Chapter 10 Rapunzel
Rapunzel
I wake with my cheek on Brannock’s chest, my limbs tangled with his, hair a tangled nest around us. His arm is heavy around my waist, and his breathing is deep and even—safe, steady, real.
For a moment, I don’t move.
If I breathe too deeply, I might ruin it. And gods, I don’t want to.
His skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I can’t stop tracing lazy circles above his heart. He has a scar there. I found it in the dark hours of the night, and I kissed it like a secret. Now, I just want to stay here. Wrapped in this quiet. This closeness.
I've spent years aching for something I couldn’t name. Turns out it was this. Him.
“Staring again?” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep and something warmer.
“You’re pretty,” I tease.
His chest vibrates with a quiet laugh, and he brushes a kiss to my forehead.
My heart stutters.
How does someone so large and growly kiss like that?
I tilt my face to look up at him. “You’re not allowed to look like you wrestle bears for fun and be this... sweet. It’s disorienting.”
His smirk is devastating. “Too bad.”
I sigh and settle against him again, fingers drifting lower along his stomach. “I don’t want this to end.”
“It won’t.”
I wish I believed him. Still, I hold on to the illusion for a little longer. The illusion that he’s mine and I’m his and we have forever.
“Did you mean it?” I ask, voice soft. “What you said? That we’ll find a way out?”
He shifts under me, turning so we’re face to face. “Yes. Even if I have to dismantle every brick with my bare hands.”
“There’s my warrior orc,” I snort, but the laughter fades almost as quickly as it came. “Even if it means going back to your world?”
A long pause. Then he exhales. “I can’t go back.”
“Because of the zombie thing?”
His laugh is hollow. “Partially. I was a commander in the Border Wars. When I killed the zombie, the Powers That Be decided to make an example of me.”
“What kind of example?”
“They threw me through the portal like trash. I’m sure they’ve told my people I’m dead.”
My heart aches for him. “What about your parents? Your friends?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember my parents. And I didn’t have friends. I had… acquaintances. Soldiers I drank with when the government no longer had a use for us.” He finally looks at me, his eyes shadowed. “Even if I wanted to go back, the portal’s gone. They don’t let monsters come home.”
I crawl across the rug and grab his hand, curling my fingers around his. “You’re not a monster.”
He frowns. “You know what I am. What I’ve done.”
“I know what you’ve done for me. You’ve listened. Cared. You make tea. You talk to roots and model sarongs like a catwalk king. You’ve… brought me to life.”
A slow smile tugs at his mouth. “When you put it like that… I guess I am pretty damn special.”
“You are.” I poke him. “And don’t get me started on the mind-blowing orgasms.”
He smirks. “Mind-blowing orgasms, you say?” he growls, tackling me back into the blankets and nuzzling my neck until I’m squealing with laughter. “Well, princess, prepare to have your mind blown again.”
I moan loudly, more than willing to let him blow my mind and anything else that takes his fancy again.
One hand grips my bottom, the other sliding up my thigh.
I shiver beneath him, slack-jawed and eager as I feel the tip of his tongue against the side of my throat.
“You taste like me,” he grunts, flicking my skin to demonstrate what he means. And then I feel his fingers between my legs, slipping against my slick skin. “Here, too, princess.”
I whimper, almost certain it’s illegal for him to say things like that. I like them too much.
I have a feeling he knows it because he chuckles against my throat before rolling us. I end up straddling his hips, staring down at him. The way he looks at me…Gods, it’s like I’m a work of art and a feast, and he isn’t sure if he wants to worship or devour.
“Ride me, princess,” he demands, big hands around my waist, lifting me.
“I… Can I do that?” It seems like a valid question until he gives me a decidedly wicked orc-ish smirk.
“Oh, yeah,” he rasps, his erection prodding at my entrance. “You can absolutely do that.”
“Help me.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. He settles me over him, helping to balance me so I can slide down. And, oh gods, he’s so big, so deep.
“Brannock,” I whimper, my eyes locked on the play of emotion across his face. His emerald eyes are dark, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. He looks savage beneath me, and somehow so beautiful.
“Yeah, just like that, princess,” he grunts, rocking me on his lip.
It doesn’t take long for me to sort out the rhythm. My thighs squeeze his hips as I lift and drop back down, my hips rolling to take him deeper. He watches me the entire time, his gaze drifting between my face and the place where we’re joined.
I should feel embarrassed or overwhelmed at how intently he watches, but I don’t.
I feel wild and free, desired in a way I’ve only ever dreamed about before now.
And maybe a little powerful too. Like I’m in control for once, not Dame Gothel or the roots or magic or anything but me.
This is my choice. I’m the one making him moan and groan.
I’m the one who makes him look so fierce and desperate.
