Was it the bird thing? Supposedly they had an outstanding sense of direction. Was that it? From Lenard’s expression, this wasn’t the first time Fenna had gone the wrong way. It was also obvious she felt bad about it.
“I’m glad you’re around, Fenna,” Kansas offered sincerely. “Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t found me.”
Fenna stilled and tilted her head on her long neck, as if listening for the other shoe to drop. When he kept silent, she looked at him over her shoulder. Kansas felt his throat tighten when he saw her tears. “Thank you, Kansas Frayne.”
“My friends call me Kansas.”
“Kansas,” she murmured. “Let’s get you to the king.”
Chapter Two
“I couldn’t dream about the Bahamas. Or Greece. I went to Greece once, so I know it’s beautiful. But no, that’s not where my subconscious decides to stick me. Instead, I’m hiking through the jungle of another dimension. For miles.” He’d been muttering under his breath for the last few minutes, knowing he sounded crazy, but unable to stop himself. He was feeling crazy, and the grumpy patter was better than the primal screaming he’d learned in therapy. The last thing he wanted to do was scare away the only guides he had.
They’d been on the move for hours and his feet were starting to protest. He’d walked every day at home, but even he was not in good enough shape for this trek. His guides, however, were still skipping along ahead of him as if they’d just started their journey.
Technically Fenna was the one skipping. Step, step, hop. Step, step, hop.
Between his tail and that monster between his legs, the best Lenard could do was lope. But the Felix still seemed pretty damn spry.
Kansas, on the other hand, had started wishing for a mountain bike or a four-wheeler once the path started getting steeper.
They hadn’t mentioned anything about mountains.
He supposed, if he had to be trudging barefoot through an alien landscape, he couldn’t have picked a better location. It was beautiful here. Alien, but beautiful. The air smelled sweet and fresh, the flowers and plants they passed were all breathtaking, and they seemed to enjoy his attention.
Did that sound crazier than anything else he’d seen since he woke? But it was true. He would swear it was true. The foliage was responding to him as if it were alive. Everything here was infused with life. He had a feeling if he talked to these plants like he talked to his houseplants at home, these would actually respond.
You always expected the houseplants to respond too, Frayne.
Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. That’s what made this situation even more surreal. It felt familiar. Had he dreamed of this place before? As a child, maybe? When he’d wished for a mother and father to tell him he was special and that they never would have left him if they could’ve helped it?
That didn’t explain Fenna and Lenard. Not even his youthful imagination would ever have conjured travel companions like those two. If it had, his old therapist would have a field day with the easily aroused tomcat and a directionally challenged naked chick.
Sexual repression. That’s what she would call it, and technically it wouldn’t be a lie. Internet access and a large supply of lube was no replacement for human contact. Years of isolation, and now his dick was in charge and it didn’t care that his head wasn’t on straight, or that his heart had one too many cracks in it to work properly. His body was begging for touch, for connection.
At home, he’d been able to shut that part of himself down. Maybe it was the energy of this place that made it impossible to tamp down his emotions and desires. Feelings that heated his skin and pulsed through his veins.
He’d never felt so alive or so damn horny in his life.
Who got horny from hiking?
This was all too ridiculous. As soon as he woke up for real, or found a way out of this delusion, he’d start dating again. He may be a little rusty, and a first date at thirty-five wasn’t something he was looking forward to experiencing, but then he wouldn’t be looking for love. Those dreams had died a lifetime ago. He just wanted dinner, maybe a little dancing. He’d missed dancing. Oh, and sex. Yeah, he was pretty sure sex would solve everything. If he still remembered how to do it after all this time.
Trust me. You remember.
He needed to think about something else before walking got more difficult than it already was. He noticed Lenard pulling a few of the large, wax-covered fronds from some nearby branches, and was weaving them together as he walked. Kansas caught up with him, curious. “What are you doing?”
“Lenard is very creative,” Fenna answered for him as she marched determinedly ahead of them both. “Artistic in every way. He sculpts, sings, paints, and creates the most exquisite erotic poetry.”
“An artist? Really?” Kansas smiled. The cat was an artist. Felix, he corrected himself. “That’s wonderful.”
Lenard’s eyes widened, fingers stilli
ng on his work. “You think so?”
“Of course.” Kansas patted him on the back. “I wish I had that kind of talent. Any kind of talent. I’ve always been an enthusiastic supporter of the arts.”
He’d known how to make money. It had been his only focus for as long as he could remember. Something about his need for security, Uncle Emerson used to say.