Gods and goddesses. Still horny.Fantastic.
They passed beneath a maple, and the branches bent, leaves brushing low in a conspiratorial whisper. Goldie flinched, the vibration in her chest flaring in response. She glanced at Splice, catching the tight line of his jaw as he deliberately looked away.
That was it. Enough. She stopped short, hands on her hips.
“Splice,” she snapped, annoyance sharpening every syllable. “Come on. What happened?”
He stopped dead and turned to her, his leaf-shadow-green eyes blazing. “Goldie. I will tell you. But not right now. Please. We need to get back to Greymarket first.”
“Why?”
In two strides he was on her, his hands closing around her arms, and the whole world narrowed to the span of his grip. His chest brushed hers, close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his breath, and he looked like he was one heartbeat away from pinning her against the nearest wall and devouring her whole.
She wasn’t sure whether she’d stop him. Gods, she wasn’t sure whether shewantedto. Every nerve in her body screamedyes, yes, now, as her pulse pounded so hard between her thighs that she thought she might melt into the pavement.
“Because I can’t think straight right now. Please, Goldie. I need to get back to Mycor. And…” He shook his head hard, as if the words themselves were breaking off inside him. “I don’t want anything to happen. Not here. Not like this. Please.”
Goldie’s body vibrated, caught between fury and desire, every inch of her begging to be reckless. To let him lose control. To lose it herself. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing a shaky exhale.
“Okay,” she said finally, voice unsteady but steady enough. “We can… okay.”
She pulled her hoodie tighter around her shoulders, grounding herself in the ordinary act of walking forward. Splice fell into step beside her, silent but solid.
Greymarket Towers finally rose ahead, its familiar outline carved sharply against the blue-black hush of the night sky. Goldie’s chest tightened as she and Splice crossed the threshold and triggered the lobby doors.
Inside, the lobby chandelier glowed, its bulbs humming with a sluggish pulse that fractured the marble floor into long, wavering shadows. The vine-patterned wallpaper shivered as though something stirred beneath it, but the air itself remained still. Even the elevators stood silent, their cages trembling faintly like a beast keeping very still under a handler’s hand.
They moved without speaking. The atrium doors parted at their approach, gliding open with measured grace. At the edge of the still, obsidian pond, the Thornfather lay collapsed. His bark-skin was split in deep fissures, sap oozing dark and slow, and his crown of antlers sagged beneath an invisible weight.
A brittle stillness clung to him. His skin had dulled to the gray of drought-cracked earth. The moss along his spine yellowed and crisped, and the blossoms on his crown were shriveled to husks.
Splice sank to his knees and laid a hand on his god’s chest. Goldie braced instinctively, half-afraid she’d see him pour himself away then and there, tethering his life to the dying body. But he only sighed, bowing his head, shoulders slumping with defeat.
Hesitantly, she lowered herself beside him. Her palm found the Thornfather’s arm. The god stirred faintly, bark creaking, a hollow shift beneath her hand. She felt his life through the contact—thin and fragile, but still present. But beneath it was rot. Curling through him like spreading bruises.
It hurt. Gods and goddesses, it all hurt. His hurt, Splice’s hurt, the building’s silent ache pressed against her chest until Goldie’s eyes stung.
She stroked Mycor’s arm anyway, and though it seemed like a useless gesture of comfort, she couldn’t shake the sense that it mattered. That her touch, slight as it was, threaded some small warmth back into him. Not enough, but something.
There are bones in me. A wound I share with your god.
The whisper curled through her chest, low and resonant, and Goldie froze.
She looked down at the Thornfather, at his cracked bark and weeping sap, and for a dizzying heartbeat she thought she felt the same wound yawning inside her.
Her hand slipped from the god’s arm. Slowly, she turned to Splice, her throat dry, heart hammering.
“What’s the wound, Splice?” she asked softly. “What needs to be overwritten?”
Splice lifted his head. Shadows clung under his eyes, his expression worn thin.
Goldie’s breath caught. The whisper from moments before stirred again inside her.The rot must be excised.
“Did the Grove Core speak to you?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened. He glanced at her, and a faint green flush crept up the line of his throat, blooming into his cheeks. “It… wanted to perform a ritual to heal itself and Mycor.” His hands curled into fists against his knees. “With you as the vessel. And me, serving as stud.”
Goldie’s body roared, every nerve sparking as her brain short-circuited. And beneath that, something deeper inside her rose up in fierce agreement:yes, that’s exactly what I want.
