“Never apologize for being uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m—I’m—” Adrift. Though I wrenched my face up to stare at her then, I immediately regretted the decision. Her eyebrows, her nose, her freckles. And those eyes—I could drown in those eyes. Light from the windows sparkled within their turquoise depths. This close, I could see the ring of icy blue around her pupils. The sea-green flecks of her irises. She couldn’t keep looking at me like this. She couldn’t keep touching me like she—like she— “Why don’t I remember you?” I demanded.
Those beautiful eyes blinked. “You chose to forget.”
“Why?”
“Because you loved me.”
Because you loved me.
Throwing my hands in the air, I stalked across the cabin. It made no sense. If I’d loved her, why had I left her? If I’d embraced her as a witch—if I’d embraced myself—why had I given it up? Had I been happy? Had she? The way she said my name . . . it spoke of more than a fleeting moment of lust.
It spoke of more.
Like a moth to a flame, I faced her once more. “Show me.”
She furrowed her brows in response, her hair wilder than when she’d first entered. Her collar lower. Her lips swollen and her pants undone. Through the laces, an inch or two of taut golden skin teased me. When I moved to close the distance between us—again—she tilted her head to one side, catlike. “What are you saying?”
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to stop. To repeat the words. “Show me how we used to be.”
“Are you asking me . . . do you want to remember?” When I only stared at her, she shook her head slowly, drifting closer. Still studying me. She seemed to be holding her breath. “Silence isn’t an answer.”
“I don’t know.”
The words came in a rush, as honest as I could give. Just speaking them aloud stripped me bare. I could hardly look at her. But I did. I looked at her, forced to acknowledge my own indecision. My despair and my hope.
A pause as she considered. A small, wicked smile. “All right.”
“What?”
“Sit”—she pointed a finger behind me—“on the couch.”
I sank onto the cushions without another word, eyes wide—heart pounding—as she followed, leaning against the table to face me. As she hoisted herself up on its edge. Close enough to touch. Something in her expression stilled my hand, however, even as she flicked her wrist, locking the cabin door. The scent of magic erupted around us. “There. No one can see us. No one can hear us, either.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“Does it?”
I leveled her with a dark look. Whether intended or not, I’d involved myself with a witch—a witch I wanted in every sense of the word. A witch I wanted to taste and feel and know. All of it should’ve frightened me. The last most of all. But— “It doesn’t.”
“Tell me where you’d like to touch me, Reid. Tell me, and I’ll do it for you. I’ll show you how we used to be.”
I stared at her hungrily, hardly daring to believe it. She stared back at me. After another moment, she arched a brow, slipping each foot from her boots. Her stockings came next. “If you’d rather not, of course, I understand. There are two beds. We could rest for a while instead.”
“No.” The word tore from me instinctively. Quick and thoughtless. Cursing my own eagerness, I exhaled an uneven breath. Slow down, Reid. We have time. She’d given me this opportunity to master myself. To regain some semblance of control. Obviously she’d underestimated her appeal. My thumbs itched to rub along her bare soles, to slip over her toes and up her ankles. I glanced at the door.
She feigned a yawn.
My eyes locked on hers, searching, and in them, I saw the truth. She wanted my thoughts clear, yes, but not just for my sake. For hers as well. Make up your mind, Reid, she’d said before. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next.
Scooting to the edge of the couch, careful not to touch her, I said, “I want—I want you to—” But the words wouldn’t come. Honesty choked me. Honesty and fear. For how far I’d go, how far she’d go, how far we’d gone already.
She cocked her head, her gaze alight with fire. It threatened to devour us both. “Whatever you want, Reid.” Softer, she said, “Tell me.”
My fear melted at the depth in her voice. The pure, unbridled emotion.
Love.
I quickly shook away the thought. “Take off your pants.”
If my request surprised her, she didn’t show it. She didn’t hesitate. Slowly, torturously, she peeled her pants down her legs. Her eyes never left mine. Not until she’d stripped the leather fabric away completely.
