Page 27

Nineteen

B riar marched into the cottage, her mind reeling.

It couldn’t be true, she told herself as she headed through the cluttered rooms. It had to be a mistake.

Maybe Marigold was finally trying something other than Forest Girl Fashion, which she wore even as a street urchin.

Maybe she did use the oil for spells. There had to be a reason Wick smelled it on her that didn’t have anything to do with her brutally betraying her oldest friend.

Briar came to a stop in the hallway, heart pounding. She could hear Marigold in the kitchen, humming and occasionally swearing as she puttered about.

Briar could go in and confront her. Get this mess smoothed out.

But there was a suspicion itching in the back of her head.

Why did Wick hear that strange, cold voice when Marigold was inside his head?

How could Renault have possibly known they would be in Yedzeva?

And Marigold seemed even more scatterbrained than usual.

Oddly strained. Briar had chalked it down to hosting a Skullstalker, but what if it was more than that?

Briar gritted her teeth. She always told herself that if she could trust anyone, it was Marigold. Was she really about to let some Skullstalker—a monster —make her doubt that, just because they had been journeying together for a few weeks?

Marigold’s humming grew louder. It was a tune they had made up together in the orphanage, just before Marigold left to be trained as a witch.

Briar looked toward the kitchen. Then she turned away and headed toward Marigold’s bedroom.

The door was sealed. Magically, so Briar couldn’t even pick the lock.

Luckily, she knew Marigold well enough to know she would have forgotten a key insight: thieves also climbed through windows.

Briar snuck around the cottage and climbed through the window, landing softly on her damp feet. She grimaced at the footprints—she would have to erase those before she left—and then looked around the messy room.

Marigold was many things, but a criminal mastermind was not one of them.

Even when they were on the streets and scouring for food after the orphanage ran out, she left it up to Briar to come up with plans.

And to save them when the plan inevitably went awry.

If she locked the door, she would assume that she didn’t need to hide many of her secrets.

That was just the sort of life she had led.

Briar looked through the nightstand. Then the dresser. Then her desk, strewn with notes spilling over from her study, orders from clients, and half-finished letters. An ornate hairpin that she had let Marigold borrow and then never gotten back.

She was reaching for the hairpin when a certain envelope caught her eye.

It was freshly sliced open. The seal was ordinary, no crest to give it away. But she recognized the handwriting in the letter that had been pulled out of it.

Heart sinking, Briar picked it up.

I am glad we have come to an understanding, the letter said in Renault’s stupid, swoopy handwriting. You will receive your money as soon as the Briar girl is secured.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Heavy, because Marigold never had to live in the shadows like she had. She’d spent most of her life cozy and warm, her belly full. And she had still sold Briar out.

Briar had just enough time to drop the envelope and pick up the hairpin, not bothering to turn around. Only guilty people did that.

After the smallest flash of light, the door swung open.

Marigold spluttered. “Briar! What are you doing in here?”

“Getting my hairpin back.” Briar turned slowly, lazily, as if nothing was wrong. It was important not to panic in these situations. Even if everything in her wanted to grab Marigold, shake her until her eyes bled, and demand to know how much coin it took to betray her.

Marigold’s empty hands flexed at her sides. She was wishing she’d kept her staff with her, Briar realized. She was worried Briar had found out.

“You could have asked me to let you in,” Marigold said with a nervous titter. “Did you come in through the window?”

“Just teaching you to cover all your exits.” Briar grinned, making it as friendly as possible. She couldn’t give herself away now. She had to get back out to Wick. Had to formulate a plan.

Marigold laughed again, wiping her skirts. She was covered in crumbs from the bread she had been handling, a carrot peel stuck to her wrist from the vegetables she had been cutting when Briar went out to the waterfall.

“I guess you didn’t stay long,” Marigold said, nodding at Briar’s wet feet and damp pants. “Did your Skullstalker?—?”

Briar cut her off. “What did we agree you’d call the apothecary? Back when we were kids.”

