Chapter 18

Although Hecate's powers are impressive and her accomplishments are great, she is not yet a goddess. Save your prayers for someone who listens.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Quiet

The horrifying whomp-whomp of the shifter's massive heart wasn't the worst part of being swallowed whole. I slid down a tight tunnel of smooth tissue, feeling the eerie scrape of razor-sharp teeth along its tongue. They scratched at my boots, up my stockings and skirts, along my cloak. I held my hood down over my face, powerless against it.

The tongue ended. The screech of its teeth along the magic sewn into my clothing abated. I slid faster down its gullet, then suddenly stopped.

I was standing on something. I explored the new thing with my boots.

By the goddess. I was standing on someone. And it was getting harder and harder to breathe. A foul liquid seeped inside the small openings of my cloak. I kicked my feet at tissue that was hard but giving and floundered.

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

I took one last desperate inhale as fluid engulfed me.

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

I struggled until I was exhausted against the smooth muscle. My lungs burned.

Whomp … whomp … whomp.

The horrid echo of its thudding heart slowed to a stop. But I still couldn't breathe. And that foul liquid was turning the flesh of my face raw.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight against the burn of bile. The urge to give up, give in, gulp for breath was overwhelming. My legs lashed out, desperate. And then I was moving again, tumbling down through a river of filth and lumpy tissue.

Strong arms caught me around my middle and brought me surging out of the mire. Rorick pulled my hood off my face and swiped the filth away from my mouth and eyes.

"Quiet!" he shouted. "Quiet, speak to me!"

Coppery air burned through my distressed lungs. I coughed and heaved. The foggy grip of panic around my mind ebbed away. Rorick shook me gently. Gasping and tremoring, I clung to him. My eyes adjusted in increments to the blueish gloam created by hovering lightning beetles.

"The knife was no good," he told me. His chin dripped with black blood.

"You . . . you bit me out." My stomach cramped on his behalf.

"I did . . ." He worked his throat. "And now we know what happened to the castle's staff."

I tried not to look at them as their bodies floated by, focusing my eyes on Rorick's blood-soaked face and drenched clothing. Cold stabbed at my skin. The magic sewn into my dress and cloak sent the filth rolling down the wool to be carried off into the water alongside the floating deceased. When my sleeves were clean, I wiped them across my face, ridding it of muck and mire and black blood.

Something stuck in my braid, and my stomach turned while I knocked it loose.

We stared at each other numbly, filling our lungs with rank air. I didn't know what to say. I'd never trod so close to death before, never felt it beckoning with such vigor. My limbs hung limply at my sides. A weakness grew in the core of me, and I sagged from exhaustion. My skin felt icy and stretched thin. Mildew and bile hung like a cloud in the air.

We'd been partners so long, it occurred to me at last that nothing truly needed to be said at all. I was grateful. Glad to be alive. Horrified I almost didn't get to see him ever again. But I think he knew all of that now.

Rorick tucked me under his arm and guided me toward a cave, following the flow of water out of the cistern. Garlic moths hoisting spiders led the way. I searched for the familiar glow of Gilbert's larger body but didn't see him amongst the swarm.

Rorick stopped at the mouth of the cavern. Water pooled just below his ribs. Shivering, he fished something out of his waistcoat and handed it to me. It was soft and delicate under my fingers.

"Gilbert," I choked.

"Such a brave little moth," Rorick said gently, tucking me back under his arm. "He saved me twice."

My throat went tight. We trudged into the cave, our movements creating rippling waves that lapped along the stone walls. I fought back tears. Insects were fragile things, and the world was a cruel and hard place. I didn't usually name them for that reason. Their lives were so short, while mine carried on and on. Attachment made working with them profoundly difficult . . . But I couldn't help it. Gilbert had been someone special, and I'd failed to guard my heart from him. I cupped his little body in my palm and sniffled, not ready to say goodbye.

On we trudged. The tunnel narrowed, and more dank air whistled by. Gilbert stirred in my hand ever so slightly, but I calmed my hopeful heart. That was just the wind shifting his tiny body.

