Untethering Dark

Chapter Twenty-Nine

To kill those you swore to protect, the ones you loved, to keep others safe, was not a choice Astrid would wish on anyone. The decision haunted the forest god—she could see it in the way he hunched over, shrunk in on himself.

No wonder he lived so long alone. Dedicated his life to hunting and protecting the forest. It would never hurt him. Never disappoint him. The only love that wouldn’t cause him pain.

In the wake of Astrid’s greatest hurts, she had Perchta. But who took care of Gudarīks? The answer tore her heart apart. No one. No one had taken care of him.

I won’t hurt you, she wanted to say—she would rather claw out her own heart than cause him pain—but the words clogged in her throat.

“My parents weren’t good people,” Astrid said after a time, picking fuzz off her mittens. “I watched Perchta slit open their bellies, pull out their entrails, and still I went with her into the forest. I can’t speak for those children, but the way I see it, you gave them a chance for a better life. To grow up away from evil and have a real shot at happiness.”

“I cannot tell you how much I wish that could be true. Give humans enough time and they sour, poisoning everything they touch,” Gudarīks said, and the watery wavering of his voice surprised her. It was a jaded, callous sentiment, said as grief and heartbreak flared. For all Astrid’s frustrations and grumblings, she couldn’t help but think of Johanna and Suri in this moment, and how the very best of humanity gave them to her, and that the world was better to have them in it.

“I’ve seen it more times than I’d like to say,” he continued. “And each time I feel myself growing colder to them. I don’t hate them, but my patience for thoughtlessness is thin, even thinner for cruelties, and humans have been abundantly guilty of both. When someone missteps, they need to be held accountable or nothing changes.”

“That is true, but I think most are just trying to live their lives. Thoughtlessness is more rampant than cruelty.” Defending humans was weird. She had little patience for rudeness herself. Maybe it was her short years, but she could still see humans as individuals, rather than the wildly innovative and extremely violent sum of their species over the past twelve thousand years.

“I’m sorry. It’s easiest to remember the worst, and time has embittered me.”

“You saved those children. Like Perchta saved me. You’re allowed to have your regrets, but this shouldn’t be one of them.” Threading her fingers through his, Astrid drew his hand into her lap, soothing tense muscle with the pad of her thumb in slow, steady strokes. His fur was short and velvety smooth, so pleasing to the touch. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He lightly brushed the back of her knuckles with the rounded side of a claw. “Remembering isn’t as bad with you here. I’ve never had someone to talk to. It just festered and festered until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“What did you do when it got that bad?”

“Curled up right here and let sleep take me. Sometimes for decades, but usually for centuries. Although it’s always helped me settle and reset, it’s been a while since my last long rest. The humans are changing so much, so fast. I’m afraid that the next time I fall asleep for that long, I won’t recognize the world I wake up to.” Squeezing her hand, his next words were whispered. “But I’m even more afraid that you wouldn’t be there.”

Astrid hastily wiped the moisture from her eyes. “You can always talk to me. Always. And I will be here.”

“Astrid.” Gudarīks hung his head, voice pained. “You’re not...”

“I was human once.” She was not going to let him finish that grim thought. “But I’m not anymore, not fully. I was quite young when I chose the hag’s path and began training for it. It won’t be long now until it’s finished. My life won’t be a short one.”

“Good.” He cradled her hand in both of his, as if she were precious. “When you first spoke to me and didn’t run, I was compelled by your courage, but looking back, I think some part of me remembered there was more to life than just the hunt. That I needed and wanted companionship, too.”

“It’s yours,” she whispered, and cupping his bony cheek, turned his face so that she could stare into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

“We picked a fortuitous time to meet, didn’t we?” He chuckled darkly, but leaned into her touch, seeking comfort in it. “We should be exploring what this is between us, getting lost in each other. Not curbing human ruthlessness.”

They had a little time they could steal back for themselves.

“We have today, tomorrow even, if we want it,” she said. “Mutter is working on a containment spell, and I’ve already begun taking the steps toward my final transformation.”

If it weren’t for this looming threat, she’d wait a little, see if what they’d started might grow into something solid and steady. Not decades or centuries, but months, maybe a year. What was a little more time when waiting for someone special? Someone who thawed a frozen piece of yourself that you never knew was there.

