Page 51

I barricade myself in the bathroom, leaning against the door and swiping a single tear from the corner of my eye. I am never crying over that asshole again. It’s over now. He’s alive. Completely unappreciative of my efforts but alive. Now, things can go back to normal.

I’m flooded by a sharp sheen of shame for how I’d tried to comfort him. I’d almost kissed him. The dāemon surges out of me, shattering a vial of soap on the tub. Shit . I tread forward to pick up the broken shards of glass. Of course, he wouldn’t want that… I drop the shards in the bin and peel at my dress, intending to take a bath to settle after the night of hell. I’m just tossing my dress on the floor and lifting at the hem of my slip when the door comes barreling open, and Sitri sweeps in like a violent storm.

I freeze, fingers still fisting around the hem of my slip at my waist.

“Apologies,” he says abruptly, raising his arms.

His hands settle across my shoulders, and he shakes his head. “Just wait—fuck—sorry, le—leave that on for a second,” he demands.

I drop the hem of my slip and yelp as his magic suddenly lifts me off my feet. He plops me down on the counter, and I glower as he continues to give me that same wide-eyed look. “I…am…confused,” he says, slowly enunciating each syllable.

“Well,” I say with a click of my tongue. “Believe it or not, I can read, and I can follow directions. Noughts are capable of that, you know,” I say acrimoniously.

His gaze travels down to my bandaged fingers, and I slip them behind my back. “Not quite as easy for me to adjust the flames as you do-- might’ve ruined another blanket in the process.” The words spill out of me in one breath.

“And…I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d done everything right, so I did it three times, but they all turned out exactly the same. I assumed I’d either done it correctly or did them all wrong.” I continue rambling as he blinks at me. Hopefully, he hasn’t acquired some sort of brain damage.

“You slept for so long I was really starting to think the latter—“

“Pet,” he says hoarsely, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Would you stop looking at me like that and just tell me if I’ve done it right or if you’re liable…to…” Emotion creeps into my voice, and I force a swallow. “…keel over at any moment.” He only frowns. “Sitri!” I start to shove at his chest and freeze midway. I don’t want to aggravate his injury. He catches my hands before they drop back to my lap. He grips my wrists and we both watch as his fingers smooth up my arms, up over my shoulders.

He tugs me to him, and I stiffen in surprise for a single beat before I crumple into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and I curl into him, turning my head to listen to the steady thumping of his heart.

He’s okay.

My chest swells with emotion. I try to fight it down with another swallow, but it keeps rising until a sob wracks out of me and another and another.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, smoothing his hands over my back and my hair. Carefully, so as not to aggravate his wound, I curl my hands around his shoulders to tug him closer, and he settles between my knees.

His arms wrap tighter around me, and the sobs keep bubbling up and out. So much for not crying for this asshole anymore. Slowly, they work out of me, and I breathe him in, one breath after another, loosening all the ragged edges of my nerves. The wave finally descends, and a different wave rolls in, peaks, and bowls over as his hands curl around my neck, and he presses his lips to the top of my forehead. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, pulling my face back to wipe at it and his chest.

He pushes me back slightly to look down at me, his own expression somewhere between concern and shell shock. “How…?”

I sigh, looking down as I drop my hands back to my lap. “Why do you assume I’m so incapable? I’m not that stupid, you know, despite what you might think--“

He releases a disgruntled laugh. “Pandora, I know you’re not stupid, but brewing requires magic.”

I stare up at him in surprise.

“Many Magi would find that potion difficult to brew…to say the least.”

I still, brow furrowing. “Well…I just followed the directions.”

“You…followed the directions,” he repeats slowly.

“Yes, I…” I trail off, feeling a little foolish. “I followed the directions.” He lets out a hoarse snort. “Anyway, are you saying I did it right?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if you hadn’t done it right.”

“Really?”

He nods, and pride surges in my chest. I grin up at him. He looks even more dumbfounded and I wonder again if maybe his brain has been affected. “I might’ve sewed you up, too,” I admit, biting at my lip. I give a slight tug to his bandages to pull him forward. “Let me take a look.”

“It’s alright. I can do it.”

“Come here,” I say sternly. His lips part to object. I yank on his bandages again, and he grants a soft resigned grunt as he settles between my knees. He’s silent as I begin unraveling the bandages. “What happened to you?”

