The Goodnight Kiss

by Gwen Rivers

  That wasn’t supposed to happen. Aiden’s eyes are bright. I should have been there to protect you.

  I pick up a deep brown stick and snap it in half. “Do you know how I got there? Who left me there? I mean, reincarnate or not, someone raised me from infancy. I’d like to know who it was, why they abandoned me and why I can’t remember them at all.”

  I wish I could tell you. For a wolf, his expression looks truly regretful.

  “Did I ever tell you…?” I toss the stick onto the fire, the greenwood smoking slightly. “Who my parents were?”

  Yes.

  I look over at him. He stares back, unblinking. Waiting.

  I suck in a deep breath. Aiden will tell me if I ask. But do I want to know? After all, if I’m reincarnated, I must have had two sets of parents, four people that I can’t remember at all. Had the second set been the ones to raise me and then leave me in the Black Forest?

  “I don’t think I want to know that now,” I say.

  It might be my imagination, but for a moment it appears the wolf is relieved.

  You should get some rest. We’ll set out at first light.

  I nod and lie down facing the fire. The flames dance behind my closed eyelids. After a moment, Aiden, now mostly dry, lies against my back, protecting it.

  Though I still don’t know why.

  “Kill me, please.”

  With my sword raised, I study the youth with the green eyes, read the intenseness of his request.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I don’t deserve to live.” There is no hesitation in his voice, his conviction is absolute.

  “And you deserve death?” I ask him. “As a punishment or a mercy?”

  “Both.” He shifts slightly, wincing in pain. “And neither.”

  Even bound and weakened, obviously ill used by the filth at my back, I sense power radiating from his withered form. Strength, guile and a weariness so heavy he wears it like a shroud. He sincerely wants to die. Should I grant his wish?

  I raise my sword. He smiles, not an overlarge gesture, just the smallest twitch of his cracked lips. Without further rumination, I swing, the blade singing as it splits the air and slices the chain that binds him in one, smooth stroke.

  His smile dies as he stares up at me. “Why?”

  I turn and toss my braid over my shoulder.

  “Why?” he calls again, his voice raspy.

  Chains rattle and I picture him getting to his feet. I crouch over my victim, the bastard that had chained and raped the young man at my back, adding to what was an already top-heavy sentence. He lets out a snort and tosses an arm up. He smells of horse manure and unwashed flesh and some sort of nasty homebrew that kills humans almost as effectively as I do.

  Almost. But not fast enough.

  I kiss him lightly, unwilling to touch his flesh more than necessary, but with more potency, more feeling than I’ve ever managed before. I rise and watch the bastard’s eyes open, watch as he starts to twitch, his gelatinous body that has caused so much harm, shuddering, racked with unfathomable pain. The young man I’ve freed comes to stand beside me, his green eyes wide as he watches the bastard thrash.

  Foam bubbles from his fleshy lips, runs down his unshaven chin. I spit to the side, trying to get the taste of him out of my mouth.

  His eyes shift to the captive as though pleading for help. The sight enrages me past the point of sense and I crouch beside him, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at my face.

  “Don’t look at him, filth. Look at me, your executioner. Do you know what awaits you? Ice in your blood, your bones frozen and your flesh being peeled off in strips slowly, over a century. You are mine now.”

  One final shudder and it is done.

  I rise, wiping my hand on my cloak, then turn to the green-eyed youth. “Do you still long for death? Because that is what it looks like.” I point to the corpse. “There is no reprieve, no chance to make things right. Just an end.”

  He stares at me a long moment, then suddenly grabs me, and presses his lips to mine.

  I start at the assault, the way his hand fists on my braid, holding me in place. I wonder if he thinks kissing me would be like running himself through with my sword, some form of suicide.

  So, I kiss him back. All the rage at what had been done to him, what would be done to me when I return to my court, bubbling forth. It is not a kiss of tender affection, rather one of desperate hungers and unnatural desires. Hot and ravenous and full of self-loathing. And understanding. Teeth clack, tongues duel. Two damaged souls collide with maximum impact.

