CHAPTER TEN
HAVEN
Haven carried a crate of herbs for Vivienne as he walked her home from training. The sun shone down, highlighting Vivienne’s heart-shaped face and her silky dark hair hanging past her shoulders. Her sorcery skills were improving, and she’d impressed him today. Being matched to her was going rather well, albeit slowly. It had been seven years and they’d only officially began courting a year ago. He was ready to move forward with her…
“I want us to live together in my tower,” Haven said.
Vivienne halted and grasped his arm, her emerald eyes meeting his. “It’s too soon. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“There’s nothing you can do wrong. Our sorcery will work wonders together,” he vowed.
Haven jolted forward in bed, gripping his damp hair so hard his scalp throbbed. “Fuck. I was wrong,” he rasped into the pitch-black room.
The marriage cuff squeezed Haven’s wrist, alerting him that there was a different woman in his tower, one who wasn’t Vivienne—his match—the one who should’ve been his wife. He swore to himself he would reclaim her, but he was reminded of the ridiculous night before. He blamed his high-strung emotions for the rage he felt thinking Rozlyn was fucking Nightshade. Even now, the thought of her pleasuring the ferryman made his blood boil, and his hands balled into tight fists. Why was he thinking of her like this? The need for a woman to sate his cock must’ve been driving him mad.
While she was his, Rozlyn would fuck no one—not until his curse was broken. Once he reunited with Vivienne, he wouldn’t give a damn about the courtesan, and the mere memory of her face and body would disappear.
A soft knock came at the door and Haven snapped his fingers—a row of green flames ignited, licking the wicks of his black candles. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and fastened the buttons before he answered the door. Even though he generally dressed with sorcery, sometimes he just needed to move his fingers when his mind was overthinking.
Iseult wore his robes—the rope tied at his middle, which made him appear as though he had a waist. “The sun is down, Marquis.”
“Good. And the maiden?”
“She’s still asleep. Would you like me to wake her?” he asked.
Haven didn’t need Rozlyn to distract his focus from Vivienne. “No, let her sleep,” he said, brushing past his assistant and stepping out into the hallway. He turned back, his gaze meeting Iseult’s shadowed sockets, and the marquis narrowed his eyes. “Do not get locked up again while I’m gone.”
“Of course not, Marquis.” He placed his skeletal palms together and bowed his head.
Haven rolled his eyes and left his assistant to himself. As he entered the kitchen, a silver flask and a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits awaited him, even though Iseult knew he could’ve easily made something appear. He sat down on an iron stool and polished off his plate while staring at an unfinished silky garment Rozlyn had left behind on the counter. Did she sew in every room at the brothel too? Why was he even fucking wondering about that?
Once he drank half the whisky, it refilled and he tucked the flask into his trouser pocket for the long flight to the bog. Nightshade better have spoken the truth about the ancient sorcerer. The ferryman was the only one in Souldark who knew every spirit that lingered. Not even Adham knew without consulting Nightshade. Haven loathed to admit it, but Nightshade was more of a lord here than Adham had ever been.
But if the ferryman had tricked Haven to get him away from the tower so he could visit Rozlyn, he would find a way to brutally end the immortal. Haven trusted his spells and shadows would hold strong and prevent anyone from entering, but that wouldn’t negate Nightshade’s betrayal.
Fishing out a leather tie inside his other pocket, he drew his hair back and ascended the steps to the front entrance. As his shadow unlocked the door, Haven peered up the winding staircase leading to Rozlyn. He studied his cuff, feeling her still safely within the tower walls.
Haven knew he should just fucking leave, but he felt a need to see her first. He told himself it was only to confirm that she was indeed there. But, while bounding up the stairs, he couldn’t help thinking about how her warm body had felt in his arms when he’d held her, how the swell of her right breast had pressed against his chest. Through her foolish behavior on the ledge of the tower, she’d made him almost smile, something only Vivienne had ever done.
