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Briar cleared her throat, worry clear in her scent even if it wasn’t in her face. “Hey, Madame Thatchbore. You were saying something about being richly rewarded?”

Madame Thatchbore nodded and waved a gnarled hand at the crowd.

The crowd parted. The mud mortal stepped through, carrying a large bowl of golden coins and goblets. They looked old and—for some reason—familiar.

“Gifts from deep within the mountain,” Madame Thatchbore declared as the mud mortal placed the bowl onto a stone pillar. “We give unto you, for giving unto us. Now step forth and mount the altar.”

Wick stepped forward.

“Ah-ah,” Madame Thatchbore said. “Just her.”

Briar sent Wick a look. It was meant to be amused, but Wick could still smell the worry she was trying to stifle. It was not strong, but it was there. He could see her clutch her knife under her loose sleeve, as if to remind herself it was there.

Then Briar shed her robe. It fell to the ground to reveal Briar in all her naked glory, her head held high.

She stepped up to the altar and, after a moment’s consideration, began to raise her leg to climb on.

Wick took her hips and lifted. Briar startled, then looked back with a relieved smile as he turned her to face him and placed her onto the altar, her ass resting against the stone.

“We will be fine,” Wick assured her.

Briar smiled, amused. “I thought I would be the one reassuring you.”

“You are,” Wick said. For some reason, comforting her was also comforting him. Focusing on her soft skin and her familiar scent made it easier to bear the weight of all the eyes on him as he shed his loincloth.

Briar’s smile grew more solid. She leaned up toward him and whispered, “Wish they could see what’s really under there. We’d wake so many women up to wants they didn’t even know they had.”

Wick had no desire to awaken any woman to her wants except Briar. He stepped between her legs, tugging her to the edge of the altar.

“Let the ritual commence,” Madame Thatchbore declared.

A drumbeat rang across the snowy clearing. Wick looked over to see the mud man thudding two sticks slowly against a drum. The man was averting his eyes. He seemed to be the only one; all other eyes were locked on Briar, naked and gorgeous over the smooth stone.

Wick rolled his shoulders, annoyed. He wanted to cover Briar with his body and block them from their expectant gaze.

“There it is,” Briar said softly. She ran her fingers up his arm. “Are you getting in your head about it?”

“No,” Wick said, tearing his gaze away from the crowd. Still, he could not deny that he was growing soft.

Briar hooked her leg around his waist. “Just focus on me.”

Wick nodded. He stepped closer, the front of his thighs pressing against the smooth stone altar. He ignored the crowd, the altar, the candles, and focused instead on Briar in front of him, the amulet lying between her breasts.

We will be fine, he reminded himself.

Briar leaned up and kissed him. The townsfolk melted away, replaced by Briar’s lips against his.

Wick kissed her deeply, feeling her groan when she licked her own taste out of his mouth. He could feel her response once more, the thick scent of her slick growing stronger as he rubbed her thighs.

Briar pulled back, her eyes dark. “Get inside me.”

She shifted forward, rubbing her entrance against his stiffening cock. Her outer lips parted around Wick’s length, and he shuddered.

The drumbeat increased. Wick barely heard it, too busy lining himself up and sinking inside—slowly, shallowly, ever careful to stretch her properly.

Briar made the same shocked noise as always. Her mouth fell open, and Wick ached to push his fingers inside and feel the silk of her tongue.

He resisted. He pulled out of her hole and thrust back inside. Briar had been right to make him stretch her beforehand. He sank in easily until the first ridge popped into her.

Briar keened. “ Wick !”

Wick bent over her, pressing her into the smooth stone. Keeping her from view. Keeping her from the cold. Wick rocked deeper inside and thought, deliriously, of how much he would like to keep her forever.

The drumbeat hastened once more. The candles swelled, their flames blooming around them as Wick mated her, holding her still against the altar.

Briar’s breath came faster, her kisses slack. There was a stage of mating where she could no longer kiss, only breathe excitedly against his mouth. They were reaching it much faster than usual.

Wick sped up, pressing her harder against the stone. The drum beat loudly in his ears, only to be drowned out by his pounding blood.

The amulet glowed, trapped between their bodies.

“Wick,” Briar panted, shining with sweat. “Come in me. I want to feel it.”

Wick did not think about the frenzy, thrumming wildly just out of reach. He did not think about all the eyes on him. He focused on her, like she told him to, and came so hard his fingers dug into the altar, breaking off crumbs of stone.

The drumbeat stuttered to a halt.

At first, Wick assumed it was because the ritual was over. Then Briar gasped against his cheek, shoving at him.

Wick swayed back. “What is it?”

Briar didn’t respond. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with panic.

“Shit,” she whispered.

A scream rang over the crowd.

Wick jolted up, his cock sliding out of Briar as he looked at the village folk.

They were clamoring, yelling, and pointing at him in horror. Not at his chest, where the glamor had conjured his head. But his true face, exposed for the whole village to see.

The glamor had failed. They were in the presence of a Skullstalker. Suddenly, the mountain cliff looming overhead was not the biggest terror today.

Briar climbed off the altar, her hands raised. “Everything’s okay! He won’t hurt you!”

But it was too late. The village was already fleeing, the bowl of gold clattering off the pillar and scattering coins as people ran for the town.

Briar swore. “Wick, time to go!”

Wick turned to her. But before he could wrap her in his arms and take flight, an arrow flew out of the crowd and buried itself in his shoulder.

Wick roared. He whirled to face the shooter, expecting a villager.

A bounty hunter stared back at him. He had wavy hair and a rakish smile. The last time Wick had seen him, he was outside Wick’s cave, telling his gang to retreat.

Renault reloaded his crossbow and aimed a second time, grinning viciously.

“Now,” he yelled.

A net descended from the sky and slammed Wick to the ground.