19. Iris
Iris
Isit across from the Slayer, wondering how I’m going to pull this all off. I have to be careful that he doesn’t figure out any of my plans.
He can’t know that Warin is still alive and in love with my best friend, that there’s a bunch of ancient vampires milling about town looking for him, or that I’m conspiring with Adam to send him back to the void.
It’s what’s best for everyone. Ember has found the love of her life, and I need to protect that while also trying to give Adam his life back. The Slayer will go back to where he belongs and life will be simple again, the visions will go away, and I’ll go back to just being me, I guess?
Sure, there’s this cosmic pull between us, but I know that if he goes back to the void these uncomfortable feelings will disappear, too. I didn’t ask for this, and I refuse to put up with some magically engineered fate bullshit.
I’m sitting across from him as he taps his long, calloused fingers against the table. How do you keep a vampire slayer entertained?
“Are you tired?” I ask and he gives me a so-so motion.
I glance at his clothes. They’re the same ones he wore when he showed up at my shop. Work pants and what looks like a dress shirt that’s had the arms ripped off.
“I could transfigure some of my clothes to fit you,” I tell him.
This has his chest puffing up with pride. “I would love that, my Iris.”
I sigh, knowing that there’s no point in telling him to stop calling me his Iris.
So, instead, I head to my dresser, grabbing one of the largest shirts I own, along with a flowing maxi skirt.
If, goddess forbid, I need to take him out of the shop, then I’ll have to get him something more fitting, but for now, this will do.
With my wand in my hand and a flick of my wrist, I stretch the shirt and shape the skirt to look like men’s pants. He watches me like I’m fascinating, and I clear my throat as I hand him his transfigured clothes.
“Thank you, my magical, wonderful mate,” he says and I try to force a smile even though there’s this twinge of pain fluttering through my chest. It’s almost like the magic forged between us knows that I’m planning to betray him and it doesn’t like it.
I expect him to go into the bathroom and change his clothes, but of course he doesn’t.
Instead, he fully undresses in front of me.
The man just gets bare ass naked. His tall tattooed body is on complete display, along with his large swinging cock that I definitely shouldn’t have looked at and, of course, he notices.
“Do not be ashamed to look upon your mate,” he says, confidently spreading his arms wide, like he’s showing off his body.
I clear my throat, looking away.
He laughs, and I can hear the shuffle of him putting on his clothes. “I believe that the universe waited until I had the most attractive vessel for you. Are you pleased?”
“I’m going to get changed for bed. I’ll be right back,” I say instead of answering and half run into the bathroom like a coward.
I lean against the door, my heart pumping too fast as I try to calm my nerves.
There’s an invisible force that wants me to go back out there and look at every naked inch of him, which is just abhorrent.
I’d never truly found men attractive before.
Sure, in a sense I could look at a man and know if they were objectively good looking, but I never looked at one and had a visceral reaction to their appearance.
It’s why I know I would be a terrible mate. What the Slayer thinks he wants, I can’t give him. It’s best that we all go back to how things were.
My head thunks against the door as I try to wrap my mind around everything that’s going on and everything that I need to do.
I’m not attracted to him, not really. It’s just whatever this magic is that’s forcing us together, someone cursed me long before I was born, and if there’s one thing I know without a doubt, it’s that curses can be broken.
Taking my time, I look at the address that Adam gave me.
Step one is going to be stealing that spell book or grimoire.
They live quite a few parishes over, about a two-hour drive.
There’s no way I could portal that distance.
On Google Maps, the property looks rough, the satellite images showcasing a dilapidated home with a front yard full of trash.
It makes me wonder more about who Adam is and why his family would have this sort of magic. Witches are inherently secretive creatures. To give a human any tidbits of magic was to put your life at risk.
There’s no way I could go to this house alone, and it was too much of a risk to store the spell book at the shop, either.
Ember was out of the question, and my grandmother was powerful, but aging; I couldn’t risk her.
While I wasn’t happy about the idea of asking for help, and knew deep down my coven would do anything for me, including my best friends, I still hated asking.
Despite myself, I shoot a message off to Violet.
Tomorrow night. Meet me at the back of the Howl at the Moon, we need to take a trip to St. Perdue.
Violet
I’ll be there. What exactly are we going to be doing in bum fuck nowhere?
Stealing the spell book that brought the Slayer here.
Violet
You’re sure that’s what you want?
See you tomorrow.
I close my phone, and put on the sleep shirt and shorts I brought into the bathroom, brush my teeth, do all my self-care spellwork, and just stare at myself for a long moment.
This is the right thing. Protect Ember, save Adam, break the curse.
Yet, as I walk back into the room, and spot the Slayer lounged on my bed like he lives there holding my copy of The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan with one large hand, guilt sinks heavily in my stomach.
“What are you doing?” I question him and he glances over at Scarlett.
“Little fox said it was her favorite book and that it might help me understand women better,” he says, and that bubbling feeling of doubt rises in my throat like the worst acid reflex I’ve ever had.
“You can sleep on the couch. You’ve been hogging up the bed for days while you recovered.”
He glances over at the fox for advice.
“Yes, Slayer, move to the couch. You haven’t earned bed status yet.”
With Scarlett’s instructions, he gets off the bed, bringing his book with him, and lies on the couch.
The man is absurdly tall, so he doesn’t fit, but he also doesn’t complain, either.
