Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ROZLYN

“Fuck!” Haven sneered for the second time and pushed up from the floor. “I’m going to murder them all.”

Rozlyn snatched a dress from the floor and pressed the fabric against his wings to absorb the blood. She’d thought Haven had been upset about the curse again when he’d appeared in the room, but when her eyes had landed on his injuries, the thin membranes hanging like ripped curtains behind him, her heart clenched. As she lifted the fabric from his wounds, there wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected.

“My gargoyle’s skin is more resilient than my own and doesn’t bleed for long,” he rasped.

“What happened?” Rozlyn asked softly as she continued to dab two trickles of scarlet.

“I went to the bog,” he ground out, pacing forward, and she had to catch up to him to wipe the lingering crimson. “And those fuckers came out of nowhere.”

“I don’t know who those fuckers are,” Rozlyn said, balling up the bloody dress and placing it beside the door for the time being. “Spirits? Monsters?”

“Will-o’-the-wisps,” Haven growled. “After I take care of Adham, I’ll return to the bog to drown them all.”

“Will-o’-the-wisps?” Rozlyn exclaimed. “I didn’t even know they existed .” In the eleven other courts, there were only shifters, the magical objects, and spells created by the sorcerers and sorceresses. The people of Grimm passed down fae bedtime stories to their children. Madam had told them to Rozlyn when she was younger as she fell asleep, but those were magical tales full of exciting adventures. The will-o’-the-wisps in them were kind, not vicious little beasts.

“They only live in Souldark. Apparently, they’re remnants of the foliage when it was dying—the last bit of their life. And that life should be snuffed out.” Haven squared his shoulders, his pale eyes blazing, not with pain or rage any longer, but something different... “Follow me outside. We need to fuck.”

Rozlyn blinked, her lips parting in surprise. In the past few weeks, he hadn’t once mentioned anything close to wanting to tumble, although she had wondered how his cock would feel inside her. On more than one occasion. “I’m sorry. What ? I will oblige, but your wings are shredded, and you’re thinking about pleasure at this very moment? You must be running a fever.” She placed her palm against his forehead, and his skin was warm to the touch but no burning fever as she’d expected.

Haven clasped her wrist, his expression nearing desperate when he drew her toward the door. “I’m well enough. An ancient sorcerer gave me advice, and the only way I can leave the tower during the day is for us to consummate the marriage.”

Rozlyn understood his desperation perfectly now. “Oh! That makes sense. So if we had bedded the night I offered myself to you, neither of us would’ve been trapped here?” Or she still would’ve been if she’d snuck off. But if he hadn’t been cursed during the day, she might never have uncovered that his misery could be hers.

“Yes.” Haven frowned. “I’ll pay you double the coin. But—” He stilled as he looked toward the window, at the sunlight pouring into the room. He slapped his thigh and slowly ran a hand down his face. “Why can’t anything fucking go as planned?”

Rozlyn patted his arm, his gargoyle skin rough yet not unpleasant to the touch. “You should’ve taken me with you to the bog. I could’ve watched your back and warned you before they attacked. I admit that I was a bit rash the other night by going through a court I don’t know much about.”

Haven’s jaw clenched, but his silence continued to speak truths when he knew she was right.

“But this day isn’t forever, Haven,” she continued, gently rubbing his arm to soothe him. “The night will come, and if pleasure is the key to unlocking the curse, then be thankful the task is simple.” Although, for the first time in her life as a courtesan, a nervous feeling churned in her stomach. It was only because she’d gotten to know Haven first—generally the patron was a stranger and she learned more about them the more they returned to the brothel to visit her.

“Simple to you,” he said.

