Chapter 9

Zoey had never been a person to sulk, so Rosalie’s less-than-encouraging statement didn’t keep her stuck in the mud for long. If anything, it let Zoey know that she needed to be putting greater effort in. That if she wanted Rosalie as a long-term addition to this adventure, Zoey needed to take the serious side of her lewd transmigration more ... well, seriously.

And she wanted that. To have Rosalie by her side for the extended future. A surprising amount. The reminder that Zoey couldn’t, in fact, take that for granted had her looking at Rosalie in a new light. And Zoey had already had a high opinion to begin with.

Rosalie’s companionship was the kind that had to be earned. Not as a prize, a reward, because that was a gross way to view it, but because effort deserved effort, goodness goodness, and so on, and Rosalie had gleaming qualities pouring from her in droves. Sure, she could be snippish, and she might be drowning in denial when it came to a few matters of the heart (in a less-than-appropriate sense of ‘matters-of-the-heart’), but that was where Zoey’s complaints ended, really.

They hacked their way through the stone and vine-infested interior of the shard, slaying monsters, avoiding traps, and clearing rooms—armed with weapons, now, which did wonders for Rosalie’s already-competent fighting skills—and eventually they emerged from the crumbling cathedral and out into a twilit forest.

Zoey had been briefly confused, wondering whether they’d escaped the shard, but Rosalie had shaken her head and explained plenty of shards progressed in aesthetics; they’d simply entered the next ‘phase’, for lack of a better word. They set off down a beaten footpath which winded between crooked trees. Leaves rustled in the wind, providing an ambience that was a nonsensical mix between eerie and calming. The breeze set a chill on her skin that gave the two of them a legitimate reason for wanting clothes, beyond modesty. Goosebumps were set prickling as they plodded down, seeking the exit of the shard. And presumably, whatever boss monster lay in wait, guarding it.

Zoey asked Rosalie how she knew which way to go, and she responded that she didn’t, not for certain, but that the obvious paths were more often the correct one. Seeing how there was a whole pocket-dimension to explore, if that maxim hadn’t held true, simply finding the boss would take an unreasonable amount of time. So, the dirt path that winded from the cathedral’s entrance was the obvious candidate.

Rosalie’s sharp senses noticed the sound of moving water before Zoey’s did. She steered them off the path, taking a detour. They picked across felled logs and sunk their toes into the dark, moist loam of the forest—had it rained recently?—before bumping into their destination: a burbling hot springs which probably didn’t make logical sense for its existence, but hey, incoherent pocket dimension, remember?

Steam wafted from the pool. At the edge—the deep end, it seemed—a waterfall pounded into the water, throwing up sprays of mist. Rosalie seemed especially happy to have been given an opportunity to clean herself off. Zoey considered asking whether it could be a trap, but Rosalie didn’t seem concerned, and this wasn’t like the vine situation; she trusted Rosalie knew what was going on.

Rosalie sank into the warm water, step by step, body quickly obscuring as she walked into the steam. Zoey followed after her. It was, unsurprisingly, hot. It took a second for her to adjust to the warmth, but once she had, the heated water coaxed out the exhaustion and tension from the previous several hours. She tossed handfuls of water into her face and hair, then scrubbed, working out the grime that had collected, then afterward, dug under her nails to clean those out, too. Rosalie was doing similar.

After the practical matters had been attended to, they simply relaxed. Rosalie waded out to underneath the waterfall and let the water pour over her. Zoey didn’t think hot springs usually had waterfalls feeding them, but she’d seen, and would be seeing, a lot stranger in the coming ... god, how many years of her life? How long would she be here? In this world? She didn’t want to mentally delve into those topics yet, so she shied away and let herself be distracted by more attention-grabbing matters.

Like Rosalie. The outline of her back, and her long platinum hair that dipped into the water and splayed out, normally reaching all the way to her lower back. She’d complained about not having something to tie it with; it had been annoying for her to handle during her fights. It was an otherwise impractical aspect to a strictly practical girl. Zoey suspected she was fond of it. For good reason. It was gorgeous. Everything about Rosalie was gorgeous.

“I can feel you ogling, you know.”

Zoey started in surprise. Rosalie continued to demonstrate an awareness of her surroundings that bordered on the supernatural. Considering the world Zoey found herself in, it might be just that: supernatural.

“Not ogling,” Zoey said. “I’m just wondering how you’re so pretty.”

The words surprised her as much as they did Rosalie, who turned and blinked at her. Her cheeks colored, and she looked back forward. “Pretty. That’s not the compliment you think it is.”

“You’d rather me say ‘dangerous’,” Zoey said, knowing Rosalie in at least some small way, by now. “Or ‘regal’. Deadly as you are elegant. Those are all true, too. But pretty is the word that popped in my head.”

The waterfall pounded against the pool, filling the silence that was Rosalie’s response, and Zoey hesitated, wondering whether she’d been too direct.

