Shredder 38
“Shhh.” Merinde snapped her hand at Gerard. “Don’t ruin this with words.” She was dressed, from boots to high collared undershirt. Blessed warmth crept into her limbs. The last raiment was the cloak, the fur lined cloak. There were tears in her eyes. She held it before her as if the gown of a queen. That a musty garment could elicit such emotion was not lost on her former self.
Gerard further bided his time by assessing the other mundane items within the pair of wooden trunks placed in this hideaway for this exact reason. A smile creased his lips at the planned facility. Rare was the occasion that such efforts paid off, and he offered silent thanks to those who contributed. He was among them. The Rangers’ gift of far sight was undervalued by many, though Merinde was coming around.
The cloak swirled in the shadowed cave as she wrapped herself in its folds with delicate flourish. She couldn’t help the moan which escaped her as she clasped the fur, and the thrum in her loins was strong enough to weaken her knees. She braced a hand against the wall but took a few moments to squeeze her thighs together with relish.
“Am I interrupting?”
Both figures spun with equal facility to face the speaker at the entrance of the cave. Merinde cried out and dove for her weapons as Gerard lit up with a smile and cried, “Anibel!”