Chapter 29
Maddox
“The only cure for a plague of lies is truth.”
— A Seelie Guide to Happiness
If I did not need to see Nia Quill safely returned to Rosehill, I would curl up on this ground and let myself waste away to dust. Once she is home, I will fling myself off the bridge once more and hope I do not wake again.
From the moment I saw her at the well, I have longed for her hands on my body, but not like that. At least it no longer feels as if my cock is going to burn off.
Small victories.
Nia has not stopped talking in the hour since the incident occurred.
From her flow of words, I have learned that she prefers cats to dogs, does not like cherries, and once had her blue ribbons stolen by her nemesis, Ivee Lynch. The same female who took her Nolan.
I am not certain if she is distracting me from my humiliation or herself from disgust.
Offering to remove her clothes to make us “even.”
That is an offer I never thought I would receive, let alone have the strength to refuse. I would have liked this very much, more than anything I can think of at present, but not under these pitiful circumstances.
I want Nia disrobed because her desire matches my own, not to make me feel less humiliated.
At this point, I am not even sure that is possible.
We come across more bushes, and her one-sided conversation turns to fruit. While I wait for Nia to fill her skirt pockets with berries, I find the one thing that could make this day worse.
Tracks.
Nia comes up beside me, her fingertips grazing my arm. “What is it?”
“Wolves.” At least two. Larger than the one that nearly got the better of me last week.
This night, we will need to find somewhere other than the shore to make camp.
I cannot go another full night without sleep, but asking Nia to stand guard with clear signs of wolves near is not a risk I am willing to take.
Nia clings tightly to my arm as I scan the foliage for bloodred eyes. “What should we do?” she whispers.
Ahead, the canyon walls pinch together, squeezing the river and erasing the shore. We will have to press our backs against the cliff to keep from falling into the water. If the space grows any tighter, we will need to swim.
With the current moving so fast, I will need all my strength to keep my head above water. Meaning there is no hope of me keeping our clothes or our kindling dry, even in my rucksack.
There is no way of knowing how far it will be before we reach a proper shoreline.
If there even is another shore.
As I struggle to find a solution to these problems, wetness splatters my shoulder. Rain.
The skies have been threating precipitation since the day we landed here, and it chooses this moment to make good on its promise.
The decision has been made for me. “We must keep going.”
“It’s almost dark. You said it’s dangerous to travel in the dark.”
“Yes, but it is more dangerous to remain in a death bowl.” Seelie fae were taught about pie, while Unseelie fae learned about all the ways we could die.
“What the hell is a death bowl?”
“It is where we are standing.” I tug her forward. “If the rain continues to fall, the river will rise. Do you see how small the gap is up ahead? The rising water will have no choice but to swallow the shore.”
“You think it’s going to flood here?”
“If there is too much rain, yes.” And with no way to escape the canyon, we are sure to be washed away.
We reach where the cliff meets the river, the waves capped in white. I remove my belt and fashion it into a loop. “Put your arm through here,” I tell her. “This will keep us from losing each other.”
Once her arm is hooked through the gap, I put mine in as well.
“Ready?”
Nia nods and then follows me into the river.
The current may be swift, but I am not so easily swept aside. With Nia hooked to me, we keep our backs to the damp cliff walls, wading through the dimness as the rain pelts us from above.
There is one light at the end of this very bleak tunnel.
A cropping of rocks clings to the side of the cliff up ahead. If we are careful, we might be able to scale the stones and spend the night there.
“Do you see that ledge?”
She peers around me, squinting up at the cliff as rain pelts her face and streams like tears down her cheeks. “The one way up there?”
“Yes. That is where we will spend this night.”
“Oh, no. I can’t do that.”
“We do not have a choice.” Each moment that passes brings more darkness and more rain. We can stay there and reassess our journey after a good night’s sleep.
“I’m afraid of heights, Maddox.”
What is this fear of heights? She has not mentioned it before. “The bridge was very high, far higher than that ledge.”
“And I was terrified every step I took.”
“Why did you cross it if you were afraid?”
“Because I wanted to find you.”
The water begins to rise, climbing to my chest. I grit my teeth and trudge forward.
The closing darkness will be the least of our worries if we do not reach that ledge. I will blindfold her and carry her up if I must. “You could have waited until I returned to Rosehill.”
“I wasn’t sure you were ever coming back,” she roars over the crashing waves. Water sluices down her forehead. Her cheeks. “Can we keep going until we reach the shore?”
There is no telling how much longer this canyon will remain this thin. We should have stopped after the nettles. I swipe away the raindrops clinging to my face only to have more take their place. “I do not think I can go much farther. I have not slept and—”
“Why haven’t you slept?”
Who would have protected us? The stones? “Someone needed to keep watch.”
Her expression hardens. “I could’ve done it.”
“You were tired.”
“So were you!”
There is no time for this argument. She can shout at me to her heart’s content once we are safe.
We continue in silence, the river creeping higher and higher. By the time we reach the stones leading to the ledge, the water is kissing Nia’s chin.
