Chapter 19
Ruadan
The case had gone cold. We hadn’t made a single advancement in the case in weeks.
It was bound to happen when the perpetrator was a literal goddess who could simply disappear into her little pocket dimension and close the door in our faces.
The good news was that she’d also stopped tricking her little human puppets into letting her take over their bodies.
“I just don’t get why,” Uly griped, head stuck in the fridge as he shuffled around the jars as if hoping to find something new.
I angled my head and enjoyed the view of his lush ass as he bent over.
He’d been eating more to round out his diet since he hadn’t been consuming sins, and I loved the softness his body had begun to take on.
“Don’t overthink it, love. Apate was likely just bored.
It’s a pretty common state for us immortals to find ourselves in.
It’s why gods tend to have lots of sex. From what Cameron said, it’s possible she just likes to create chaos.
Or maybe she gets a little boost to her powers when she toys with humans. Who knows? Does it matter?”
“No, I guess not.” He pulled out a jar of sweet chili sauce and took off the lid, sniffing it, before making a face and putting it back in the fridge. “Do you think that’s the last we’ll see of her then?”
I snorted. “Not likely, though time moves differently for immortals. She might stage a comeback next week, or we might not hear a peep out of her for a hundred years or more. Either way, we’ll be ready for her.
” I wasn’t sure how true that last part was.
I was no closer to figuring out what to do with her, even if I did get my hands on her.
It wasn’t like we could simply lock her up in prison.
“The real question,” I drawled, getting up from my spot at the table to come up behind him, rubbing my growing erection against his ass, “is what on earth you’re looking for in the fridge.”
He wiggled his hips against my cock playfully. “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you when I find it.”
With his back turned, he couldn’t see the concerned look on my face that I quickly buried when he turned around, hugging a jar of spicy pickles.
“Found it!” he said, giving me a quick kiss before he went to the stove and started making…
Actually, I had no idea what monstrosity he was making with the dubious assortment of ingredients he had laid out on the counter.
“Can I help?” I offered, because that was what mates did. They committed themselves to abetting any crime their mate committed, even against our own taste buds.
“Sure. Can you grate this?” He passed me an entire ginger root and a grater.
I got to work, grating, chopping, stirring, whatever task he assigned me, without once asking what he was making.
I was still learning what it meant to be mated to a sin-eater.
Was this normal behavior, eating noxious flavor combinations at all hours of the day and night?
I could feel the bond between us, and it seemed stable, but still, I had to ask…
“So…” I began, dipping a toe into the water of a conversation where I was so out of my depth, I was liable to drown. “I’ve noticed you’re hungrier lately. Does that mean you need to find some sins to purge?” I asked. What I meant was, you’re not still planning on retiring, right?
The knife in his hand stilled, mid-chop on a cutting board full of herbs, their sharp fragrance filling the kitchen.
He stared off, jaw a little slack. “Oh… I guess so. I haven’t really thought about it.
” He set a hand on his stomach, rubbing it absently, before he went back to chopping.
“I’m sure I’ll get a call from someone soon, requesting my services.
I always do.” Even knowing it was a part of his nature, that it kept him alive and healthy, I felt a bitter jealousy at the intimate nature of what he did, imbibing in something so personal from someone, a stranger.
Uly began humming a tune under his breath, familiar in the distant way of a long-lost memory.
As the pot of ingredients began to simmer on the stove, a strange mixture of sweet and salty, spicy and bitter, the fumes enough to make my stomach roil, lyrics filtered through time to match the tune.
“Huna'n dawel, heno, huna; Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun,” I sang along in Welsh, and Uly’s head snapped up, mouth open in surprise.
“You know it?” he said, laughing. “I haven’t thought of that song in probably a hundred years, but I woke up this morning and there it was, dancing circles in my head. It’s that strange?”
“Strange, yes…” I agreed blandly. “It’s a lullaby, isn’t it?” I could feel a flicker of Danu’s amusement at my apparent ignorance.
