Always Death, Never Life
GAbrIEL
Wren’s lips are soft and plump as they stroke against mine. Each movement is delicate, verging on timid. As if she thinks that if she comes closer, if she truly kisses me, she might get more than she bargained for.
And maybe she’s right.
Having Wren in the saddle with me for days has been gods-damned torture. The way the luscious curve of her ass constantly brushed against my cock. The little sounds she made when we went over bumps. The way she relaxed over the past few days, letting herself rest against me.
My wounds are bothering me, and my right arm is incredibly sore. The makeshift bandage won’t stop the bleeding for much longer, but I don’t want to ruin this moment. This kiss is far more important to me than my injuries, which can wait.
I dreamed of her again last night. Of us. Being together without any barriers, of feasting between her legs until she screamed my name.
Thoughts of sinking into her wet heat occupied my mind while I slept. I woke up hard and wanting, and I had to take a few minutes to take the edge off and regain my composure before another night of riding.
And then Hedran interrupted us.
The dream had been good, but this kiss is far more than anything I could’ve ever imagined. The wounds I received burn, but what are injuries right now? I would endure suffering far worse than this, kill a hundred more Hunters, if it meant I could kiss Wren again.
My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to tangle themselves in Wren’s curls and angle her head just so, deepening our embrace, but I don’t want to scare her off.
Flames are already coursing through me from this brushing of our lips.
It barely qualifies as a kiss, and yet it feels like I’m floating on air.
I lift my hand, intent on drawing Wren closer, when a feline head bumps insistently against my leg. If it happened once, I could ignore it, but when Mist does it again, I know she won’t leave us alone.
I pull back, even though doing so makes my chest ache. My mouth feels bereft of Wren’s, the kiss not nearly enough to sate the need that has been building within me for days. I never knew it was possible to yearn for someone so deeply, to want them so fucking much that it consumed my every thought.
A furry head bumps against my leg for a third time, and I glance down. Mist is next to me, a brown satchel clutched between her teeth. Her judgmental silver eyes drill into mine, and I swear she raises a brow, as if saying Really? You had to kiss her here? Now?
I don’t bother replying. Mist is a wonderful familiar, and our connection is special, but this draw I feel towards Wren is different.
I barely understand it, and I’m not sure I could explain it to anyone else.
All I know is that thing deep inside me wants more than a gentle kiss, more than a fleeting touch.
It wants me to connect with Wren in a way that almost feels mystical.
“Well, hello, Mist.” Wren moves back, and suns save me, but I hate that she’s putting space between us.
The little bird crouches, her gorgeous lips sliding into a smile that I wish was directed at me.
Wren reaches for my panther, hand extended.
I expect Mist to jerk away and refuse her touch, since my panther has never allowed anyone but me to pet her, not even Maia and Theon, but instead Mist leans into Wren’s hand.
The gods-blessed scratches behind Mist’s ears, murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like Good kitty.
And Mist purrs.
Stunned, I watch as Wren keeps petting with one hand, taking hold of the bag with the other. Mist opens her mouth obediently, giving up her prize and beaming at Wren, who scratches her once more. As if Mist were a simple house cat and not a deadly panther.
Clearly, I’m not the only one captivated by the gods-blessed.
“What did you bring us?” Wren asks.
I scan the forest, making sure we’re still alone before I kneel and return my attention to Wren, who is opening the bag.
“This must be Hedran’s pack,” I murmur. “Good find, Mist.”
My panther glances at me haughtily, as if saying Someone has to do the hard work around here.
Mist is going to be disappointed if she thinks I’ll ever apologize for that kiss. Still, I send a warm wave of affection to my judgmental cat, thanking her before I look inside the bag.
A new wave of anger crashes into me as I catalog the contents. Suns take me, I should’ve killed Hedran more slowly. He didn’t deserve a quick death, not when he was carrying these items.
“Oh, suns.” Wren hitches a breath as she pulls out a long length of braided rope from the bag. Several strips of cloth and a sharp hunting knife follow close behind.
She sets them on the ground in a line, her shoulders tensing with each new discovery. Blood drains from her face as she runs a finger down the hunting knife, shuddering. “He was going to hurt me, wasn’t he?”
