Chapter 8
Eight
“Marina,” he said, the name hanging in the air between them. “She was a hellkin I once crewed with, and she’s the one...”
Iris reached for his hand when his words faltered, her fingers cool and steady as they wrapped around his. “You don’t have to tell me, Vask.”
Her touch steadied him, but it also caused his heart to lurch. The contact should have been comforting, but something electric sparked between them that had nothing to do with the soul bind spreading its dark tendrils up his arms.
“I’ll figure out how to break this,” she promised, her green eyes holding his with an intensity that made his chest constrict. “We’ve dealt with curses before.”
Vaskel’s tail, usually so controlled, curled involuntarily around the leg of the stool as the marks beneath his shirt crept up his skin like ivy made of shadow and fire.
It wasn’t the marks that concerned him most in this moment, though.
It was the way Iris’s thumb brushed across his knuckles, absent and gentle, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.
“Iris...” Her name felt wrenched from his throat.
She looked at him, dark curls framing her face. Her pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her throat, and he leaned closer without meaning to. In that moment, she wasn’t the apothecary who’d been best friends with Lira’s gran, and he wasn’t an infernal being decades older than her.
The warm, exotic scent of her wrapped around him like a potent spell.
For a heartbeat, he let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between them and unearth the answers to questions he’d always had about the mysterious woman.
To let his fingers tangle in her curls and his lips brush the pale skin of her throat.
Then he remembered Marina, and the thought was a bucket of ice water over his head. If Marina truly was behind these marks, if she’d found him, then anyone close to him was in danger. Especially someone Marina might see as a threat to her claim.
He jerked his hand away and stepped back. Her eyes widened slightly, confusion and something that might have been hurt flashing across her features before she smoothed them away and busied herself tidying her herbs and oils.
“Thank you.” He backed away so quickly that he nearly upended a stack of books. “I should go before Lira and Sass miss me.”
Iris nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a sudden chill. “Of course. Let me know if the marks spread further or if you feel any other changes.”
Changes. He almost laughed at that. Everything was changing. The marks were spreading, his old life was catching up with him, and his feelings for Iris were taking root in his chest at the worst possible time.
“I will,” he muttered, already moving toward the curtains. He paused before he pushed them aside, fighting the urge to look back, yank her into his arms, and send all caution spiraling into the ether.
Instead, he parted the heavy fabric, strode through the empty shop, ignored the bell as he tugged open the door, and stepped out into the sleepy village.
Stamping his feet, he proceeded down the sidewalk. Somewhere behind him, a rooster crowed and horses whinnied in the stables. Vaskel cast a glance across the snowy street to the tinker shop, which was still quiet and dark. Maybe that meant Lira and Korl weren’t awake yet.
The whiff of yeast and sugar now clung to the icy breeze.
At least he knew that Pip Brambleheart was awake and baking, just as he was every morning.
A distant splash told him the waterwheel was turning, and a muffled clang signaled the blacksmith was hard at work.
Everything was just as it should be in Wayside. Everything but him.
Vaskel pressed a hand to his arm, then gave a rough shake of his head. He couldn’t think about the marks or how fast they might be spreading. He could only think about how he had to protect those he loved from the deal he’d made so many years ago, how he was going to keep them safe from Marina.
Even if it meant giving the hellkin exactly what he’d promised her.