Page 17

Thirteen

“ T here,” Marigold panted, stepping back to admire her work. “What do you think?”

Briar looked up at Wick, who was shaking the magic shimmers from his hair.

Because he had hair now. A proper head of it.

The illusion of it, anyway. Along with the illusion of a shirt, pants, and even shoes, with mortal proportions to fill them out.

Marigold had pointed out that they would never get past the locals with a Skullstalker and had given Wick a glamor spell to ease the way.

Wick cocked his head expectantly. “Well?”

Briar hummed. He made for a handsome human, if you liked that sort of thing.

But he also looked quite… bland. Especially his eyes, which were dull brown.

Briar missed the fire. And the top half of his face looked naked without the skull fused to it.

He was still very tall, but nowhere near as tall as he was a minute ago.

“You look great,” she lied. She nodded at his back, which looked deceivingly wingless with Marigold’s glamor spell. “You can still get us up the mountain, right?”

“I can.” Air displaced around Wick, and Briar imagined those invisible wings flapping.

“Then it’s perfect.” Briar patted down her borrowed clothes—another laced-up shirt and pants that were only slightly too baggy—and turned to Marigold. “Thanks. Really lowered our chance of getting attacked by angry townsfolk.”

“That’s the aim!” Marigold wiped sweat away from her brow and grinned, spinning her staff. “Safe travels, you two. Still have the sketch?”

Briar patted her pocket where the flower sketch resided. “Got it.”

“Good,” Marigold said. “I hope the locals aren’t too strange.”

“I promise not to get dragged into any magic sex rituals,” Briar said sarcastically.

Marigold’s laugh was less certain than Briar would like. Then she hugged Briar, who hugged back tightly. Marigold was the only person she could hug without reminding herself where her weapons were hidden.

She let herself sink into the embrace of an old friend. Sweet, familiar, and…

Cold ? Briar frowned and leaned back. Marigold looked flushed, spots of color high on her cheeks. But that cheek had been icy where it had pressed into Briar’s neck.

Marigold blinked. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re freezing ,” Briar said.

“I am?” Marigold patted her forehead with a titter. “Must be all this mountain air! Well, have a nice flight! I’m a little jealous I have to stay here and work. I bet no mortal has ever had a Skullstalker fly them anywhere. Unless it was to eat them, obviously.”

“Most Skullstalkers do not have wings,” Wick pointed out.

“Right! Of course.” Marigold spun her staff, a nervous gesture she had picked up since she had been given her very first one in childhood. “Anywho, have fun! Don’t get murdered.”

“As long as your glamor holds up, that won’t be a problem.” Briar stepped close to Wick and let him scoop her up in his arms.

The glamor flickered. But just for a moment, and only when her face brushed Wick’s chest. In that instant, he towered above her, horned and beautiful. Then she blinked, and the illusion was back in place, a boring mortal staring down at her.

“Whoo,” Marigold said, her voice high. “That’s… intimate.”

“What do you expect me to do, cling to his back? That’s where his wings are.” Briar flicked Marigold a salute. “Have fun with your theories.”

“I always do!”

Briar patted Wick’s chest. “Take me for a fly, big boy.”

Wick took off. Marigold waved, big and goofy, both hands raised. Briar laughed and waved back, watching the forest blur around them.

Briar grabbed for Wick’s shirt, laughing when her hands slid against bare skin.

“Your clothes look so real,” she said as they soared above the trees. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” Wick replied. “Like there is less of me.”

“It sure looks like it.” Briar looked up sadly at his skull-less face, those boring normal teeth behind his lips. She had been so terrified of his monstrous features when they first met—his fangs, his hulking height, his fiery eyes—and now she was missing them.

She looked away, worried he would catch something embarrassing in her expression. Then she cursed and tried desperately to reign in her emotions, which he could fucking smell . She was never going to get used to that.

With another powerful beat of his invisible wings, Wick broke the tree line.

Briar stared at the mountains looming overhead. They were grey and oddly savage looking, cruel points twisting into the cold air.

“I didn’t realize they were so close,” Briar said.

Wick didn’t respond. He was staring up at the mountains, something faraway in his eyes.

Briar cleared her throat uneasily. “We’ll need to find somewhere warm for you to take care of my curse.”

“Yes,” Wick said after a moment. His arms tightened around her, and for a moment, Briar thought she had caught a spark of fire in his eyes.

“We will do that as soon as we find the town,” Wick continued.