My teeth grind together as I glare at Hedran’s corpse on the other side of the clearing. It takes a long moment before I compose myself enough to dip my head.
“Yes, it appears so.”
Hedran Erlet was the worst kind of Hunter because this wasn’t a job for him. He hunted for sport, delighting in other people’s pain. His dark desires just happened to coincide with his chosen path of employment.
And he had picked Wren as his next victim.
“But he’s dead,” she murmurs.
“Yes.” My voice is rough. “He won’t be hurting anyone anymore.”
Others will be searching for us, though. Protectors and Hunters. The king will be furious when he finds out Hedran is gone.
And yet, I don’t feel remorseful about his death.
My gods-blessed frowns, slowly running her finger down the flat edge of the blade before touching the sharp tip. Crimson blood beads on her fingertip.
“Did you know I wanted to be a healer?” She turns her finger one way, then the other, studying the blood sliding down her knuckle.
She’s not looking at me. I’m not even sure she’s talking to me or if she’s processing what happened earlier. But since these are some of the first words she’s said to me that aren’t laced with tension or anger, I don’t want to shatter the moment.
“No, I didn’t,” I say softly.
“It was my dream,” she confesses on a whisper.
“Oh?”
“The Given aren’t supposed to dream, but I . . . I couldn’t help myself. Before Amelia’s ceremony, before she was . . .”
Wren shudders and closes her eyes, taking in several shaky breaths. I don’t say anything, allowing her the space to work out her thoughts.
“I was going to heal people. Save them.” She sounds wistful. “And yet, here I am. Surrounded by death.” Her violet eyes open, and she stares at her bloody finger. “It’s always death, Gabriel. Always blood and pain and endless hurt. Never life.”
The agony in her words hurts me more than all my injuries combined.
“You can still be a healer.” If that’s what she wants, I’ll move mountains to make it happen.
The thought should scare me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s acknowledging what I already feel in my soul—Wren’s happiness is incredibly important to me.
“Can I?” She stares at her hand. “I don’t know.”
“I do.” I wait until her eyes lift to mine. “You healed me twice, remember?”
Arguably, the second time was a situation of her own making, since she admitted to poisoning me, but this isn’t the moment for semantics.
A spark enters her eye, and the smallest of smiles dances on her lips. “I did, didn’t I?”
I nod, and the movement sends a sharp jolt of pain down my arm. I’d successfully ignored the injuries Hedran bestowed upon me until now, but it appears that will no longer be possible.
Wren seems to come to the same conclusion. She digs through the bag once more, pulling out a small jar that fits neatly in the palm of her hand, then looks up at me, her cheeks beautifully reddened.
“Better make that three times.” She opens the lid of the blessed salve. “Take your shirt off, Hunter.”
I’ve never obeyed a command faster.
The air between Wren and me has shifted.
I noticed it back in the woods and again when we left Hedran’s body behind.
The ground was hard, and burying Hunter Erlet would’ve taken several hours, so we didn’t.
Chaos and Mist were anxious to go, especially after Wren applied healing salve to Mist’s wounds, and I agreed with their sentiments.
I couldn’t leave him exposed, though. More for our sake than his, I covered the fallen Hunter’s body in leaves to hide the evidence of his death. Maybe if we’re lucky, it will keep my father and his soldiers off our trail. One can only hope.
Before Wren and I departed, I relieved Hedran of his weapons and the spare tunic in his pack since he didn’t need them anymore. The tunic fits well enough, and it’s far better than the torn and bloody garment I’d been wearing. His sword is sheathed on my back, and his dagger rests against my thigh.
My attention isn’t on my new weapons, though. How can it be when Wren is sitting in front of me?
Tonight, space between us is nonexistent. From the moment we mounted, she nestled against my chest, making herself comfortable. Her back is relaxed, and her head rests below my shoulder.
I’m not sure whether it was our brush with death or what came after that brought about the change, but Wren seems to have softened towards me.
Gods fucking help me but knowing that makes me far happier than it should.
I’ve been smiling for hours, a wholly inappropriate reaction after having killed someone earlier. I can’t help myself.
Who is this man that I’m becoming? A few months ago, I didn’t need anyone. I was perfectly happy being on my own with Mist as my only companion. We were a pair. A Hunter and his familiar against the rest of the world.