I’ve been powerless my whole life, but not here. Not now. Not with Brannock.
I plant my hands against his chest, giving myself leverage. I lift and drop down harder, faster, taking him so deep it feels a little like I can’t breathe.
“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, one hand slipping between my legs. His thumb rolls across my clit, pulling a cry from my lips. “Take what you need from me. Use my body for your pleasure.”
“Our pleasure,” I gasp.
“You think I don’t feel it?” He tilts his head to the side, like the question is important. “Believe me, princess, I do.” He bucks his hips when I land against his lap, driving himself deeper. “You’re wrapped around me so tightly I can’t breathe.”
“Brannock,” I whimper.
“Every time I look at you, I feel something, Rapunzel.” He sits up suddenly, claiming my lips in a hard kiss, as if he’s trying to breathe the way he feels into my lungs, to fill me with it. “I feel you everywhere. You’re mine.”
I sob his name, unraveling on top of him.
My body clenches as the cord snaps, sending me hurtling over the edge.
I fall forward, burying my face in his throat.
He still has one hand between my legs, working me through it.
He uses the other to lift and drop me so fast that it feels like I’m flying, his body the only thing tethering me to earth.
Not the roots or this tower or magic, just him. Just Brannock.
I shatter again, calling out his name. But I don’t fall alone. He comes with me, growling my name as his arms lash around my waist, caging me against his body. But if his embrace is a prison, I don’t want to leave it. It feels more like home than anything ever has, and so does he.
We lie in a tangled heap afterward, sweat cooling on our bodies. For the first time in forever, I feel complete.
Whole.
Seen.
I sniff, wiping the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
“Rapunzel?” Brannock tips my face toward his, looking concerned. “You’re crying. Gods, did I hurt you?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just… I think I’m… happy.”
He smiles, slow and certain. “I know.”
“Arrogant,” I murmur, but the word melts when he tips my chin and nods past me.
“Look around, princess.”
I do—and gasp.
The tower is blooming.
Vines as delicate as green ribbons have crept from the cracks between stones, curling over the floorboards.
Hundreds of tiny white and purple blossoms star the new growth, unfurling as if they’ve been waiting for someone to turn on the light inside me.
Moss pads the splintered boards beside the stove.
A fern unfolds from a seam near the mirror with a delicate sigh.
The air smells like rain and crushed mint and something warm and sunlit that I don’t have a word for.
I press my palm to Brannock’s chest. “Did we… do this?”
He huffs a laugh against my mouth. “Felt like it, princess.”
I swat him, uselessly giddy. “I mean the flowers.”
His eyes soften. “I think you did it. I think that when you’re—”
The tower interrupts him with an almighty groan.
Not a creak.
A groan. Then it shudders. Deep and ancient, like something buried for centuries is waking up.
I sit up so fast that I nearly fall out of bed, clutching the blanket to my chest. “That’s new.”
I scramble for my nightgown as Brannock leaps to his feet, grabs the dagger from his boot, and pulls on his pants.
A chill slithers down my spine as the blossoms shiver and the new vines pull taut.
The other roots—the dark, vein-shot ones that stink like sour sap—explode from the baseboards, lashing wildly.
The window slams shut with a whip of hair and bark.
The oil lamp jumps and sputters. My basket skates across the floor.
A thick root punches through the table leg and sends it careening into the wall.
The kettle shrieks and leaps from the stove, clattering across the moss.
“Down!” Brannock barks, already hauling me under the swing of the lowest root. We hit the floor in a tangle; a gust of damp air buffets us as a vine smashes a line of books off their shelf, pages fluttering like panicked birds.
“Move!” he barks.
I scramble for the stove corner, hands over my head. He plants himself between me and the chaos, eyes tracking the rhythm of the roots like a fighter reading an opponent.
The tower bucks again. Another root whips across the room, catching the mirror; it shatters, spraying glittering teeth everywhere. Hair—my hair—rises without my consent, caught in the old spell’s riptide, lashing at the air like it wants to join the fight.
Another root crashes through the stove, sending hot embers flying. The fire sputters as smoke begins to rise. The bed is crushed. My books scatter.
“My stories!” I dive for the nearest one.
Brannock holds me firm. “Forget the books! You’re the story now!”
I glare at him. “That was either the dumbest or most romantic thing you’ve ever said!”
“Hold that thought!” he grunts, dodging a thick vine that swings at us like a club.
Brannock pants as he scans the room. The roots are still twitching—but they’re retreating, curling along the walls like sullen serpents.
“It’s watching us,” I murmur, trembling. “It’s me, Brannock. And I don’t know how to shut it off.”
He turns and cups my face in his hands. “We’ll figure it out. We just need—”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
My terrified gaze flies to Brannock’s.
Gothel is here.