Rorick pulled me to a stop, his arm slipping down around my waist. What I could see of his face went ghostly pale.

"What's wrong?"

He peered into the distance. "I hear circus music. It's different this time. More natural, less ethereal." Rorick swallowed hard. "I think that's where these aqueducts lead. I think they end at the circus."

"All right, but isn't that better than—"

"No," he said severely, and a tremor wracked him. "We have to go back."

"Rorick," my voice squeaked, "but then it will all have been for nothing." I hoisted Gilbert a little higher to accentuate my point.

"Not nothing. That creature was full of so much darkness. It was only going to get bigger until it had taken over the entire castle. It had to be stopped. And now we've stopped it."

"The circus is full of oddities, most of which I can't explain, but we need not linger there. Through and out, and then we're free! Finally!"

"Please, Quiet," he pleaded, and his violet eyes bored into mine, "I need you to trust me the way I trust you. I can't make sense of all of it, and yet I just know in my very soul—if I even have one—that if we go there, we won't be getting out again. We won't be getting anywhere at all."

"But the clowns," I said, "I think they were trying to help us. I think they led us here."

"Or they were trying to help you get eaten whole," he rumbled. "That might well have been their plan all along."

Water dripped from the tresses that fell across his brow as I studied his face. I used my sleeve to wipe clean the bottom of his lips and chin, scrubbing that murky blood off. He let me, his features scrunched and his jaw set.

"Let's go back to the castle, then," I said somberly. Because of course I trusted him. I trusted him with my life.

I trusted him with my whole heart.

Rorick pulled my arm through the crook of his, and he walked me back out of the tunnel and into the cistern. Blue light lit the watery expanse. Two large, rusted mirrors hung on the wall, but now the reflective glass was gone, turned black all the way through. The rot that had oozed from it had turned hard and smooth like volcanic glass.

"Give me Penance's wand," I told him.

He pulled the clamshell pendant from around his neck and handed it to me. I rubbed the wand against the darkened glass until the mirror shattered. The second broke immediately following the first. The large trunk-like tentacles leeching out from the glass turned to ash. An ethereal mist evaporated into the air with a massive hiss as loud as a train whistle.

I covered my ears until the sound faded. Rorick did the same, wincing.

"Sorry," I said once the noise had finally died away. "I should have warned you. Penance's traps are connected to one another the way her wards are. Breaking one mirror broke the other, and spirits get loud when they leave this plane."

Rorick sighed. "I'm just glad it's done."

For safekeeping, I slid the wand into the void in my pockets.

Rorick braced me on the stairs, then helped me out of the trap door. My insect assistants rushed into my pockets. Water fell from my shoes and clothing, pooling in large quantities, drying me. Rorick was a dripping mess with boots that squeaked against the hardwood.

He stared down at the hole in the floor, eyeing the insects as they made their way up my skirts.

"Anita?" he called into the opening. His voice carried.

We listened hard. Water dripped in the distance. Wind whistled up the stairs.

Rorick swallowed, and my stomach plummeted. "Anita?" he repeated gently, water dripping off his nose.

There was movement in the darkness. A tiny waterlogged spider struggled out of the opening, strutting across the floor under the gaslights.

"Anita!" Rorick cheered. He lowered his hand for her to climb on, slicking the wet off her back with a finger. "Well done, you."

The little spider shook herself, then leapt for my skirts, climbing into my pocket with the others.

Rorick sniffed at the air. "Close your eyes, Quiet."

"Why?" I asked, but I did as he instructed.

"You don't need to see what's left of the werewolf or the troll rats that brought him down," he said gently.

"What happened to him?" I cupped Gilbert's body close and stepped carefully, my partner as my guide.

"He decided to face his consequences," Rorick explained.

Even I could scent the metallic tang of blood in the air as he guided me up the stairs. The scent of rot, however, had noticeably dissipated.

"You can open your eyes now," he said.