It’s fucking with my head as I stare at him, his big body sprawled on the couch as he reads the book with so much intrigue.
I do my best to shake the thoughts away and get under my covers; I notice immediately that there’s a different scent to the bed, something more earthly like oakmoss and balsam. It’s more comforting than it should be.
Scarlett scampers on to the bed with me and I’m thankful that she didn’t choose him over me. That might have sent me into an even bigger spiral.
“He’s trying, mistress. He’s like a cave man brought to the future. Be patient,” she says.
I don’t know if the Slayer hears her or not. If he does, he doesn’t make it known. It’s late as I cradle against my pillow, trying to ignore as he turns the pages. Clearly, his vision enables him to read even plunged in the darkness.
Miraculously my eyelids drift close.
For the first time in months, I sleep through the entire night. Not a single vision plagues me. I don’t even dream. I just sleep and try not to make it out to be a bigger deal than it is.
I wake up to clanking going on in the kitchen.
“No! Do not eat the mix!” Scarlett shouts in my head and I jump up.
There stands the Slayer, with Scarlett on the stool, his fingers coated in what looks to be pancake mix as they both turn over to glance at me.
“Sorry. I was trying to be quiet,” he says.
“What are you doing?”
“He’s making you breakfast in bed. Isn’t that romantic?” Scarlett says dreamily.
“Um…yeah,” I say, groggily getting out of bed and looking at the damage they’re doing in the kitchen.
It’s a mess, but it’s the thought that counts, plus magic makes messes so much easier. I flick my wand, clearing away all the flour, egg, and oil that’s splattered on the counter.
“Perhaps using the stove is further along in our modern day lessons,” I say, grabbing the bowl and taking over the pancake making operation.
“Then what shall we do today?” the Slayer says excitedly.
He seems almost fully healed, only his energy may still not be completely all there. The blood replenishing potions don’t work on him, so his body has been working hard to create new blood cells. With whatever ancient magic that healed his skin, I’d imagine he’s nearly there.
“I have some potions I need to make,” I tell him.
Though I leave out the part that it’s a sleeping potion for him so I can escape in the night, break into his family’s home, and steal the spell book that will send him back to where he came from.
“Can I help?”
“Sure,” I agree, though I’d much rather he didn’t. But I agreed to keep him busy. The more I keep him focused on menial tasks, the less damage he can do in the outside world.
The pancakes sizzle, and I wrap up breakfast. Scarlett eats a pancake before announcing she’s going on a hunt. When she leaves us alone, I can tell it’s a mistake.
Not only is the Slayer looking at me like he wants to eat me next, but I can tell the mention of a hunt on Scarlett’s behalf has him experiencing some sort of blood lust.
He grips the table, seemingly talking to himself.
“Uh. Are you okay?” I ask, his gaze meeting mine.
The table cracks as his grip tightens, and he makes a vibrating growling noise—that has no effect on me whatsoever.
“I have only ever been one thing. My mission is always clear, removing vampires from existence. The mention of the hu—no, I won’t say it.
The word is a reminder of what I need to do, what every fiber of my being is begging me to do.
I will not break our vow, I will be strong. For you, I’ll be anything.”
For a long moment, I stare at him, more guilt and doubt seeping in. He’s trying so hard to please me and he’s been respectful and patient while inside of my home.
“Would working on potions help distract you?”
“Yes,” he says quickly, and I lead him downstairs to my brewing space. I’m leaving the shop sign set as closed for the day. It would be too dangerous to let him around customers.
He looks around at my space with wonder, bending down and looking at ingredients, bottles, and supplies.
“Is all of this for magical purposes?” he asks, as he grabs a flimsy soap mold and holds it between two fingers and wiggles it in the air as if it has some sort of magical purpose.
“No. Half of it is for the things I make in the shop, the other half is for the coven.”
He goes to open a lid and I use my wand to promptly shut it. “Do not touch that. In fact, don’t touch any of the potions.”
The Slayer raises his arms in surrender, continuing his perusal of my space as I gather everything I need for the potion.
I’m grinding up the lavender as he comes behind me, his arms bracketing me as he grips the table, his body so close that I go shock still.
“What are you doing?” he says low into my ear and I clear my throat.
“Grinding up lavender. You don’t need to stand so close.”
“I know,” he says, not touching, just hovering over me.
The rational part of me, the side I always rely on, wants to hex the shit out of him and push him away, but this other part of me, the one I don’t have any control over, wants him even closer.
It’s almost as the instinct is riding him too as his hand moves and he grips my hip.
“You don’t need to fear me, sweet Iris. I would never take this away from you. This is your identity outside of domesticity. You are a smart and powerful woman and we will be equal in all ways.”
I blink rapidly, tossing the lavender into the cauldron. “Did you learn that from your reading last night?” I ask, trying not to find him endearing.
“Most of the information seemed to make incredible sense to me. How could one look at a woman like you and ever dispute your power?”
My breath hitches as his thumb rubs against my hip.
“I know you fear what I am, what I must do, but I’m trying. For you, I’m trying my hardest.”
Quickly, I move out of his grip and shift to another potion table. I can’t let him get that close again. He jumbles up all my thoughts, and what I need is to stay clearheaded.
The Slayer is not charming…okay, he is. But he’s a killer, I have to remember that. Thinking of Adam helps too. He doesn’t say another word as he watches me flutter about the space, not a single clue that I’m working on deceiving him.