He turns his head toward the door. “I made…a mistake,” he gruffs finally.

“You made a mistake by coming back here and not going to someone who could help you,” I scold.

“I know. It’s just—I—that normally wouldn’t have taken me down that fast. But there are—“ He breaks off with a hesitant look.

“What?”

“There are some…changes I’m adjusting to.”

“Changes?” I question, but he purses his lips. “You still… don’t trust me,” I say dejectedly as I finish unraveling the bandages and lay them on the counter beside me.

“No.” He lays a hand against my arm. “No, it’s not that. I trust you completely.”

“Really?” I say, my anger pushing through.

He looks taken aback. “Yeah, of course.“

“Then why did you get rid of the shamir?”

Surprise flickers over his face as he opens and closes his mouth. “I…” His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely.

I turn and silently grab a rag from the counter, wetting it at the tap to clean his wound, but he forces my face back to meet his. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“I let you mark me. You can track me,” I snap.

“I know. It’s just…I know it might’ve been tempting. Not that you would try to escape, but just even to go see Vera, and I really don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“What do you think is going to happen to me exactly if something happens to you?”

His brows crumple in distress, and I can see that the thought really hasn’t occurred to him. It hasn’t dawned on him how our fates are now tied. “What do you think they would do with me, then?” I say, dropping my voice to little more than a whisper.

He shakes his head. “Nothing…nothing is going to happen to me.” But even he doesn’t sound convinced, and I scoff softly. He leans down to level his face with mine. “ Nothing is going to happen to me,” he says fiercely, eyes imploring me to believe him as he scans my face, looking for my forgiveness. He’s so close. His eyes flit over my lips. My heart skips in my chest, but he straightens with a sigh, leaving me thoroughly flustered.

It takes me several seconds to regain my composure, only remembering the task at hand when he starts to step back. “Ah!” I say in warning, pulling him back by his hip. I grab the wet rag and begin gently cleaning away the thick poultice.

“I can manage, pet, really.” He starts to back up again, and I clamp my knees around his waist.

“Don’t fight me,” I say, peering up with a slight smirk as I wield his own words against him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable…boyish in the way his shoulders sag in surrender.

He looks down and peels lightly at his braies before his eyes trail over the pile of soiled garments in the tub. Likely piecing together that I’d changed his clothes. He clears his throat and lifts a hand to rub at his chest as I continue cleaning his wound.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, eying the hand that’s drawing slow circles over his sternum.

“Yea—yes.” He promptly drops his hand back to his side.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?” I ask, lifting a single brow in disbelief.

“I’m hungry,” he admits.

I grin. Of course, he is. I work at cleaning away the thick green paste, trying not to notice the flexing of his muscled abdomen, the line of dark hair that disappears down behind the fabric of his braies, or the prominent hip bones jutting out like the perfect handles for gripping. But then it’s Vera’s words echoing in my head. Touch him.

It really hadn’t been my initial intention in cleaning his wound but it is the perfect opportunity. I move a little slower, letting each swipe of the rag linger a little longer, lifting my other hand to his hip to steady myself against and brushing my thumb lightly over his skin. His hands twitch restlessly at his sides and he coughs.

I wipe the last of the paste away and marvel at how well healed his wound already is, the skin already beginning to meld back together around the black thread. “This poultice worked really well. I think it’s healed enough I can take this thread out, don’t you?”

He nods. “I can—“

He lifts his hand, and I smack it back. His cheeks redden slightly. It’s so out of character that I falter. I didn’t think this man had any shame. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes,” he mutters, tilting his head up as he drags a hand through his hair. “I’m feeling very…okay.”

All the supplies are still on the counter from where I doctored my hands. Once I’ve unraveled and removed the thread, I dab the antiseptic against the cloth before gently blotting over what's left of his wound. Muscles flex in his abdomen under my touch, and he coughs again. “Maybe…you should let me do that,” he complains.

“Like you’d ever let me do it if it were me.”

“Well. Maybe I should.”

I grab the ointment and dab a finger into it, applying it to his wound as gently as possible. His body suddenly goes rigid. “I think that’s enough.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No…” he drawls in what almost sounds like a warning.

“I was almost done.” He starts to back away, and I clamp my hand around his hip to keep him put as I finish dabbing the balm. He binds a hand around my wrist with a hiss.

