Page 56

Cathy

Six months later

Heathcliff turns the truck off the main road, onto a narrower lane that tilts uphill. My stomach is full of butterflies, and I’m drinking in the scenery—pale birches, thick evergreens, slopes coated with scruffy blueberry bushes.

After a short climb through forested land, we break out of the trees onto a broad, flat hill. And there it is—a cabin, a huge barn, and a sprawl of rolling hills under a bright blue sky.

Tears spring to my eyes immediately, which surprises me a bit. I guess when the heart is full, the emotion has to spill over somehow, and for me, tears are the most familiar outlet.

I’m opening the door before Heathcliff has fully parked, and he yells out, alarmed, as I dive out and race across the grass to the lip of the hill, where it starts sloping down again.

I spread my arms to the April wind, and it dries my tears, leaving only faint traces of salt and a sense of reckless joy.

Heathcliff turns off the truck, slams the door, and jogs up beside me. “Hell of a view, ain’t it? Gatsby says the cabin’s furnished and stocked—Daisy’s goodbye gift to us. Electricity should be all hooked up, and I got all the info for taking care of the well and the septic system—”

I grab the paper-stuffed binder he’s holding and drop it into the grass. Then I seize his hands and dance him around, through the wind, under the blue sky. “It’s ours, Heathcliff! It’s all ours!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawls, but he’s grinning. “How do you think two Southerners gonna fit in up here with the Canadians?”

“Just fine!” I shout. “We’re gonna fit in just fine, and who cares if we don’t, anyway? Not fitting in up here is a hell of a lot better than not fitting in with the folks of Wicklow or the damn Lockwoods, wouldn’t you say?”

“You got that right.”

I sober a little, catching the tinge of bitterness in his tone. “You heard from Hindley at all?”

“Nope. Don’t want to.”

“What did you say to him that day when you stayed behind? I never did ask.” Truthfully, it seemed like too sensitive a subject. But we have some distance from it now, both physical and emotional.

Heathcliff sighs. “Told him he was a mean son of a bitch, a loser, and an all-around dickwad. And…” He grimaces. “Told him I loved him anyway.”

“Oh god. What did he say?”

“Well, when I yanked the tape off his mouth, he spat in my face and called me something I ain’t gonna repeat, as it was goddamn homophobic.” He shakes his head. “Typical Hindley.”

“Well, he can’t bother us now. No one can, except Gatsby and the others, if they need us.”

“Doesn’t look like they will. It’s been quiet for half a year. No sign of Manannán or Cernunnos.”

“Except those two weird hurricanes,” I remind him. “And the floods that came out of nowhere, remember?”

“No one died, though. Coulda been climate change or some shit.”

“Could have been.” I doubt it, but I understand why Heathcliff is so determined to believe that the two gods aren’t going to be a problem—that Manannán is helpless without a pantheon and worshippers and that Cernunnos is still trapped in his own mind, his powers chained by Daisy’s voice.

Maybe Heathcliff is right. Maybe we’ll never have to deal with them again. But he told me what Meemaw Lockwood said about dormant powers awakening and lost magic resurfacing. That’s not something we can brush off like it’s nothing.

Or maybe we can . Maybe we can leave all of that in the hands of Gatsby, Daisy, and their group.

Maybe Heathcliff and I, the necromancer and the banshee, really can escape it all and live out our days in this stunning landscape, with a cute little town just half an hour away and a highway that could take us anywhere.

Thanks to Gatsby’s advice, our business plan is solid, and we’ve always got Heathcliff’s necromancy talent in our back pocket if we need extra money.

More than all of that, we’ve got each other. Which is more than I ever hoped to have.

Heathcliff moves nearer, aligning his broad body with mine, cupping my face in his big hands. “You look sad now. I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

“Are you kidding?” I capture his hands and pop up on tiptoe to kiss him. “This is the best day of my life. Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring me down for long.” I twirl, dragging him with me.

