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Slippery Slope

Anya

W e drank our concoctails and laughed into the night. I told Idris stories about my wildest customers: the man who kept me up all night by barking in his room like a dog, the woman who demanded we provide two mattresses for her to sleep on, and even the story of Hattie’s arrival. He met my stories with rapt interest, and shared tales of his own adventures in the wilds: seeing the green streaks of the northern auroras, a sketchy frozen lake crossing in the heart of the Bone Mountains, and an unfortunate (hilarious) run-in with a raccoon whose cave he’d had the audacity to wait out a snowstorm in.

By the time our bottles were empty and the fire had cooled, it was late, and the rain had picked up considerably. We couldn’t avoid sharing the tent any longer, and as we ducked inside, the promise of his touch sobered me; it seemed to sober him, too. The remaining hiccups and giggles died on our tongues in the darkness of our shelter.

The air wasn’t as cold tonight, but the ground was still hard and damp. Earlier, I’d arranged the blankets for sharing, thinking it an unfortunate necessity. Now, I wondered if I should offer to reinstate our blanket buffers. But as I slipped underneath the fabric, an anticipatory thrill pulsed through me—a sensation that kept me quiet.

Idris wordlessly wedged in behind me. Was it chivalry or genuine desire that caused him to curl so close?

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

I wasn’t. In truth, I felt itchy and constricted in my clothes.

“ So cold,” I lied. “Freezing, in fact.”

He shifted closer, knuckles grazing the side of my neck—the closest exposed skin. “You don’t feel freezing,” he accused. His fingertips dipped briefly under my collar. “You feel…warm.”

I swallowed thickly, buzzing with need. I could blame the drink, but it was clear the alcohol had only intensified cravings that were already simmering beneath the surface. But these feelings…they were wrong. Futile .

Resisting the urge to press backward into him, I did the opposite, scooting on my side so that an inch of chilly space separated us. “No need to warm me, then,” I said briskly. “We don’t need you sleeping fitfully again.”

The hand that had been stroking my collarbone slipped away. “Is that what you want?” His voice was honey poured over stone. Smooth, delicious, but hard underneath.

I wasn’t sure either of us could handle hearing what I wanted aloud, but the concoctail let slip the smallest truth: “No.”

His hand returned, this time to my shoulder, rolling me toward him. Idris tucked me against his chest, under his chin, his huge arm wrapping around my waist to hold me firm and close. He pulled the blanket up to my cheek, shrouding me in warmth. His stubble grazed my temple.

My sense of right and wrong dissolved. With my head nestled against his shirt, I could smell his pine-smoke scent, and it fortified my nerve. “Are you cold?” I asked.

“Freezing,” he deadpanned.

I inched closer, sliding my fingers underneath the hem of his shirt. I grazed the hair dusting his abdominals, then banded my arm around his waist, pressing my chest to his, splaying my palm on the bare skin of his back. His heart began to patter in time with the rain outside.

He hissed. “Anya,” he murmured, half warning, half…something else. He ghosted his knuckles across the side of my neck again, then cupped my jaw, sinking his fingertips into my hair. He tipped my chin up to look at him in the dark.

Airless with anticipation, I watched as his lips parted ever so slightly. Would he kiss me? Was that a terrible thing to want? I felt as if I were teetering on a high precipice, craving and dreading the fall.

“ Fates spare me ,” he swore, releasing me roughly.

“Spare you from what?”

“You know what.”

Feeling as if I’d been toyed with, I turned with my back to him again, suddenly ready to focus on sleep.

But his voice cut through the dark again. “How do I do it?”

I knew immediately of what he spoke. “You drown me.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was devoid of mirth.

I closed my eyes, assuming that he’d keep his distance, now.

But he settled behind me again, resting a careful palm on my hip. Hot breath warmed my shoulder as he inched closer, then his chin grazed the exposed skin of my neck, where my shirt gaped. He pressed a single kiss there, chaste, and completely unexpected, sending a rush of awareness up and down my body. His mouth was there and gone in a moment, leaving me humming with energy.

While he remained close, his touch wasn’t charged as it had been. But it still tormented me long after the drink wore off.

The next morning, I rose before dawn—before Idris—to bathe in the river. I hadn’t had many chances for a proper wash, and I figured I ought to take any fleeting opportunity that came. More importantly, I hoped the frigid water might douse any remaining heat that lingered in my core from another night in his arms.

Perhaps tonight we’d come within reasonable range of an inn, where we might enjoy the reprieve of separate rooms. Maybe then I’d gain some sense and stop lusting after my killer. My quiet, funny, unexpectedly caring killer.

I ducked out of the curtain of willow branches and carried my pack toward the water. Pastel clouds dappled the sky in shades of periwinkle, baby pink, and lemon, the Wend reflecting its splendor. Birds sang, water trickled, and nearby, Briar munched grass in a cheerful rhythm.

Once I reached a secluded area out of view of camp, I unpacked fresh clothes and Hattie’s rose-scented soap, then stripped down to my chemise. As much as I’d craved Idris’s touch last night, in the light of day, my drunken behavior embarrassed me; I shouldn’t have come onto him as I had, and I didn’t want him to catch me naked now, so I decided to make do in a semi-dressed state.

The river rocks were slick as I waded into the shallows. I stepped carefully, my toes stinging with cold. When the water reached my knees—just below my hemline—I bent, wetting my old shirt to use as a wash rag. I started with my underarms, humming to myself as I worked my way down and underneath my chemise, scrubbing away the sweat and grime of travel. My magic lifted the sounds of nature to meet my little tune, filling my head with a sweet melody, and—

“Morning.”

Too busy orchestrating my own song, I hadn’t heard Idris approach. With a startled shriek, I jumped—feet slipping on the wet stones—and fell into the Wend for the second time on our trip, landing on my butt with a splash.

As water sloshed against my chest, I pouted up at Idris. “You did that on purpose.”

“I most certainly did not,” he said seriously, rushing to the water’s edge, offering his hand.

I eyed it, thinking about the last time I fell in the river. I realized I didn’t fear him this time; our conversations over the past few days had diffused much of my suspicion. In fact, when my gaze followed the length of his arm up to his concerned face, I forgot the Mirror’s vision entirely. Maybe his warped Fate had changed mine, after all. Maybe I’d changed my own Fate, just by trusting him.

Either way, it wasn’t panic that I felt now, but mischief.

I reached out, but instead of taking his hand, I flicked the surface of the water, splashing him heartily.

“Whoa, hey!” Idris exclaimed, leaping back as droplets peppered his trousers. His heels collided with the small ledge of grass that met the rocks of the bank, and he stumbled, falling onto the soft ground.

Laughter spilled out of me, filling the quiet morning. Idris laughed, too, his cheeks flushed with bewilderment.

I rose clumsily to my feet, still chuckling. “Revenge is sweet!” I declared.

Idris’s gaze dipped, and his laughter died.

I glanced down at my soaked chemise, the dark circles of my nipples easily visible through the fabric. When I looked up again, he met my eyes, looking like he wanted to devour me and felt very guilty about it. His throat bobbed; I could hear the thick gulp from ten feet away.

But before I could say anything, Idris stood, storming off toward camp. “Get a move on, would you?” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve a lot of ground to cover today.”

This time, his sourness was painfully transparent. I tossed my wet braid over my shoulder, chuckling to myself as I shucked my useless chemise onto shore and finished bathing in peace.