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Eighteen

W ick had never been more relieved to hear a waterfall.

He stopped, his head cocked.

Briar stopped with him, looking up at him expectantly. “What is it?”

“We are close,” he replied.

Briar let out a heavy breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. “ Finally . I need to eat a vegetable that isn’t those awful turnip things we found yesterday. I hope Marigold has something cooking.”

Wick sniffed the air. There was only the scent of trees, water, and the weariness and worry that had been clinging to Briar for days. The scent of his own injuries had faded into the background much easier than Briar’s anxiety.

“I do not smell anything,” he said. “But we can hope.”

Briar smiled. It was stronger than many of the smiles she had given him since the ravine, although she averted her eyes very quickly. She seemed to have trouble looking directly at him since yesterday, when he offered to extend her life so she could spend it with him.

Wick wondered if he’d overstepped. But he was used to his overstepping with mortals ending in screaming and bloodshed. If this was Briar’s reaction, he could cope with that.

They continued through the trees until they came across the waterfall. It was bubbling merrily, and Wick gave it a longing glance before turning toward the cottage.

Marigold was facing away from them, spinning her staff distractedly. She was staring up at the trees. Wick almost assumed she was looking for them, but that would not make sense. They were coming from the opposite direction.

Briar dug into her pack and came out with a handful of the flowers they had been sent to collect.

“We’re back,” she called. “Fashionably late. Hope you didn’t miss us.”

Marigold jumped, her staff jolting out of her hands.

“Gods,” she gasped. She stared at them, open-mouthed, looking at her staff and then at Briar before seemingly deciding that her discarded staff could wait.

She ran up to Briar and flung herself into Briar’s arms, squeezing her tightly. “What happened ? I expected you back a week ago; the glamor can’t last that long. You were supposed to fly right?—”

She stammered to a stop, staring up at Wick, covered in healing burns. She pointed at his remaining wing. “You used to have two of those.”

“I did,” Wick agreed.

“Hence why we’re back so late.” Briar smiled in a way that reminded Wick of wolves baring their teeth. “Here’s your flower. Hope it was worth the trouble.”

She held out the flowers she had been carrying carefully in her pack for days.

Marigold stared at it. Then she jumped, grabbing it like she had only remembered why she was excited about it.

“Right,” she said, flustered. “Good! I’m just sorry it was so much trouble. What happened up there?”

“We had a charming interaction with the locals,” Briar drawled. She looked up at Wick and continued, “Remember when we thought the sex ritual would be the most notable part about our trip?”

“Sex ritual? Ha!” Marigold let out a screechy laugh, bending down to scoop up her staff. Then she noticed that Briar was not joking. “Oh. Wow. You’re serious? I really did hope those were just rumors.”

“I’ll tell you the story over food,” Briar said. “What do you have in your kitchen?”

She linked arms with Marigold, the two of them heading toward the house. Wick moved to follow, then froze as he caught a faint whiff of something familiar on Marigold’s skin.

Briar noticed him stop and turned to him, her arm loosening around Marigold’s. “Wick? What is it?”

Wick wanted to tell her. But now was not the time. Not with Marigold standing right there, gripping her staff unexpectedly tight.

“I will stay out here and wash,” Wick told them.

Briar frowned. “Do you need help?”

“I will be fine,” Wick said, unable to keep his fondness or his nerves from creeping into his tone.

Marigold laughed. “Since when do you help Skullstalkers wash ? Does he need someone to scrub his back?”

Briar’s frown hardened. Marigold’s laugh died a swift death as she looked back at Wick’s injuries and made the connection.

“Oh,” Marigold said. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Briar can?—”

“I will be fine,” Wick repeated, firmer this time. “I will see you after you finish eating.”

Briar’s eyes narrowed. She was onto him, he was sure of it. But she pulled up a smile that got so close to carefree it almost fooled him and tugged Marigold toward the cottage once more.

“I hope you have biscuits,” Wick heard her say.

