20. Chapter 20
Willow
Liam refused to give me any news on Logan. Christof would turn away at any question pertaining to his precious duke. And Theodora was suddenly a dry well of words when it came to my husband.
On the second day since he’d left to deal with the Basilica, he sent me a letter. With his room key attached to it.
I hear you’re behaving. It’s such a shame I’m missing the sight, the asshole had written.
Both Piper and I had taken every single advantage that came with the said key.
There wasn’t a single corner in his room without some shape of a mess.
Three of his ties were wrapped around my neck.
I was wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his pants fastened tight around my waist with another one of his ties.
Piper was also in a very similar state. Engulfed in one of his shirts, the sleeves folded over a hundred times to reach her chubby tiny elbows.
A very pretty chartreuse tie was around her head as a hairband, fastened on top in a neat bow.
She was drenched in his vetiver cologne and I had used and abused every inch of his bergamot-scented soaps and balms.
Piper, who was currently laying beside me under her uncle’s bed, had found a new fascination, which involved my very expensive collection of bones.
The little critter lover couldn’t spin without making everyone within a mile dizzy, but she somehow could name almost one hundred and seven bones so far.
With some leeway, of course. Because maleuth (as in malleus), incuth (as in incus), and thtapeth (as in stapes), did have the built-in requirement that you’d be able to pronounce the ‘s’s’.
She cradled a tiny jar against her chest that had trapped the tiniest tooth—her first collectible piece. “Central incisor,” she repeated, looking at me with her tiny, hopeful golden eyes. “Is that good?”
“It’s very good,” I told her. “Gets like…five scores.”
The smallest gasp left her. “How much for three of them?” she asked, showing me five of her fingers.
I lowered two of her fingers. “Let’s not go plucking our teeth, Pipe. I know it is tempting. I could barely wait to get my hands on my third molars. All the pain wasn’t worth it. They’re as good as second molars.”
“Okay,” she said, a little deflated.
Twirling her tiny strand of a fringe around my finger, I asked, “Do you think I'm weird, Pipe?”
“Yes,” she replied with zero hesitation, her little tongue poking through the missing tooth. “I want to be just like you when I grow up.” She sighed, her eyes surrendering to sleep. “And have my own bones.”
“Will you even remember me when you grow up?” I whispered, tapping my finger on her chubby cheek. “I’ll probably be just a hazy memory.” I kissed her brow. “You can have all my bones when I’m gone. I want you to have them.”
Thomas, who’d been tied at the foot of the bed with a black tie after too many comments about cooking Piper, slowly slipped into his real shape, freeing himself. “Your vampire is here. He’s hungry, too.”
What?
Wait. Was Irena with him?
The thought made my elbow turn into jelly, and my forehead met the ground with a bang.
Cradling the bump in my forehead, I quickly crawled out, stepping out of the room as quietly as I could without waking Piper.
Guards lined the entry hall, holding their rifles at the ready in the direction of the house.
I climbed down the stairs, joining Christof’s side as a cold sweat settled at the back of my head. “Why are their weapons drawn?”
Henry left the wall of guards, putting a hand on my shoulder to guide me back upstairs. “Best you head to sleep for tonight, Willow.”
“I know he’s here, Henry. Is…is that woman with him?”
Henry shook his head. “Please, go back to your room. It’s for the best. Don’t argue, Willow. Not this time.”
I glanced up at his other friend posted at Logan’s study room door. But Arthur’s back was not against his door. He was facing it, his rifle drawn and held tightly, his fingers slipping on and off the trigger.
“Art, where is he?”
When he lowered his head, I grabbed Henry by his shirt. “Tell me where he is or I will light you both on fire even if it is the last spell I will ever cast.”
“I promised his mother on her deathbed I’d look after him, you can’t light him on fire.”
I spun around at the sound of Logan’s voice, my limbs shaking with relief. He was leaning against his study door, a cigarette between his lips. The relaxed expression on his face almost distracted me from the harsh blood stain spreading from his stomach in a crimson gradient.
He held a hand against it as he tipped his head back and blew a cloud of smoke. “I also happen to like the bastards a little.”
Both his friends tensed, their grip on their weapons harsher as they lifted them in Logan’s direction. As did the rest of the soldiers.
“Put them down,” I said, climbing down the stairs in a hurry. “Art! Put them down.”
“They can’t,” Logan said, stepping a foot back into his study when I came to stand in the foyer. “I’ve ordered them not to.”
