I doubted that. We were well into the summer season. She probably just didn’t want us to take our business elsewhere. Then again… itwaslate. Storms were kicking up, ear splitting thunder rattled the loosely hung picture frames on the walls. And hopping inn-to-inn looking for availability wasn’t ideal for covert travel.
“Of course,” I conceded. “That’ll be perfect.”
I paid our dues and took the aged bronze room key. Vivian chirped a “thank you” at the inn keeper as we made our way up the creaky stairs. The inn was small. Unsurprising since this was such an out-of-the-way town. There were four doors directly upstairs, numbered accordingly. That was it. Three had hanging signs flipped to “occupied”. I went to room four, turned our sign to match the others, and pushed the door open.
“Oh my god, abed!” Vivian cried out, stepping to the edge of the mattress and falling face-first into it with her arms sprawled above her head.
“That I might turn my attention to that which is sacred”: the familiar prayer echoed in my mind as I averted my eyes to the ceiling.
I lived alone. I traveled alone. I only ever shared a bed with a female for one reason, and it was hard to clearthatfrom my mind once this goddess threw her ass into the air and moaned in pleasure when she buried her face into the bedding.
Every red-blooded instinct in me insisted I crawl on top of her and claim my prize for buying that drink. She’d buried the seed in my mind, it had grown, and I couldn’t rip it out by the roots. This was much deeper than surface-level lust. She was breathtaking. I wanted to make her content, pleased, happy. I admired her as a goddess and as a can-do female who was bright and sharp and strong. She amused me; I wasn’t faking my smiles around her. I had no other choice than to be sinfully smitten. Whatever she planted inside of me had latched onto my fucking heart.
“Theo, you havegotto feel how soft this mattress is.”
“I need to use the restroom,” I grumbled, stepping into the bathroom with our bag still strapped to my back.
I closed the door behind me, shrugging it to the ground and looking at myself in the mirror. Just as brutish as ever. Scarred. Tattooed to always be feral. We must look like an odd couple together.
I splashed water from the copper sink onto my face, trying to snap myself out of the spell I was under. I needed to rinse off and give her a turn in the bathroom so we could pass thefuck out for the night. Twenty hours of foot-travel was excessive, even for me. Half of the damn day.
In place of a tub, there was a waterspout in the ceiling with a drain underneath it. The washing area was sectioned off from the tile by brick. A rural makeshift shower.
I turned the nozzle and peeled off my clothes. Not entirely wet anymore, but grimy as all hell. I tossed them into the sink to soak while I cleaned up, planning to scrub and airdry them afterwards.
Bathed, clothes pinned by the open window, and cooled off from the visual Vivian had treated me to, I hesitated before stepping out. I had an additional precaution to take. One that I didn’t think we’d need tonight; but why not have it sooner than later? A little extra safety never hurt anyone. Well… thiswasgonna hurt a bit.
I pulled out the jars Ida gifted me and popped a sprig of Malough into each, having collected some on our hike. That was half the spell. Now, for the other half. Night was part of life, and I didn’t want Vivian to have to fear its beasts any more than the ones of day. Better to be protected.
I unsheathed my knife.
I’d been sliced open so many times that the sting was familiar when I pressed the sharp tip into my palm and dragged it through my flesh. Crimson immediately welled within the creases of my hand. I clenched my fist closed to form a steady stream, and used my other arms to one-by-one rotate the jars into the flow of blood. The pale green herbs were coated in a layer of thick red, mirroring the spell jars Ida kept outside of her cabin and then some. I didn’t want to skimp on this, so I made sure there was a small pool at the bottom of each glass container.
Once I was pleased with the charms, I sewed myself up with my med kit, applied pressure with a rag, re-corked each container, put them back into the bag, and cleaned my workspace. Six was enough for now. I couldn’t rob Ida ofallher glassware.
Gore cleaned up, I stepped back into the bedroom. Vivian had rolled so that her head was on the pillow, her face framed by a crown of red hair to match the blood I had just spilled for her. Her eyes were half-hooded with sleep, but she kicked her leg for the momentum to roll herself off the mattress.
“I left your clean dress on the sink for you.” I’d considered mentioning the new charms, but it’d been a long day… I wasn’t sure I could say it more tastefully than, “I just filled six jars with my blood for you.” I’d think of a better way to tell her tomorrow.
“AndIwarmed up the bed for you!” she announced, shooting me a smile as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Now what? The sound of running water softly filled the room; I could faintly hear a low feminine hum through the noise. My feet mindlessly stepped closer to the wall while some deep, subconscious part of me yearned to be wrapped in the notes she caged within her chest. What would she sound like if she sang louder, instead of muffling her voice between sealed lips?
I didn’t realize how long I’d been frozen in place, leaning into the wall panels, until the faucet cut off.
I all but jumped back into the bed as to not be caught eavesdropping.
“I feel like a human again,” Vivian remarked as she stepped into the room, a pale linen dress clinging to her damp skin.
“Is that what you identify with most?”
She hummed in thought, lifting the covers on the right-hand side of the bed and sliding underneath. The delicious smell of her field—blackberries—wafted over me. “I’m not sure I care much about the label.”
“You don’t like being a goddess?”
“Goddess,” she snorted, as if it was a silly title.
“What’s funny?”
