Kiri learned from a young age to keep her head down; Anden knows the key to his survival is to never back down from a fight. But when they are chosen to serve as the next year's sacrifice to the god Vato in the yearly Midsummer's Day ritual, they'll need to work together if they want to escape their fate.
Part I - Kiri is brought before the High Priest Emitis and consecrated to serve as the coming year's Vessel of Purity.
Part II - Anden begins to learn the painful way what it means to be the Vessel of Sin.
Part III - As Kiri is prepared for her first Holy Day procession, she struggles with the knowledge that her actions have consequences.
Part IV - The physical pain that Anden has been made to endure is nothing compared to the emotional pain of public humiliation.
Part V - After a few days, Kiri thinks she's learned the ins and outs of her new life in captivity. She is very wrong.
Part VI - Anden loses a lot of blood and gains an ally.
Part VII - Now that she and Anden are a team, Kiri must decide if she's willing to take a real risk for him.
Part VIII - Escape plans are seemingly underway, but Anden can't keep his morale from slipping when he feels so useless.
Part IX - As she and Anden are punished at the hands of her guard and the High Priest, Kiri questions whether or not she deserves such terrible consequences for her actions.
Part X - Before Anden can accept the fact that he actually cares about Kiri, he makes a half-hearted attempt to scare her off by finally telling her what he did to be chosen as the Vessel of Sin.
Part XI - Kiri's hopes of a future for herself and Anden, somewhere away from the nightmare they'd been trapped in at the temple, are shattered in a single, terrible moment.
Part XII - As the High Priest begins his interrogation, Anden tries desperately to find something, anything he can do to help Kiri.
Part XIII - Kiri's realization that she wants to be with Anden grows alongside her fear that a life with him may be more impossible than ever.
Part XIV - Anden is making progress in getting himself and Kiri to safety, but nights in the temple are growing more dangerous than ever.
Part XV - Kiri struggles through a particularly cruel night, and even her time with people she cares for only reminds her of how much more she's sure to lose.
Part XVI - With Midsummer fast approaching, Anden is running out of time to tell Kiri of everything he's hidden from her for so long.
Part XVII - Kiri suffers through one last midnight ritual and finally hits her breaking point.
Part XVIII - As news of the night's dreadful events spread through the temple, Anden learns a terrible truth that shows him how very unable he is to keep Kiri safe.
Part XIX - While Kiri fights against the darkness that threatens to consume her, Anden tells her a fable and confesses a truth.
Part XX - With only three days left until Midsummer, Anden is faced with a heartbreaking decision.
Part XXI - A very important temple patron participates in a private prayer to Vato, and the rituals do not go as Kiri expects.
CW’s: dubcon m/m sex in a flashback which details consensual oral turned not so consensual (penetrative), implying that not saying no is as good as saying yes, self-blame over not saying no, just all-in-all not yet realizing that what happened was rape, touch aversion, avoidant behavior, yearning, ending a "relationship", alcohol mention, extremely brief reference to offscreen domestic violence
WC: 4019
Chapter quote:
He’d forgive it all, if he just said he cared.
AN: Whelp, it was Quinten's turn to hijack a chapter 🤷♀️ I think this is the first I've written of any of them doing actual pack business, which was interesting (for me, at least) :D
Quinten
Things were dying down again, thank gods.
Jense and Tilli had reported a quiet evening, same as the other patrols he’d checked in with.
The rain had only recently backed off, so it figured the city’d be relatively dead. But the absence of trouble from the other packs, or what was left of them, was reassuring after spending the better part of a fortnight reinforcing their boundaries. Not to mention the weeks before that of defending them.
One hand on his dagger, Quinten turned down an unlit alley on the edge of the merchant’s district. This section bordered Blythe’s territory, and it wasn’t unusual for his pack to purposely blur the lines, but he met no trouble as he passed through.
Kind of boring, actually.
A spark of irritation accompanied the thought. As if he didn’t have enough to do. He still needed to check in with the businesses the pack shadow-owned, and he had a debt collection visit to make. He’d gotten a late start to begin with, since he’d indulged Riah in her useless search, but he hadn’t had the heart to deny her. Not when it was obvious how much she cared.
