“I think it does matter. People’s intentions behind their actions matter.” Prudence stepped closer and Rhiannon almost lost it, the body heat scorching her, making her already battered system go into full overdrive.
Please don’t…
“For example, Ceridwen’s teaching me the craft. There are good intentions behind her offer, I hope you know it.”
Oh, for fucks sake! Why me?
Rhiannon saw stars, her palm on the counter burning so strongly she thought the second she lifted it up, the spot wouldhave to be refinished and restrained since she probably seared a hole in the wood.
“Where does the road paved with good intentions lead to, Prudence?”
The gray eyes looked at her with the same focus as if she were a mine and Prudence were a sapper, attentive to its every click and vibration. And just like a sapper, very carefully, Prudence laid her hand over Rhiannon’s. The same hand that Rhiannon touched, the same hand that burned like fire.
“Hell.”
It was one word, an answer to her earlier question, and it fell off Prudence’s lips like a grenade. Rhiannon’s ears were ringing. She gripped the counter tighter. She thought she was the predator here. The dangerous one. And yet she felt trapped and fighting for her life with every breath she took.
“You know what else is hell, Rhiannon?” Her own name sounded foreign to her ears, Prudence said it like nobody ever did, and yet for the first time in her life, it felt right. “Hell is other people.”
The gray burned into her green, and Rhiannon couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. Until the words finally penetrated her consciences.
“Other people? You mean Ceridwen?”
Prudence shrugged, but Rhiannon could tell that under these tranquil, seemingly indifferent waters, an emotion was bubbling up.
“Ceridwen has nothing to do with anything.”
Rhiannon wrenched her hand from under Pru’s and took a step forward till they were almost nose to nose. How had she never noticed that they were almost exactly the same height?
“Of course, Saint Ceridwen, always protected.” She threw all her vitriol into the sentence and watched Prudence’s eyes darken. It was spectacular. She wanted to do it again, just tosee how far that darkness went, how deep. What would she do? Would she slap her?
“I think we should leave Ceridwen out of this.”
Prudence’s stubborn, loyal streak both delighted and enraged Rhiannon.
“If only Saint Ceridwen would stay out of things that are none of her concern, then maybe I wouldn’t have to bring her up. Didn’t you say hell is other people, Prudence?”
Rhiannon sensed an edge to her own voice, an edge she had not always felt in herself, one that told her she was dangerously close to saying something she’d regret, something that would hurt her and not Prudence. Her self-destructive steak, a mile wide, gaped like an uncovered grave from beneath her feet. She opened her mouth, ready to fall, ready to wreck it all, except Prudence had other plans.
For a second Rhiannon just watched her breathe, her chest rising and falling with the unsaid words, untamed emotion, and then that full mouth was slanting against hers and the world, the wounds, the pain all fell away.
And what was left was the storm.
She was Wind and she had caused her share of devastation in her life, yet nothing compared to the havoc wreaked by Prudence’s lips on hers. It wasn’t gentle and it wasn’t romantic. It was hard and harsh, punishing, their teeth clashing, biting. Prudence sucked her lower lip in her mouth and nipped it not too gently, making Rhiannon moan and gasp at the sting, and then soothed with a lick of a deft tongue. The hand that was on hers a moment ago was suddenly at her throat, and Rhiannon bit back a plea, desperate for it to squeeze, just a touch, just a breath, and Goddess, Prudence did, her long fingers flexing around hungry skin, and Rhiannon thought she’d faint from the sheer pleasure of it, the possession of it.
In the distance she could hear thunder, her own, and yet, it wasn’t. Not just her own, there was an echo to it, a companion sound, new and exciting, and as Prudence’s lips gentled and caressed instead of invading, cajoled instead of conquered, Rhiannon gave herself a moment to surrender. To savor. To indulge. And so, she kissed back, licked into Pru’s mouth, and reveled in her taste. She wanted to beg, for what she didn’t know, and as the kiss went on, she knew she’d be on her knees any second now.
“Please…”
It was Prudence who stepped back, as if scalded, as if Rhiannon had struck her, one word shattering the moment. Very slowly Prudence lifted her fingers from Rhiannon’s neck and took a step back, then another. When she crossed the threshold of the still open door, she finally dropped Rhiannon’s gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
With that, she was gone, the scent of fresh linen the only evidence she had ever been here at all. That and the tiny bruises on Rhiannon’s neck that would bloom tomorrow morning. She had to laugh. At herself mostly. She had started this evening by imagining marking Pru and ended it digging for concealer in her bathroom drawer, herself carrying Pru’s marks.
12
PRUDENCE, BRUISES & EXES
