CHAPTER 33
Tyghan treaded water in the middle of the lake.
He glanced down and sighed, though nothing was visible beneath the dark water.
“Down boy,” he whispered, lamenting that his near instant erection would make Bristol think he only lured her here for his own “devious” passions—though she never objected to his passion before.
Except tonight he wanted to make it all about her, giving her what she wanted, what she needed.
But damn, he ignited every time he was near her.
He swam the short length of the lake, maybe thirty yards, his shoulders swaying in rhythm with each lap, his arms gliding through the water, neither cold nor warm, the perfect balance that made him feel free and unbound to the world.
I fell in love with this place.
That was why he brought her here. A childlike hope that it would be enough to buoy her for what was to come.
After his mother left, he sometimes thought that if he had only brought her here, shared this place with her, the powerful calm of it might have helped her to stay.
It was a game he had tortured himself with for months after she was gone.
If he had loved her more, if he had been stronger, if he had shared—
It was a childish thought, and one Eris set straight immediately.
This was not about you or anything you could have done.
Your mother loved you more than life itself.
She left to save you. Tyghan asked him if there was truly a curse, as his mother claimed.
Even Eris didn’t know. She was deeply broken, he told him.
Sometimes fear is the most powerful curse of all.
Eris encouraged him to concentrate on being the best Knight Commander Danu had ever known.
Safeguard the kingdom your mother loved.
It was a message that was sealed into him. Whenever he lost his way, he always returned to that. Maybe that goal had saved him even more than the secret place. Or maybe it was Eris who had saved him all along.
Safeguard the kingdom. That should have been his only thought. But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for a long time. He had to safeguard Bristol too. He had to make those two goals become one.
He did another lap, and another. The storm clouds had moved on, and a crescent moon shimmered on the surface of the water, lighting his way.
The soothing sound of his strokes slicing through the surface, the balmy air, the sheer joy on Bristol’s face when she saw the cave dripping with light, drained away his thoughts and cares.
That was how it had always been, this place.
The only thing that made it better was now he had someone to share it with.
Midway in the lake, he stopped and treaded water, turning to face the cave.
What was she doing behind the waterfall?
Still soaking in the wonder? He didn’t want to rush her but—
“Hey!” Bristol startled him, breaking the surface a few feet away like a triumphant breaching fish. Her chin and lashes dripped with water.
“You swam all that way underwater?”
“Motel swimming pools,” she said, laughing. “One of the greatest luxuries of my childhood. My sisters and I would swim in them for hours. I got pretty good at holding my breath. But here . . . here I don’t feel the need to breathe at all. It’s like this place is breathing for me.”
She disappeared beneath the water again and resurfaced in his arms, sliding close, her gown shed and her skin like silk against his.
Her mouth skimmed the bristle of his chin, nipping at his jawline, her breaths warm against his wet skin. “Thank you for this,” she whispered, “but I don’t want you to worry about me, Tyghan. I’m a knight now, remember?”
For twelve full hours. “Got it, Keats,” he answered, and brought his mouth to hers, their tongues barely touching, caressing, a delicate signal passing between them but with a message that was as deep as the ocean. I love you.
Bristol leaned back into the circle of Tyghan’s arms. He locked them gently beneath her breasts and she lazily rested her head on his shoulder. “Take me for a tour of your lake.”
They floated together, Tyghan’s legs gently moving them along, gliding like there was no hurry, no tomorrow, no up, no down, only the gentle sounds of the falling water and them—exploring the secret place and each other.
The shoreline, the fig trees, his finger skimming her lips, her mouth closing around it.
The mossy banks, the passion flowers, her hand pressed to his chest, letting his heartbeat become her own.
His mouth breathing air into hers when they dipped beneath the surface, the music she heard in her head, as languid as his thumb strumming the knots of her spine.
Gravity gave up its laws to them; the stars pressed closer, curious at this new center of the universe.
Yearnings. Dreams. The past. The future. Time folded over on itself.
They circled the lake again, because one time wasn’t enough, the thin moon sinking lower in the sky. The climbing clematis, the giant oak, his teeth dragging across her shoulder, his knees spreading her legs, her nails scraping over his back, their words few.
They stumbled onto the bank, the moss a velvet cushion beneath their backs, the heel of his palm stroking her while his fingers pushed inside her, every touchpoint aching with pleasure, her muscles loosening and tightening all at once. Her pelvis rocked forward against his touch.
Their mouths met over and over again, as they gripped each other and the ground for purchase, because they needed more, because there were never enough ways to know each other.
Bristol lifted her knees, her legs circling around his back, to let him in deeper, his arms straddling her shoulders, looking down at her, memorizing her face as he pushed in.
Slow. Slow. Torturously slow. Pulling out just as slow, memorizing the feel of her.
But then pushing back faster, harder. Pounding, deeper, his breaths shuddering, his eyes narrowing, her hips lifting higher.
“Look at me,” he said, “look at me.” And then harder, the glorious ache between her legs building, her back arching, the throb exploding, his eyes a thousand blue splinters flashing in her vision, his gaze still sinking into hers as his thrusts came harder, the hoarse moans, and finally his head thrown back, coming undone, coming into her.