A deep pang of longing yawned open in her chest. But there was ferocity, too.

“You’re not alone in this.” I won’t let you stand alone.

“But the things they’re capable of, I can’t ask you to risk yourself...”

She cut him off. “You haven’t. I’m telling you that in days, I will become a hag, and your enemies will be slain, by my hand and yours. They will pay for what they’ve done twice over.”

If he thought he could argue this, he was about to learn the lengths of her stubbornness. One did not become a hag on a whim. It was a life pursuit, a devotion. When Astrid committed to something, it was final—and besides, what good was newfound power if not to protect the ones she loved and cared about? It wasn’t just Gudarīks who needed her to take a stand, or even Mutter. It was Suri, Johanna, and all the other forest rangers.

“They’ll rue the day.” His gaze raked over her like hot coals. In a voice thick with gravel, he said, “Whatever you need to complete the ritual, I’ll give it.”

Did he know how hags were made? Or was this just a blanket offer of help?

She wanted him to know what he was saying and mean it. She wanted it to be him.

Demos would make a fine partner, but he didn’t have her heart. And while the final ritual didn’t require it, a lifelong devotion powered by equal, fervent passion would make the spell more potent...but more than anything, it would be a memory to cherish all her days.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” she began, taking a steadying breath. “And the decision of whether to accept is completely yours.” There was more than one way to complete the ritual, and it could be quite pleasant if he consented to help, if he was willing to give up a piece of himself.

He reangled his body, claws curling around her waist. “Tell me.” It was a demand as much as a plea. Maybe he did know, and maybe he wanted it, which made asking a little easier.

“To power the ritual, I need to generate strong enough magic. The kind that comes either with sacrifice or seduction—and I’d prefer the latter. There’s energy in giving and taking pleasure, and even more in siphoning off a life-creating act. A child won’t come of it, but when the time comes, just by attempting to breed me...”

“Liebling,” he breathed, guiding her onto his lap, her thighs bracketing his hips. “I’d be honored.”

Heat spiked in her at the contact, and at him stirring beneath her. Just the act of touching him made sweat bead along the back of her neck.

“That you’d choose me, when I suspect, you’d another offering the same—it means a lot that you’d trust me with this.”

Her breath caught, and she searched his eyes, trying to read the emotion there. Not even a glint of jealousy or anger. Just warmth.

He meant it.

Swallowing, she said, “I wanted it to be you, that night you helped me replant my garden, but I didn’t dare hope we’d be ready in time, and I couldn’t rush it. This threat, and needing my full powers...”

He pressed a claw to her lips. “I know.”

“But how? I never said.”

“Just moments ago, when you said you’d be a hag in days, there wasn’t a shred of doubt. For as well as things have been going between us, you couldn’t know I’d say yes, not with that level of certainty. And it showed when you did ask.” He brushed his thumb along the pulse point of her neck. “Your heartbeat quickened, almost like you were afraid.”

“I should’ve told you sooner.” Regret stung like a swarm of bees in her chest. He’d deserved to know from the outset. “I’m sorry.”

“While I would’ve preferred that, this is something you’ve been planning most of your life. How could I expect you’d not have it worked out from start to finish? And who am I to give or deny you permission to fulfil your life’s purpose in whatever way necessary?”

“You’re too forgiving.”

“And I want to kiss you but don’t know how.” Lifting one long, wicked claw, Gudarīks gently traced the outline of her lips. “Even though I don’t have these, I can’t stop thinking about putting my mouth on yours.”

Dancing her fingers along his mouth and jaw, Astrid mapped out the terrain of where flesh met bone. Below the skull face and the pointed bit where a snout would be, there was padded flesh, lightly furred like what one might expect in Werwolfen. He must have nerve endings there.

If she angled her head just right...

“I think we can make it work,” she murmured, gaze dipping to the spot. Tilting his head for better access, Astrid pressed her lips to the fleshy parts around his mouth. With a sharp intake of breath, he wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her flush, firmly notching them together.

Desire tore through her, sank its teeth into her flesh. Barely touched and yet quivering with such a sweet ache. Proposal or not, that they could’ve had each other already were they not interrupted the night before made her desperate to rectify the situation.