The question almost slipped past my lips when I realised.
No.
I shook my head.
No.
“Stop right there, witch-woman,” Arthur shouted, making me flinch. He lifted his rifle in Logan's direction. “Move away from him.”
Pulling my skirts up, I took off my slippers and launched them at both their heads. “How can you do this to him?” My own vocal cords strangled me as I said, “And how dare you?”
“It was his orders,” Arthur said through a gritted jaw, his rifle unsteady in his hands, and eyes practically begging that I move away and didn’t force him to do what he didn't want to do.
“Willow, no!” Henry bellowed when I dashed as quickly as I could, shoved Logan into his study, and locked the door behind us.
Heavy rattling filled the room as Henry and Arthur tried to break in.
Logan’s eyes flashed when he saw me pull a thread from his shirt and wrap it around my fingers. “Honey, don’t.”
“Tomb of stone, hinges of bone,” I murmured to myself, feeling the wooden door behind me solidify into rock.
Logan took a few small steps back. “You’ve seen how it is, Willow. It’s best if you get out. Please,” he begged.
His breathing grew harsher, hurried, when I grabbed his shirt, lifting it up to inspect his wound.
“Why haven’t they called a doctor?”
He took a few steps away from me again. “We usually heal on our own in a few hours.”
I kept closing the distance between us. “How long has it been?”
“A few hours.”
He wasn’t healing. Oh, Goddess, he wasn’t healing. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I lied, shaking my head. “You’ve lost blood. You need to feed. You…you’ll get better once you feed. You just need to feed, Logan.”
He cradled the back of my head, pressing his lips to my brow for a long while. “Not yet. I’d be harder to kill if I’m at my best.”
I shook my head. “They can't let you suffer like this. I won’t let you.”
“I’m not suffering. Not anymore,” he said, bringing my hand against his cheek and then burying his face against it. “You can’t stay here, honey.”
My lower lip rolled from between my teeth. I loved when he called me that. “I’ll stay wherever I want to stay.”
“You will not. You’d not do that to me. You’d not turn me into a monster who hurts his own wife.”
“You’d never hurt me. Or anyone else,” I said, looking at the weapon clutched tightly in his hand—he’d hurt himself before anyone even had the chance to.
“Ever shot one before?”
I stared at the dreaded pistol he put in my hand, and shook my head.
He drew me closer, my back pressed against his chest while his hands slid down my arms until they were aligned with mine. “You pull the hammer back with your thumb,” he said against my ear. “Like that. Good girl.” His body slid even closer to mine as he adjusted the aim. “We find the mark.”
He moved my finger lower. “And then you press on the trigger.”
The bullet cut right through a vase, shattering it to pieces.
His lips pressed against the column of my neck.
“Excellent.” The tip of his nose skimmed the length of my pulse.
“You smell good. And you smell like me.” Then I felt his lip pull into a smile against my skin as he slid his hand down my stomach and pulled me against him.
“What are you wearing under my trousers?”
“Nothing.”
He groaned against my throat. “You should be scared.”
“I am,” I said, my body surrendering against him.
“You don’t smell scared,” he breathed, sliding his hand just a little lower. And then lower, cupping me between my legs.
A soft gasp of a whimper left my parted lips, and I leaned into his touch.
His body tensed against mine when I dropped the pistol on the ground and shoved it to the other corner of the room with my foot.
“Willow,” he breathed, pulling away from me. “If I hurt you—”
“You will not because you’re not sick,” I said, backing him against a library shelf and slipping my fingers through the cut in his shirt.
He trembled against me as I brushed my middle fingers over the wound and slipped them into the deep laceration an inch or so. The corner of my lip slid between my teeth as I pushed them deeper, feeling him shudder against me. Oh.
Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss on his chest, trying not to smile too hard. “This is as close to being inside your skin as I can get.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, chuckling as he watched me. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His brow dropped to mine, his eyes drawing shut as he inhaled deeply. “You have no clue what you do to me.”
Slipping my fingers out of his warm wound, I brought them to my mouth, sucking the blood off. I could almost feel my pulse on my teeth when viscid metallic liquid coated my tongue. It travelled down my oesophagus, settling against my ribs when I swallowed.
“Saints,” he hissed, dropping his head back against the shelf.
I licked my lips, still tasting coppery sin on my tongue. “It doesn’t smell or taste sweet. It just smells and tastes like you,” I said, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’re not infected. Case solved.”