And even when he reached a crashing height, it wasn’t over.
He still pushed, his throbs receding like a slow tide, his moans softening.
Finally, he pulled out, and fell back beside her, panting. “You’re going to kill me one day, Bristol Keats.”
She smiled. “But what a way to go?”
The frog croaked, hoping to disturb the amorous couple.
It had little effect. He hadn’t always been a frog, and still had vague memories of walking on two legs before a curse changed all that.
It wasn’t so bad being a frog, at least not here, but he didn’t like sharing his paradise with others.
They needed to move on. He croaked again, louder, to no avail, their whispers and laughter cutting into his tiny frog heart, reminding him of lost love and bad choices.
He hopped off into the shadows, trying to ease the pain in his warty chest and to convince himself that life as a frog was preferable to a broken heart.
Bristol stared into the sky, smiling at the croaking somewhere in the darkness.
“There are creatures here,” she whispered.
“None that can ever harm you.”
Rivers of heat warmed her. The way he said it, like a declaration, a vow, a warrior at her side poised to slay any threat.
Her fingers inched across the mossy blanket, searching for his hand, her palm pressing onto his knuckles, the peace of the stars settling into her bones.
All of this only two nightjumps away. Nightjumps she nearly rejected, but courage and trust turned them into something beautiful, into the best decision she ever made.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
“To go back?”
“To see the markings.”
Tyghan stood behind her, knee-deep in the water, angling his palm between her back and the waterfall, focusing the light of the moon and stars onto it like a reflective mirror. “You don’t have to do this,” he said for the second time. We can—”
“I do, Tyghan. Not just for all of you. But for me too.”
“All right.” He took a deep breath. “Ready?”
Her chest fluttered with a lifetime of warnings drilled into her by her parents. Look away. Run. This truth is too big for you. Too dangerous. Some things you don’t need to know.
But running never made the problem go away.
It just delayed the inevitable, giving it more power.
She couldn’t go back to the illusion of a ladybug birthmark.
She didn’t want to. Whatever she had to face, she had to face it now.
And somehow that decision was freeing, a giddiness overtaking her, like when she made the decision to return to the Willoughby Inn and strike a deal with the fae. She was taking back a portion of power.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Show me.”
The image in the waterfall rippled, trying to focus. Tyghan blew out an even breath like he was trying to focus. Maybe this was harder for him than it was for her. He had already had time to think about what the markings meant—and maybe he feared the worst.
This would be the first time she had seen the tick since the day it was revealed to her in Madame Chastain’s treatment room all those weeks ago.
Its hideous dark shadow loomed in her memory again, and queasiness lifted her stomach like she was plunging down a roller coaster.
She swallowed, refusing to be dissuaded.
She heard Tyghan’s strained breaths behind her and the air grew heavier, sound turning to syrup, and everything seemed to slow—including the waterfall.
It shimmered now, like a glassy sheet of water, and she could almost feel the sweat on Tyghan’s brow as he commanded the elements around them, drawing in the shadows, directing the light, a reluctant demigod revealing one of the things he couldn’t control—who or what she was.
Her blurred back came into view, sharpening breath by breath, until the image was as crystal clear as her dressing room mirror.
The first thing she noticed was the dim shadow of the tick at the small of her back, barely visible now, like it had burrowed deeper into her so no one could find it.
The dimness made it less horrific. But then her gaze rose.
She stared, trying to discern what it was, and she became a child again, looking at her mother in a motel bathroom and seeing something that didn’t make sense.
But this time she didn’t scream and run.
Skirting the edges of her shoulder blades were golden marks, diamond shapes, and trailing down her spine was a line of more diamonds. They almost looked like—
Her stomach lurched.
Scales.
She worked to steady her voice. “Have you felt them?”
“Yes,” Tyghan whispered, the single syllable apologetic, like he was invading some deep personal moment. “They feel soft like your skin now, but the ridges are growing more pronounced.”
Ridges. Every word stole a piece of her, leaving her numb. She forced in another breath.
Hubris, she thought, fucking hubris, to think she could face this without the world tilting beneath her feet.
She stared for a long while at the scales trailing down her back like tears, trying to imagine them as something else.
Anything else. A rash. Even an illusion.
She flexed her shoulder blades, and the marks shimmered in the light, moving together like armor.
Her stomach tumbled again. This much had surfaced just by pricking the tick. Once it was removed entirely—
“What will I become?” she asked, her voice flat, like it belonged to someone else. “A fish? A mermaid? Something halfway between?”
“I don’t know.”
His voice broke something inside her, something that was still trying to be strong, and her thoughts went into freefall. What if the changes weren’t only on the outside? What if—
“Will I remember who I was?” And then another thought before he could answer. “Will I remember you, Tyghan? Will I remember that I love you?”
His hands fell to his sides, the waterfall rushing once more, the image of scales vanishing, and he turned her around to face him.
His expression was as determined and desperate as when he had faced down Braegor in the maze.
“Yes,” he answered, “yes, you will,” and he pulled her into his arms, whispering against her temple.
“And if you don’t remember me, I will dance with you in the moon shadows every night for the rest of my days, until you fall in love with me again. ”