He watched them vanish into the house. He did not move toward the waterfall, even though he would badly like to bathe. He breathed in, the scent still lingering in the air where Marigold had been standing.

Lipseed. Just a faint whiff of it, but enough to make Wick pause. It was not common in this region, nor anywhere he had traveled with Briar. In this part of the country, he only ever smelled it on rich mortals’ hair or skin, rubbed there with oils.

Suspicion churned in Wick’s gut. He hoped he was wrong.

But he doubted it.

Not long later, Briar came to meet him at the waterfall.

“You were taking too long,” she announced as she pulled her clothes off and left them in a pile on the grassy bank. She climbed into the water and stretched, satisfied.

“ So nice to get naked and not have my nipples immediately turn to icicles,” she told him.

Wick smiled reflexively. He had been doing it more since Briar showed up.

He always considered it a mortal gesture, one he avoided.

Skullstalkers saw the act of showing their teeth as a threat, after all.

But he could not stop himself from smiling as Briar waded up to him, her eyes roving over him in a way she would forever deny was concerned.

“I can bathe myself,” Wick told her gently.

“What? I know. This is purely selfish.” Briar’s gaze turned heated, her smile curling in anticipation as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m using you for my pleasure.”

“And making sure you do not die,” Wick reminded her.

“And that. Whatever.” Briar tilted her face up, her eyes going half-lidded as she watched his mouth.

Wick swayed toward her, unable to stop himself. For a moment, all he wanted in the world was those soft lips on his, her warm body pressed against him. She was more relaxed than she had been in days. She was already wet, her sweet smell drifting up and making his mouth water and cock harden.

Wick stopped her just before their lips touched. “Your witch. Does she ever use lipseed in her spells?”

Briar blinked, surprised. “Don’t see why she would. I’m no expert, but that stuff is pretty useless for spells. Food, too. You only use it to pretty yourself up. Why?”

That was what Wick had been fearing.

He stepped back, letting Briar’s hand fall from his belly. “Your witch smells of it. Not enough for a mortal to notice.”

Briar laughed disbelievingly. “You think she… what? She arranged for Renault and his merry gang of bounty hunters to meet us in that village?”

“I do not know,” Wick said, but Briar was already talking over him.

“You think, what, he just swanned up here with a knife, and she immediately caved? She would have told me if she was being threatened. We have a secret code to tip each other off!”

“I don’t,” Wick tried.

Briar continued, her scent full of fury, “Or do you think he showed her a bag of money, and she immediately jumped on board?”

“Briar,” Wick said.

“ Don’t ,” she snapped. She shoved a finger in his face, her teeth bared in a way that made him think of Skullstalker rules: a smile was a threat. “You think my oldest friend—my only friend—is fucking me over?”

Wick frowned. “I thought I was your friend.”

Briar hesitated. For a second, he thought she would stop hissing at him and have a conversation. Then her expression closed off, her scent getting duller in the way it always did when she was forcing herself not to feel something.

She turned and stormed back to the riverbank.

“Briar,” Wick repeated. “Your curse.”

“It’s not even dark yet,” Briar spat as she pulled her clothes over her damp legs. “Stay there. I’m just— I’m gonna?—”

She looked back at the cottage, her face hardening.

“You’re wrong,” she told him. “I’ll prove it.”

“It’s not safe,” Wick argued.

Briar shot him an angry look. “It’s Marigold ! I’m safe with her. If I’m safe with anyone , I’m safe with her. Stay there.”

She marched off. Wick watched her go, every part of him wanting to follow. He had only gone to the waterfall because he knew he would hear Briar if she was in trouble.

He took a step toward the bank.

A voice in his mind stopped him, cold and rocky.

It was the voice that had been haunting him and several other Skullstalkers for their whole lives.

It was brief, barely lasting a heartbeat.

But it was surprisingly loud, like it was on the mountain, loud enough to make him stumble against the river rocks.

Soon , it whispered.