Haven slowly opened the door, his sorcery keeping the hinges silent. The eternal flames flickered in their onyx sconces, illuminating Rozlyn’s soft features in the corner of the room. He crept closer and swallowed deeply when he discovered her dress lay in a pool of fabric beside the bed. The silk blankets were drawn to her waist, exposing her pale skin and bare breasts. He stilled, his gaze lingering on her supple rosebud nipples a beat too long, pondering if they’d taste like sunshine too, before he cast his gaze up to her round face. If he hadn’t been trapped in stone for two years and had decided to visit a brothel to get back at Vivienne, he would’ve chosen Rozlyn for a night of pleasure. Weeks ago, he had thought of her as nothing, but now, as he looked at her, he might be tempted enough to fuck her if she offered herself again.
His cock twitched as he studied her long lashes, her plump lips, still an alluring glossy black. Rozlyn shivered, and gooseflesh covered her arms. Haven should’ve walked away then, but his shadows warred with him, until finally, he allowed two translucent hands to slide out of him and draw the blankets up to her chin. He didn’t want her to catch an illness and die before his curse lifted was all. Without her bound to him, collecting another bastard princess wouldn’t be easy. And another might not be as civil as this one.
She sighed, content, no longer shivering. Even in sleep she looked like she was smiling, happy.
Whirling away from her as though he hadn’t covered her at all, Haven opened the window while doing away with his shirt. When his hands brushed the window sill, a small, tired yawn pierced the air. “Haven?” Rozlyn called.
Haven shut his eyes tightly, warning himself not to glance back at her, not to fall into her trap if the blankets had fallen into her lap. Not ask if she wanted him to flick his tongue over her pebbled nipple.
“Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone,” he said while slipping through the open space. Standing out on the ledge, he released his wings as his skin turned to a stark alabaster. Fully shifted into his gargoyle form, he leapt toward the sky and into the night.
Darkness surrounded him, the overcast sky cloaking the stars. He cracked his wings, flying away from the tower and over the mist rolling across the ground. Every so often the cuff squeezed his wrist like a noose, begging him to go back to Rozlyn.
Growls echoed from below as scaled monsters and horned beasts roamed the court. Spirits moaned, unable to find their way to Fairward Lake. Haven soared past the ferryman’s gondola, the line shorter this time. But more spirits would come—death wouldn’t stop unless the gods chose to end Grimm.
Haven flew over Nightshade’s manor, and he watched as the ferryman led a spirit into his home. Once Rozlyn became Nightshade’s, would the ferryman continue to fuck any spirit who lusted after him? Of course he would.
After hours of traveling through the wretched court, Haven sipped from his flask. He needed to reach the bog before sunrise, and if he didn’t get there in time, the only other option was to demand Nightshade bring the ancient sorcerer to the tower.
Two dried-up streams came into view when the heavy stench of spoiled milk invaded Haven’s nostrils. The bog . Just up ahead.
Tufts of gray decayed plant matter poked up from the murky water. A single, large hut rested between the bog and thin trees.
Haven descended, his clawed feet shifting and boots appearing before he planted into the muddy ground. The stench grew bolder, and his gaze locked onto the hut. Twigs weaved and molded together made up the outer walls of the home, and a thatched roof rested atop. He arched a brow at the pitiful home, wondering if Nightshade had lied about an ancient sorcerer residing here.
Tucking the remainder of his gargoyle form away, he prowled toward the hut, his shadows swirling inside him, ready to do his bidding.
Haven pounded on the door, and a moment later a gray spirit walked through the wall. The man’s hair hung in disarray just past his shoulders, and bushy eyebrows hovered over his beady eyes.
“Who are you?” the spirit asked. He was a head shorter than Haven, but the marquis could feel the sorcery radiating from the beaded bracelet around the man’s wrist.
“They call me the Marquis of Shadows,” Haven drawled, releasing his dark silhouettes. They curled from his chest and swirled around him like hissing vipers. “The ferryman sent me here. I was told you are an ancient sorcerer and might be able to help me.”
“The ferryman, hmm?” The spirit scratched his chin. “Did he tell you who I am?”
“Does it matter?” Haven asked.
The spirit puffed his chest up proudly. “I’m Duke Phoenix Yashine, and I once hailed from the Sunwraith Court.”