I slide my belt from around my arm and shift her in front of me to block the current so she can climb.
Suddenly, the ground beneath us begins to shake.
Nia’s gaze snaps to mine. “Do you feel that?”
This is not good. “Climb, Nia. Quickly.”
“I . . . I can’t.”
I take her by the shoulders, hating the way she trembles. That I am asking her to do something she fears so much. “You can do this. I will not let anything happen to you. I swear this. Just keep climbing.”
She grips the rock, pulling herself out of the water. I follow, ready to catch her if she slips.
The ground shudders so hard, I lose my footing. My knee slams against the boulder; sharp pain shoots up my leg.
We are moving too slowly. “A little faster.”
Nia stumbles for the next cropping of stones. “Why is the ground shaking?”
“Keep moving.”
A wall of water rushes down the canyon, ripping the stones where we stood only a moment ago straight off the cliff wall.
“Don’t stop,” I shout.
Let her reach the ledge. Let her make it.
“Almost there.” A few more steps and she will be safe. Just a few more—
A violent shake rattles my very bones. I shove Nia forward, onto the ledge, just as the ground vanishes beneath my boots. I manage to catch myself on the edge, but the earth is little more than dust, crumbling under my grip.
A hand wraps around my wrist as the water tears at my dangling legs.
We are not high enough. We are not going to make it.
Fear and defiance burn in Nia’s amber gaze.
I shove my boot into the stone and push with all my strength, up and onto the ledge, collapsing next to Nia. Our chests heave and fall in time, as if my lungs are her lungs.
We made it.
She shoves her hair back from where the sopping curls stick to her brow.
We are lucky to be alive. If I had not seen the ledge . . . If we had not already started to climb before that wave came through—
I drag both my hands down my face. We are alive.
For now.
The ledge leads to a small overhang large enough for us both to escape the pounding rain. The space is damp, but it will have to do for now.
We have no other choice.
Nia waits at the entrance, a pale, trembling hand pressed to the wall as she stares out at the raging river. “What if the water gets higher?”
“It will not.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have made a promise to return you to Rosehill, and I do not intend to break it.”
I empty the contents of my pockets and rucksack onto the dusty floor so they might have a chance to dry. The moss and kindling I’ve collected are useless. Not that it matters when there is nothing to burn.
Nothing but the paper the list was written on.
Carefully, I unfold it. The ink drips down the page, the words written there barely legible.
Nia empties her own pockets of the berries, many squished and inedible. She insists on giving me more than she takes for herself, and we eat in silence to the song of the pouring rain, neither of us mentioning how every drop brings us one step closer to our demise.
With our hunger far from satisfied, I suggest stripping down to only the essentials so our clothes might have a chance to dry. This night will be cold enough without being wrapped in wet fabric.
I carry my trousers to the doorway and wring the moisture from the tired fabric.
Nia steps out to do the same, the straps on her bra slipping down her slender shoulders. “How long do you think it will take for the river to go down?”
“Not long.”
“Really?”
I nod. Not because I am confident in my prediction but because I know that if the river does not go down soon, we will starve.
I hate the feeling of my damp pants against my skin but do not wish to expose myself to Nia a second time this day. The first was already awful enough.
We return to our meager collection of sopping supplies and sink to the ground in defeat.
Nia hugs her knees to her chest, skin riddled with goosebumps and teeth starting to chatter.
“You are cold.” And I cannot even build a fire to warm her.
“Aren’t you?”
Being near this female makes my blood simmer. I do not think I could be cold if I were buried in a mound of snow. I shake my head. “You can come closer. I promise I will not bite.”
This makes her chuckle; the husky sound warms me even more.
She shifts until the side of her body presses against mine. So soft. So cold.
I stretch an arm around her shoulders, folding her into my warmth. She melts into me, her trembling slowly fading.
“How are you so warm?” She rubs her cheek against my shoulder. I do not think she even realizes she is doing it.
Her hands flatten against my chest.
I hiss out a breath, not because her fingers are cold as ice but because her touch is like a strike of my blade to flint.
She’s not touching me like this because she wants to, I remind myself. She is only desperate for heat.
At least that is what I think until her nose trails along my throat, and she whispers, “You smell nice.”
Maybe this is not only about heat after all.
I dare to breathe in the scent of the springy curls atop her head. Just as soft and luxurious as I imagined. “So do you.” I do not understand how it is possible, but bathing in river water has only enhanced her scent.
“Maddox . . .” There is something different about her tone. Something foreign and yet familiar.
“Hmmm?”
She raises her eyes to mine, and even in the dim light, they still shine. Her curious hands trail down my chest to the fresh scar on my ribs. “We need to talk.”
Talking is the last thing on my mind, but if conversation is what Nia Quill wants, then conversation she will have.
“Do you want me to tell you more sad stories from my life?”
She laughs again. “Maybe later.” Her eyes glitter as she draws back. “First, I’d like to discuss your lie.”