I still fail to see his erection, straining against the fabric of his braies until just before he reaches down to cover it with his hand.

Oh . My lips form the shape of that one syllable, and I snatch my hand back.

He hurriedly turns his back to me, fumbling at his braies before he flees the bathroom. I stay sat on the counter, cheeks simmering. That’s why he wanted me to stop…and I foolishly persisted. Maybe I even took it a little too far…

It was working. I was affecting him. I affect him. Maybe just as he affects me. That thought is dizzying.

Vera’s right. I don’t want fear to stop me from living anymore. Time isn’t guaranteed and I don’t want to waste any more of it.

I debate on whether I should exit the bathroom or allow him a bit more time when the door suddenly comes flying open. He appears in the doorway clothed in his trousers this time. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out.

“No—“

“I—I know your experience with men is limited, and I like to give you a hard time—“ His cheeks redden once more. “Not-- I would never do that intentionally,” he says, stuffing a hand through his hair, obviously flustered.

“I know,” I say quickly. “It was my fault. I didn’t listen.”

He freezes, brows shooting up. Did he expect I would be angry with him? But it was my fault. I had basically done it on purpose. This strange sense of pride and giddiness fills me. He really does feel that way for me. And maybe Vera was right that I should already know this but having the undeniable proof of it feels different. I fight back the urge to smile but it keeps bubbling up and up. I turn my head toward the wall to hide it and fail spectacularly as I begin giggling. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to quell them. It does me little good.

“Sorry,” I gasp out. Sorry, I did that to you. “I’m sorry,” I say again, fighting for composure as I turn back. “It was my fault.”

He’s frozen stiff, one hand still threaded through his hair, staring at me like he’s trying to work something out but he’s still a few steps behind. His other hand finds its way back to his chest. It suddenly drops back to his side—like he’s just realized what he’s doing but it’s a relieved gesture. He steps forward, grabs the bandages from the counter, and begins re-wrapping his wound. “You usually don’t,” he says eyes flicking up. “Listen.”

“I’ll try harder,” I say muffling a yawn behind my palm.

“Will you?”

“No promises,” I say with another yawn, lack of sleep finally catching up with me. I lean back on my palms. “I’d say we’re even now, wouldn’t you?”

“Even?”

Judging by the quizzical expression on his face he doesn’t know in which way I mean and then with the way his eyes trail down my body, I think he might think I’m referring to the fact that I just turned him on. Suddenly my body feels very hot. “You saved me,” I rush out in clarification. “I saved you. Even .”

He lets out a soft snort as he finishes wrapping his wound, rips the bandage off, and throws the roll on the counter. Somehow his gait has morphed from uncertainty back to his usual arrogance as he struts over to me. There’s something too knowing in his gaze and suddenly I think he might be seeing me, connecting the pieces all too well. My heart kicks up pace in my chest, that instinctual urge calling me to run because someone’s trying to come close to me. He leans forward, legs brushing my knees as he props one hand on the counter. “Your one to my five, pet. Six if you count Valik.”

I drop my head, making a great effort to order my thoughts with his very intentional proximity. “Yes, but mine was very stressful so that makes it equal to five of yours.”

He laughs softly. “You think it wasn’t stressful for me?”

“Not… as stressful…” I iterate.

“They were all stressful,” he murmurs. “Especially the last one.”

“Valik?”

He snorts again. “Not Valik. One before that.”

“One to one, then. Even. ”

“I am kind of glad you now know how this feels.” I watch, frozen as he lifts a hand and his fingers curl around the back of my leg, thumb grazing over my knee.

My brows pinch. All the strife, anxiety terror of the night. Surely it didn’t feel like that…to him. I look up to discern that. His face is annoyingly self-satisfied. Underneath that, brimming in his eyes is something softer. I think that it might be exactly how he feels. My lips form a silent o as my head spins. He laughs again as he taps me on the nose. “Yeah, exactly. You’ve put me through a lot.”

He lets loose a sigh, hand leaving my knee to drag through his hair again. He turns his head to the side to stare at the clock on the wall. “It's…Friday? Shit.”

“What?”

“Something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“Breakfast first?” he offers, sliding his other hand from the counter, putting space between us as he takes a step back. My chest sinks as I feel the moment between us ending. I’m not ready. My hand snaps forward, fingers grazing over his to still him just as he meets the edge of the counter. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” I tease.