Because Haven still wanted Vivienne, his match…

Rozlyn snipped off a lock of hair and handed it to Haven before he asked for it. After placing the strands into his locket, he trudged toward the full-length mirror hanging inside the wardrobe door and scowled at his wings in the glass. He stepped back, then flapped them, creating a cool gust of wind that caressed her face. After another snap of his wings, he lifted from the floor but only a few hairs before touching back down. As he cracked them again, he remained rooted to the floor this time, his expression strained while not flying upward at all. His shadows seeped out, skimming their dark hands across his wounds—only they didn’t heal the least bit.

“This isn’t happening,” he bellowed, his shadows reeling back inside him.

Rozlyn winced while watching the thin membrane tear further. “You might want to stop doing that,” she called over the boisterous sounds. “Can they not mend on their own if you shift, or do you have a healing salve I can fetch for you in the spell room?”

“I’m not immortal,” he muttered, tightening his wings behind him. “And a salve won’t do a damn thing. My wings are fucked .”

“Hmm. Let me see something.” Rozlyn folded her arms as she surveyed the Marquis of Shadows’ tattered wings in the way she would any fabric. They weren’t ruined as he was so quick to believe, and if she mended them like she had the torn dress for Cordelia after a rough and pleasurable night with one of her patrons, his wings would be as good as new. She skirted around him, her smile spreading her cheeks. “I can fix them. Any future flying plans will not be wrecked on my watch.”

Haven arched a brow, staring at her as though she’d spoken utter nonsense. “What are you going on about now?”

“Trust me.” Rozlyn grabbed him by the hand and tugged him in the direction of the bed. But he stubbornly didn’t budge. “Move those big feet of yours, you oaf. I feel as though you’d rather dwell in misery.”

He rolled his eyes, yet this time when she pulled him, he allowed her to guide him to the bed. As he sat on the edge of the feathered mattress, Rozlyn studied the ethereal ivory shade of his wings. A-ha ! She hurried and dug through her satchel until she found the perfect spool of thread that nearly matched.

As she plucked up the needle she’d used earlier, he furrowed his brow. “You’re not touching my wings with that.”

“How else did you imagine I would fix them?” Angling her head to the side, she held out her things to him and smiled politely. “This is the only way, but if you want, you can stitch them yourself. I’ll gladly sit back and wait until you beg for my assistance.”

Haven glanced over his shoulder at his wings, but it would, without a doubt, be a failed attempt if he used his own hands. His shadows could perhaps help, but she was certain they wouldn’t be as precise or give as much care to the task as she would.

“I suppose they can’t get any worse,” he relented and leaned forward, allowing her touch to begin.

“I’ll do my best,” Rozlyn promised while crawling behind him, her eyes fluttering when his pleasant citrusy scent washed over her. As she readied her needle, his wings remained tightly closed behind him. “But you have to open them,” she drawled.

His otherworldly wings curled open, and she observed their beauty, regardless of the jagged tears. She glided her fingers over them to get a feel of their surface, the way she would any fabric. They were as soft as velvet, a texture she could run the pads of her fingers across forever.

Haven shivered, and she snapped her hand back, drawing out of her staring spell. Rozlyn chewed her lip. “I can wait a moment if you need me to.”

“No,” he said, his voice more strained than usual. “Continue.”

As she held the thread beside his right wing, the color was close enough to make the lines resemble veins to blend in with the others. She brought his long, ivory hair over his shoulder, the strands like silk, so it wouldn’t get caught in her stitching. Her fingers brushed his neck, and he inhaled sharply.

Rozlyn lifted a layer of delicate membrane and pinched it gently to another section, then pushed the needle in. Haven sat rigid, and his breath barely escaped him, his shadows peeking out every so often. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t,” he whispered.

Rozlyn blinked. This was the first time he’d held such a light tone when responding to her. Had he liked her touch? Even though he was in love with another woman, that didn’t mean someone’s touch wouldn’t ignite a lustful reaction through them. Skin to skin, nerves against nerves, created pleasure. A warmth bloomed low in her stomach at the thought, but she couldn’t focus on such a fleeting emotion—she needed to heal the gargoyle side of Haven.

