Dude! Not A Ranger

I found him hanging upside down from a snare in my woods, cursing like a drunk poet.

"You must be the legendary mercenary," I said, bow drawn.

"Depends," he grunted. "Is this a rescue or an interrogation?"

I tilted my head. "Haven't decided yet."

He was armed to the teeth and still managed to look smug, dangling midair.

"Name's Dude. You always this charming with men caught in traps?"

"Only the ones who don't bleed out immediately."

I cut him down. Eventually.

He followed me back to my cabin like a stray wolf with better jokes. Claimed he needed shelter, warmth, and possibly a cuddle.

"You're not staying long," I said.

"Just long enough to be unforgettable."

He was insufferable. And infuriatingly good at chopping firewood shirtless.

That night, we hunted a pack of corrupted beasts. He fought like a storm—loud, wild, and somehow always one step behind me.

When we limped back, bloodied and breathless, I cleaned his wounds. He traced the scar on my hip.

"This from a fight?"

"No," I said. "From letting someone in."

He kissed me like he wasn't afraid to join the list.

The forest was quiet. We weren't.

Hands tangled in hair, teeth against lips, backs pressed to bark. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, filled me like I was everything. Every thrust a promise he wouldn't keep.

But gods, it felt like he meant them.

He made me moan like no one had before. I made him beg.

After, we lay tangled in moss and moonlight.

"Still not staying," I whispered.

"I know," he murmured, brushing dirt from my thigh. "But I'll remember every second."

He left before sunrise, like I knew he would.

But the arrowhead he left on my windowsill gleamed like a secret.

And somewhere deep in the woods, a mercenary smiled—because even a ranger can be claimed.

Just not kept.