My mouth went dry at the sight.
I’d been captivated by her collarbone. Now the whole of her bare legs stretched out before me. Still perched atop the table, the tips of her toes barely reached the floor. Her shirt billowed around her, however. It hid her from me. Resisting the urge to lean forward, I curled my fingers into the cushion and watched, silent, as she leaned back on her hands, swinging her feet as if bored.
She wasn’t bored.
“Now what?” she asked. The hitch in her voice revealed the lie. The breathlessness.
“Your shirt.”
“You’re supposed to tell me where you’d like to touch me.”
“I want to see you first.”
And I did. I wanted—no, needed—to see her like a starving man needed sustenance. Her eyes narrowed, but she gradually lifted the hem of her top, revealing more of that golden skin. Inch by torturous inch. After sliding it overhead, she tossed it in a pool at my feet. “And now?”
And now she was naked. Gloriously so. Though I longed to touch her, to reach out and trace the curve of her waist, I kept my hands fisted in the cushions. She wanted me to dictate each touch. She wanted to hear every word for what it was—a decision. Small decisions, yes, but decisions nonetheless. Honest ones. There could be no lies between us here. Not like this.
Not like this.
“Your thigh,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from her ankles, her calves, her knees. Unable to think coherently, to speak more than a handful of syllables. Too enthralled to be embarrassed. “Touch it.”
Her belly undulated with laughter at the command. Her shoulders shook with it. I feasted on the sound, on the sight—each intake of breath, each exhalation. Though each bout rang high and clear, delighted, she had no business sounding so innocent. Not when her body burned as sin incarnate.
“I need more than that, Chass. Be specific.” Leaning forward, she swept her hand casually to the middle of her thigh. “Here?” When I shook my head, swallowing hard, she trailed a single finger higher. Higher still. “Or . . . here?”
“What does it feel like?” Unable to help myself, I pitched upright, swift and unsteady. My hands trembled with the need to replace hers, but I resisted. I couldn’t touch her now. I’d never stop. “Imagine it’s my hand, and tell me exactly how your skin feels.”
With a wink, she closed her eyes. “It feels . . . warm.”
“Just warm?”
“Feverish.” Her other hand drifted to her throat, her neck, as she continued to caress her thigh. Her smile faded. “I feel feverish. Hot.”
Feverish. Hot. “Your finger. Move it higher.” When she complied, sliding it between her legs, I nearly tore through the cushions. My heart beat rapidly. “What does it feel like there?”
Her breath left in a whoosh as that finger moved. Her legs trembled. I ached to grab them. To pin her to the table and finish what we’d started. But this—this wasn’t like before. This was different. This was everything. “Tell me, Lou. Tell me how hot you feel.”
“It feels”—her hips rocked in slow rhythm with her finger, and her head fell back, her spine arching—“good. It feels so good, Reid. I feel so good.”
“Be specific,” I said through gritted teeth.
When she told me what it felt like—slick and
sensitive, aching and empty—I fell to my knees before her. She’d spoken of worship. I understood now. I still didn’t touch her, however, not even when she added a second finger, a third, and said on a sigh, “I wish it was you.”
I wish it was too. “Part your legs.” Her legs fell open. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
And she did.
Her thumb made delicate circles first. Then indelicate ones. More and more, her movements growing faster, graceless, as her legs tensed and spasmed. I felt each press of her thumb myself—the building pressure, the sharp ache. The need for release. I managed one breath. Two. Then—
“Stop.”
The curt word startled her, and she stilled, her chest heaving. A fine sheen of sweat glistened there. I longed to taste it. Rising on my knees, I gripped the table on either side of her. “Open your eyes.” When she did so—still panting softly—I said, “Look at me. Don’t hide. I said I want to see you.”
Those eyes locked on mine with unerring focus then. She didn’t so much as blink as her fingers resumed between us. Slow at first, building faster. And on her lips . . . I leaned closer still, almost touching her now. Never touching her. When she breathed my name—a condemnation, a plea, a prayer—the sound virtually undid me. My hand plunged into my own pants. At the first touch, I nearly broke.