Briar rubbed her chest. The curse was barely a flicker this early in the morning. But she could still feel it if she focused—a small, dangerous ember glowing behind her ribs.

“Fly fast,” she said.

Wick let out a concerned rumble. “Why? Are you in pain?”

“No, just…” Briar swallowed. There was no casual way to admit she wanted the comforting weight of him on top of her, his impossible cock stretching her out. He might look different with the glamor, but there would be no mistaking what he truly was when he was fucking her.

“I just like getting it out of the way for the day,” she said.

Wick said nothing. When she risked a glance up, his eyes were fixed on the mountain.

Yedzeva was a small village on the southernmost edge of the mountain. There was a snowy cliff hanging over it, casting them in shadow for most of the day. And they did not like strangers.

“State your purpose,” barked a guard at the village entrance.

Briar blinked. His accent was strange, thick and twisted in a way that made her think of other lands—but none she’d heard of.

Wick looked expectantly at Briar, who smiled easily and linked their arms together.

“My husband and I are looking for a room for the night,” Briar said. “We wanted to pass straight through the mountain, but our carriage got stuck. Do you have a room available? We’ll take anything, truly.”

She rubbed her and Wick’s arms, trying to look as sad as possible.

The guard grunted. Then he jerked his head, standing aside.

“Don’t cause any trouble,” he warned.

“Us? Never.” Briar gave him a grateful smile and then dragged Wick with her over the village border to the snowy path leading uphill. She waited until the guard was out of sight, then tossed Wick a wink. “What did I tell you? I can talk my way into anything.”

“I believe it.” Wick paused. Then, delightfully clumsy, he winked back at her.

Briar cackled. Then they reached the top of the hill and stopped. Yedzeva lay ahead: a cramped collection of houses around a town square full of snow and stalls and people dressed in thick robes, walking very fast.

“Move,” said a woman brusquely as she shoved Briar out of the way.

Briar stepped back and watched her go. She was hunched over a basket of dried fruits, looking incredibly stressed. She also had the same thick accent as the guard.

They really are isolated up here, Briar thought. She watched the townsfolk with their heads down, discomfort brewing in her gut. For all her joking with Marigold about sex magic, she had been expecting something more welcoming.

“Come on.” She led Wick toward the town square.

He got stiffer with every step. Briar frowned, looking up to see him watching the townsfolk with a panicked expression.

“I do not like crowds,” he explained.

Briar winced. Crowds and blood frenzies didn’t mix.

“Yeah, I bet,” she muttered. She pulled him out of the way of a speed-walking man, who gave them one glance before stumbling to a stop.

“Cor,” the man said, gaping up at Wick and exposing all three of his teeth. “You’re as tall as a Skullstalker!”

“Skullstalkers are much bigger,” Wick said hastily.

The man grunted in disbelief and then kept walking, his head down.

Briar pulled her coat tighter and looked around. That man wasn’t the only one giving Wick strange looks; everyone who bothered to look up was lingering on them now. Briar supposed they didn’t get many visitors, what with their isolated location and inhospitable welcome at the border.

Wick let out a blustery breath. Something smacked into Briar’s leg, and she could only tell by the feel that it was his tail swishing back and forth in worry.

“We’re okay,” Briar whispered, rubbing his arm genuinely this time. “Nobody’s attacking you.”

“It is not me I am worried about,” Wick said. He stared around the town square like he was imagining tearing through it in a bloody fury.

Briar squeezed his arm. “Hey. Cut that out. Tell me about the waterfall house you’re going to get when you’re cured.”

It took a second. But Wick tore his eyes away from the town and looked at her with those boring human eyes that made her miss those flames swimming in black.

“It is not a waterfall house,” he started. “It is a house near a waterfall. I want to see it from my bedroom window. I would like a bedroom. A nest room, I suppose. And… a room for you to stay.”

He said it cautiously, like he wanted to say something else. Briar knew what she wanted to say: would he sleep next to her when she visited? Why couldn’t she just curl up beside him in his nest? Her curse would be over, to be sure. But it didn’t have to mean they were over.

Right?

“I have not thought about much else,” Wick admitted.

Briar forced herself to stop thinking about falling asleep beside him a year from now, two years, ten , and patted his glamored chest, which was actually his stomach.

“Let’s go ask about a room,” she said. Then she paused. “Wait. Let’s ask about the flowers first, then the room. Might as well get them both done at once.”