Tonight they would consummate and hopefully be a step closer to kissing the curse goodbye. No matter that Rozlyn had unknowingly been cursed too, that she was stuck in this tower—she wouldn’t want to trap him farther. As grumpy as he was, and even though Madam would tell her she shouldn’t, she realized she was starting to consider the Marquis of Shadows a friend.

“What are you planning to do with the coin you earn from your time with me?” Haven asked, his tone unreadable.

It was such a simple answer, a dream Rozlyn had held for years, that she continued to imagine every instance before falling asleep. “Open my own dress shop.” She beamed, not missing a beat as she worked the needle through his delicate skin, making sure the stitching was precise so it wouldn’t tear when he used his wings again.

“No more courtesan duties?”

“I’m a married woman now, remember ?” she sang. “A testy sorcerer shared his curse with me, and now I’m bound to him, so it seems I can only dream of the future.”

“It sounds like this sorcerer did what was necessary,” he said, his deep voice assured.

“Sometimes people are selfish.”

“Hmph.”

“But,” Rozlyn added. “While it might be necessary now, you have to consider what comes after.” Her thoughts turned to how Haven wanted revenge on the lord. It was his decision to make, his repercussions to face, not hers.

As she mended the rest of his right wing, he moved too much and she nearly sewed at a tragic angle. “Try not to wiggle like a worm,” she reprimanded.

A low growl escaped him, and she tsked, then continued sewing with clarity until the task was complete. Rozlyn tied off the string and studied her art. The stitched lines throughout the membranes gave them a unique design, not perfectly how they were meant to be but perhaps even more beautiful. “There. Good as new.” Her heart swelled with pride, her fingers itching to touch them but not only to feel the lines she’d made—to feel him .

Rozlyn tamped down her lust as she was taught to do during unnecessary times. Haven peered at his wings and his dark brows rose.

“A thank you would suffice.” Rozlyn grinned.

Haven lifted a few red strands of her hair that clung to his arm, and he rubbed them between his fingers. “If your dream is to own a dress shop, do you plan on doing away with your long hair?”

“Unless a certain sorcerer cuts too much and it doesn’t grow back”—she winked and stood from the bed, placing her hands on her hips—“then I’m keeping it. If you’re not too sore, try out your wings. I can adjust anything if you feel it uncomfortable.”

Haven edged to the center of the room and opened and closed his wings. He cracked them once, twice, then his form steadily levitated from the floor.

“No adjustments needed,” he said as his feet touched back down. “You did well.”

That was the perfect thank you for her.

“Oh, before I forget...” Rozlyn plucked the black knitted socks off the night table. In between reworking a dress, she’d made them while he’d been gone.

“What are those?” he asked as though she were holding a pile of scorpions out to him.

“I wanted to make something different.” She smiled, shaking them in front of his face. “And since you like black, you can have them. If you ever want a shirt and trousers made, I’d have to measure you properly for those.”

He furrowed his brow, his arms remaining at his sides.

“It’s all right—Iseult or Nightshade can have them then.” She shrugged and went to place the socks back on the night table when he took them from her hand.

“No, they’re mine,” he said gruffly.

“That’s what I thought.” Rozlyn grinned, then leaned into the following question. “So, what happens after tonight?” Yet she knew he would journey straight toward the castle to reunite with Vivienne. Her patrons always returned to their loved ones.

“I still require your hair until the curse completely fades. I’ll take one lock at daybreak and another at night, so you’ll travel with me across Souldark.” His tone didn’t sound thrilled about the revelation, but he didn’t seem to loath the idea either.

However, Rozlyn’s heart sped with giddiness since she wouldn’t have to linger in the tower. “We’ll protect one another.” If something happened to him, the curse could overtake her, and she didn’t know precisely what that would mean for her. Perhaps once Haven reached the castle and if he discovered Vivienne and the lord’s marriage to be a happy one, then he might give up on revenge.

And if he didn’t, it was still his decision to make.