Chapter Seventeen

There isn't much time for me to truly comprehend what's about to happen. For the second time this evening, I'm to be bound to a cross on a stage in a sex club.

And for the second time tonight, Clíodhna is going to untie me, and make me hers.

She's gone pale though, paler even than where I heard her keen.

I step towards her. "Are you okay?"

She nods slowly. "I… I don't think you know what this is going to be like. As a trial is a rough one, not just for me, but for you as well. If we're going to pass it, if we're going to persuade the universe that we get to be together, then we're both going to suffer."

That's alarming. "I'm going to suffer?"

"Iron is… not great for fae. It burns. Literally. It won't physically hurt you, but it'll likely be an unpleasant experience. And if you can't take it, that's okay, Ciara and the Morrígan can untie you."

I didn't expect that. I didn't realise how much it would physically hurt her. "I don't want to hurt you—I don't want to harm you. Is it worth it? Is this worth it?"

For all that we've gotten caught up in this weird trial thing, we haven't even known each other for a full day. She's going to test the limits of her body for what? A quick fuck?

It's as if she's the one who can hear voices because she gathers my face in her hands and kisses me sweetly. "Don't think like that. You are worth it. You are worth all of it. You are sweet and stubborn and delicious when you submit, and I'm not above saying that I want you so very desperately."

"But you've had me." I'm scared, I realise. Scared that when this is all over, she'll decided that she doesn't want me anymore. "And at some point, the novelty of a mortal lover will wear off."

"It's not the novelty I crave," she says, and then she speaks my words right back to me. "It's you. I want you."

We stand there, anchored to each other in the middle of a sex club, people running around, talking shouting, calling, and it's as if the place is deserted and there's no one there but us. We kiss, casting everything else aside, losing ourselves in the touch of each other, the feel of each other.

Clíodhna's lips are cool against mine, insistent, and this is unlike any of the kisses that have come before it. This is a kiss brimming with hope, potential.

Someone clears their throat behind us, and the Morrígan stands there, a mass of iron in her arms. Clíodhna hisses and steps backwards, and I can see her hair rising in that red mass.

The club is now nearly as deserted as I'd imagined it. Just the Morrígan, Ciara, Clíodhna and I. Aoibheall comes striding back into the room, calling over her shoulder some instruction to the receptionist, and stops dead.

"Move it to the stage. Please," she says, and her tanned skin has paled until it's almost the same colour as her white-blonde hair. The Morrígan takes a step forward, but Ciara shakes her head and takes the iron chains from her.

"There's enough pressure all round; I'm not sure that Clíodhna would appreciate watching you wrap Janet in iron right now."

"Clíodhna would certainly not appreciate that. Especially dressed in your fucking jumper."

I roll my eyes and pull the jumper up and over my head. Everyone is startled, and the Morrígan averts her eyes. "As if you haven't all seen this before. This is a sex club, remember?"

Ciara clears her throat. "It's our first time here; we're not exactly regulars."

"Oh." I go to put it back on, but instead turn and look at Clíodhna. "Will seeing me, seeing all of me, help? Will it be good motivation?"

Clíodhna doesn't answer, her jaw ever so slightly slack. It's nice to know that even after all that has transpired this evening, I have the ability to render her speechless.

"I think that's a yes," interjects the Morrígan, dryly. "As for the rest of us, we'll avert our gazes. Ciara, you're okay to do the tying?"

She nods, but there's something that she's not saying. I reach for the pale blue thread that I've come to identify as hers, and I ping it mentally, as if plucking it with my finger. She looks up sharply and meets my eyes.

There are unshed tears in hers, and I almost tell her to forget it, that I don't want her to cry, but then I see Clíodhna standing behind her, looking so very very lost and my resolve hardens.

"We can do this bit together," I say. "You're not doing anything that I don't want, and if things go wrong you'll untie me, yes?"

She nods. I feel a wave of protection and I look at the Morrígan angrily.

He's been dealt with, she answers in my mind. You have my word.

I nod and step towards the stage, Ciara following me.

The cross is angled, so I'm not flush out to the audience, no matter which way I turn, which works for me. I lean back and face outwards. No cuffs for my wrists and ankles this time, only iron will bind my body to the cross.

I've never had such heavy links against my skin before.

"I'm not going to bind you so tightly that you'll panic," Ciara says, but there has to be some tension, or they won't hold up."

"I understand."

They're cold. So cold. My body shivers and I can feel goosebumps raising across my skin. Clíodhna takes a step forward, a strangled objection lingering on her lips. Her hair is a mass of red fury now, and her eyes are so deeply red I can see them from here.

"I'm alright," I say, but I can tell that she doesn't quite believe it. It's too much for her to grasp, to comprehend, when I'm bound tightly in the one material she hates the most.

Ciara makes deft work of the binding, squeezes my hand and steps back.

I look at Clíodhna. "Come get me."