He stares down at our hands in surprise. I’ve touched him plenty but this is the first time I’m touching him just for the sake of touching him and we both know it.

My heart plummets forward as my confidence falters. My mind chooses this moment to remind me of all the times he very explicitly told me he didn’t want me.

Of course I don’t fucking want her.

I slowly pluck my fingers back, curling them into the marble. My hand is suddenly ripped off the counter. My breath catches in my throat as he just barely grazes his mouth over my bandaged knuckles, uncurls my fingers to touch my fingertips to his lips. He presses his lips to the flat of my palm, looking at me with eyes that are liquid, voice slightly muffled as he asks, “Like this?”

“…what?”

“You asked me if I was going to thank you.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” I whisper.

“Maybe?” he mumbles, lips twisting.

“That…works,” I say hoarsely.

He exhales a soft laugh, lifting my hand to place it flat over his cheek. Timidly, I trail my thumb over his face. He sucks in a breath, letting his eyelids drift shut. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“It was my honor…to save you from imminent death,” I quote.

He lets out another laugh, eyes flashing open as he leans forward. Still holding my hand to his cheek with one hand he uses the other to capture my face, trailing heated paths with his fingers across my temple and jaw. “You’re so incredible. I still don’t….hey, can I see something real quick?”

He lifts his hand from my face and draws his hand into a symbol. His magic sinks below my sternum. The dāemon pangs so close to where his magic penetrates me.

I jolt, scrambling off the counter, falling over myself in my panic. “Wh—what are you doing? Don’t do that.”

His face is shocked as he straightens. “I just wanted to see—I don’t understand how you brewed the—“ I leap back as he takes a step closer.

“No!” I shout. Pure panic scrambles my thoughts. “Y—you know I don’t like that! You know! I don’t like your magic on me!”

“You didn’t seem to mind—“

“Do you just go around putting your magic inside anyone!?”

His face falls, and I know I’ve somehow managed to make a good point.

“Do you?”

“No…but I also don’t—“ He gestures to the counter. “Do all that with anyone.”

“That—doesn’t mean—you can just—“

“Pandora, I would never hurt you.”

“You didn’t even ask!” My voice trembles.

He squints incredulously. “Are you going to cry?”

“No!” Tears are already pricking the backs of my eyes. I hurriedly yank the door open and slip out into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. God, he probably thinks I’m insane, but his magic almost hit the dāemon…

He throws the door open, and I scurry into the living room. He follows me out. With nowhere left to run, I press my back to the opposite wall. “Don’t, Sitri, please.”

He holds his palms up in surrender. “Okay, I won’t. I won’t.” He still looks baffled as he takes in the height of my panic. His voice softens as he approaches. “I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

Embarrassed, I fold my arms over my chest and look away.

“Hey.” He lays a hand against my face. Even that makes me flinch and his eyes widen. “I’m sorry.”

His stare turns scrutinizing. A look that says he’s trying to piece together what the hell is wrong with me. I push off the wall. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask, voice monotone and matter-of-fact.

He’s silent long enough I finally turn back to find him and his expression is pained. “Breakfast first?” he sighs.

I sweep into the bathroom to brave the mirror. Thankfully it doesn’t show me anything lewd as it dresses me and wraps my hair into a single long braid.

The tension is palpable as we make our way down the halls. I wanted to be close to him and I forgot that I can’t. Not with the dāemon.

Vera seems surprised to see us so early in the day but Sitri requested we not inform her of this recent incident of his injury. I’m not really lively enough to carry much of a conversation anyhow. We’re mostly silent, the sounds of bubbling pots and stirring spoons filling the room. Vera bustles in and out as she takes the pots hovering around her out to the line.

“Are you going to tell me whatever it is you need to tell me? Or are you going to keep being mysterious?”

He looks up and points at my plate. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

“So?”

“You should eat.”

“Is what you’re going to tell me so bad I’m bound to lose my appetite?”

He stares straight ahead, and my guts twist. “Sitri.”

“You lose your appetite quite easily,” he says, shrugging.

“Sitri,” I repeat, voice flat.

He sighs and scoots his plate forward but won’t look me in the eye as he says, “We have somewhere we have to be tonight. And, tomorrow night.”

