Chapter 11
MAIZE
When the trail began to wind down from the mountains into a clearing, the air brittle with night frost, I realized hours had passed since we’d found Zagan’s message.
The unease of the moment, of feeling their eyes on us, was only intensified by the soft snow drifting thick through the air, the flakes catching in our hair and lashes as the world blurred white.
I was glad my familiars were safe, sound, and tucked away—both of them much preferring the warmth of their little pocket in my magic.
I honestly had no idea how that space worked, only that it existed somewhere between reality and me.
They didn’t function like my wings exactly, but somehow they were still a physical part of me, woven into the same threads of power that made me who I was.
Our new companion flitted above us, chirping contentedly as if it hadn’t been sent forth by the enemy to deliver a threat.
It truly was a baby, though—that much was obvious.
Outside of a few half-hearted hisses and the occasional attempt to bite someone’s glove, it was harmless.
And honestly? My initial analysis about how adorable it was kept growing in strength.
Philip raised his voice over the wind, trying to break the lingering tension. “I’m telling you, its name is Murder Muffin. It’s murderous and it looks like a muffin.”
“I love that,” Zed agreed immediately.
Chait snorted. “Absolutely not. Pip. It’s a Pip. Look at it.”
“I sort of like Pip,” Maddox said, his breath fogging the air.
“I can’t think of anything else,” Cannon rumbled, and Charm sighed in weary agreement.
I rolled my eyes, though I didn’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. “Fine. Pip. It fits.”
Valerio glanced up, his tone dry. “You could always keep Murder Muffin as a nickname, Philip.”
The man in question perked up instantly, clearly feeling vindicated. “Perfect. Pip Murder Muffin.”
“And we’ve named the spy,” Charm chuckled under his breath. “Maker, help us.”
Spy? Possibly. The creature could easily have been a trick from Zagan, something left behind to watch and listen. The thought of that bastard peering through its eyes made my stomach twist, but Valerio’s calm tone cut through the unease.
“Its magic is dormant,” he assured us, scanning the tiny thing with a flicker of pale light over his hand. “Just enchanted once; no active tether. Whoever created it left it behind.”
Pip let out a small, mournful chirp from above, as if offended by the accusation and the reminder of its abandonment.
Cannon shook his head at Valerio, cracking a smile. “Now look at what you did—he’s sad.”
Valerio scoffed but didn’t stop Pip from landing on his shoulder a few moments later.
“Even if that is the case…then fine.” I looked at the creature and gave it a smile. “We’ve got nothing to hide anyway. Especially if they already know we’re coming.”
As we pressed onward, our conversation dwindled, the snow swallowing all sound until even our voices felt distant.
The world had faded to a blur of white and silence.
Only the rhythmic crunch of hooves in the snow proved we were still moving.
Even Pip had gone quiet, burrowing into the warmth between Zed’s back and my chest, his tiny body trembling with each gust of wind.
“There!” Maddox called, raising a gloved hand and pointing downslope. Relief surged through me at the sight. The day had dragged on endlessly, the temperature dropping fast to the point that we were experiencing a kind of cold that chewed through fabric and skin alike.
“It’s something,” Zed murmured, sounding less than impressed—and honestly, I didn’t blame him.
Half-buried in snow and stone stood what remained of a military outpost, battered and nearly in ruin.
A squat building and one leaning tower still stood, its roof half-caved, the walls scorched and pitted from some long-forgotten battle.
The scent of char lingered, faint but persistent, even through the cold.
We led the horses into the smaller structure, dismounted, and tied them near the entrance to keep them sheltered from the wind.
Inside, the air was stale. Broken weapons littered the floor, and rusted armor leaned in pieces against the walls.
Faded maps lay scattered across a warped table, the ink smeared into unrecognizable blotches.
“Home sweet home,” Chait muttered.
The others moved to secure the two buildings, dragging what remained of a wooden door into place. The hinges groaned in protest as they wedged it shut, sealing out the worst of the wind.
Outside, something howled in the distance. The predatory and guttural sound sent a ripple through the group. Pip tucked his wings tight and burrowed into Charm’s hood, trembling.
“Best we stay inside,” Valerio murmured. “Let’s see how much of the tower is usable and if there’s anything left we can burn for a fire.”
