Chapter 36
Mora
“Why do you continue to haunt me?” Mora huffed, pushing away from the Fae and marching toward the clearing, her racing heart slowing with every mint-filled breath.
His warmth abandoned her, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch.
Mora rubbed at her arms, furious she missed being cuddled by his scent.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question.” He sighed, following her to the giant husk of a tree in the dead meadow’s center. It looked different than she remembered from nights prior, its branches less gnarled, the black char covering its trunk lighter than before.
Mora shivered, reaching for her cloak before remembering it was lost, fisted in Dother’s hands somewhere among the trees. When had he stopped chasing her? Amber eyes darted around the clearing, searching the brush for signs of azure... but the weight of his stare was gone.
“Thank the gods,” she breathed, tension melting from her shoulders.
“Are you thanking your deities for our nights together, Little Witch?” The Fae smiled, flashing his sharp canines. There was no malice on his handsome face, a delicate spark of mirth pushing through his usual melancholy. “I thought you hated me?”
Rough bark snagged the back of her ivory dress as she settled on the ground, soot dusting the fabric. “I do. And I believe in no deities,” she muttered, bringing her knees to her chest, her slit skirt pooling in her lap to expose her thighs.
“Truly?” His breeches brushed her exposed skin when he sat by her side, chasing her shivers away. A pleasant warmth blooming in the wake of his touch. “I imagined the Princess of Berwick would be pious.”
She rested her head on her knee and looked up at him, ensnared by onyx that glittered like an endless night sky.
When she exhaled, his eyes slowly slid down her face, caressing the curve of her cheek before settling on her lips, a spark of hunger churning in their depths.
Something in her own chest heating in response.
Mora rubbed a hand over the blooming glow, as if it could staunch the feeling. “I was hardly devout before... everything,” she said, hating when his gaze gentled, “but I once believed. Now... it’s hard to have faith in Gods who abandoned you.”
He nodded, tousled strands of black hair brushing against his brow. “I suppose that’s fair.”
It was odd how natural it felt, speaking to the Fae who had aided in her downfall. Though, what harm was it to dream? “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you have Gods of your own?”
The strong columns of his throat worked, head tipping up to stare at the twisted branches above. “I had one, once,” he sighed, the sadness in his voice so thick it squeezed her own heart.
“You lost faith?”
“No, Little Witch. I betrayed Her.”
Mora curled her arms tighter around herself, uncertain whether she trembled from the chill in the air or the throbbing ache in her throat. “This dream is growing strange.”
He was quiet a moment, his palm brushing over the tops of crinkly dead weeds. “Then I’ll imagine something better.” A frown graced his perfect lips when he looked back at her. “You’re cold?”
She dipped her chin. “I have no faith in my imagination; I keep conjuring the same forest over and over again, and a male I would rather watch burn. At least that would keep me warm.”
Before she could blink, he’d peeled off his black tunic. “Perhaps you enjoy your time with me more than you’d like to admit.”
Scars marked his muscular forearms, a patchwork of pain marring his skin—Mora’s eyes trailed over them, wondering what had happened, before her focus settled lower. Words refused to leave her throat, her bright stare locked on his muscled abs.
He chuckled softly. “I’ll take that as a silent confession.” Rising to his knees, he held out his tunic, but when Mora reached for it, he shook his head. “Allow me.”
A flush darkened her cheeks. “Okay,” she breathed.
He was gentle as he pulled his shirt over her head, gathering her curls in one hand and freeing them from the fabric. The long sleeves fell past her wrists, encasing her hands like gloves. Cradling her in his body heat. When he was done, he lingered, their eyes locking as they shared their breaths.
“Why are you here, night after night?” she asked, uncertain why tears burned in the backs of her eyes.
Brushing a curl behind her ear, he sighed. “Our souls find their way home, even if only in dreams.”
“What do you mean?”
His touch lingered, a whisper gracing her cheek, before he pulled away. “It doesn’t matter.”
Moonlight spilled over twisted boughs, a soft gleam painting his handsome face. Her body swayed toward him, lips parting. Breathing uneven.
What was she doing?
Mora stood abruptly. “Of course it matters!” She scrubbed a hand over her brow, fingers tangling in her hair.
The winds spun around them, as if called by her racing thoughts, leaves rustling throughout the clearing.