But now my chest is warm, and there’s a strange sensation that’s almost like peace inside me, all because Wren is leaning against me. Trusting me, at least enough to relax and let her barriers down.
“Gabriel?” The little bird’s voice is soft, and I can barely hear her over the steady rhythm of Chaos’s hooves against the ground.
It started snowing a few hours ago, and while the thin white layer muffles the sound, it doesn’t absorb it.
“Gabe,” I murmur before I can think twice about it.
She peers at me over her shoulder. “What?”
“Most people call me Gabe. My friends, and . . . You can call me that. If you want.”
She makes me feel like a bumbling teenager, barely able to talk to his first crush. I’m not sure what we are, but I know I don’t want to be Wren’s friend. The way she looks at me, the way her mouth felt beneath mine . . .
Gods, no. I definitely don’t want to be friends.
Her breath catches as the meaning of my words settle in.
“Okay, then. Gabe.” She smiles, and Esyn fucking help me, I want to bottle that up and hold it close for the rest of my days. “My friends and family call me Birdie. I realize you know that, but things are . . .”
Her voice trails off, and her cheeks color beautifully.
“Changing,” I offer, filling the silence, pleased to hear her acknowledge the shift between us.
“Yes, exactly.”
“So can I call you Birdie?” I ask, remembering the way she bit my head off for using the nickname after we left her sisters behind.
There’s a moment’s pause, and then she shifts, burrowing her head against my chest. “If you’d like.”
My heart soars as though she plucked one of the moons out of the sky and handed it to me. “I would like that very much,” I murmur, tightening my arm around her and brushing a kiss across the top of her head because I can’t help myself. “Thank you, Birdie.”
“You’re welcome, Gabe.”
Several minutes pass in silence before she shifts, peering up at me once more. “Can you tell me where we’re going?”
Until now, I’ve kept our destination vague whenever she asked. Which wasn’t often, even after the first night we left her sisters, but Wren’s had a lot on her mind. It’s not surprising she hasn’t pushed me much for information on where we’re going.
We round a bend, and Chaos slows as the ground underfoot becomes slippery.
“Well, I suppose there are two answers to your question,” I muse.
“Oh?”
“If the suns and moons are with us, we’ll reach The Ivory Spoon within a day or two.” The inn is located a short distance outside Moorn, and I’ve stayed there a few times over the years. “With any luck, they’ll have a couple rooms for us and a stable and some hay for Chaos.”
Mist will have to fend for herself, but that won’t be a problem. The forests around Moorn are teeming with wildlife, and she enjoys the hunt as much as I do. I’m sure she’ll find something to keep her occupied while we rest.
“That sounds nice,” Wren says.
“Mm-hmm, it will be.”
Between the money Maia was able to obtain for me on short notice and the funds Hedran had on him, we’ll be able to pay for the stay and have enough to buy supplies later.
“Watch your head,” I direct as Chaos trots under a large low-hanging branch.
We both duck, and I curve my chest around Wren’s back. The trees reach for us, brushing the top of my head and shoulders. Wren squeaks, squirming against me, and blood rushes to my cock.
I make a mental note to give the gelding an extra treat when we stop riding.
“And after that?” Wren asks when we’ve straightened. “Where are we going?”
I lift my head and wrap my arm around her more tightly. Is it necessary? No. Do I want to keep holding her? Absolutely. “After, things get a little . . . tricky.”
“What do you mean?” Even though I can’t see her face, I can tell her brows are furrowed.
“I have a general idea of where we’re going.” And by that, I mean that I’ve heard a few rumors and I’m hoping the information I’m following is at least somewhat trustworthy, although I don’t tell Wren that. “And I’m fairly certain it’ll be safe.”
For her.
She looks up, her nose scrunching. “‘Fairly certain’?” she repeats.
“They may not take kindly to me.”
There’s a chance—a rather high one, if I’m being honest—that they’ll kill me on sight. But these people are also Wren’s best shot at survival, and if we find them, I’m hopeful they’ll guard her from the king while she works out what’s happening with her magic.
And her safety, it seems, is far more valuable to me than anything else. Including my own well-being.