  He breaks away abruptly, gaze down, posture submissive. “Forgive me, my lady.”

  “I am not your lady,” I tell his profile. “You don’t like your life? Find a way to fix it. Brave souls seek something worth dying for and then devote every breath to living for it.”

  “What do you live for?” he asks, green eyes stark.

  “The Hunt.” I turn and stride from the barn before he can utter another word.

  “What happened?” Freda frowns, her winged helmet reflecting the moonlight. “You were gone a long while.”

  “It’s done now.” I settle myself on my mount’s back, my sword sheathed, my temper still high. “Let’s go.”

  “Look,” Nahini points back in the direction of the barn.

  I turn in time to see fire blazing within, all the dry hay and weathered boards catching. Flames lick out of the window, through cracks in the boards.

  I start, about to rush back in for the foolish young man, when a large black wolf streaks from the building, heading toward the woods.

  My mount rears. I steady her with a sharp word, following the wolf. I see him pause at the tree line, green eyes glowing in the firelight.

  “My queen?” Freda asks.

  I stare at the wolf. He stares back. Something passes between us, electric as a bolt of lightning. It’s him, somehow, I know it’s him.

  “We ride.” I tell my warriors, then under my breath utter one word. “Godspeed.”

  Chapter 13

  The Dead Forest

  Morning light reveals more information about our surroundings. Namely that the woods beyond our secluded bank are comprised of gnarled leafless trees, cracks in the ground and a yellow gray haze that stretches beyond my sightline. The air around me is sweet and cool, but there’s the scent of rotting things coming from that direction.

  “The Dead Forest.” Aiden, once again in human form grubby sweatpants and all, crouches beside me. He holds the water bottle out and I reach for it with one hand, the other securing the quilt around my body as I sit up.

  “Apt name,” I take a small sip, trying to conserve the water for our upcoming journey. “It doesn’t look like anything lives there.”

  “If a creature tries to build a home in the deadwood, it doesn’t last very long. The land is cursed, the soil toxic. I’d advise you to go around it, since I don’t know how it will affect a human.”

  “How long would it take to go around it?”

  “A few weeks.”

  Not time I’m willing to sacrifice. “I’ll chance it.”

  I take another small drink and try not to stare at Aiden, the dream fresh in my mind. His face appears so different than it had, gaunt and hollow as if like the forest before me he was little more than a haphazard pile of skeletal remains.

  Why did he want to die so badly? The drive had been strong enough that he’d kissed me, even after he saw what could happen. Sexual assault may make a person suicidal, but he’d displayed no signs of shame relating to his physical condition. He hadn’t tried to cover his nudity or the signs of abuse, had met and held my gaze as both a human and a wolf. No, there must be more to Aiden that I didn’t know yet.

  “We should get going,” Aiden says now. “We don’t want to be in there come nightfall.”

  “I need to get dressed.”

  He nods and then presents his back. I crouch beside my bag and extract the spare set of clothing from the Ziploc
bag, glad to have something other than the smelly discards from yesterday.

  The breeze off the lake is chilly and I shiver when I drop my blanket. As always, Aiden appears unaffected. “Don’t you ever get cold?”

  “I’m descended from a fire deity,” His tone is soft, his gaze still on the dead forest. “Flames are in my blood, and it keeps me warm, regardless of the ambient temperature.”

  “Must be nice,” I pull on my underwear and jeans as well as yesterday’s bra, that once again fits.

  “Press up against me,” Aiden suggests.

  I pause with my tank top over my head. “No.”

  “It’ll warm you.”

  “And if that’s not the oldest line in the book,” I mutter into the fabric.

  He makes a disgusted sound. “Nic, what will it take to convince you that not every suggestion is some sort of attempt to get into your pants?”