The first thing I saw was the handsome face of a young Jonathan Rorick in his pristine oil portrait. The others in the hall hadn't fared so well. The pictures had gone completely black between the frames, and chunks of the walls remained torn asunder.

The reaching limbs of the coffin-dweller lay dead upon the floor.

I fetched my hat. It remained in the hall in a heap beside one of the tentacles. "Why don't you see if your cousin had any clothes that'll fit you? Get yourself out of those filthy wet ones," I bossed him kindly.

My heart snagged on the lopsided smile he sent me. Instead of words, he gave my fingers a warm squeeze, and that was better than anything he could have said.

"I'm going to have a brief lie-down, I think," I told him. "Don't worry about disturbing me. Please come in whenever you're ready."

We parted ways at the door of our haven. When he rounded the corner, I detoured into the library. Our fae friend slept on a stack of half-eaten books, parchment tail draped beneath him. I found the book of painted flowers near the settee, and I was so grateful the fae hadn't gotten to it in our absence. Lifting the book, I remembered fondly how much bigger it had felt in my seven-year-old hands, how much Gilbert with his eagerness had made my inner child giggle.

I found the picture of the geraniums he favored. Tearing the page free of the binding, I wrapped his body gently in the illustration and hefted my departed friend back to our haven. The room felt warmer. When I lit a magical fire over the pine logs in the grate, the castle didn't protest at all.

I set Gilbert down carefully on the padded blotter that used to be his roost, and I laid down my hat beside him. "Friends," I called into the opening, "I have a special request for you. Please help me say goodbye properly."

Scar-weaver spiders climbed out of my hat, an army of ants crawling just behind them. With great care, they began wrapping Gilbert and his favorite paper flower in spider silk. A cloud of garlic moths, lightning beetles, and fluttering butterflies turned tricks in the air as tribute. Blood bees hummed loudly in a sad chorus.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you in your last moments, my dear friend. I'm not at all surprised to hear that you spent them being heroic," I told the moth. Making the spiders pause their work, I lifted his wrapped body and brushed my lips over the soft, sturdy silk that bound him. "For luck in the next life, Gilbert."

Then a still waterlogged Anita joined the others on the desk blotter. She scuttled side-to-side in an agitated fashion. I laid Gilbert down before her, and she chewed at the paper, then pushed inside the opening she'd made. The other spiders began removing the silk they'd woven, and then more weavers crawled under the paper with Anita.

Their tiny movements crinkled the page. I stared in awe as blue light flickered back to life, showing through the illustration.

"Gilbert!"

Gently, I pulled back the page. Gilbert's wet wings drooped at his sides, but his antenna fluttered. Anita had used the magic of scar-weaver spiders to heal him. The same magic I'd used to sew up Rorick a year ago.

"You're all right! Rorick is going to be so happy," I said. I wanted to see Rorick's reaction, but I could barely keep my eyes open. "I'll let you be the one to tell him when he gets back."

Once Gilbert was settled on the desk blotter, I stripped down to my shift. Using old linens I found in a box, I wrapped my wet, messy hair, knowing I desperately needed a bath. But that would have to wait. Exhausted down to my very bones, I crawled under the covers and gave in to sleep.

* * *

I awoke to a room gently lit by candles and the sound of liquid tumbling into something metal. Rorick stood at the foot of our bed, adding steaming water to a tub. Gilbert and Anita perched on his shoulders. More steam rolled out of a bucket beside the magic fire I had left burning in the grate.

I was groggy, but I sat up with renewed energy at the promise of a bath.

"By the goddess," I breathed.

Rorick set aside the bucket, looking tidy in fresh trousers and a stripped linen shirt, his dark hair freshly clean and springy, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "The rot is fading around the castle and turning to ash. I found this tub in one of the guest rooms that was previously barred by the darkness." He paused to pat Gilbert's tiny head. "This one gave us a scare, didn't he?"

"Oh, Rorick, yes he did," I said, touching a hand to my heart. "That thing that I wasn't allowed to say to you before because I thought I was dying, do you recall?"

His lips twitched. "I recall."