“Do I—” Lou rested her forehead against mine, near frantic now. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts as she moved. I tracked its path mindlessly. “Do I make you feel wanton, husband? Does this—make you feel ashamed?”
No. God, no. Nothing about this felt shameful. My chest constricted tighter at the word—too tight, too small to contain the emotions rioting there. I couldn’t describe them, except that they felt—she felt— “You make me feel right. Whole.”
A shiver swept my spine at the confession. At the truth. My skin tingled in anticipation. Her voice might’ve broken on a sob, on my name, and the moment she came undone, I did too. One hand rose to clutch my shoulder. Mine seized her knee. Our eyes remained open as we shuddered together, and when I sagged into her—gutted—she brushed her lips against mine. Gentle, this time. Tentative. Hopeful. Her chin quivered. Without a word, I engulfed her in my arms, holding her tight.
She’d seemed so strong since the beach. So tough and unyielding. Impervious to hurt or harm. But here—after breaking, shattering beneath my gaze—she seemed fragile as glass. No, not glass.
My wife.
I couldn’t remember. Those memories had disappeared, leaving great cracks of emptiness in my identity. In my mind. In my heart.
No, I couldn’t remember.
But now I wanted to.
The Belly of the Beast
Lou
As the sun crested the horizon on the third morning, we slipped into Cesarine’s waters.
Jean Luc gripped the helm tighter than necessary, fingers twisting the wood in an agitated gesture. “This is going to get very ugly, very quickly.” His eyes flicked to me and Reid, who stood behind me at the rail. He’d hovered since that first day in the cabin, speaking little and frowning often. I’d expected as much. Reid wasn’t the type for casual flings. Our time on the table had meant something to him.
He just didn’t know what.
Still, when he thought no one could see, I’d catch him furrowing his brows and shaking his head, as if in silent conversation with himself. At times, his face would even contort with pain. I didn’t dare speculate at the cause—didn’t dare hope—instead focusing on what he’d freely given me. Though his words had been few, they’d been precious.
You make me feel right. Whole.
Despite the bitter cold, warmth suffused my body at the memory.
It hadn’t been the final decision—not by any means—but it had been a decision. In that moment, he’d chosen me. In all the moments since, he’d chosen to stand near me, to sleep beside me, to listen when I spoke. When he’d offered me the last of his food yesterday, scowling and confused, Beau had even offered to pay Célie what he owed her.
It felt too good to be true.
I held on to it for dear life.
“When we dock at port, the harbormaster will call for His Majesty’s Guard,” Jean Luc said, “who will in turn alert the Chasseurs. I’ll order an escort to the castle to request an audience with the king. He’ll grant it once he discovers who I’ve captured.”
Célie lifted her injection. “Lou and Reid will feign incapacitation whilst in the city.”
“They’ll still need to be bound.” To Beau, Jean Luc added, “As will you, Your Highness.”
“When Célie’s parents come to collect her at port, I’ll slip beneath their carriage.” Coco stared at the skyline of the city as we approached. Though still small and indistinct, it grew larger every moment. “I’ll wait with Claud and the others at Léviathan for the signal.”
Reid towered behind me, his presence warm and steady. An uncanny sort of calm overtook his features whenever we discussed strategy. Like he’d slipped into another state of consciousness, separate from the chaos and turmoil of his emotions. I chuckled quietly, hiding the sound behind my palm. The compartmentalization was strong in this one. “After they deposit us in our cells, Coco will create a distraction large enough to merit Chasseur attention,” he said. “Jean will insist our guards intervene, and he’ll take up their post temporarily.”
“I’ll magic us all out of our cells,” I continued, “including Madame Labelle. Beau and Jean Luc will slip us from the castle undetected via the tunnels.”
Jean Luc seemed agitated. “Auguste knows of the tunnels.”
“He doesn’t know them like me,” Beau said grimly. “I can get us out.”