  I’m about to retort when I note the defeated set of his shoulders. He was sexually abused. Regardless of what our relationship had been in the past, it’s possible he no longer wants that kind of connection. Instead of a waspish rejoinder, I murmur a soft, “I don’t know. Giving people the benefit of the doubt isn’t my strong suit.”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you. To open up,” he swallows audibly. “It’s not easy for me either, you know. There was a time when you knew everything there is to know about me. And I knew you. Feeling as though I know you even though you don’t remember me...,” he shakes his head.

  Hesitantly, I reach forward and put a hand on his shoulder until he turns to face me. “You lost a friend, too. Didn’t you? The way I lost Sarah?”

  “Friend isn’t the right word. We were close, we understood one another. Accepted each other as we were, faults and all.” Then correctly reading my next question he adds. “And yes, we did have a physical relationship.”

  “Consensual?” I need to know for sure.

  “Yes. Neither one of us is a rapist, Nic.” He exhales wearily. “You’re right there. I scent you. I recognize you. But you’re so different. Cold. Suspicious. Untrusting. When was the last time you laughed?”

  “Never.” I don’t laugh, not the way he means. Sure, I possess a certain wry amusement, a sharp wit, but that’s not the same as watching others lose themselves in good humor.

  “You used to,” he says quietly. “Until all the breath went out of you. Joy effervesced from you like rays of light.”

  I break eye contact and pull on my flannel shirt. “I can’t be who you want me to be, Aiden.”

  “It’s not about what I want. You’re hiding from yourself.”

  Socks, shoes, and then I close the pack and fling it over my shoulder. “Well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

  He frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t that why you wanted to die when I first met you? Because you were ashamed of who you were, what you’d done?”

  It’s a wild shot in the dark, but it hits him center mass. His jaw drops, and he staggers back a step. “You remember that night?”

  I pivot toward the deadwood. “No. Are we going or not?”

  Aiden grabs my arm, his grip loose but unshakable. “Tell me how you know about that.”

  The hot temper that keeps flaring inside me is going to get me in trouble. “I dreamed it, okay? I didn’t even know if it really happened until I saw your reaction.”

  Aiden’s grip on my arm tightens and I see him swallow. “Then maybe the rest of your life will come back. In time.”

  I search that bright green gaze, wondering what exactly he is feeling. Some sort of deep emotional response though the feelings shift too fast for me to read them. Surprise, possibly relief. Followed by caution.

  “Come on,” his hand slides down my arm until he can take my hand and leads me into the blighted forest. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  Maybe it’s just my imagination but his steps seem heavier. As though the possibility of me remembering my former life has added a burden that he must carry.

  The question is, why?

  The light is different in the Dead Forest, muted by a sickly yellow haze. The sour smell grows stronger, like rotting piles of lemons and sulfur. Soon my sneakers are coated in a tarlike substance that drips from thorny vines, the only thing that seems to flourish within its borders. The vines aren’t passive either. They reach out, trying to trip us or to stab those razor-sharp thorns into my flesh. Aiden, back in wolf shape, blazes the trail ahead, using teeth and claws to fight our way through.

  It’s slow going. Aside from the vines and the tree roots there are bones. Small bones which might have belonged to birds or squirrels. Medium sized bones like those of a four-legged creature, all the flesh rotted away. Large human sized bones mix in too, a femur here, a ball and socket joint there. At one point we cross over a smooth mound, what I assume is a natural rise in terrain turns out to be a giant-sized cranium, vines weaving in and out of its eye sockets.

  Enough thorns can take down even a giant. Aiden pauses on top of the skull and does a slow survey of the land around us. Are you familiar with stories of fairies putting humans to sleep for hundreds of years?

  I nod, and he continues. The vines of the deadwood have been used for just such a purpose. Ground down into powder and mixed into a drink.

  Why are the vines so predatory? Though I could speak aloud, having Aiden in wolf form is good practice for my telepathy.

  They don’t know when their next meal will happen by. The thorns don’t kill, they only put creatures to sleep. A long, deep dreamless sleep. Anything that reaches that state here will be slowly digested to feed the forest. Only the desperate cross the deadwood. And even they should never cross it alone. Come on, I can see the path ahead.