She teased the seam of Gudarīks’s mouth with her tongue, hoping he’d grant her entrance, but delighted when he licked into her mouth instead, tasting, savoring, caressing with short, languid strokes. As claws entangled in her hair, silvery white strands wound around onyx, she smoothed her hands over his bony cheeks up to the base of his antlers, grasping, kneading.

A long, deep groan rumbled from Gudarīks, his cock twitching where it was pinned between their bodies. “We should practice.”

“Hmm?”

“Need to get my part right. For the ritual.”

Practice. He wanted to practice fucking her.

Another wave of heat flooded through Astrid, making her ache fiercely. Not just from needing him inside her, working in tandem toward a blissful end, but to show him with more than words that he wasn’t alone. Didn’t ever have to be alone, not as long as she was here. She’d be his constant, his comfort. The one he turned to when the past preyed on the present.

And if he let her, she’d help him make new memories. Good ones.

They could be so very good together.

“Practice, good idea.”

As he plunged his tongue deeper, it split down the center in a wet glide.

Round and round the two halves coiled, forming a tight sheath around her tongue.

Cradling her cheeks, he encouraged a bobbing motion, to mirror the act to come with their mouths. Astrid gripped him hard by the antlers, and in time to the gyrations she bestowed upon his lap, she thrust in her tongue.

She felt the silken slide of his fingers across her thighs before they snaked into her waistband and under her coat—dutifully lavishing every aching bit of her with attention and yet careful not to prick her with any of his edges.

Unraveling his tongue, Gudarīks broke their kiss to say, “You’re getting hotter.” He inhaled deeply, bony snout nestling in the curve of her neck. “And your smell is irresistible, like holly and winter berries. Do you want me inside you, little witch? To pick up where we left off yesterday? Because I’m yours for the taking.”

“Desperately.”

Astrid pulled the mittens from her hands and unzipped her coat. Once she shrugged off her outer layers, he whisked her sweater over her head and shucked off her bra. Using his shoulders as leverage, she stood so that he could divest her of her boots and pants. She was naked when she returned to his lap, and there she painted her belly like Mutter instructed with dirt from the floor. Spoke the words of the contraceptive spell.

“I dreamt about this,” she murmured, palming his shaft. “And I ached for you. That’s why the Pl?tzchen were so potent.”

He groaned, cupping her chin, claws deliciously framing her face. “Wicked words, witch. Tell me, how did you imagine we’d fuck?”

“I thought I’d give myself like an offering,” she whispered, lining him up with her entrance. “Bend over the tree stump, let you hike up my nightgown and rut.”

Pressing his forehead to hers, his breath hitched. As she spread her labia with her fingers, clearing the path forward, he rocked gently upward, earning every gained centimeter with a tender rolling of his knuckles against her clit. “I’d like that.”

But they didn’t rush this beginning, when the give of flesh wasn’t as forgiving, and the friction not yet exquisite. Each careful stroke brought them closer.

“Almost.” She furrowed her brow at a bit of resistance, the angle not quite right.

He lifted her up then, palms cupping, squeezing her bottom, and tilted her hips just so, easing that final slide to the hilt. “There, how’s that?”

“Mmm.” Lashes fluttering closed in satisfaction, she rolled her hips. An undulation so slow and sweet, meant to savor each decadent glide. The press of skin to skin, muscle to muscle. Though no stranger to fucking, there was more happening between them than need and a race toward an explosive end. Astrid wanted to take her time, relish every sensation.

“Beautiful witch,” he said, moving her hands to his antlers. “Give yourself some leverage.”

She stretched to reach a set of prongs, but stilled as she clasped her fingers around them, ridged and whorled. Could they bear weight? Pain could be nice, but there was a difference between exquisite ache and discomfort.

“They can take it.” He chuckled and nuzzled between her breasts. All her stretching had offered them up to him like a feast. A touch that was all cold bone and hard fangs, offset only by the puff of hot breath on skin.

Dread quivered deep in her stomach at this meeting of sharp points against vulnerable flesh, but just as powerful, if not more so, was the rush of pleasure that shot up her spine, arching her into him. Two opposing instincts that shouldn’t blend so well together, but like salt and sugar in dough, they did.

