Page 110 of Wild Reverence

“But I wanted to tell you… the child you spoke of in your letter? His name is Tristan, and he is James and Lara’s boy.

My friends who have helped guide me through each season here.

” Vincent refilled both of our ale cups, and I shuddered, a terrible relief clawing through me. I hoped he did not see it.

“So my words did reach you?” I asked.

“Yes. Nate found the letter in Maiden Tower. In the haunted bedchamber no one wants. He said the parchment was lying in the middle of the floor, as if it had been dropped there.”

I traced my lips, deeply pleased.

Vincent was watching me intently. “How did you send it?”

“By doorway,” I said.

He stared at me, the firelight dancing over his face. There was a softness in his eyes, and we spoke more of my magic in the wasteland, as well as of his time here. The toils of a farmer, as well as the triumphs. His friends and his sheep, the dog and the boy Tristan, whom he loved as a nephew.

“I will introduce you to them tomorrow,” he said. “If you would like that.”

“I would,” I replied, and then was shocked when I yawned. I felt weary and heavy boned; my eyes struggled to remain open.

Vincent noticed and stood. “You are tired. Here, there is a place for you in my bed. I can sleep by the fire.”

I followed him into the adjoining bedchamber. It was sparse, as if he did not spend much time here. There was a bed, big enough for two, and a window, shuttered against the rainy night. Another hearth, glowing with embers, and a chair with a stack of books beside it.

“I will be just outside if you need anything,” Vincent was saying, spreading the wrinkles from the blankets. But I reached out and took hold of his sleeve, and he froze as if I had charmed him.

“Stay,” I said.

In the dark hour before dawn, when the rain fell in a whisper and the fire crackled into ashes, Vincent drew the tunic from my body.

I lay naked on his bed, my damp hair spread around me.

I felt safe, I felt warm. He gazed down at me, his eyes taking in my every line, my every curve.

I watched as he pulled his own garments away, casting them aside.

His skin was pale in the golden light, his body beautiful, familiar.

His scar was a faint mark that I traced with my fingers, down to the curve of his hip.

His breath caught.

When he lay down with me, I closed my eyes.

His skin was hot against my own. His heart beat with mine, as if the two were aligned, and I could hardly breathe through the pleasure as my legs fell open beneath him, as I wound my fingers into his hair.

He kissed the hollow of my neck, and his breaths were rapid, his teeth sharp as he nipped at my shoulder.

I wanted him to split me open, if only to see what would spill from my blood.

The secrets, the pain, the shadows, the words.

The pieces of me that I was afraid to bare to any save for him.

I wanted to set those fragments in his hands.

The myth of who I had been, of who I could still become, my life woven with his.

A goddess who loved a mortal.

My name was destined to be blotted out of the divine myths and perhaps even forgotten amongst the poets and the bards as the seasons wheeled onward.

Time did not favor such quiet stories. Once, I had feared this, until I realized my story was not one to be devoured by strangers.

No, this was for him and for me. And if we wanted to tell it, we would in our own way.

“I would wait a thousand years for you,” Vincent said. “If you asked me, I would wait for you until only my bones remained upon an altar. But if you must leave again, then let me follow you, Red.”

My throat was too narrow, my pulse too swift, to speak. He caressed the edge of my jaw, the curve of my lips with his thumb.

“I cannot bear to be away from you,” he whispered, kissing my brow. Again and again, until I realized he was tracing my crown of stars. Something only he could see. “Look at me, love. Let me see your eyes.”

My eyes fluttered open. Our gazes held, and I felt him press into me.

Soft and slow, gentle as if he was also remembering.

But when I curled my nails into his back, a ragged sound escaped him; I felt it rumble through his chest into mine, and he moved faster, deeper.

I could no longer resist; my eyes closed and my back arched.

His fingers traced the ridges of my scars and then around my ribs, slipping downward.

A moan stirred my breath as he filled me, again and again. As his deft fingers caressed me.

“ Vincent, ” I said.

He kissed his name from my mouth, and we came undone together.

I gazed at him, watching the rapture pass over his face. I kissed the dew from his skin, traced the curve of his back. He was mine, and I was his.

We lay entwined together afterward, our breaths falling into a steady rhythm again. When he drew air, I let it go. And I fell asleep in his arms.

We woke not long after that, just as dawn broke through the storm with pale blue light.

While Vincent stirred the fire, I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and walked out the back door.

I stood in the garden, listening to the rain drip from the leaves.

The ground was wet and fragrant beneath me.

A bird flickered from one branch to the next, trilling as the last thread of darkness faded.

I lifted my face to the sky and watched the clouds thin. The last star of the night melted away.

“Matilda,” I heard Vincent say.

I returned to him just as the sun broke the horizon.