9. I am Here
I am Here
Skaros & Ianthe
When my mate left, I didn’t begrudge her the departure. If anything, I was glad she felt well enough to leave the infirmary. She belonged in the sun, breathing fresh air, not among the quiet stones of Iaso’s domain.
But predators had never been particularly selfless. With every passing moment, I grew more discontent. The death crystals couldn’t sate my hunger. Ianthe was my mate, and anything that kept us separate was wrong.
I couldn’t feel her out there, in the city, not anymore. My decision to withdraw to the infirmary had cut me off almost entirely from the rest of Asphodelia. There was only one place where my consciousness still lingered, but Ianthe had no reason to go there.
Or so I thought. At one point, I felt the echo of her presence—not from here, in the infirmary, but from my mother’s garden. Ianthe had gone there with Medea. I could tell that much, though her reasons were less clear.
I couldn’t risk pursuing them to the other side of Asphodelia. And so, I waited. I felt my mate touch the asphodels in my mother’s garden. I felt her jerk to her feet. And I felt her walk away.
Something is wrong. The realization settled inside me, the same way it had the night Ianthe had collapsed at the Agora of Echoes. But she hadn’t shown any signs of a relapse, and the parasite inside her remained quiet.
I forced myself to wait.
And then she walked in. Her usually graceful footsteps carried an anger I’d never felt from her before.
“Ianthe?” Iaso asked from somewhere outside. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine. I just… I think I need to be alone.”
“Very well, child,” Iaso answered.
The door closed, and Ianthe stalked up to the bed. At the very last moment, she changed her mind. Instead of lying down on the cot, where I’d found her so many times over the past few days, she sank to her knees.
Normally, I hesitated to reveal myself during the day. But I couldn’t abandon my mate like that, not when she was so obviously distraught.
I sent out a single vine, reaching for her from the cracks underneath the bed. The moment I touched her ankle, the echo of her emotions erupted over me, more intense than the power of a Shift Day.
After all the time we’d recently spent together, I didn’t need to press a bloom to her temple like I had in the past. Her words spilled over into my consciousness, sharp, almost vicious. “I went to Phix’s garden. To the place where you fell.”
“I know,” I admitted. “I sensed you there.”
“Of course you did. Then you must know she was there, too. Your bride.”
My… bride? For a few moments, I didn’t understand what she was talking about. There was only one person who could ever be my bride, and that was Ianthe.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Ianthe asked, this time out loud. “What happened with Medea. With Aion.”
There was an edge of strained grief in her voice, and the sound of it carved a hollow ache into my chest. It was a reminder that, no matter how hard I tried, I could never be truly whole. Not even for her.
“I remember them. The silver death-woman. The bronze one. They were my friends.”
To my surprise, Ianthe laughed. “Friends. That’s not the way I’d describe it. You married her to give her a chance to stay with her mate. And in return, she got you killed.”
Was that what had happened? I twitched and sank my roots deeper into the death crystals, seeking an answer.
What I didn’t remember, the city did. There were scars still in Asphodelia’s own center, from the backlash of a potent death energy surge. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have deemed it related to Ianthe and what had happened at her bride market. But no, this was different.
A clear memory finally surfaced. My mother’s garden. Her blissful face, hovering above mine. Crystals shattering in the distance.
Medea shouting, “He is dying! He is disappearing right in front of us!”
And I had died, just like she’d said. Unwoven by her power, but refusing to let go of my home, regardless. Maybe I’d known, all along, that there was someone out there who needed me. Maybe my instincts had understood what my conscious mind had not.
I tightened my hold on my mate, feeling the need to draw her closer. She cupped the vine with a gentle hand. “It’s unfair. Why did we have to trade our happiness for theirs?”
I struggled with words, unsure of what to tell her. “Ianthe,” I finally offered. “You’re right. It is unfair, and the answers I can give you… They’re not enough.
“Back then, I didn’t begrudge Medea what she’d done. What happened was only an accident. And being unwoven is not a tragedy. Not to us. But if I’d known you then, Ianthe, I would have made a different choice. I’d have never allowed myself to be erased, no matter what I had to do.”
Ianthe straightened her back, as if she’d suddenly made a decision. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. The anger in her faded, replaced by a stubborn, fierce resolve. “You weren’t erased. You’re still here.”
“I am, but not to the extent you deserve,” I answered. I couldn’t hide away from the obvious, not anymore.
Ianthe clenched her jaw, and death energy pulsed through her in agitation. “You think a body matters to me?” she asked.
She let go of my vine and sat up straight. Her hands moved to the laces at the front of her dress.
“Ianthe—”
“I’ve spent years in a body that did nothing but torture me,” she interrupted me, pulling the laces loose. “Flesh and bone fail. They hurt. They don’t mean anything to me.”
She pushed the fabric off her shoulders. The dress pooled around her waist, leaving her bare in the dim light of the healing chamber. I could see the raised, pink scars on her arms where the thorns had broken her skin. She was a feast, in a way nothing else could ever be.
She reached out and picked up my thickest vine again. She pressed it flat against the curve of her waist.
“You don’t have hands to hold me,” she whispered. “But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Hold me with this.”
The vine pressed against my waist was incredibly hot and entirely smooth. It pulsed with a steady beat against my bare skin.
For a long moment, the room was perfectly still. Skaros was still uncertain. He had no reason to be, but I understood the weight of his grief and indecision.
I slid my hand down the length of the thick stem. I am here, I told him, this time simply in my mind. Take me.