“What do you mean?”

He curls his hand, peering down at his fingernails. “Tomorrow is Beltane. There are…festivities we’re required to participate in.”

“Festivities?” I ask, not disguising the panic leaking into my voice. “Tonight?” I ask, eyes bulging as I shake my head. “You…haven’t mentioned it…”

“I was intending to tell you last night, but—“

“You were going to tell me the night before?”

“Pan,” he says sternly, finally meeting my gaze. “I didn’t want you to be stressed days ahead of time.”

My agitation rises swiftly. “Oh, that’s nice, Sitri. Very gracious of you. Always so courteous, keeping me totally informed…on everything,” I snap. “What do these festivities consist of?” The swinging door clatters, and Vera busts back into the kitchen.

“Tonight there’s the Rite…and tomorrow is Beltane. We’ll just be making an appearance, and then—“

“You’re taking her to the Rite?” Vera blurts out, pointing in my direction. Quite frankly, she looks appalled.

He hurls a sharp look in Vera’s direction. “I don’t have a choice,” Sitri says through clenched teeth.

“Are you going to be there?” I ask, hopefully.

Vera’s face turns a bright shade of red. “Oh—oh, no, that’s not really my style.”

“What do you mean?” Vera opens her mouth and abruptly closes it. I catch the tail end of another withering look from Sitri. A fuzzy memory stirs. “Wait…is this the fertility rite?”

Sitri lets out an audible exhale, clasping the bridge of his nose and I kick at the leg of his stool. “Yes,” he says curtly.

“Isn’t that where they said you’re going to choose a second wife?” I drop my voice, the words like acid on my tongue.

“That’s not happening,” he says firmly.

“Well, I definitely don’t want to go…to that!”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice.”

“Can’t you…say, I’m sick or something?”

“I already tried to get you out of it. We have to be there. Both of us. We’re only going to make an appearance. It’ll be half an hour tops.”

“Sitri…” I plead.

“I’m sorry.”

“What am I even supposed to wear?”

Sitri grimaces. I look to Vera but she quickly turns and busies herself at the stove.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighs again, turning to face me with a somber expression. “It’s a sky-clad ritual.”

I give him a blank look. Sky…clad. Clad with the…sky. “Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“It…likely does.”

My heart drops. “Unclothed ?”

His silence is all the answer I need. I jump out of the stool, vigorously shaking my head. “No. Nononono—you’re mad if you think I’m going to that!”

“Pan, we have to.” He must see my panic closing in because he raises a hand. “It’s going to be fine,” he says adamantly.

“Oh, yeah. Because the last event went totally completely fine. And I at least got to wear clothes to that one,” I hiss.

His eyes soften. “I swear, it’s not going to be like that. We’re going to make an appearance, and then we’re going to leave.”

A naked appearance? Oh, oh, no. I continue shaking my head, the sounds of my boot falls echoing against the tile as I pace. “You guys really do that? Go and dance naked in the woods? I thought that was made up. Witches, ” I huff. “No, Sitri. No. I’m not going. You can go, and I—“

“You do not have a choice,” he snaps.

My chest deflates with a puff. “Why?”

His eyelashes fan his cheeks with a ragged breath.

“Why Sitri?” He averts his eyes. “Because of Morin?”

He sends a paranoid look toward the door. “Not here,” he says eyes flashing with warning.

“Put a sound ward up.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good time.”

“Why do you have to do everything she says?”

“Shut. Up,” he whispers.

“No!” I’m past the point of caring. I’m almost shouting. “I want to know why. I want to know why she has so much control over you.”

He’s on me within seconds, forcing me back to the wall as he clamps a hand over my mouth. “Not here.” He pushes the rhythm of those two words against my face.

I wrench his hand away but lower my voice as I say, “Why do I have to go?”

“You are not much of a punishment unless I actually have to be seen with you,” he snarls.

My lips part as that word breaks over me like an icy sheet of water. Punishment. Punishment. Punishment. I snap my mouth shut, anger and shame flushing at my skin.

The dāemon strikes out with my lashing emotions, a ball of lightning under my flesh. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep it contained. I push away from him and make for the door, not only because I need to move to sedate the turmoil of the dāemon but because if he isn’t willing to give me answers here, then I’ll go somewhere he can.