Spiked adrenaline, fear, and lust raced through her veins, increased by the pounding of her heart.

Gudarīks inhaled deeply, chasing scent with taste by the wet slide of his tongue, lavishing each pliable hill and valley. A sound like rolling thunder rumbled from the back of his throat that should have been terrifying, but all she could hear in it was happiness.

“I have acquired such a taste for you,” he purred, hitching her up. “Take my antlers into your hands, hold them while you ride. Yank them when you want my tongue elsewhere, but whatever you do, don’t restrain yourself for fear of hurting me.”

She trusted him to know his own body, its capabilities and wants. After all, she’d demand the same from him, to trust her desire for pleasure equal parts gentle and rough.

Grip tightening, she pulled herself up.

The leverage was helpful. A welcome respite from a building burn in her thighs as she fell into a rhythmic rise and fall upon his lap, torturously slow and sweet.

“That’s it.” He tilted his head back, watching her with a heavy, hooded gaze. “There’s a good witch.”

His hands roamed up her back. It began with a careful skim along the spine, but trekked higher, cupping shoulders next, then her cheeks.

She rose high upon his length, almost extracting herself fully, then ground down to the hilt, eliciting a throaty groan rough as gravel from his mouth.

“Does that feel good, Gudarīks?” She repeated the motion, each stroke more caress than thrust.

Raising his arms above his head, Gudarīks dug his claws into the natural rock ledge behind him, holding on as he rotated his hips beneath hers, giving back as much as she did in their sensual, undulating dance.

Who knew slow could alight her nerves so perfectly from tingling tongue to clenching toes?

“I’m spellbound,” he breathed. “Utterly bewitched.”

Warmth flooded her chest, but she kept the fuzzy feelings to herself and cupped his chin, crooning, “Not enough if you can speak coherently.”

It was as good as a promise, and one by one, she let her fingers fall to his throat, very lightly squeezing the neck muscles from the sides to suggest restricting airflow. “Is this okay?”

His cock throbbed within her. “Yes,” he rasped. “More even.”

“I’ve been on the giving and receiving ends of breath play many times,” she explained, searching his eyes for any hint of reluctance or discomfort. Getting consent, establishing boundaries, and deciding on a way to end the play was absolutely necessary, immortal lover or not. “I won’t squeeze much harder than this, but you can just say ‘stop’ or tap my leg if you want me to let go.”

Two fiery eyes stared back at her, blazing with challenge and excitement. “I agree to these terms.”

Kissing his bony cheek, Astrid applied more pressure and continued to roll her hips in torturously slow, needy circles. She watched the tension build in him, a steady climb, muscles bunching, spine tightening.

Pleasure shivered through her.

He sucked in a breath and held it. Even with her fingers clasped on either side of his windpipe, he kept holding it, craving more restriction than what she gave. After counting out thirty seconds in her head, she whispered into one fuzzy, pointed ear, “Breathe, love, I’ve got you.”

His chest rose and fell with an obedient ragged shudder, only to still again, breath held once more.

Maintaining light pressure on his neck, Astrid rode him harder, faster, needing to watch him unravel beneath her, and gave breathing reminders. Yet it was the forest king who did not relent, the pistoning of his hips evoking dizzying pleasure.

Claws pierced rock as hooves slipped off bedding, scrabbling for purchase on the ground. His upward thrusts when he regained his footing were wild and erratic.

“Want me to stop?”

“No,” he growled, shaking his head. She had to duck to avoid the swing of his antlers. “So close.”

At this rigorous pace, it’d be moments. For him. For her.

Her heart hammered wildly against her rib cage.

“Come for me, Gudarīks,” she whispered, lips ghosting his cheek. “Have your finish.”

Everything in him seized—muscles strained, claws clenched—and then with a tattered sigh the dam released. Warmth rushed into her, pulse after pulse.

Clinging to him desperately, grasping fingers locked in fur, she shattered, her body greedily taking his offering. The orgasm that ripped through her shocked her into silence.

This was more than colliding bodies. This was the collision of hearts and souls.

She knew it in how desperately she wanted to curl up with him, kissing, whispering, and giggling in the dark, long after reaching pinnacle satisfaction.

All at once, they slumped together, utterly boneless.

