7. Belladonna

7

BELLADONNA

Sex as worship.

The very idea would have my mother reaching for her phone to call Pastor John, sure that demons had taken up residence inside me. Thinking about it should fill me with a shame that can only be combated with prayer and immediate repentance. And yet Rusalka says it as if it’s fact. As if of course they worship their unknowable deity with sex, because that’s what feels good and what they were made for. I’m not certain gods even exist, and now she’s telling me that theirs wants them to have sex? It defies belief. “But do they know you’re worshipping if they’re unknowable? How do you know they’re listening?”

“We don’t. That’s not what it’s about.”

I shake my head sharply. “That sounds like a cult.”

She laughs, the sound deep and joyous. Everything about her seems deep and joyous. I don’t understand it. Rusalka throws her arm around my shoulders as easily as if we’ve been friends for a lifetime. “Cults are a human creation, darling. All the people in my territory worship in the way they see fit, if they worship at all. It’s hardly required, and each person can make their own decisions. Plenty of my people don’t believe in deities at all. It’s a varied experience. I’m not set up as their leader of their belief, only of their government.”

The way she says it is so relaxed, as if it doesn’t really matter if people believe in this deity or not. As if she truly doesn’t care. It baffles me. “But what happens if they don’t believe?”

“Nothing happens.” Another shrug. She still has her arm around my shoulders, a warm and steady weight. She turns us back toward the manor, easily moving us away from the few people who still linger, watching me as if expecting me to save them. As if I’ve ever done anything but disappoint the people who expected things of me.

“But you just said . . .”

“I said they can choose. Just like you can choose. If you’re not comfortable with the sex, then we won’t expose you to it. I’ll talk with my Insomnior Court and ensure they keep their activities behind closed doors.”

My mind reels with all the information I’ve taken in, every bit of it conflicting with what has been drilled into me since childhood.

How many times have I harbored the thought that God, if He exists—They exist—must be larger than the hateful creature my parents’ worship? Surely a god of that expansiveness doesn’t care if I’m having premarital sex or masturbating. Surely if They paid that close of attention, all the atrocities in the world wouldn’t happen. Surely my sister, a sweet and good person, shouldn’t have gotten cancer.

I inhale Rusalka’s spicy scent. Their warmth is a live thing against my side, flickering like a cozy fire through our clothes. It answers the question I’d barely allowed myself to think—their fire doesn’t have to burn. There’s a metaphor in that, but my mind is reeling too hard to divine it. “You need a baby.”

“We’d like one eventually, yes.” She urges me to start walking with the subtlest pressure. “But, as I’ve said before and will say again, it’s not something you’ll be forced or coerced into doing. We have time. There’s no reason to rush things.”

She’s being too easy on me. I know what I signed up for. More than that, I’m starting to understand exactly what a child would mean to not only her, but every person who lives in this territory. “You said that either you or another would impregnate me. How does that work?” I wave at her hips and then realize I likely just overstepped dramatically. “That’s too personal, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. As I said when we first met, my people tend to be fluid when it comes to gender. That doesn’t simply mean how they identify. Most of us are shape-shifters on one level or another, which means we can generate the necessary appendage to get the job done.”

“?.?.?. Oh.” I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around that, so I set it aside for now. I think of the tears in the pregnant person’s eyes, of the way their hope for the future practically shone from their face. I clear my throat. “How many succubi and incubi are there in your territory?”

“We don’t keep a tight count, but somewhere north of three hundred thousand.”

I stop short. Three hundred thousand people. “That’s so many.”

A shadow appears in her orange eyes. “There used to be many more, but each war has a cost, and my people are not fighters in the same way some of the others in this realm can be. We’ve suffered heavy losses over the generations.”

I saw the dragon and the tentacled person and the winged monster. All of them look stronger and more fearsome than Rusalka, at least physically. “And having a baby?.?.?. a human leader?.?.?. will benefit them all? That will protect them?”

“Yes. That will boost the naturally occurring magic in the territory. That helps crops grow, soothes the weather, makes it easier for our healers to do their jobs—all sorts of things.” She speaks absently as she guides me up the manor steps and opens the door. “It’s why my people elect the most powerful of us to be leader when the time comes. If the leader’s magic starts to wane, then a new leader is chosen. We don’t bother with bloodlines the way the other territories do, and we’ve benefited as a result.”

So many people. I could help so many people. Yes, the thought of having a child and leaving them behind hurts in a way I don’t know how to conceptualize. But I’ve been dealing with hurt for my entire life. What’s one more to add to the list, especially when the benefit is so expansive? “I’ll do it.”

Rusalka stops short. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll have your baby—the baby. Whoever’s baby. I consent.”

She drops her arm and turns to study my face. I don’t know what she sees there, but it doesn’t seem to make her happy. Her gorgeous face is carefully blank, some of the fire in her deep-orange eyes banked. The banked fire feels like a loss, but I don’t understand how I could lose something when I don’t have anything.

Rusalka shakes her head. “That’s not?—”

Something snaps inside me. I’m so heartily tired of being told I don’t know my own mind. “I would very much appreciate if you and Azazel and whoever else would stop telling me things I already know. I am aware I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. I want to help.” All my life, I’ve never managed to measure up to anything, and now the only thing I have to do to help what I think is essentially a country full of people is the one thing I was taught was my purpose for existing.

Have a baby. And I don’t even have to marry some man who’s supposed to lead the relationship and shove me into a box that seems designed to suffocate me.

Rusalka tenses like she’s going to keep arguing, but she finally nods slowly. I can’t help sweeping my gaze over her. We’ve only been around each other for a day, and I’m already getting used to how perfectly the nonhuman parts of her meld with the rest of her. None of the demons I’ve seen depicted in church were feminine—none of the angels, either, now that I think of it—but if ever there was a person created to tempt me?.?.?.

But I don’t really believe that, do I? Rusalka may be a literal succubus, but even with her powers of seduction, she’s shown me more care than most people I’ve known my entire life. More care than Ruth, even, because the only thing Rusalka questions is my decision to have a baby, not every element of my very existence.

She takes a deep breath. “If that’s still your choice at the end of the week, then I’ll honor it.” She holds up one black claw before I can protest. “We have seven years, Belladonna. One week is a small enough ask to make.”

“But—”

“I would like you to join me tonight for some entertainment.” They don’t give me a chance to respond. It feels like one moment I’m trying to find the words to tell them that I don’t need a week to make my decision, and the next Rusalka is stopping in front of my room and laying their hands on my shoulders. They peer down at me, as if searching for the answer to a question I don’t understand.

Rusalka presses a light kiss to my forehead. It’s a touch that should feel innocent—it’s certainly far from any known pleasure zones—but it goes through me like a tornado of fire. I shiver and stare up at them. “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing.” She smiles slowly. “Yet.”