"Well, it's even more true right this moment, and I'm under no duress at all," I said softly.

"Good. Because I feel the same way." His violet eyes found mine, and my heart tried to pitter-patter its way out of my ribs. "I always have, I think. I just wasn't always wise enough to comprehend the feeling."

I pushed aside the blankets and lowered my feet to the carpet, thinking of his past words to me about entanglements and how brutally they clashed with him pouring me a bath and lighting candles. My first instinct was to hold my tongue. To not ask questions, to press on. But we'd promised each other we'd share these things, and I planned to keep my promise.

"You've said before that you wish to avoid attachments and intimacy," I said, "and yet to me this all feels rather intimate."

"A year ago, I came to you bleeding and broken," Rorick said, and the corner of his mouth tugged up. "Your old firehouse is on the outskirts of the wilds, a long way from everything. Did you never wonder why I traveled so far for help?"

"I suppose I was in too much shock at the time to think on it," I admitted. But now that he'd brought it up, he was right. From the castle in particular was a long way to travel, especially while he was so injured, when any physician could have helped him at least stop the bleeding.

"I wasn't quite right in my mind, and I believed I was dying," he said.

"You were dying."

His gaze went soft, and his smile crooked. "But I had to see you one last time."

The confession stole the air from my lungs. It took me a moment to recuperate. "When you bit me . . . I thought you were going to kiss me."

"I wanted to, but I assumed kissing you would be as welcome as my bite," he said with a sigh. "You're right. We're no good at talking about these things. Romance is dreadful for my dead heart, but you see, I have nothing new to fear. I'm already firmly attached to you."

My pulse jumped in my throat. We grinned at each other like a couple of fools.

The space between the large tub and the bed was narrow, and so I switched places with Rorick. Gilbert and Anita appeared exhausted. As I passed, I took both of them from off his shoulder and tucked them away in my void. He climbed onto the bed and made himself comfortable against the pillows as I fought to remove the wrap of linen from my wrecked braid.

When I looked back at him next, his eyes were shut and his body had gone lax. I hadn't realized I'd slept so long or that daylight had come already. I gathered the bar of soap and a cloth for washing from the desk near the candles.

Then another thought occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes. "Are you only pretending to slumber so that you can watch me bathe?"

His shoulders shook with quiet mirth. I laughed at his cheekiness.

Rorick sat up with a sigh. "Only teasing. I can wait out in the hall."

"You can stay if you'd like," I said, and my face warmed at my own brazen invitation. I unbound my hair so that it covered my breasts, and I slipped from the sleeves of my shift, allowing it to collect around my waist. "You see, I'm firmly attached to you as well."

"I would like to stay," he purred, propping himself up on his arms.

Hungry violet eyes dragged over my body. I felt the weight and heat of them like a passionate kiss across my skin. My nipples pebbled and my stomach swooped under the undivided attention of my audience. I undressed and climbed slowly into the tub.

The water was deliciously warm, and the bar of soap smelled like rosewater. Out of habit, I felt carefully along the bottom with my feet, stirring the bath.

"There aren't any shifters in your tub," Rorick reassured me with a chuckle.

"I think I'll be checking the bottom of the tub for coffin-dwellers for the rest of my life." I worked the soap into a lather and massaged it through my hair and scalp, attacking tangles with my fingers. It felt so good to get clean finally, I moaned.

"Are you finished yet?" Rorick teased, fidgeting on the bed. "I liked the undressing and then all the pleased noises you're making, but now that you're under the water, I can't see enough of you."

"No need to rush," I said fondly. "Anticipation makes everything grander, don't you know?"

"I wouldn't know," he reminded me with a coy smile.

And it struck me then as I combed soapy water through my hair that he'd never been intimate with anyone before. That when I climbed out of my tub and got into bed, I'd get to share my body with him in a way he'd never experienced. The notion sent a thrill through me.

I took a moment to scrub the last of the grime away, quietly contemplating. Usually when I rinsed, I sunk my head and hair under the water, but that was another thing I didn't think I'd be able to do for a good long while. Not after nearly drowning inside the stomach of a monster.