But Rosalie finally huffed. “And what, exactly, has prompted this barrage of flattery?”

There wasn’t annoyance in her tone, which spurred Zoey on. “I don’t know. Just wanted to say it. I don’t have much of a filter.”

“That much is apparent.”

Zoey waded forward. Rosalie didn’t turn, though she definitely heard the sloshing water as she closed the distance. Zoey took that as good news—that she hadn’t been told to stop.

Arriving behind Rosalie, she reached out and took long locks of platinum hair in her hands. Rosalie’s hair was wet, darker than normal, but still silky, pale, and gorgeous. She played with it for a bit, running her fingers through and separating tresses, squeezing water out as she traced gently down the length. She was surprised Rosalie let her.

“Long hair’s always felt like too much of a hassle,” Zoey murmured. “But when I see yours, I get the point. Makes me want to grow it out.”

Rosalie turned, and Zoey let the platinum locks slide from her hands. Rosalie wore a perplexed expression, and she studied Zoey. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry?” Zoey was a bit distracted by the six or more inches of height she had over the shorter girl. And the intensity of her eyes, capturing her like they had every time before. Everything about her is heart-stopping. How is it fair?

Rosalie blushed, then looked away. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Zoey blinked. She’d accidentally won a staring contest, lost in Rosalie’s eyes. “Sorry.” She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but it felt like she’d been caught doing something inappropriate.

A short silence.

Rosalie huffed. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

Rosalie grabbed Zoey’s hand, and the two of them waded back to the shallow end. “It’s really obvious. I’d rather you just ask, next time. Not all this nonsense.”

“Ask what?” Zoey hadn’t a clue what was going on.

“You need relief. That’s why you said all that embarrassing stuff, and why you’re acting like this.” Rosalie pointedly didn’t make eye contact as she dragged Zoey along. “Normally I don’t suffer sycophants, but I suppose you’re my responsibility. So fine.”

“I didn’t call you pretty because I wanted in your pants,” Zoey said amusedly. “I told you, I just wanted to say it.”

They were almost out of the spring now, and Rosalie’s gorgeous, dripping body revealed itself bit by bit, no longer obscured by the steaming water. What Rosalie had implied hit her, suddenly. ‘Fine’? ‘Relief’? As in ... she’s going to help me?

That hadn’t been Zoey’s intention at all, but her lower half wasn’t displeased with the development.

“I guess I’ll start being more vocal,” Zoey said with a grin, and a quickly growing member. “Who would’ve thought calling you pretty would get you going so fast?”

“I’m not ‘going’, thank you.” She sniffed, and Zoey could make out the deep flush even from behind, splashes of red coloring the tops of her shoulders. “This is your problem. I’m just helping solve it.”

“Sure,” Zoey said, smirking. “Want me to keep laying them on? Should I say how you move like nobody I’ve ever seen? That such an intimidating, deadly-looking girl has no right having such soft, cute curves? That your eyes literally turn my brain off? Or how about—”

“Shut up. What’s g-gotten into you?”

“No way.” Zoey laughed, the stutter somehow the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “You do, don’t you? You have a praise kink. That’s so—”

Zoey’s teasing was cut off with a gasp, as Rosalie turned on her. “Ah,” she said. “I figured out how to turn the nonsense off. Thank the heavens.”

Her slim hand stroked up and down Zoey’s length, derailing her train of thought.

“Really,” Rosalie said. “I already told you I’d help. What was all that for?”

“M-Meant it,” Zoey gasped between strokes. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning. And more than that, good-hearted, caring, beautiful inside and out. Y-you, you’re, ahh—fuck me.” Her ability to string together sentences frayed as Rosalie picked up her pace, and a second hand joined the first, determinedly attempting to shut Zoey up. But she wouldn’t be defeated so easily. “I barely know you, but every minute in your company, my opinion—my opinion—” she panted as her stomach squirmed with pleasure, “s-shit, that’s, that’s so—keep going like that, I—” Zoey whined, hips bucking into Rosalie’s hands, then forced herself to focus. “My opinion of you goes higher,” she finished. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Is this a confession?”

Zoey couldn’t make out the expression in Rosalie’s eyes. Their gazes hadn’t separated for a second, and the intoxicating eye-contact amplified the feeling of Rosalie’s encouraging strokes to an almost painful degree.

“No,” Zoey said. “I’m not saying I’ve fallen for you. Just that it’d be easy.” Too easy.

Rosalie’s hands worked down her length, then back up, over and over. The smaller girl was shockingly composed, for so normally being a disaster when it came to intimate matters. The situation with the vines must have closed that gap, and in no small way. She studied Zoey with a blank look on her face, and Zoey wondered if she was being too honest. But her brain wasn’t working like it should. Rosalie’s soft, powerful hands were coaxing out sentences she would normally have been more discretionary with.

“It’d be easy?” Rosalie said quietly. “To fall for me?”

“I think it would,” Zoey replied.