Something stirred in the shadows. Smooth, dark vines emerged from the cracks in the floor, curling around my ankles and sliding up my calves. They wound around my thighs and my lower back, weaving together to form a solid cradle.
He lifted me. My bare feet left the floor as he suspended me in the air above the cold basalt.
I let my head fall back. For years, I had hated the flesh that betrayed me. Now, held naked in his grip, I didn’t feel ashamed. I was completely bare, and I was completely his. He carried my weight effortlessly.
A thicker vine uncoiled from the darkness beneath the bed. It rose into the air and hovered just in front of my face. A glowing asphodel rested at the tip. It brushed against my cheek, trailing down my jawline before stopping over my parted lips.
Let me inside, his voice rumbled in my mind, rough with a desperate hunger. Let me taste you.
I opened my mouth for him, my breath hitching in my chest.
A smooth tendril extended from the center of the petals. It slid past my lips and over my tongue. I easily accepted it. The tendril tasted of damp earth, sweet rain, and the primal power of the city. It pushed gently into my mouth, delving deep, all the way into my throat.
The moment it settled inside me, a wave of rushing death energy flooded my airways. It filled the hollow spaces in my lungs, claiming me from the inside out.
Other shoots joined the embrace, and I let out a muffled gasp. Slender vines wrapped around my ribcage, creeping upward to cup my breasts. Skaros’s possessive touch brushed back and forth over my sensitive skin. He pinched and teased my nipples until they tightened into hard, aching peaks.
A sharp heat pooled in my belly. I shifted my hips, parting my legs wider.
I was already soaking wet, slick and desperate, needing everything he could give me and more. And he knew that. A thick, smooth stem glided up my inner thigh. It reached the juncture between my legs and pressed firmly against my dripping folds.
The vine thrummed with his energy. It slid upward, dragging heavily against my most sensitive flesh. I arched my spine. A muffled moan vibrated around the tendril lodged deep in my throat.
Ianthe, he projected into my mind, his thoughts ragged with his ache for me. My mate.
I don’t need a body, Skaros, I pushed the thought back to him, gripping the vines wrapped around my waist. I only need you. Show me everything.
The thick stem at my center shifted. It found my wet entrance and pushed inward, moving slow and deep. I whimpered as he breached me, but he didn’t stop. Instead, the vine expanded slightly. Skaros was adapting perfectly to my shape, stretching my inner walls, claiming me from within.
His addictive touch sent rushing waves of tingling pleasure straight into my blood. And then, Skaros began to move.
At first, he withdrew slowly, pulling a keening sound from my throat. A part of me feared that this would end, that he’d leave me and disappear back into the dark. But he didn’t. He drove deep inside me once again, setting a steady, relentless rhythm.
With every thrust, Skaros touched me everywhere at once.
The vine in my throat pulsed with his breath.
The leaves on my breasts teased my nipples mercilessly.
The stem moving inside my core drove me toward madness.
But he wasn’t satisfied. He was a starving beast who had finally found his meal, and he wanted all of me.
Another vine, slightly thinner but just as firm and hot, slithered up the back of my thighs. It bypassed my wet folds and pressed insistently against my back entrance.
I gasped, my eyes flying open in the dim light.
Do you trust me? The question brushed against my consciousness, dark and utterly possessive. Let me claim every part of you.
Yes, I sobbed in my mind. Yes. Please.
I relaxed my muscles, bearing down slightly to grant him access. The secondary vine pushed inward, breaching my tightest ring of muscle. The intense stretch left me utterly breathless. He slid deep into my back passage and settled firmly inside me.
I hung suspended in the air, completely possessed. He filled my mouth and throat. He claimed every part of me, grounding me even as pleasure shot up my spine. I belonged wholly to him.
The two vines inside my lower body began to move in tandem.
The wet sounds of our mating echoed through the dark stone chamber.
The thick stems withdrew in unison, almost leaving my body entirely, before driving back inside me.
The tendril in my throat pulsed in time with his thrusts, flooding me with his energy.
I couldn’t form a coherent thought. My vision swam. I could only cling to him, taking what he offered the same way that I’d taken him in.
Let go, Skaros growled in my mind. Give me your pleasure, Ianthe.
I couldn’t have denied him even if I had wanted to. With a muffled cry, I fell over the edge. My inner walls tightened around the thick stems inside me, my body instinctively trying to draw closer, deeper.
A blinding rush of pure sensation ripped through my body. I surrendered everything to him, riding the overwhelming waves of pleasure. I felt him drink in my release and accept the massive surge of my energy without hesitation.
I trembled in his hold, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Tears of relief streamed down my face. I slumped against the supportive cradle of his vines, stripped of all remaining strength.
He didn’t pull away. The stems inside my body stilled, pulsing with a comforting heat that held me secure. The tendril slowly slipped out of my throat, retreating to let me breathe the cool air of the chamber.
Smaller shoots stroked my hair and brushed the dampness from my cheeks. He held me in the quiet darkness, and for once, we didn’t feel the need to say anything at all. I had never felt so safe in my entire life.
But our peace was not meant to last.
The wooden door of the healing chamber flew open, slamming against the basalt wall.
I flinched, my eyes snapping toward the doorway.
Iaso stood on the threshold. A tray of glass vials slipped from her hands, clattering and breaking across the floor. Beside her stood a tense Eryx. His obsidian serpents writhed and hissed, already fixated on the mass of vines holding me aloft.
“By Thanatos,” Iaso breathed, her voice trembling. “Eryx… it has her.”
I took one look at her horrified face and I knew. Asphodelia was no longer welcoming to me. Perhaps it never had been.