Marigold paused, her hands tightening in her crumb-dusted skirts. Then they forcibly loosened.

Need to keep an eye on body language, Briar thought. I told you that, Marigold. You brushed me off.

“The Cottage Away from Home,” Marigold said, her smile genuinely soft. “You would get a friends and family discount for any potion you needed.”

“And sleep in the spare room anytime,” Briar finished. She tucked the hairpin into her pocket and strolled up, careful to keep her posture loose and easy as she walked. “Because I always have a home at the cottage.”

Marigold nodded. Her smile stiffened, her gaze dropping as Briar got closer.

“So,” Marigold said. “Where did your Skullstalker go?”

“He’s still washing. Getting that mountain smell off him; he’s a little strange about it.” Briar leaned on the doorway, making Marigold step out of the way. “I’m really happy for you, Marigold. You’re finally getting your dream. You just need to finish this one last job.”

“Right.” Marigold didn’t look at her. Her smile was wobbling, like she was waiting for Briar to ask exactly what that job was. She’d never gotten specific about it when Briar asked before.

But Briar said nothing. She just pulled Marigold into a hug, ignoring when Marigold stiffened.

“That friends and family discount better be huge,” she said into Marigold’s shoulder.

Marigold laughed nervously. “Of course! Of course. Anything for you.”

Briar inhaled deeply. There, underneath the smell of bread and vegetables, was the barely-there scent of lipseed, lingering on Marigold’s puffy hair.

Betrayal curled through Briar, as sharp as a stab wound.

“Oh,” Marigold said, leaning back. “I almost forgot. I just put the flower in to marinate. We should be able to remove your curses tomorrow! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yes,” Briar said, her smile aching. “I can’t wait.”

Wick met her as soon as she stepped out of the front door. His loincloth was damp with river water, knotted messily, as if in a hurry.

“I am sorry,” he said.

He had been listening in. Or maybe he could just tell from her expression. Or he could fucking smell it on her, the keen-nose bastard. He’d known her for a few weeks and saw past her better than any man ever could, and it infuriated her.

“We can leave,” Wick offered. “If she is not truly planning to un-curse us, we can find somewhere else. We still have your amulet, maybe some other witch?—”

Briar grabbed his horns and dragged him into a kiss. She had to jump a little to do it, but Wick bent down easily, grunting into her mouth.

It was not an entirely pleasurable grunt. Briar drew back, annoyed.

“Shit,” she said. “Am I hurting you?”

Wick shook his head.

“Good.” Briar hauled herself up with his horns, wrapping her legs around his loincloth-clad waist. “Fuck me as hard as you can manage.”

Wick’s fiery eyes swelled. He had been insisting that he had healed enough to take her “properly,” but for now, Briar stayed on top.

Even when the blood frenzy had started to take over, it never lasted long enough for him to turn her over and rut her like an animal.

The amulet was cracked and flickering, but it still worked.

For now.

Wick carried her to a shady spot near the waterfall and set her down in the grass.

Briar didn’t check if Marigold would be able to see them.

There were several windows on this side of the cottage, so she would probably be able to see them.

But Briar couldn’t bring herself to care.

If Marigold was handing her into some bounty hunter’s jaws, she could see Wick’s entire dick for all Briar cared.

Not that she particularly wanted that. She had been surprised that she was oddly possessive of Wick when he disrobed at the altar in Yedzeva. She had the brief urge to tug her fur coat over them both and keep Wick to herself. But the villagers had wanted a show, and she had given it to them.

There was no one to put on a show for here. Just Wick and his fiery gaze fixed so strongly on her that she forgot to perform at all—a rarity she was still getting used to.

“There is a spell,” Wick grunted as he thrust into her, all the way to the third ridge. “That can make you take me. Your body will rearrange itself but leave you unaltered, after.”

Briar panted, open-mouthed, against the grass. She was facedown with Wick crouched over her, his arm bracing against her chest. She was obviously rubbing against his healing burns, but he showed no signs of stopping or pushing her away. Like crushing her close was worth the pain it caused him.

