“Never.”
Kansas took a breath and blinked.
Blinked again.
His entire body felt like one giant bruise, and his head ached as if he’d had a run in with an oncoming train.
Well, you were picked up and tossed around by a tornado like that cow in Twister, so you should stop bitching and be happy you’re still in one piece.
That would be a good point, if he could verify the one-piece part. The creatures hovering over his body put everything into question, including whether or not he was actually conscious.
Either his brain had been rattled hard enough to cause hallucinations or he was dead and heaven was nothing like his Sunday school-teaching neighbor had led him to believe. Angels would have at least been explainable. Bird women? Men covered in fur?
Yeah. Not so much.
What the hell happened? He remembered being sucked up into the storm, so high it had been hard to breathe. A fall like that should have killed him. But again, no angels.
In case he was still alive, he tried to stay calm. Screaming hysterically in front of what were no doubt normal, human paramedics would end with him being sent to the wrong kind of hospital.
“I was…there was this storm and…” He slowly rose on his elbows and looked around. “Wait, where did I end up? There aren’t any woods like this on my property.”
There weren’t woods like this anywhere. The bark on the nearest tree was smooth and had a strange bluish tinge. Blue? And were the leaves glowing? Either that or this place was crawling in fireflies.
He rubbed his hands over his face briskly, hoping more blood flow would encourage a little sanity. Kansas suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to Dee when she’d told him about magic and dream symbolism. She’d be handling this—whatever it was—a lot better if their positions were reversed. She actually believed she was a witch, not that he’d ever held that against her. After all, he’d once believed in fairytales himself, until his last disaster of a relationship.
“His eyes are the color of the Krentyn Sea. His hair pale as the butter flower. And look, Fenna. He’s golden, but not all over. Parts of this one are pale like fresh cream. I’ve never seen a male that color before.”
Kansas felt his eyebrows touch his hairline as the fine, reddish fur covering the young man in front of him rose and trembled, standing on edge like an agitated cat.
He ran a hand through his own hair, searching for the wound he was sure he would find. Nope. No blood. No skull fractures. Not even a bump. “Um, yeah, well I haven’t gotten to a tanning booth in years and I’m very pro sunscreen,” he defended his pale-creaminess politely. “My name is Kansas, by the way. Kansas Frayne. Do either of you have any idea where I am and why I’m naked?”
The dainty woman decorated in silky yellow feathers that appeared to be attached to her body made a twittering sound in her throat. “You and your cream, Lenard. I can see you’ve already made up your mind to like this one. I think I do too.”
Oh good. They like me. The bird and the cat think I’m creamy. That’s not crazy at all.
He was still unconscious. This had to be a dream. He was dreaming of lying in an alien forest while a bird-woman and a large, muscular feline with humanoid features discussed his physical attributes as if he couldn’t hear them. As if he were the strange one.
“Maybe they can’t hear me,” he mused aloud.
The woman inclined her head toward Kansas. “Who said we couldn’t hear you, Kansas Frayne? Did you hit your head or something?”
“Or something. Who are you?”
She made a flustered, apologetic sound. “Of course, of course. I’m Fenna and this is Lenard, Kansas. Now give me a minute to deal with his problem before we find out where you came from and what to do about it.”
“His problem?” Kansas frowned over at the shivering male. “He has a problem?”
Was if fur related?
“He’ll be fine,” she assured him, walking over to put her hand on Lenard’s head. “Sometimes he gets a smidge overexcited, don’t you, love? It’s okay. Kansas understands.”
Kansas didn’t understand. At least, not until she glanced pointedly at the oddly terrifying erection below Lenard’s waist. Oh.
Oh.
Lenard liking him might not be a good thing. Sure, the engorged baseball bat of a shaft rising aggressively from between the male’s thick, furry thighs was impressive, but that didn’t mean he wanted it getting anywhere near his ass. Not in this lifetime.