Moving past him, she began to pace, blackened grass and rotten branches crunching beneath her feet.
“You held a blade to my throat. I should be thinking of you as a tyrant.”
“Oh, to be a tyrant,” Zadriel mused, wiping soot from his breeches before rising to follow.
“See!” She turned and pointed a finger at him. “I know exactly what kind of beast you are, yet here I am, barely dressed and running into your arms nightly, as if you’re my savior. Gods,” she groaned. “Have I simply placed Castellan in a body that’s more pleasing to me? Is that what this is?”
A growl rumbled in his chest and he was by her side in a breath, teeth bared. Mora froze, her glowing amber eyes locked onto his sharp canines. Though her pulse didn’t quicken, her hands stilled.
Should she not be afraid?
“Is that the name of the blond you’re traveling with?” he seethed.
“My dream Fae is jealous?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “How amusing.”
Mora turned away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his bare chest, his heat pushing through her borrowed tunic to flutter on her skin. “His name doesn’t leave those pretty lips here,” he muttered. “There is no one but us in this space.”
Spinning in his grip, she bared her teeth, wishing she had threatening fangs of her own. “I will speak of whomever I want!”
Curling his arm around her lower back, the Fae held her close and grasped her chin in a gentle grip with his free hand, tipping her head up and leaning down until his breath tickled her lips. “The only name I wish to hear you say in this sacred place is my own.”
“I have no name to call you.”
“Would you like me to tell you?”
Mora stared into those midnight eyes, lost in their starry depths. Did she want his name?
When she didn’t answer, a sad smile graced his lips.
“Call me whatever you’d like, Little Witch.
All I ask is, when we’re in the meadow, it’s only us.
I can’t have you in the waking world. I can’t stop you from...
” Closing his eyes, he swallowed, his thumb gently sweeping over her chin.
“I want you to be happy, but I can’t allow myself to envision you with another.
Keep his name off your tongue when we’re together. ”
They watched one another, the Fae staring through her as if he saw all the way to the depths of her soul.
“I...” What was this feeling? She was suddenly too aware of the breeze in her hair.
The weeds tickling her ankles. The gentle sway of the branches at her back.
His scent coated her, sinking into her skin to play with her smoke, and she found she didn’t mind.
That she’d soak in it if she could. When his thumb grazed over her jaw, it was as if he’d set her aflame.
She wanted him.
It terrified her.
“Fine. I won’t say his name.”
“Good.” He released her chin, but his arm remained around her back, grip tightening as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “Do you still hate me, Little Witch?”
“Always,” she whispered, resting a hand on his chest to push him away.
It settled near his heart, the organ thrumming gently beneath her palm, her own pulse calming to follow its rhythm.
“Though, this fictitious version of you isn’t terrible.
” Mora stared at her fingers, unable to convince herself to move.
He snorted. “Is that what I am? A figment’s figment?” he mumbled, more to himself.
She answered anyway. “You’re a dream. This is penance, remember?”
Huffing an amused breath, he rested his hand atop hers. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though I’m finding I’m glad to pay it.”
The silence lingered, evening light washing over them as if the Gods watched from their perch in the heavens. The owls didn’t trill. No creatures skittered along the branches. Even the breeze seemed to pause its dance through the leaves, the forest itself holding its breath.
Something splashed on Mora’s wrist, a trickle of crimson settling on her skin. “You’re bleeding,” she murmured, watching another drop tumble.
“Hmm?” He lifted his hand and eyed the remaining bead of blood.
“A gift from the bramble. The wound already closed, though it’s good to know you care.
” Onyx eyes glittered when he ran his tongue over the back of his hand and licked up the blood.
Soothing warmth spread through Mora’s chest, skin tingling beneath the drops settling on her wrist—part of her longed to lap it up.
Something was wrong with her...
Mora wiped the mess on her dress, a smear of red seeping into snow-white fabric. She could have sworn the Fae’s stare darkened, disappointment heavy in his gaze.
Backing away, she searched for something—anything—to say to distract from the heat flowing through her veins and the tremors dancing beneath her skin.
He chuckled as she fled, following like a moth to a flame. “I can’t say I don’t bite, Little Witch, but I wouldn’t unless you wanted me to.”
“Excuse me?” Her focus slipped to the shrubs surrounding them, their thorny stems acting as a barrier to keep monsters like Dother out. Or to keep her in?