“How—” Briar cut off with a gasp, the ridges of his cock lighting sparks under her skin. “How m-many spells are you going to cast on me, big boy?”

“As many as it takes,” Wick growled. “I want you. All of you, always.”

Briar curled her hands in the grass, her clit throbbing as she imagined it: Wick getting some warlock to cast spells on his little human so she could stay at his side, taking him inhumanly deep whenever he wanted.

Wick reached down and rubbed her clit. His giant finger was so gentle, as always. Briar yelled and came, clutching the arm he had clamped around her middle. He fucked her through it, his hips stuttering as she squeezed around him.

Briar could feel herself drooling as the orgasm faded. If she walked away from this, she would spend the rest of her life chasing the high that Wick had given her. No man could compare once she had a Skullstalker.

Wick grunted, his hot breath clouding over her hair. He thrust twice more and came, pulsing inside her.

Briar petted his arm, waiting for him to pull out. But Wick only nuzzled her hair, keeping his shaking arm braced against the ground so he didn’t fall and crush her.

“I am almost glad for my injuries,” he confessed.

It took Briar a moment to acknowledge this. She was too distracted by the Skullstalker cock stretching her, even while soft, and his heavy weight over her. Wick had a way of blocking out the world in the sweetest way she’d ever experienced.

“You were burned to a crisp,” she slurred. “How are you glad?”

“I am not a crisp .” Wick pulled out of her with a reluctant noise and then rolled onto his back, gathering her in his arms. “It meant we had more days on this journey.”

Briar said nothing and watched the sky. Wick’s chin was resting against her head, his grip firm as he held her against him.

I want all of you, he had said. Always.

Briar had heard similar things when she was in a man’s bed. But Wick did not make promises he never intended to keep.

She groaned softly. “You really mean it, huh? You want me to stay with you.”

“I do,” Wick said instantly, like it was easy. “Nobody has mattered to me like you. Nobody has protected me like you, nor taken care of me. No one has trusted me as you have.”

Briar’s eyes burned with tears. She twisted in his arms and braced herself above him.

He was watching her, careful and earnest as ever.

Briar sorely wanted to laugh at him. To tell him that wasn’t how the world worked. To insist he was naive, that everyone left in the end, that she would be doing him a favor by leaving him high and dry after they found some way to undo their curses if Marigold fell through like they suspected.

But there was another part of her, slowly growing larger throughout their journey, that wanted to give him all the kindness he’d given her and more.

Maybe she had protected him like no one else. Trusted him, taken care of him, and everything else he had said.

But he’d done the same for her, too.

Briar had guarded her heart so completely, and he had broken down all her walls like they were nothing. Then he had cupped her heart so softly she almost forgot he had claws.

She opened her mouth, unsure what she would say.

Then something cracked, the noise loud enough to make them both jump.

They both looked down. The amulet hung between them, flickering with spasmodic white light. It was even joltier than before, barely lasting a blink before it faded.

“Shit.” Briar clutched it desperately, holding it so they could both look at it.

The crack along the amulet was growing. Soon, it would reach the other side and shatter into two.

Another flicker of white flashed and then died. It was different from past flashes; those were bright and clear. This looked… strange. Patchy. Almost like there were flickers of snow inside.

A window opened on the other side of the cottage. Briar recognized its specific creak: it was the kitchen. Another room she had snuck through, that time when Marigold had locked the door and Briar was drunk and too tired to keep knocking.

“Um,” Marigold called into the forest. “If you’re finished, dinner is almost ready!”

The window closed.

Briar sighed, slumping against Wick’s chest.

“She says she’ll undo our curses tomorrow,” she announced.

Wick stroked her back. “Do you think she will?”

Briar considered. She didn’t have to say it would happen tomorrow. That meant that either Marigold was making good on her promise, or something very different was going to happen.

“I think we need a plan,” Briar said.