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.I could almost hear it again just from having my ears under the water. I met Rorick's eyes and held them. Our connection eased the pinch of panic back out of me again.

"I'm finished," I told him. "Would you hand me something to dry off with?"

"You mean to cover up with?" His lips quirked. "I'd rather not."

"But I don't want to get the bed all wet," I said.

He shrugged. "I fully plan to get the bed wet."

I felt a pleasant flush creep up my face. "So cheeky today."

Fortunately, the towels weren't far, but before I could reach them, he was there in a blink, helping me out of the tub, wrapping me in bulky cloth, rubbing me dry—mostly dry. My breasts and backside got the lion's share of the attention.

"I won't let the sun sneak up on me this time," he said, ushering me under the blankets.

Then it was my turn to watch him undress. Ignoring buttons, he pulled his shirt and undershirt off over his head. Candles ignited his moonlight pale skin. Dark hair, the same raven shade as the tresses falling over his brow, dusted his chest and trailed down his abdomen. He removed his trousers and drawers and gently fisted the sensitive flesh on the underside of the flared head of his cock.

He joined me under the covers with a kiss that sent sparks through my nerves. Heat pooled between my thighs. I couldn't get close enough to him. His body still hummed with the warmth I'd gifted to him by sharing my blood. My skin prickled with the memory of his teeth buried deep and suckling, and my stomach fluttered.

I coaxed his lean body between my legs, bracing his hips with my thighs, wanting more than his teeth buried inside me this time.

He hovered there, the head of his cock nudging my entrance, and I felt a corresponding tug of pleasure behind my navel.

"I'm counting on you to boss me about until I do this right," he said dryly, nuzzling his nose over mine.

"I'm going to be enjoying myself far too much to boss you," I said, exploring the planes of his chest and the muscles that coiled along his shoulders with my palms.

His breath tickled my neck. "But I like it when you boss me."

He kissed the shell of my ear and eased inside me slowly, hesitating after every gentle push. I lifted my hips to encourage him along, and his eyes squeezed shut.

"By the bloody gods," he panted, sliding in another inch, gritting his teeth with restraint.

"You're not hurting me," I reassured him, brushing coaxing touches down his chest and back.

He let out an exhale that smelled sweetly of apples. "It feels like I will. You're squeezing me so tightly."

"You feel wonderful. I'm not hurting at all." I lifted my hips to meet his next thrust.

Violet eyes on mine, he seated himself fully with a grunt of longing that went straight to my core. His lashes fluttered as he gathered his next breath. "You're still all right?"

"Perfect." I grinned. "Are you all right?"

"No," he teased hoarsely, burying his face between my breasts, surprising a giggle out of me. "I'm not going to be all right ever again."

He nuzzled the slopes of my breasts, then took one pert nipple into his hot mouth. I felt the gentle prick of his fangs and moaned.

Rorick slid a hand over my lips. "None of that now," he said playfully. "I like it too much. I've only just started. I don't want this to end already."

He moved over me slowly. My next gasp he muffled with a hard kiss. He increased his pace, knocking the air out of me in the most delicious way. I loved the dreamy focus in his dilated eyes as he buried himself again and again. The slick slide of his length stretched me wide. I locked my legs behind his back when he moved too quickly for me to keep up with.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he slowed.

"You like it when I come," I reminded him.

His groan was full of longing. "You know I do."

"I like it when you come, too. I like it so much, there's absolutely no reason to make yourself uncomfortable on my account." And then I remembered how much he enjoyed it when I bossed him. "Bite me, Rorick. Bite me and come for me."

His lips pulled back, showing those lovely fangs of his, and my pulse surged like it was calling to him. Rorick snapped his hips, pumping inside me deep and hard. I bared my neck, and when his fangs broke the skin, my back left the bed. Pleasure thundered through me. My body was a storm of bliss, and our connection was so fierce, Rorick was there in it with me, crying out with our release.