I grunt, brush her hair to the side, and begin untangling the bind, spicing the air with the smell of her blood. Though it’s been over a day since I tasted her, there’s not one part of me that hungers to sip at her with the smell of her pain so thick in the air. With visions of those severed nubs on her shoulder haunting me.
I’d rather a bottled smile.
Another unraveling twist of the bind, and I set bars of adamant around my insides. Not that it stopshimfrom trying to thrash free the moment I reveal the extent of damage on the side of her throat.
My blood chills. The fire sputters, Orlaith’s next breath blown out like a waft of smoke.
She’s been torn at more than once—both deep enough to scar for life. One a flap of flesh hanging so loose I’m not sure how she’s been managing without pain relief.
Any deeper and her throat would have been torn right out.
Thatthinginside meslashes, my veins igniting with electric shocks of power that pop against the binds still bound around my body. Like a storm cloud trapped beneath my skin, roiling.
Swelling.
“These were made by different mouths,” I murmur, my voice laced with cold, bloody promises.
“The deeper one was a …mancalled Calah,” she rasps, and my heart skips a beat. “He’s—”
“Dead. I took him down years ago.”
She shakes her head, and there’s a tremor to her voice as she hurries on, “Nowhe is. Baze killed him in his burrow I discovered beneath an island in the bay. We rescued his prisoners. It’s how I ended up on that pier. The rest got on the ship in time.”
My eyes glaze.
Another failing of mine, and this one almost tore out her throat.
A heaviness rolls in across the sky, drops of rain splattering down from above, pinging off the bowls I’d brought out from inside.
Time liquidates.
Warmth settles on either side of my face. “Rhordyn …”
Her voice tugs at me, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s no longer sitting between my thighs but standing before me, drenched in rain now sheeting down, hands on my cheeks.
Shivering.
The fire is out. No light is left to illuminate her besides the sporadic bolts scribbling across the sky. But I don’t need light to see her.
She glows within me like a fucking star.
“Where did you go?” she asks, and I swallow.
“I’m right here, Milaje.” I reach around her, unhook the stockpot, then take her by the hand and lead her toward the cabin.
Always.
He slams the door shut behind us, water slopping beneath every hurried step as he pulls me through the cabin before dropping my hand. Bolts of lightning rattle the windowpane, illuminating glimpses of him setting the stockpot on the dining table; ripping open a cupboard; rooting around inside it while the chill bites all the way to my bones.
The storm rolled over and sponged up all the heat so fast I feel like I’ve jumped from Puddles straight into an icebox.
“Can you make another salve?” Rhordyn asks, rummaging through a chest on the floor, pulling out a candle and some gauze.
“S-sure,” I stammer, teeth chattering as I drag my gaze along the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
He lights the candle and places it on the bench, along with the gauze, then proceeds to stack the stove with some twigs and husks from a basket beside it.
Gathering the herbs I need by the flashing lights from the storm and the candle’s flickering flame, I pray I didn’t accidentally grab something caustic. I saw some poison ivy up here somewhere—no idea why anyone would want to preserve that.
