Chapter 43 Ginger
Ginger
The days before the King’s men arrived passed in an uncomfortable blur.
Restlessness simmered in my bones.
To my delight and dismay, Shade lingered. He was more visible than ever, really. Everywhere I went, everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned, he was there.
And I was always achingly aware of his presence.
He haunted me, my shadow.
Other folk seemed to be noticing him, too.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t the only folk feeling conflicted. The turmoil was widespread. Did we turn the god over to the King’s men, as we were supposed to? That didn’t feel right, condemning him to possible death. Did we help him run? Did we come up with some other plan?
Would that end in the rest of us being punished in his stead? sentenced to death?
It felt hopeless. Like he was a cornered mouse just waiting to be captured.
But he was no mouse—he was the biggest monster of us all, he just refused to bare his teeth.
He sat at his usual corner table, darkening the pub in the subtle way he always did.
A glass of cider sat between his idle hands.
And, as always, he tracked me with his gaze as I moved.
His voice cracked through the silence when I neared his corner. “They will be here tomorrow,” he said flatly.
I froze. My throat dried up. “Who?” I asked, even though I knew exactly who he was talking about.
“The King’s men. Measly knights, I’m sure. Puny mortals.”
I met his gaze. His expression was oddly blank. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His nose scrunched for a moment. “And what do you have to be sorry for? This is not your fault, Ginger.”
Oddly, I was disappointed not to hear the word wife from his lips. I had grown to like the possessiveness of it, even if it wasn’t necessarily true.
I sighed, wiping my hands off on a towel and drifting closer. “I’m just sorry that this is happening.”
He watched me for a moment. “As am I.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“My mere existence is wrong, apparently.”
“You are a very powerful god, there is nothing wrong with that.”
“And how many mortals have I killed? How much havoc have I wreaked?”
I considered this. “None that I know of.”
“Precisely. This pathetic King is afraid of the mere idea of me, regardless of what I have done. And the other gods—wherever they may be.”
“What will you do with your last night in Moonvale?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The same as I always do, I suppose.” His mouth twitched in a private smile. I suddenly wished I had the ability to read minds, to what brought that smile to his face.
“Wander?” I guessed.
That private smile grew, just a touch. “Perhaps.”
I took a deep breath to bolster my courage. “You could stay with me,” I suggested.
The smile dropped from his face. He looked suddenly… startled. “With you?”
“In my cottage,” I amended. “Maybe on the couch. It’s warm.
Comfortable. I know you don’t mind being outside and that you like to walk but I just thought…
you might like a change of scenery for a night.
Somewhere comfortable to rest.” I was rambling, I knew it, but I couldn’t stop the words from spewing.
His eyebrows shot to his forehead. “That is…” He cleared his throat. “That is very kind of you to offer, but—”
“Don’t decline because you feel like it’s the polite thing to do. Really, I don’t mind. I think it’s going to storm again tonight, anyway.”
His mouth snapped shut. It was a few moments before he was able to speak again. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I asked.
“Okay. I will be there when the suns go down.”
I smiled, a trembling, brittle thing. My palms felt suddenly clammy. “When the suns go down.”
Iwas losing my mind.
Truly, this time.
What was I thinking? Inviting Shade into my home when I hadn’t done a single thing to prepare? This was a travesty.
I fluttered about, straightening cushions, dusting off surfaces, straightening cushions again, anything to make the place look more tidy and inviting.
Sure, it was technically clean, and he had seen it before, but I wanted it to be impressive. Awe inspiring, even.
I wanted to dazzle him.
I had taken Brambleby over to Kizzi’s so he could stay safely inside there—he was comfortable with Kizzi and Tandor, and I wasn’t sure how he would react to Shade’s presence overnight.
Now I was just impatiently waiting.
The suns were sinking slowly, painfully slowly, and I wasn’t sure exactly when Shade would appear.
Would he be here exactly when the first sun met the horizon? Would he wait until night fell completely? I should have gotten more details.
My legs buzzed with anticipation. Perhaps a quick jog would help burn through some of my anxious tension. I stood, slipping my cloak over my shoulders to do just that when a knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
My pulse sped in my chest, loud and almost painful.
He was here.
I yanked the door open.
“Hi,” I said, a little breathless.
He examined me, gold eyes raking from my antlers all the way down to the floor, and then back up.