“Yeah. I think my grandmother used to sing it to me when I was a baby. Before… you know,” he said, gesturing to himself, “the whole sin-eater thing.” He set his knife down for a moment, his eyes taking on a soft, distant look of memory.
“She was the first one I purged, you know, my grandmother. She’d died, and as we sat vigil, I felt this pull.
I hadn’t even known what I was doing at the time.
It’s not like the role comes with on-the-job training or anything.
I was still a child, but I felt it, this call to free her soul, and I just…
answered, I guess.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, as if that wasn’t the beginning of the betrayals cast against him.
“My parents were superstitious, and when they saw smoke pouring out of my grandmother’s mouth and into mine, I can’t even blame them for being terrified.
They cast me out, believing I was cursed. ”
I wished there were a way I could take it all back for him, to protect him from every person who ever hurt him. Instead, I made a vow that he would be safe from fear forever more. Starting now.
He grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer and turned toward the pot on the stove, going for a taste. I immediately snatched the spoon from his fingers. “Hey!”
He tried to grab it back, but I held it over my head where he couldn’t reach. “I’m sorry, love, but I can’t let you eat that.”
“What? Why not?” He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.
“Because you might not survive the experience. Best-case scenario, you make yourself sick. Worst case? Death!” I pointed at the noxious fumes coming off it, which I was pretty sure were tinted bile green.
His lip stuck out in an adorable pout I wanted to kiss. “It’s not that bad,” he said in defense, but he turned a more critical eye toward the pot where a few cubes of pickle floated between roughly chopped herbs.
“There is a literal oil slick on top. You can’t even tell me what it is, can you,” I taunted, narrowing my eyes in a dare.
“I mean, it’s… it’s a stew, obviously. A pickle, peach, peanut butter, parsley, and pastrami stew.” He winced. “Why do they all start with P?”
“Don’t forget the ginger. That doesn’t start with P,” I supplied, as if that made it any better.
He groaned in misery and slapped his hands over his face, and I pulled him into my arms where he buried into my chest. “What is wrong with me?!” he wailed, his voice muffled.
“There are two possibilities,” I told him matter-of-factly, and he pulled back to look up at me, waiting to see what the options were.
“One, you’re overdue for a purge. This stew of yours has all the main flavors you’re craving: sweet, spicy, sour, bitter, and umami.
It’s like having all the sins in one pot. ”
He nodded slowly, wiping a finger under his eye where a few tears had collected. “Okay, that makes a certain kind of sense. What’s the other option?” he asked with a sniffle.
“That you’re pregnant.”
Uly’s shock took a moment to settle in as he absorbed the words and deciphered their meaning.
“Pregnant? N-No, that’s not… I mean, I guess we’ve been, you know…
and haven’t been, you know… but—” He stammered a few times, until his brain hit factory reset.
“But it’s only been a few weeks!” I didn’t bother quoting the old cliché “it only takes once.” He bit his lip, and I knew what was coming.
“You’re awfully calm about maybe becoming a dad. ”
“I promise, as soon as you give me permission, I’ll be screaming the news from the rooftops.”
His laugh was watery. “Yeah? You’re excited?”
“Cautiously excited,” I clarified, though I suspected it was true; Danu’s amusement made a lot more sense now. “Do you want me to go get you a pregnancy test? And maybe an order of stew from that Hungarian restaurant down the block?” I asked, side-eyeing the pot congealing on the stove.
He let out a sigh of defeat. “Maybe…” he muttered.
The problem was, I could tell it wasn’t what he was truly craving.
Whether it was his inner sin-eater or potential pregnancy that drove his craving, I had a feeling there was only one thing that would satisfy my mate, and a strange tingle of excitement zapped through me at the mere thought. “Or…” I began, “you could purge me.”
I let my words hang in the air between us.
I thought for a moment he would immediately turn me down.
There was something incredibly sacred about what he did for departed souls, after all, and what I was suggesting felt almost perverse.
Instead, though, he said, “You would want that?” He sounded almost curious.