexistent curves and her small breasts. No wonder she was still without a man after all this time. "And my family is hiding something from me. Again."

Vivian's eyebrows knitted. It was a look of concern Paris was avoiding inducing. This was why Paris wasn't keen on talking about her problems. She didn't need someone's worry. She didn't need pity. "Again?" Vivian said with an incredulous tone. "I understand the husband-talk with the farm ladies but your parents won't talk about something again?"

Paris rolled her shoulders. "Guess you already know where I got that from," she tore off her gaze from Vivian and into the dark parapet of tree trunks and twisted branches beyond them. "The last time this happened, I found out we're struggling with money. From the neighbor, nonetheless. That's the worst place to find answers to your parents' secrets, you know."

"I'm sorry," Vivian whispered. Empty words against the heavy chill tonight.

Even so, Paris offered her a small smile. "Wasn't your fault."

Vivian chuckled. "I'd love to be at fault just so you can hear the apology never given to you."

That did it.

Paris did lean forward, closing what small distance remained between them. Her lips claimed Vivian's and Vivian answered by tilting her head to one side, allowing Paris easier access. The whiff of Vivian's exotic flower smell complimented the sweet, nutty taste of her lips. Paris leaned further, her hands developing minds of their own, holding Vivian's frame closer. Closer.

Some time later, Vivian's fingers slipped the thin straps holding up Paris's dress down her shoulders, skin caressing skin. Leaving a scalding down, tearing into Paris's being. Vivian moaned against Paris's kisses, causing them to grow more ravenous. Stronger. Hungrier.

When they broke apart, Vivian rested her cheek against Paris's chest. Two of her fingers played with the stitches holding up Paris's bodice. Did Vivian know how to unravel those? Maybe. There wasn't anything Vivian couldn't do. Well, maybe except dance. Or sing. Or handle a heifer during births.

One thing Paris knew about Vivian, though, was that the woman could kiss. And she could kiss well. Better than what a man could ever do to Paris.

Her mind blanked when she thought of the first time they had shared a passionate kiss underneath the faint moonlight. The memory of the day they first met played in her head, though. Something about a bouquet of wild grass, a venture deeper into the forest, and a theft from a squirrel. Saying it that way made the whole thing sound sillier than what actually happened.

Since then, she and Vivian met in this field of ruins. One thing led to another, and soon, Paris was tasting what heaven might feel like.

Vivian's fingers brushed the lip of Paris's bodice, her hands coming to rest on Paris's thighs, so close to the region between her legs, as she drew away. Paris sucked in a sharp breath, her own fingers tightening its clamp against Vivian's shoulders.

"What are we?" the string of cursed words flitted out of Paris's lips before she could stop it. Vivian's hands stopped roving somewhere in Paris's hips. "What are we doing?"

A cloud of haze passed across Vivian's eyes. "Would it upset you when I say that I don't know?" she swung her leg around, changing her sitting position to that of something resembling riding a horse. "I don't know a lot of things, Par. It's one of the things we have to work on."

"Defining whatever this is?" Paris asked, although it was probably a stupid question. She reached further and ran a hand down Vivian's slender neck, making sure to dwell longer against the hard mass bobbing in the middle. She'd discovered Vivian went insane every time she'd come close to it. "It's fine with me. Just so you know, I won't be upset with you. Not ever."

Vivian laughed, the sound reverberating against Paris's hand. It unlocked a new set of twinges in her gut. "What did I do to deserve that privilege?" she said, probably knowing how Paris treated most things in her life.

Paris slid closer, forcing Vivian to spread her legs wider. It was her mistake to change her position. "I love you," Paris said, planting another kiss on Vivian's lips. Despite them being chapped from the hours they spent in the biting cold, sucking on them brought the same sliver of pleasure in Paris's core. "It's more than enough of an explanation, right?"

Because despite how Paris was, Vivian stayed. In a world where everyone hated Paris, Vivian was the only person who didn't.

Vivian doesn't hate her but does she love Paris?

"The vanishings have started again," Vivian said in a breathless gasp as Paris moved to attack her neck with kisses. That sentence made Paris pause, her lips hovering just millimeters above Vivian's sternum. "The Woods are getting stronger. Be careful on your way home. It was darker tonight, too. I didn't mean to keep you out this late."

Paris continued placing her kiss against Vivian's skin. "Who cares?" she said. Because, indeed, who cares? Paris was alive. Vivian was too. They're together under the glare of the moonlight. The cold had long faded, instead replaced by the warmth she'd never trade for anything. Who cares if the Woods were getting stronger?

Moreover, who cares about going home? If Paris could stay here, she would have. If it meant seeing Vivian every day of her life, if it meant Paris could kiss Vivian until the woman melted into a breathless mess. She longed for wild nights. For the promise that what they had, even though they didn't know the name of it, would live on to forever.

She planted one last kiss on Vivian's lips, the woman returning the gesture with slight concern marring her movements. Finally, Paris cupped Vivian's cheeks and leveled their eyes. "I'm going to be fine," she insisted. "You don't need to worry about me."

Then, she smiled. "Now, how about one more kiss?"

Vivian burst into laughter. Then, as an answer, Vivian leaned in and stuck her tongue straight into Paris's mouth. Yeah, with a woman who could make Paris's insides crash and burn like this, who cares about going home?