7. Scattered
Scattered
Ianthe & Skaros
Eryx’s draught was not unlike the bite of a particularly vicious winter. It coaxed me into a half-conscious daze, my awareness fading into a relaxing, dreamlike state. I felt no pain. I just drifted, trapped in a void where even my own thoughts couldn’t reach me.
Then the cold began to withdraw. A silver-blue twilight crept in at the edges.
I opened my eyes.
I wasn’t on the padded bench in Thanatos’s Temple anymore.
I stood in a strange garden, though it was nothing like I’d seen before, either in Asphodelia or in Korinos.
The ground beneath my bare feet was solid basalt, dark and polished.
A low mist coiled around my ankles, damp and heavy with the smell of turned earth.
But the terrain was covered in roots—thick, pale, writhing things that choked the stone.
They thrummed with a life the rest of the Blighted Lands didn’t have.
“Ianthe.”
A sudden voice cut through the mist. The plea carried a weight that reverberated deep in my chest. I turned, following the sound into the deepest part of the shadows.
Kneeling in the center of the garden was a massive two-legged creature with a broad, muscled chest, tawny fur, and the heavy muzzle of a lion. Leathery wings rested half-open behind him, and a thick tail ending in a curved barb lay near his feet. A manticore.
In my village, such beasts were known as the most dangerous of the Blighted Ones. Their venom could melt skin directly from bone, and their claws could rip a man apart in seconds.
But the moment he met my eyes, I knew. He was not just any monster. The energy radiating from him was the exact same soothing hum that crept into my chambers night after night.
“You’re the presence in my room,” I said, my voice sounding incredibly small in the vast quiet. “You live inside the asphodels.”
“In a way,” he replied. “My name is Skaros, and the flowers are a part of me.”
He shifted his weight, and the movement drew my eyes to the ground beneath him.
He was a prisoner. Thick vines coiled around his wrists, his waist, and the base of his wings, rooting him to the obsidian floor.
He strained against them, muscles bunching, his jaw tight with effort.
I stared at the bindings. They looked exactly like the stems the harvesters had worked so hard to destroy.
“Why are they holding you?” I asked, stepping closer. The roots slithered under my feet, twitching slightly as I moved.
“Because I am scattered.” Skaros let out a frustrated breath, tracking me with amber eyes.
“Out there, in the waking world, I have no true shape. I am a thousand roots in the soil, creeping through the cracks of the stone. This realm… this is the only place I can pull the fragments of my mind into a single form.”
I stopped a few paces away, the fractured pieces of his reality finally making sense. The vines holding him down were his own scattered essence. He was tearing himself apart just to stand here in one piece. The force of will that it took—I could feel it like heat off his skin.
“Were you the one to guide me through the Blighted Lands?” I asked.
Skaros shook his head. “The asphodels there have their own mind. I cannot reach them. But I have been reaching for you since your scent first touched the air of Asphodelia.”
I remembered the flowers at the agora, the way they’d sought me out from the beginning. The truth of it was undeniable. “And you’ve been caring for me. In the infirmary.”
“I’ve been trying,” Skaros replied. “When you sleep, I draw the thorns into myself. I take the pain away. But today, the blind healer poured ice into your veins.”
“Eryx gave me a draught,” I said softly, trying to explain. “He said it would put the pain to sleep. It gave me peace, Skaros. For the first time in years, nothing hurts.”
“It built a wall,” Skaros countered. “It wrapped your blood in a layer of frost. When I came to your room, I couldn’t touch you.
I could feel you sinking into that unnatural dark, and I was completely locked out.
I am grateful that you’re no longer in pain, Ianthe.
But I fear what the disease might do, now that I can’t touch it. ”
The raw devastation in his voice made my chest tighten. He was looking at me with a fierce, frantic devotion. He had spent hours trapped in the dirt of the city, tormented by his inability to ease my suffering.
“I didn’t know,” I murmured. I looked at the thick vines biting into his forearms. He was fighting this hard just to find a way back to my side.
I closed the rest of the distance between us and knelt on the stone. Up close, the sheer heat rolling off his body was intoxicating. It chased away the last lingering chill of Eryx’s potion, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket.
