Page 31

B riar spent the afternoon doing her favorite post-lunch activity:

Taking all four ridges of her Skullstalker husband’s cock.

Briar twisted to wink at him, her cheek pressing into the deer fur that lined their nest. “Is that all you’ve got, big boy?”

Wick growled a laugh, his hips working hard. He looked beautiful like this, framed in the afternoon light streaming through the cottage window. Briar let herself look for a moment longer before a particularly deep thrust made her eyes flutter shut.

He was curled over her, pressing her face into the furs while he fucked her from behind.

It was where they often ended up. Briar would begin by riding him, then tease him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Then he would take charge, folding her into whatever position he wished and pounding her until he came.

It hadn’t taken long after they uncursed themselves for them to find their way to a spell that would let Briar take all of him. And increase her lifespan, of course. Briar was the proud owner of a lifespan spanning several millennia, and a body that could take every gorgeous inch of Wick’s cock.

Wick’s tail curled around her waist, holding her in place as he thrust harder. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels—” Briar panted into the fur, her eyelids fluttering.

Every thrust made her light up inside, her body stretching impossibly to fill him.

The first time he finally fit that fourth ridge inside her, she had actually cried with relief.

Sometimes she still felt like that, all the relief and triumph and love overflowing until he wiped it away with a gentle claw.

“Feels like I’m going to die if you don’t come in me,” she managed. “Feels like it all the time, every gods-damned day. I need it.”

“I know,” Wick soothed. “I will give it to you, my lovely thief.”

It took barely two passes of his huge finger over her clit before Briar was coming, crying out against the furs as she spasmed around him.

He fucked her through it, turning each wave of bliss so overwhelming that Briar was hardly aware of what she was saying.

But it must have been sappy, because when she pried her eyes open again, his big, black, fiery eyes were softer than ever.

“So tight,” he panted. “So perfect. Made for me.”

“All for you,” Briar slurred. She pulled his finger up and sucked it into her mouth, feeling his hips stutter against her. She closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy those ridges slamming into her oversensitive hole, then pulled his finger out of her mouth.

“Come on, big boy,” she said. “Mate me.”

Wick shuddered and came, his remaining wing flaring out with such majesty it took Briar’s breath away. He pulsed inside her, his tail tightening around her waist so tightly that Briar knew it would cause marks.

Then he went boneless, slumping next to her in the nest. He reached out blindly, and Briar let herself get tucked into his side.

For a time, they just lay there, the afternoon light coating their naked bodies. But after a while, Briar yawned.

“The Emmett brothers are coming around soon,” she announced. “I think I should put on some clothes.”

Wick rumbled a disagreement against her ribs. But he made no move to stop her as she sat up, stretching.

“We turned down their last two contracts,” he pointed out.

“So? Maybe this time they’ll have something exciting.

” Briar flashed him a smile and stroked his wing stub, which stretched fondly toward her.

It had taken her many years to be able to touch it without guilt, but she had gotten there eventually.

With a lot of assurance from Wick, who always insisted that she could cut off his remaining wing if she ever needed to.

“Never know what the day will hold,” Briar told him, getting up in search of clothes.

Not long after, the two of them sat on the porch they had built and looked at the waterfall.

They had taken over Marigold’s cottage after they removed their curses. They had trashed most of the clutter and rebuilt several walls until the cottage could fit Wick comfortably, then settled in for some well-earned peace and quiet.

But the quiet life, it turned out, was only fun for so long. While Briar did love her peace, she did need the occasional adventure every once in a while. And Wick was more than happy to indulge her.

He raised his head, sniffing the forest air.

“The Emmett brothers are close,” he announced.

Briar hummed. She held out a bottle of elderberry cider, and Wick popped it open with one easy claw.

“Speaking of brothers,” Briar said once she had taken a sip of the cool, clear cider. “Let’s go see your brother Slate soon.”

Wick huffed a laugh. “You are only asking because you want to do that job in the Crystal Wastes with Ruby.”

“I can’t help it if your brother’s wife is fun,” Briar argued joyously. “And you have to admit, having a half-god along on the job does make it easier.”

Wick snorted. Then he sat up, his fiery eyes fixed on the trees.

Briar waited. Sure enough, the Emmett brothers emerged.

