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Briar shrugged and sat down next to the nest. She hauled her pack into her lap and cradled it like he had once seen a mortal child hold a stuffed toy.

“Best I could do,” she said, muffled into the pack. “I stole people’s shit when I snuck back into the village for supplies. Got you food, too.”

She nodded at the back of the cave. A dead rabbit was lying on a rock, already skinned. The fur had been added to the nest, Wick noted with surprise. It was lying on the top, as Wick did with his own nest.

He stroked the rabbit fur. Then he sat down, ignoring the pain from his burns as they came into contact with the nest. It was admittedly very soft, even if it was structurally useless. Everything squashed out underneath him as soon as he lowered himself. And yet, Wick was almost content. If he were not in such pain, it might have been a deeply lovely night.

“This is the nicest thing any creature has ever done for me,” Wick told her.

Briar stared at him, her bright eyes gleaming. For a moment, Wick feared she would burst into tears.

“Fuck you,” she said instead.

Wick blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” Briar’s mouth twisted horribly, and she buried her face in her hands. “You’reso… ugh!And it’s all the time! Every day! Every void-damned second, and now you’re hurt, I hurt you, and you’restill like this!”

The last words were a wail into her hands. Wick’s tail flicked uncertainly. The movement jarred several burns. He stilled.

“I do not understand why you’re angry at me,” he said honestly. “But it must wait. Your curse is burning hotter.”

He sniffed the air. The fire was encroaching on her heart, fierce and unyielding.

He took her wrist and pulled her into his lap, watching her eyes widen.

“You want to do this now? You’re covered in burns!”

“I will survive,” he assured her. “You would not.”

She readjusted herself on his lap. She was holding herself strangely, like she wanted to place the least amount of pressure on him as possible.

“If you are afraid of the blood frenzy,” he tried. “I will take you back to the town.”

Briar rolled her eyes. She took the amulet out of her pocket, eyed the crack down the middle, and then tied a knot in the chain.

“I’d rather risk you,” she said as she slid the knotted necklace around her throat. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her face crumpled.

“Ireallyhurt you,” she whispered.

Wick was made of pain. Briar’s weight on him should have made it worse, and in some ways it did. But in other ways, ways that went deeper than these scorch marks, her weight on him was the only thing keeping him from falling into agony.

“I told you to,” Wick said. “I am glad you did it.”

“Oh, he’sglad.” Briar’s face twisted once more. “I can’tbelieve?—”

Wick shushed her, pressing a scarred finger to her lip. Then he bent down and kissed her as gently as he was able. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her and forget this day had happened.

Briar kissed back desperately. She flung her arms around his shoulders, her touch both forceful and hesitant as she attempted to lie them only on places where he was unburned.

“What in the voidwasthat net made out of?” she asked when she paused to take her pants off, leaving her shirt intact. “It didn’t burn me.”

“Malblossom,” he replied. “Please talk of something else.”

Briar nodded fervently and stroked his chest. She was looking at him with an intensity that he recognized: she did not want to think about it, either. She did not want the memories, which she had to keep in full, whereas he only had glimpses washed in crimson. She wanted to forget herself in him, just as he did.

She did not undo his loincloth completely. She only lowered it, letting it pillow around his thighs to cushion her weight. Even with all the pain, he was already half-hard when she pulled his cock free.