Haven had heard of him, of his strength, but the sorcerer had died centuries before he was born. He’d burned himself at a stake, refusing to be a pawn to any court.
Perhaps Nightshade had led him in the right direction after all. “So you can help me then,” Haven said.
The man clucked his tongue. “If I can, what will you give me in return?”
Another fucking bargain. One had been plenty, but there was only one thing all spirits wanted badly enough to bargain. Especially one who had resided here this long with his memories intact. “A gondola ride across Fairward Lake to cross over to the gods.”
“That isn’t up to you,” Phoenix said, but he sounded intrigued by the idea.
“If you help me, the ferryman will allow it. I’ll make certain of it.”
Phoenix studied Haven for a long moment, then motioned him forward. “Come in. It’s too dangerous outside.” The spirit passed through the wall as Haven’s shadows drew open the door.
Clutter filled Phoenix’s home—books strewn about and various-sized glass jars and vials piled into a corner. A bed and a chair made from twigs were pushed up against a single wall. On a table in the center of the room rested a collection of more jars containing a variety of colored powders.
“Now,” Phoenix said, plopping on the dirt in front of the table. “What do you need help with?”
“I rushed a spell and cursed myself,” Haven muttered. “At first, I was a stone gargoyle during the day and trapped in my tower all night. I bound myself to a bastard princess using an old ceremony along with my own spell to reverse it, knowing the curse wouldn’t dissipate completely at first. A lock of the princess’s hair keeps it at bay. I’m free to leave my tower at night now, but during the day we’re both imprisoned in it. The tower itself continues to return to her court instead of staying in Souldark.”
Phoenix’s brow furrowed. “You bound yourself to her, but did you consummate inside the tower or outside it? If the tower is where you’re trapped, consummation would need to happen outside it. You would still require her hair daily until the curse completely fades, of course.”
“We haven’t consummated.” Haven frowned, his pulse rushing through his veins when he recalled Rozlyn offering herself after he’d bound them together.
The spirit’s smile grew, revealing several crooked teeth. “Ah, I believe you now have your answer then.”
Haven’s lips tightened into a thin line. The marriage was only meant to be temporary, and the binding spell was all that was required to make them husband and wife. But perhaps not if the curse was too strong… It only made sense that the most powerful sorcerer made a most powerful fucking curse.
“Go to the ferryman in the morning and tell him the Marquis of Shadows demands he take you to the gods,” Haven said. Nightshade had tried to seduce Rozlyn when she didn’t belong to him yet, so he owed him.
“Let’s hope he does,” Phoenix said. “I’ll find you if he refuses.”
Without another word, Haven left the ancient sorcerer’s home. He dragged in a deep breath as he released his wings and surveyed the dreary woods before him. Was fucking Rozlyn a betrayal to Vivienne or a way to make them even? She’d fucked another man, and now he would fuck another woman, then his match would grovel at his feet. Vivienne was the only woman he’d pleasured, but he was left with no choice if it meant ending his curse. He thought about Rozlyn’s plump lips, how her breasts would feel in his palms, how tight her pussy would feel around his cock.
He was a bastard and didn’t give a damn.
The fucking would be simple, but the hair… It took longer than a day to travel to Adham’s castle. If Phoenix was right and the curse would start to fade, maybe there was a simple solution. If Rozlyn traveled with him, he could get a new piece of her hair whenever the power of the first ran its course.
It was still dark, but if he hurried, he could fuck Rozlyn tonight. If she wanted more coin, he would promise it. After traveling with him to Adham’s, she might not get to spend it, yet that wasn’t his problem.
As he lifted his arm, a loud splash echoed behind him and he spun around, releasing his shadows just as a storm of small beads of light spread everywhere . Will-o’-the-wisps .
He focused on his cuff, on Rozlyn, and one moment he was near the bog—the next he was in the room at the top of the tower. But not before an explosion of sharp pain slashed through his wings.
“Fuck!” Haven growled, collapsing to the floor and meeting Rozlyn’s wide-eyed stare.
She rushed to his side and gasped as her soft fingers brushed his arm. “Your wings are torn!”