“Get outta here with that Southern drawl, girl,” he says. “We gotta learn to say ‘eh’ and ‘aboot’ and ‘God save the queen’ and shit.”

“Plenty of time for that later. Why don’t you take me inside and I’ll make a few new sounds for you. I hear there’s a really comfy couch.”

Heathcliff crouches, wraps both arms around my thighs, and lifts me right off the ground while I squeal in mock protest. His strength returned to its usual levels shortly after the battle with the god, but the inner reserves are more accessible to him now—like a temporary bonus he can tap into as needed. Not gonna lie, it makes me feel safer.

He carries me into the cabin, and sure enough, it’s outfitted with sturdy, cozy furniture, all thanks to Daisy—though I’m guessing Nick helped her get the vibes right. The aesthetic pleases my heart deeply, and I can’t wait to add my own personal touches.

Heathcliff dumps me onto the big, cushy sofa and starts taking off my boots.

“Do you ever think about asking Gatsby if you could be a vampire?” I say, lifting my hips so he can get my shorts and panties off.

“Sometimes.” He pulls off his T-shirt. “Not sure how well I’d take to that life.”

“Me neither. Although Baz seems to be adjusting well. It’s been a few months, and she’s not a feral or a glutton, so at least there’s that.

” I remove my tank top, exposing my breasts, and Heathcliff’s jaw tenses, his eyes glinting with appreciation.

He’s got his boots, socks, and jeans off now—just the boxers left.

“She just needed Dorian to quit pushing for it,” he says.

“I guess Dorian is used to getting everything he wants. He had to learn to shut up and listen to his partner.”

“Uh-huh. Enough about them.” He chucks away the boxers, sits down on the couch by my thigh, and leans over me, gathering one of my breasts in his hand and kissing the nipple. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous.”

I don’t question him this time, and there’s only a tiny hesitation in my mind before I believe it.

Ever since I got my scars, Heathcliff has done everything he can to show me I’m beautiful to him, both in spite of and because of what happened to me.

I did get a few tattoos to cover the scars on my arms and legs, but I didn’t cover the ones on my torso.

Sometimes, when we’re having sex, Heathcliff kisses those ridged seams where I was put back together.

Kisses them gratefully, reverently. It heals me every time.

He grasps my chin in his hand and kisses me deep, his tongue twining hot with mine. My legs part for him as he settles between them, as he reaches down and nudges the tip of his cock inside me. He pushes in, and my eyes roll back, my body arching eagerly to take all of him.

“This is a good fucking couch,” he whispers. “But you know what would be even better?”

“Hm?”

With a great surge of his muscles, he rises off the couch, lifting me with him, keeping my body close to his and his cock still inside me while he walks outside, carrying me into the sweeping landscape of green forest and open sky.

He stands there naked under the blue arch of the heavens, his hands cupping my ass, and he starts moving me up and down.

The sheer power of him is so fucking hot.

I’m dripping, helplessly needy, while he works me on his dick.

With my arms pinned tight around his neck, ankles locked just above his ass, I let him use me, let the pleasure build, let the ecstasy of this moment roll through me from head to toe.

The banshee in me loves this, sex in the open air—hell, all of me loves this.

Loves his firm chest, dusted with dark hair, pressing against my soft breasts, loves the swell of his biceps as he lifts me, loves the dramatic planes of his handsome face, the black, wind-tossed waves of his hair.

And his deep brown eyes, locked with mine.

He smiles, dark and glorious and wickedly happy, and I come, throwing my head back with a gleeful scream that echoes over the open land. He comes inside me, feet braced, holding us both steady.

Afterward, we walk naked together in the grass, under that peaceful sky, while tiny white butterflies stir and flutter at our steps.

The world can be vicious, but this place breathes hope.

And I think, as I walk the curve of the hill, that when my time comes and I meet death again, I can go quietly, having once been given a moment like this.