Slowly, I reached out and pressed my palm against his cheek.
He went still, and something raw flickered across in his amber eyes. He leaned his head into my hand and closed his eyes. A low, rumbling purr started deep in his chest, vibrating right through my fingertips and into my bones.
“I am here now,” I whispered, tracing the soft edge of his fur.
Skaros opened his eyes. A fierce resolve flared in his gaze. He let out a deafening roar that ripped through the mist, the muscles in his shoulders rippling with terrifying power.
With a violent jerk, he lunged forward.
The thick vines binding his back snapped with a sound like splintering bone.
His massive wings ripped free from the tangled roots.
He swept them around us instantly, enclosing us both.
Their sheer size blocked out the mist and the pale garden entirely, plunging us into a private, shadowed sanctuary.
The air inside the cocoon was warm, smelling faintly of musk and flowers.
Skaros wrenched one of his clawed hands free from the remaining vines.
He brought it up to cover the hand I still held against his cheek.
His claws were just as thick and sharp as my people claimed, but his touch over my fingers was impossibly gentle.
“I need your permission, Ianthe,” he said. “The barrier the healer made will not fade tonight. To bypass the frost, to draw the sickness out, I must reach past the wall. I must slip past the breath on your lips and trace it to your core.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my face. “I have no desire to take what you do not offer. I will not cross that threshold unless you bid me to.”
I stared at him. This monster was asking for my consent to soothe my pain, even while his own form was broken and scattered across an entire city. He was suffering just to be here, and yet he still stopped at the boundary line to ask.
I didn’t hesitate. Whatever this was, whatever it cost him to be here—none of it mattered. Right then, there was only the warmth of his skin and the way he was looking at me.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Whatever you have to do, Skaros. Please.”
Skaros lowered his head, resting his forehead against mine. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “I won’t fail you.”
As he spoke, a rush of soothing energy flooded my chest. It came from him, bridging the tiny space between us. The edges of the dream began to blur, the garden and the wings dissolving into a soft light. Anchored by his comforting presence, I let my eyes close and sank into dreamless rest.
She accepts me. Even seeing me as I truly am, she trusts me.
I stayed coiled beside her on the mattress. The single blossom remained pressed against her temple, keeping the bridge open between my mind and her sleeping thoughts. The echo of her permission was still there, ringing clear and true. She had opened the door for me.
The blind healer’s potion still coated her veins. To my senses, it felt like a wall of solid ice, locking the city’s energy out. Her permission alone could not melt that frost, but it gave me the right to bypass it.
I unwound a slender, smooth vine from the tangle at her side.
If I had been just a mindless beast, I would have forced my way in, tearing her flesh to claim my meal.
But I moved with absolute precision. I hovered just over her mouth, pausing for a heartbeat.
Then, I slid the tip of the vine past her parted lips, resting it gently over her tongue.
There was no resistance. She didn’t choke or fight me. Because she had welcomed me in the dream, her sleeping body yielded. I had no need to push the vine any further. The physical touch was only the bridge I needed. I let my death energy bleed out from the stem, pouring it down her throat.
The warmth flowed straight into her chest, slipping right past the frost. It found the sickness exactly where it always hid, curled in her veins, waiting to consume her. Tonight, it was asleep, dazed by the potion. And I was not above devouring easy prey.
Methodically, I began to drink. This time, the disease couldn’t fight me. It faded into nothing, chased away by the overwhelming death energy.
I couldn’t heal her completely, not yet. But it was progress.
Ianthe’s body reacted almost immediately.
While the healer’s draught had numbed her pain, I was removing the cause.
A sudden, beautiful flush rushed into her pale cheeks.
Her breathing quickened, shedding the slow rhythm the potion had forced on her.
A soft sigh slipped past her lips, vibrating against the vine resting in her mouth.
If I’d been alive, with a real body, I would have held her face in my hands. The healer’s potion wouldn’t have been necessary at all. I would have kissed the pain away myself. But I was just a shade, relying on the little power I still possessed.
I am here, I told her, pushing the thought through the flower at her temple. You’re safe.
I drew more of my vines up from the cold floorboards.
Now that her suffering had eased, I wanted to see the rest of her.
I wanted to soothe the marks the sickness had left behind.