I shivered.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, glancing pointedly at my cloak.
“Oh!” I scrambled to take the cloak off and hang it back up. “No, I was just—”
“Just getting back, then?”
“No, I was going to go run to kill some time.”
“Before I got here?”
I nodded.
“Do you still wish to run?”
“Oh, no.” I shuffled awkwardly, stepping back so he had enough space to come inside. “It’s getting dark.”
“Scared of the dark?” A wry smile tugged at his cheek.
“Scared of falling and nearly scalping myself again, more like,” I explained lamely.
“As long as you avoid suspicious mushrooms, you should be fine.”
I snorted. “I won’t be even looking at any mushrooms for a long while.”
“Wise,” he murmured. He tilted his head. “May I?”
“Of course! Of course.” I flattened myself to the wall to give him a wide berth—I was afraid that even the slightest of contact would shatter my fragile willpower.
I pushed the door shut behind him.
He stepped inside and looked around, examining my space with an unreadable expression on his face.
He glanced down to his boots, and then to my hoofed feet. “Should I take these off?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind. You know… mud.”
His boots were clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen, but he obliged.
The quiet was stifling.
I wandered to the kitchen to throw a window open, desperate for any sort of sound. The chirping of insects and the whirl of wind would be a blessing.
When I turned back, he was right there. I hadn’t heard him approach.
My heart skittered to a stop before galloping into a frantic rhythm as I froze. “Oh! You scared me!”
He reached out with a tentative hand to pat my shoulder reassuringly. The attempt was to comfort, but the contact only served to raise my heart rate even further.
He had touched me. Unnecessarily and intentionally.
My belly warmed.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
I inhaled deeply. “Don’t apologize—I’m the one with the bad hearing.”
“You really do have impressively… subtle senses,” he mused. “It’s a miracle you can hear anything at all.”
My mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “How dare you!” I went to swat his hand away, but he caught my wrist and tugged me closer.
Our arms lingered, joined, in the space between us.
My breath faltered, but I didn’t pull away.
I stared up into his eyes. His expression was unreadable. I lifted my fingers to run them over the scar on his eyebrow, unable to resist the urge. The scar was raised, smoother than I would have expected but warm and rigid. The short hairs of his eyebrow tickled my sensitive fingertips.
He shuddered. His eyes fell shut.
He stepped closer, his fingers around my wrist loosening. I recognized the action for what it was—a plea. A silent request that I keep touching him.
I happily obliged.
I brought my other hand to his face. I allowed my fingers to explore, to map out his appearance, to memorize the planes of his features. The feel of him, the sight of him, the smell of him.
I cradled his jaw in both of my palms, and his brows furrowed.
“Look at me,” I urged.
He pulled in a slow, deep breath. And then his eyes opened.
Torment lurked in the gold depths of his gaze. A torment so deep it was fathomless. My throat tightened.
I had to swallow before I could speak. “Is this okay?” I asked.
I recalled the last time we had come together—the pure bliss, followed by the trickle of blood down his nose and his anguished, abrupt exit.
I didn’t want to harm him.
He nodded. He searched my eyes, though I wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
I gazed back openly. I laid myself bare, hoping he could see my heart hidden between the freckles of my face.
His expression morphed into something entirely different.
He leaned forward, slowly, until his forehead rested against mine. He exhaled as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
My eyes drifted shut. I stroked my thumbs over his jawline in what I hoped was a soothing caress.
His hands came to rest on my back for a moment before strong arms wrapped around me.
The hug was hesitant at first, but quickly morphed into something warm and intimate.
My hands slid from his jaw so my arms could coil around his neck, my fingers weaving into his hair.
He hugged me closer.
From our chins all the way to our middles, we were pressed together. It felt comfortable, being this close to him.
It felt right.
We stood there, clinging to each other, for long minutes.
I didn’t want to let go—if anything, I wanted to get even closer.
His chest rose and fell in sync with mine, a detail that brought a strange prickling to the backs of my eyes.
The rich scent of oak and jasmine filled my lungs. I inhaled greedily, savoring the aroma.
I would miss it, when he was gone.
My stomach lurched.
Shade shifted, leaning back just enough to grip my chin and tilt my face up.
He scanned my expression, absorbing every detail.
Steely determination shone in his eyes.
And he bent, sealing his lips to mine.