2. - #2
His shoulders bounce from a laugh. His hot breath caresses the skin on my neck, summoning goosebumps in its wake.
“And have every horny, unmated man staring at you? I think not. It's bad enough that I have to share you for rituals.”
Warmth splashes over my body. I've been with Talon for about two years, and it brings me joy to hear he doesn't like public mating rituals. A coy smile tugs on my lips. He likes having me to himself, and that swells my heart.
My fingers comb through his short, black hair and travel down his back, slipping them underneath the collar of his band t-shirt.
Gingerly, they inch towards the narrow wing slits on his back, fidgeting with the closed grooves.
His tight back muscles flex and contort at the tender touches, almost as if I were tickling him.
I admire his beauty, his strength. He's a prized possession to Deemer, crafted with deadly precision and unwavering loyalty.
I will give him a child. He deserves it, and Banity deserves it.
Talon corrects his spine and cups my cheek with his palm. I lean into it, soaking up his warmth. His presence is calming, even more so that I know he's not upset with me for the ritual failing.
“Call for me when you're done here,” Talon says. “I'll see what was prepared for dinner.”
On cue, my stomach growls. It wasn't my turn to help cook our coven feasts, so I didn't get to snack on the ingredients while it was being prepared.
“Okay,” I offer, pulling my hands away from him. “If there's dessert, I'd like some, please.”
His teeth peek out from his lips. “Of course.” Our lips meet in a sloppy, wet final kiss as he leaves the room. His shadow disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone in the bathhouse.
With one hand gripping my homemade bar of soap, I dip my big toe into the water. Perfectly toasty. As my body adjusts to the temp, I slip my foot in, then allow the rest of me to sink into the simmering water. Steam rises from the pool, coating me with evaporation and curling my baby hairs.
Heat penetrates deep into my firm, unrelenting muscles, drawing out the tension they've been holding onto for months now.
Like a pair of working hands, the anxiety begins to fade.
I take a breath of relief. I am grateful that my mate is not mad that the ritual failed, however, we still don't know why.
My powers are severely underdeveloped, but that shouldn't be the cause.
That's why we did the ritual with most of the members, as our magic strength is greater with more people.
Dipping my bar of soap into the water, I scrub it against my body to suds it up, working it into my skin as I think about how the ritual failed. It's possible that there wasn't enough power, but like Deemer stated, the ritual has a one hundred percent success rate.
Well, it did until now.
Was J?rmungandr upset with me? Maybe I'm cursed.
I shake my head to dispel those negative thoughts. Whatever you put into the world comes back on you, and I need positive thoughts.
“This thing is so ugly,” a voice behind me startles me.
Waves hit the sides of the spring as I fling myself around.
A girl in a workout tank top and shorts appears beside my clothes on the bench, holding Stitches in her hand.
My anxiety spikes as I watch her thumb run along the black needle work holding Stitch's pieces of dried, dead skin and burlap together.
My arms flail forward, walking along the bottom of the pool to the edge. “Hey, be careful with him! He's fragile.” I don’t doubt my craftsmanship, but stitches must be handled with care. As the used skin dries out longer, the easier it is to flake and chip him.
I'd prefer to keep Stitches in mostly one piece. A few of the square cuts of skin are from bodies that I can't retrieve to fix him up if I needed.
Her judgemental eyes flick to my direction behind her ridiculous thick, black, box-like glasses. Pale lips hold a resentful expression, flattened into a thin line. She threads her pinky through the loop on his head and swings it. I see a thread begin to separate.
“Hey!” I yell, my eyebrows sinking downward, “you're going to hurt him!” My hand grips the stone edge of the body of water, ready to pull myself out, but Bitch Tits uses the heel of her tennis shoe to collide with my fingers.
I yelp, bringing the digits to my face and holding them with my other hand.
Fucking bitch.
My eyes ignite with what little power I have. On a scowl, I use my good hand to launch myself out of the water, lunging at her. I don't know this girl's name, but does it really matter when you're about to kick someone's ass?
Bitch Tits cackles like I told her the best punchline and steps to the side in a millisecond. Unable to combat my speed, my body makes contact with the hard concrete wall. I crumple upon impact.
“You're pathetic. Your powers are too weak to make much of a difference to this coven. Why are you even alive?” The girl's words cut me like a knife, dripping with malice.
I glance at her over my shoulder. I should be embarrassed that I'm fighting some bitch in the nude, but I don't care about anything besides her giving me Stitches back and leaving me the hell alone.
Her eyes are two black holes, just like Ven's. They're bottomless voids of zero emotion. Her movement speed is unmatched. She must be training often.
I'm not a trainer, nor a fighter for the coven. Most of the women here aren't. This girl must be one of those fighters.
I am severely outmatched if so.
Talon has done some training with me, just in case the Elites kidnap me or if the coven is under attack so I can assist. Otherwise, I don't utilize my powers often. I haven't had any reason to.
I haven't needed to go up against another member either, as infighting is highly discouraged. Disputes must be handled appropriately by going to Deemer and Bexlee.
I growl at her like the unhinged beast I am. “Just give me back Stitches and piss off.”
Her empty vessels sink further with disappointment. “You named it?”
“What does it matter to you?” I spit.
“Just getting to know the commander's useless mate.”
Useless? Who does she think she is?
I blink, gathering myself to refrain from punching her lights out. “What do you want? To take Stitches from me?”
“Eww, no,” she replies, scrunching her face up. She tosses my doll onto the bench. “You can keep your dead things, you absolute freak.”
This bitch is full of insults.
My eyes turn narrow in her direction as she adds, “I just wonder why Deemer or Talon haven't dispatched you because you cannot contribute to the coven.”
That's her deal? Why does she care? “I provide for the coven,” I shoot back.
Her mouth unhinges in a sneer. “You call your dead things contributions? You're supposed to have babies, Cerys. You're not supposed to create dead babies!” Her thin arms wave around exasperatedly.
“Not everyone can get pregnant on their first try, ya know,” I tack on.
“The ritual should have cleared that up,” she concludes, “but your magic isn't strong enough. You're a disappointment. I think the coven needs to make a decision on getting rid of you and having someone new in your place.”