Smooth, pliant stems crept silently over the edge of the mattress.
Gently, I pushed the loose fabric of her sleep dress aside, baring her shoulders and her stomach to the dim light of the healing chamber.
I found the raised, angry scars on her arms where the thorns had torn through her flesh. I wrapped my broad vines around them, pouring death energy into the skin until the harsh red lines softened to a pale pink.
Another moan slipped from her throat, and she tilted her hips upward. The urge to hunt, or even to simply heal, melted into something more complex. I just wanted to worship her, to give her pleasure.
I guided a broad, smooth vine along the inside of her thigh.
Even without a real body, I could almost taste her arousal.
It was right there, vibrating under her skin, in the way she trembled against my hold.
I rested the broad curve of the stem against her soaking-wet folds.
My death energy hummed against her slick core, feeding the fire building in her blood.
She gasped, her back arching slightly off the bed. “More,” she whimpered into the dark, pressing her face into the pillow. “Please.”
I am here, I pushed the thought through the connection at her temple.
I trailed smaller shoots across her collarbone and circled the soft swell of her breasts. My leaves swept over her skin, brushing gently against her tightening nipples. She shuddered beautifully at the contact.
Caught in the heavy haze of her slumber, Ianthe let her hands drift down. Her fingers tangled with my stems, gliding over her bare stomach until she found her own slick heat. Parting her folds, she pressed her fingers directly against her aching center.
Ianthe let out a ragged, open-mouthed exhale. Chasing the surge of my energy, she stroked herself hard and fast. Her fingers coated with her own arousal, she reached for the overwhelming flood of sensation, finally able to feel something other than the pain.
I had no eyes, but through the death energy that pulsed through me, I watched every moment of it.
In her surrender, Ianthe was beautiful. She always was—the most beautiful woman in the world.
But there was something particularly special about this moment, about seeing her truly open herself up to me for the first time.
I silently thanked the Moirae for weaving me as her perfect match. I yearned to use my own hands to touch her, to hold her hips and feel the frantic flutter of her pulse against my own skin, my fur. But anchored as a mere shade, I knew the gratitude I felt would always be shadowed by resentment.
Why couldn’t I have met Ianthe before? Why did I have to be a scattered ghost in the dirt when the woman I was made for finally walked into my city?
I swallowed the bitter anger and focused entirely on her. My vines adjusted, weaving around her thighs to hold her exactly the way she wanted to be held. A sturdy stem wrapped around her waist, bracing her back against the mattress so she felt secure enough to press hard against her own hand.
“That’s it,” she sobbed softly, her eyes squeezing shut. “Don’t let go. Skaros, don’t stop.”
I will never let you go, I poured into her mind.
I matched the frantic pace of her fingers. I dragged my smooth leaves over her breasts, teasing her tight peaks while she stroked her center. With every slide of her hand, I sent a hard pulse of death energy straight into her core.
“Skaros,” she chanted around the vine resting on her tongue. Her fingers moved faster, dripping wet. She spread her thighs wider, pressing desperately against the thick stem I kept nestled between her legs.
I tightened my hold around her waist. Let it go, Ianthe. Give it to me.
She cried out. Her back bowed hard off the mattress as a violent climax ripped through her body. The pulse of her release sent a massive rush of energy straight into my roots. I drank it all. The surge filled an emptiness I didn’t even realize I carried.
She trembled, gasping for air. Her wet hand slipped away from her thighs, falling limp against the sheets. Her entire body went boneless against my stems.
I kept my vines wrapped tightly around her, thrumming softly until her shivering stopped.
The slick vine slid out of her mouth, letting her breathe the cool air of the chamber.
The flush on her chest slowly faded, leaving a healthy glow in its wake.
She sank into a deep, restful sleep, temporarily free from the thorns and the icy grip of the draught.
I did not retreat beneath the floorboards. I pulled the blankets back up over her bare shoulders to keep her warm, but I stayed coiled beside her.
I wasn’t truly a manticore now. I was a scattered mind holding on to a woman I could not truly claim in the waking world. But as I listened to her steady, painless breathing, I knew it didn’t matter. I would stay right here, guarding my mate until dawn broke over Asphodelia.