Page 113 of Vervain

“I was jealous of the space between us.”

“You cannot keep using that excuse,” I say, letting my head fall back against the pillow.

“I will, and I can.” Butterflies hatch in my stomach when his mouth brushes against my breast, kissing me tenderly before he holds me tighter, wanting us to meld together. “Let me have this human moment. I don’t have many I am fond of, and I’d like to cherish this one.”

“Serun.” I rest my hand on his shoulder while my other hand pulls back his hair in tender affection. “I don’t like sucking dick, but I would suck yours.”

He grunts, “Your timing is impeccable, as always, consort.”

“I’m being honest.”

“Your…honesty…should…”

“Should what?” Dead weight falls against me, and whatever part of him is alive isn’t any more. Lying back, I close my eyes, draw a deep breath, and let my body sink as well.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

EPHIALTES

Saya Claymore

“Serun?” I touch his cheek, but unlike earlier, when it was tenderly soft, it’s rough as stone.

I let my hand fall when another sharp pain hits my abdomen, telling me I need to pee. Consuming all that blood has to come out somewhere, which makes me wonder about nightwalkers. Serun and Olivia haven’t gone to the bathroom once. They stop for me. They wait for me. But maybe they don’t need to go at all.

I shuffle away from him, turning to leave when a flutter stirs in my heart. Serun’s arms wrap around my waist, and I gasp as he drags me back and locks those broad arms around me. I face him once more, wondering if he is awake, but aside from that automatic response, nothing else moves.

Running my hand down my face and rubbing my eyes to shake off the sleep, I loosen one of his fingers at a time. They’re iron, as if shackling me to him, but once one arm slackens, I break free from his grip and slip out of bed.

There’s no bathroom in this cabin, further confirming that nightwalkers don’t use the toilet.

I leave the bedroom, close the door behind me, and face the only other room that leads outside. I pick at a scab on my arm, my fingernails hooking under the hardened lump of flesh. It’s daylight. There shouldn’t be anything threatening out there, and I am only going to pee and bury my shit somewhere that isn’t near a nightwalker.

With an exhaled breath, I flick the lock and open the door a crack before slipping out without letting much sunlight in. Once I am out, I face the woods. Compared to night, when I couldn’t see much of anything, a tingling sensation pricks my skin at how exposed I am to my surroundings. Every tree, leaves slapping against each other in the warm wind, to the grass.

I make my way down the steps, heading back the way we came. I doubt we will retrace our steps. Since this adventure, I have realised that my dignity matters, and those luxury commodities mean nothing topside when I am not inside a village or a Feeding Ground. This must be what humans—I mean, people—have to do to survive. Risk of being exposed just to go to the bathroom if there isn’t one nearby.

The deeper I scour the woods, the softer the dirt exposed by daylight squishes into mulch. I kick leaves aside, creating a hole. Soil runs under my fingernails, and my ear twitches as a fly zips around my head. I wave it away when another comes, trying to land on my face. I look up in irritation, my face dropping at a body nearby. Flies gather around it, enough to give away how someone lazily hid it, with only wet leaves covering half.

Stopping what I am doing, I make my way over, and the stench of death smells like rotten fruit. I don’t know why I am. If anything, I should go somewhere else. But if there’s a dead body out here and no bite, that means another threat is nearby, and I need to prepare for anything.

I grip the hilt of my sword, and my steps grow silent, remembering the training I’ve had in Serun’s presence. As I near the body, my nostrils flare, stinging from the stench. It’s unlike Serun’s scent, with the lemony zing trying to mask nightshade. This has nothing to mask.

An exposed body, flies already taking it, and bits of flesh torn in chunks. The wolves must have eaten whatever they could, but that’s not what I am looking for. I touch her shoulder and roll the woman over. Lifeless eyes stare up at the sky, and on the side of her neck, two puncture wounds stain with dry blood. With an inaudible sigh, I murmur, “Olivia…”

Well, I can’t leave the body exposed like this. Serun says slayers don’t travel the woods, but with slayers entering the nightwalkers’ border, I don’t trust that to be true. Besides, my mum’s words come back to me. “We bury the dead. Let whatever is left of Mother take them.”

I dig a shallow grave—deep enough that the wildlife can’t reach the body—and roll the corpse inside. It lands with a thump. Once it’s inside, I rise with a handful of dirt and, as I sprinkle it over her body, say, “May Mother take you to the Gods.”

Kneeling in the mulch, I push the soil and leaves in when a tingling sensation throbs across my fingertips. A pull draws me to the corpse, the tingling intensifying, reminding me of the night in Darkovish Feeding Ground when I reached out to the woman I thought was Emily.

“Pir avacen,” someone whispers in my ear.

Light turns to static, and as I touch her arm, holes open in her flesh and stems sprout, blooming vervain across her in powdered purple. I shuffle back from the corpse when her body disintegrates. Her skin turns to soil, and her clothes become leaves.

With a shaky breath, I stare at my hands in bewilderment. The light fades, and the tingling numbs. I clench them into fists, and as I rise, I hurry through the trees, my heart racing, but any thought of what I just did is nothing but a whistle of wind in one ear and out the other.

I enter the cabin and slide the bolt across. By the time I reach the bedroom, I press my back against the door and let out the breath I had been holding. I drag my dirt-covered hands through my hair, and as I tip my head up, an unorthodox chill pierces my skin. Ahead, and within the darkness, Serun’s outline shadows the grey. Raw, dilated red eyes watch.