The oldest one, William, waved. The younger one, Emery, slunk behind him with a bag over his shoulder, as cautious as ever.

Emery was young, perhaps five and twenty, and still hadn’t completely shaken off his fear of the ageless, monstrous couple who lived at the edge of the forest.

But at least he hadn’t come with torches and pitchforks. Those bloodthirsty groups had been popular for a year or two, and Briar didn’t like it. Wick was always so sad while she washed their blood off of him.

“Lady Thief,” William called. “You look well.”

Briar waved back at them. “Will! Good to see the baby’s finally being brought into the fold. About time he sharpened his teeth.”

“He’s getting the hang of it,” William replied. He tilted his hat at Wick. “Mister Skullstalker! Always a pleasure.”

“And to you,” Wick replied, amused. William was the latest in a surprisingly strong line of mortals who called Wick their friend, a fact that Wick was still getting used to.

The younger brother, Emery, cleared his throat.

“We come with offerings,” called Emery timidly.

William rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to announce it, you dolt. They can see the bag.”

He whacked the aforementioned bag hanging over Emery’s shoulder. Emery heaved it to the ground, revealing gold coins, woven blankets, and a fish paste that Wick enjoyed.

Briar looked at Wick. He inhaled deeply and nodded.

“Good lads,” Briar called. “I do love it when you stop in Hasterville; Wick can’t get enough of that fish stuff. What job do you have for us?”

“There is a town up north that requests help,” William declared. “They are beset upon by pixies. They said you helped them before?”

Briar groaned, stirring her cider with a long spoon. “We told them to keep the wards up. Wick, didn’t we tell them?”

“We told them,” Wick said. “But it has been a mortal generation. They will have forgotten.”

“Damn mortals and their damn lifespans,” Briar muttered. She straightened in her chair and considered. It was a long trek. They had just finished planting the tomatoes in the vegetable garden. And Briar didn’t particularly want to sleep rough for so long.

She turned to Wick and found him watching her intently. Anything she said, he would do.

Briar gave him a fond smile and turned back to the Emmett brothers.

“You two can take care of it,” she said.

William’s brows rose. “You have been turning down many of our quests lately. Is the Lady Thief getting a bit long in the tooth?”

Briar laughed, enjoying how panicked it made Emery look. “Excuse me for thinking you two can handle a simple pixie job on your own!”

“You have our trust,” Wick said. “Tell them we sent you. They will reward you richly.”

William hesitated. He seemed on the verge of a question. Then he bowed, barely an inclination of his head compared to the low bow his little brother sank into.

“That means a lot,” he said, and Briar could hear the sincerity despite his cocky smirk. “We will report back when the matter is solved.”

“Stay safe,” Wick said.

“And you.” William gave them another brisk nod, his eyes full of questions that Briar still denied him after all their years of working together. Then he strode back through the trees, his brother on his tail.

Briar went back to stirring her cider. It was homemade, yet another hobby Wick had picked up since settling down. Cider-making and making ornaments out of animal skulls: two of his favorite pastimes in the last decades.

“That makes three jobs you have turned down,” Wick told her.

Briar sipped her cider and shrugged. “Who can be bothered traveling all that way? Besides, I’d miss home.”

She could feel his eyes on her. But she still waited until he leaned over to her chair and picked her up, depositing her in his lap.

“Oh?” he said warmly.

Briar lifted her glass. “You made me spill my cider.”

He stuck his long tongue out and ran the tip along the glass, cleaning up the drop that had rolled down the surface.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked coyly.

Briar held back a smile. She leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing up at him as the waterfall bubbled in the background.

“Next time, we will go with them,” she said. “Right now… I just want some comfort. Can you give that to me?”

Wick growled, low and satisfied, and lowered his forehead to hers. The cool, scarred bone felt like walking through the cottage door after a long job and taking off her shoes, finally ready to relax.

“I will do my best,” Wick purred and winked.

Briar grinned. There had been no whispers from the mountains in all their years together. No blood frenzy beating at the edges of his skull. Just peace, plain and simple. Even on the most dangerous jobs, they could still find their peace together.

Wick wrapped her up in his arms.

Briar closed her eyes and let their hard-won peace wash over her.