She withdrew her hand from his neck. “Good?”

With a sated, rumbling laugh, he scooped his arms around her, bowing his forehead to hers. “More than. You?”

“More than,” she agreed, stifling a yawn.

His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Putting you to sleep, am I?”

“Sorry.” The yawn escaped anyway, and she curled against his chest, content to fall asleep there. “Haven’t been sleeping enough.” Eyeing her pile of clothes, she wrinkled her nose at the idea of putting them back on and trudging home. But she needed the rest.

Smooth claw charted a slow path down her cheek. “Stay.”

Was that a command or a plea? Hard to tell through the rough rasp of his voice. And she didn’t want to go. Didn’t need to go. Fritz and Liesel had enough food laid out for them to last until tomorrow morning, and she didn’t need to take her next dose of hag potion until then anyway. So why not stay and nurture this budding thing between them, whatever it was?

“I’m sure I can be persuaded,” she answered softly. In truth, it would take very little to do so, her mind already as good as made up.

He laid her on top his nest of blankets, and then, sliding back, parted her thighs as he whispered, “At least let me clean you up.”

Oh, Mutter Holle, yes please.

She nodded, fingers winding around his antlers as he settled between her knees and bent to the task of lapping up the beautiful mess they made. He did such thorough work of it, it wasn’t long before she was pulling his head closer, bucking her hips against his mouth, and falling apart all over again.

“Satisfied?” he teased.

“Mmm, for now.”

Sleepily, they burrowed beneath the blankets. Fleeces and wools of various colors and brands, no doubt collected off hikers foolish enough to stay after dark.

Tucking her into the crook of his body, Gudarīks pulled a set of covers over them, though she wasn’t sure she’d need all of them. His body radiated a toasty aura. Shoving a pillow beneath his neck as he lay down, he tilted his head ever so slightly away from her, so as not to smack her in the face with his antlers.

“Never used to think you slept,” she murmured, already sinking into the darkness of sleep.

He combed his claws through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Don’t need to, but I do when I want the bliss of oblivion. Sleep is a small escape from eternity.”

That sounded lonely. Burrowing deeper into his embrace, she said, “So you’re immortal then?”

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “There aren’t any others like me, so I’ve no point of reference. But after all this time? I’m inclined to think so. If I haven’t yet withered away from age and nothing’s been strong enough to kill me...” The weight of that admission fell between them.

Not knowing the true extent of one’s lifespan, having no concept of when or if the end would come...the uncertainty would be maddening. But he bore it all, just him, a garden, and pilfered books to while away the endless days when he wasn’t stalking through the trees, punishing those who encroached the boundaries of his clemency.

The village’s descent and destruction was all the more devastating for it. He had people. Trusted humans. Only to be proven again and again the volatility of their nature, how wildly it swung between good and incredible evil. Love, hurt, loss, these emotions weren’t exclusive to humans, and Gudarīks, for all his mighty strength and ferocity, wasn’t immune to them. Twelve thousand years and he still felt keenly.

Many human stories painted grisly pictures of monsters. While they were true, they only ever focused on the sharp edges, never on the softness that was there, too. She’d seen it with Mutter, and again with Gudarīks.

Perhaps cold and cruel wasn’t all she’d be, her emotions whetted, rather than dulled by time.

“I’ll become a hag soon,” she said softly, letting the magnitude of that choice hang in the air. They, too, were known to live for thousands of years.

Decades would become centuries, and centuries would become millennia. She’d never really thought about that endless stretch of time ahead, only focused on the present, but she saw how content a life Perchta lived—was still living.

Time never scared her. But loneliness? That she wouldn’t allow. Not for him, and most certainly not for herself.

“If Mutter’s anyone to go by,” she continued, trying for a lightly teasing tone, “you’re stuck with me for at least the next couple thousand years.”

He settled into her, pressing the long slope of his bony face to the back of her neck, inhaling deep. “That’s quite a commitment.”

She pulled his arm across her middle, and threading her fingers with his, clutched their clasped hands to her chest. “Mmm. That sounded presumptuous. I just meant that I’ll be around a long time, and the future is full of possibility, isn’t it?”

He squeezed her tight. “It is.”

It sounded a lot like hope.