Jean Luc’s gaze flicked to Reid and me now. His fingers kept twisting. “There will be quite a bit more between the escort you to the castle and deposit you in your cell parts of the plan. You know that, correct?”
This is going to get very ugly, very quickly.
“Yes.” Not for the first time, Estelle’s anguished face skipped through my mind’s eye. Her limp body. A boot on her cheek and a fist in her hair. Other faces quickly followed, other whispers. Viera Beauchêne escaped after they tried to burn her and her wife—acid this time instead of flame. An experiment. And— “I believe His Majesty has an affinity for rats.”
“I’ll do what I can to protect you, but . . .”
“If this is to work, your performance must be believable,” Reid finished for him, voice hard. “All of ours must.”
Jean Luc nodded. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Pain is fleeting.” I didn’t know where the words came from, but they held true. “And if we slip up—even for a moment—the pain will be much worse. The stake will be much worse.” Heavy silence descended as I remembered the torment of flames licking up my limbs, of blisters rupturing my skin, of heat peeling muscle from bone. I shuddered slightly. “Trust me.”
When we grew close enough to see individual buildings—to see people bustling like ants between them—Jean Luc tossed us the rope. He didn’t look at any of us. “It’s time.”
“Do it tightly,” I told Reid, who wrapped it around my ankles a moment later. Crouched before me, he kept his touch gentle, too gentle, and seemed loath to tighten the binds. His thumb traced a small vein in my foot up to my ankle, where it disappeared. His thumb kept traveling, however. He stared at it in concentration.
“You’ll be feigning incapacitation,” he muttered at last. “I don’t need to cripple you.”
“It needs to be convincing.”
“No one will be looking at your ankles.”
“Reid.” When I sat forward to cup his cheek, he reluctantly met my gaze, and his composure slipped. Just a little. He leaned into my palm, unable to help himself, as emotion finally stirred in his eyes. It looked like dread. “If this goes poorly, I won’t be the only one to burn. Your mother will. You will too. And that—that is unacceptable.”
His throat bobbed. “It won’t happen.”
Reid stared at me for a single heartbeat before glancing over his shoulder. Behind us, Coco helped Beau with his own binds while Célie fluttered around them, trying and failing to help. He lowered his voice. “Tell me how to remember.”
A pulse of silence—of shock—both mine and his.
“What?” I asked dubiously, sure I’d misheard him amidst the commotion. The wind swept past in a gale as we approached shore, and voices rose from the docks. Seagulls cried overhead in the bright morning sunshine. And my heart—it nearly pounded from my chest. “Did you say you want to—?”
“Remember, yes.” Again, he looked to Coco and the others, shifting himself slightly to block their view. “You said—earlier, you said only magic could help me. My magic. You said I could reverse the pattern. What does that mean?”
“It means”—I forced a deep breath, nodding to him, to myself, to God or the Goddess or anyone who might’ve been playing such a heinous joke on me—“it means that you—”
“It means nothing for now,” Coco said, dropping beside us abruptly. She squeezed my hand before turning to Reid. “Please, think about this. We don’t need Morgane to remember Lou while we’re all in the city. We have enough working against us without adding vengeful mother to the list.”
“But—” I said desperately.
“When you remembered Bas, it almost killed you both.” Coco grasped both of my hands now, her expression earnest. Perhaps just as desperate as I was. “We’re mere moments away from Cesarine’s shore, and we have a plan in place to rescue Madame Labelle. Afterward, if this is what you both choose, I’ll help him remember any way I can. You know I will. Right now, however, we need to get you both bound, or all seven of us will see the stake before nightfall.”
All seven of us.
Shit.
Swallowing hard, I kept nodding even as Reid scowled and began tying his own ankles. This was bigger than us now. It’d always been bigger than us. “There will be an after, Lou,” Coco whispered fiercely, turning to bind my hands behind my back. She did the same for Reid. “We’ll get through this together—all of us—and we’ll start anew. We’ll carve out that piece of paradise. Together,” she repeated firmly. “I promise.”
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