I nodded, glancing toward the cracked wall as the wind screamed like a feral beast, echoing through the hollow structure.
The fire we managed to eventually build was small and stubborn, its flames licking at the damp wood and hissing in protest. Even so, we all huddled near it, grateful for whatever warmth it offered.
My breath fogged the air, the cold sinking deep into my bones.
I found myself wishing we were back in the previous outpost, which at least had had walls that didn’t whistle with every gust.
Once we scavenged through the tower, we managed to insulate the bottom floor with old planks and debris, adding a secondary fire so that the space felt almost livable. Not that any of my mates planned to sleep.
They might have been exhausted, but this place had them all on edge.
It was only an hour or so later that I finally decided to try lying down. I wasn’t surprised when Charm joined me, his gaze sweeping over me with quiet concern.
“I promise I’m fine,” I said softly, kicking off my boots and heavy jacket before crawling under the blanket of my bedroll. Charm did the same, and the simple act of him settling sent a wave of warmth through my chest.
“I’m not,” he admitted after a moment, tugging me gently against him. I buried my head against his muscular chest, breathing in the faint scent of smoke and pine that clung to him.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“I mean,” he said, “the idea of you walking toward a god—into his trap—is terrifying, birdy.”
I inhaled, my throat tight. “I know. And I… I don’t have a plan yet. I just know he has to be stopped. I was thinking maybe I’d try to contact Balor.”
Charm’s hand slid beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. His expression softened, his thumb brushing my jaw. “First,” he murmured, “some rest.”
Rest didn’t come easily. I stared into the fire for hours, Charm’s chest pressed solidly against my back. His breathing eventually turned deep and even, and he seemed to slip into sleep with infuriating ease.
You’re squirming, birdy. Rest.
The words rumbled low against the shell of my ear, pulling me back from the edge of a waking dream.
His breath was warm where it brushed my skin, a striking contrast to the icy air seeping through the cracks in the stone walls.
I wasn’t fully awake anymore, caught in that soft, hazy place where the world blurred and every sensation felt amplified.
Charm’s hand was a searing brand on my stomach.
It was a heavy, comforting weight smoothing absently over the stiff leather of my riding pants. The fire popped and crackled, sending flickers of orange light dancing across the room, and I let my eyes drift shut again, sinking back into the heat and the sound of his steady breathing behind me.
In.
Out.
I was pressed against the solid wall of his chest, his legs tucked behind mine. The heat of him was everywhere, a furnace chasing away the cold. And then his hand moved.
Not smoothing anymore, but exploring.
A slow, deliberate circle over my navel, the pad of his thumb dipping just below the waistband of my leathers. Every nerve in my body, half-asleep and pliant, snapped to attention as my breathing stuttered.
A low, soft sound escaped me, and I arched my back just a fraction, pressing myself more firmly into his touch. Into him. I felt the hard ridge of him, already straining against his pants, press into the small of my back.
Maker. The knowledge of how turned on he was, of the effect my slightest movement had on him, sent a bolt of pure lightning straight to my core. I squirmed again, a deliberate, slow grind against him this time.
With a harsh intake of breath behind me, his hand stilled. “Can’t sleep, Birdy?” His voice was thicker now, laced with a dark amusement that made my toes curl. “I can feel you. Every twitch. Every little sigh.”
I kept my eyes closed, playing the game, but a smile threatened to break free.
His teeth found the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder, not biting but grazing, as a shiver wracked my body.
His free hand came up, calloused fingers skimming the side of my breast through the cold material of my tunic.
I sucked in a breath, the game forgotten.
“Charm…” I breathed out, my tone twisting to make his name sound like a plea.
“How can I help you sleep? Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his hand cupping my breast fully now, his thumb finding my nipple and pressing down through the layers. A jolt of pure need shot through me. It was too much and not enough. The shirt was a frustrating barrier, and he knew it.
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.” His voice was a soft command.
My thoughts stalled completely. Instead of responding, I reached back, my fingers fumbling for the button of his pants, but he caught my wrist effortlessly, pinning it to the cot beside us. “Words, Maize”
Frustration and desire coiled tight within me. “Touch me. Please, Charm.”