  Aiden charges back into the undergrowth and after a swig from the dwindling contents of the last water bottle, I follow.

  The vines, I note as the afternoon wears on, have some sort of collective intelligence. One will rise to tangle in my back foot even as another dive bombs the spot where my torso lands. Aiden charges back every time, claws slashing the vines to ribbons. But there are always more to take their place.

  We’re being followed.

  All the hair rises on my nape as Aiden’s voice echoes in my mind. By who?

  The vines. The wolf hunches low, as though ready to attack. The forest knows we’re almost out and it doesn’t want to let us go.

  A slithering, like that of a thousand snakes.

  I can’t fight them all. Aiden whirls, mentally screaming one word at me. Run!

  We both take off at a sprint, vines shooting up from the toxic soil, intent on felling us. Though Aiden could out distance me easily, he stays by my side, taking down any vines that come too close.

  In the distance I can see the sun sinking, down and down and down. Now I understand why Aiden wanted to make it through this horrible place before dark.

  One succeeds in tripping me and I go down hard on hands and knees. My palms slam into something sharp. I lift the hand to examine even as I scramble back upright. “I’ve been stuck.”

  Another jab through my jeans, leaving a bloody furrow in my upper thigh.

  Aiden bites the vine in half before it can strike again. Get on my back.

  I do as he says, my limbs already sluggish. A yawn escapes but my adrenaline spikes. I don’t want to fall asleep in this horrible place to be digested and feed the dead forest for the rest of my life.

  Aiden turns to face the vines and a giant fireball erupts from him, clearing the vines on all sides. He doesn’t even wait for the flames to die down as he charges for the edge.

  Finally, as the sun dips below the western horizon, we stumble out of the deadwood. The line demarcating the Dead Forest from the swampland beyond is clear, the ground softer, loamier, the greenery lush and the air moist instead of thick with the rotten citrus and sulfur smell that had been burning in my nose all day. The vines, which had been trailing us for the better part of an hour
, slither back to their toxic home, deprived of their prize.

  My strength goes out of me all at once and I slide down Aiden’s back, collapsing onto the moss at his feet.

  Nic!

  I roll to my side, too exhausted to keep my eyes open. A blinding flash of light and then warm hands are on me, pulling the thorn still embedded in my palm free. Blood pools out, too much blood for that small wound. Aiden dumps the last of the bottled water on it as well as the scratch on my thigh. I hiss. The water might as well be acid, the burning is so intense.

  His arms curl around me. There is a sense of weightlessness as he lifts me. My head lolls against his hard chest.

  “Hold on Nic,” Aiden urges as he starts off into the swamp. “Don’t go to sleep just yet.”

  I try to nod but my head must weigh a thousand pounds. Moving it is out of the question.

  “Talk to me,” he urges, his speed increasing. He is barefoot and weighed down with me and my pack and even after a day of hiking through less than ideal conditions, his breaths are even. “Tell me a happy memory.”

  I frown, my concentration muddy. “Birthday.”

  “Your birthday?” He ducks under a low hanging branch.

  I shake my head. “Don’t know when my birthday is.”

  “You were originally born on the night of Samhain. October 31, by your calendar.”

  I smile dreamily. “Like the fall. Feels like a beginning.”

  “Whose birthday was it?”

  Birthday? Right, the memory I’d dredged up for him. “Chloe’s. We crashed a bachelorette party in Nashville. Women were so drunk, they didn’t even notice us follow them onto the party bus.”

  A soft chuckle echoes in his chest. I can feel it reverberate against my cheek. “From what I’ve seen of human women, they can get pretty wild. How old were you?”

  “Fourteen. They wouldn’t let me in the all-male review.”

  “I should hope not. You stayed on the bus?” He leapt over a particularly soggy patch.

  “With the driver. He was bad, one of mine. It didn’t even take him five minutes to come after me.”