He’d still been dripping wet when he’d reported to Carr, but she hadn’t really reacted, other than to sigh. Then she’d given him even more work, asking him to make a visit to some shithead who’d been abusing his wife and daughter. Not that he minded that task. It was just unusual she’d asked, since those were kinds of visits she liked to make herself.
But she’d looked pale and harried, so he hadn’t asked why she wasn’t doing it. He’d held his peace on questioning her over Nykim’s whereabouts as well, since he was going to investigate the cabin in the woods anyway. Any questions could wait until he knew what was going on out there. And maybe Riah could wear her down a bit first.
If she wasn't too worn down herself, that was. She'd taken not finding Nykim hard. Between that and the chill downpour she'd run out into, she'd been looking a little worse for wear. Not to mention the scare he'd given her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. It’d be a miracle if he hadn’t destroyed the minuscule amount of trust she’d had in him with that stunt by the shed. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain himself either, since he’d done it so he could spy on the man without tipping Carr off.
Something he could figure out later. Quinten set out toward the tavern; he’d check in there first, get something warm to eat, if it wasn’t too late for that.
It didn’t even occur to him not to tell Nykim at all.
~~~
The tavern ended up being something Quinten circled back around to, on account of the man with the light brown hair lurking in the back corner. A man he didn’t especially want to face today.
So he’d taken care of his other business first, in the hopes that Dhavi would get tired of waiting and leave. It’d been a few weeks since he’d last seen him, sometime before they’d got word of the ring fights, but he’d be good with another few weeks passing. And another few after that.
Something twisted in his gut as he stood in the dark, wet street, just out of the radius of the tavern’s lanterns. Hunger, not nerves, because he was fucking starving. And bone tired.
Which sucked, because he still wasn’t done after this, and no way were they serving any food in the wee hours of the morning. Damn it.
With a sigh, Quinten forced himself to move. At least there was the promise of warmth inside. He threw back the hood of his cloak as he pushed through the door, scanning for anything that seemed off.
The tables were empty, as was that one corner in the back, but a handful of people still sat at the bar, despite the late hour. Getting their last call in, most like. Behind the bar, the owner's wife raised a hand in greeting.
Only one person bothered to look over their shoulder at the newcomer, and Quinten started cursing under his breath when they did. The knuckles he’d bruised on that wife-beater’s face complained when his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He wanted to turn back around and walk out again, but it had been too long since his last check-in, and he’d promised he’d be here today. Besides, pack business took precedence over avoiding his… whatever Dhavi was. A source turned occasional lay, which had gotten complicated? Complicated sounded about right.
A complication he wouldn’t be avoiding tonight, it seemed. Quinten ground his teeth as he stepped up to the bar. He didn’t look at Dhavi or acknowledge the other man’s eyes drilling into the side of his head, instead offering a small smile to Merie.
“You made it.” Merie smiled brightly, the expression lighting up her otherwise plain features.
The enthusiastic greeting relaxed him a bit, and his smile was less forced as a result. “I did. Saved the best for last.” Or almost last. Last business in the city, anyway.
The woman preened a bit, smoothing back the blond frizz that had escaped her braid. But after a moment, her brow wrinkled and she started fiddling with her cleaning rag.
Concerned, he leaned up against the bar, but before he could say anything, she threw the rag over her shoulder and stooped, reaching for something under the counter.
A lifetime of wariness had him stepping back, but the only thing in her hands when she reappeared was a covered plate.
His mouth was already watering before she removed the cover, and he was damn near drooling when she revealed the cut of mince pie underneath. “Merie, I could kiss you for this.”
She chuckled and handed him a fork, which he wasted no time in using. “Doubt Lissa would be pleased with you for that one. Hope it’s still a little warm.” A worried vee appeared between her brows. “Switched it out a few times, but…”
Mouth full of what was lukewarm pie at best, he gave her a thumbs up. It was still better than stone cold. Or nothing at all, which was what he'd expected.
She turned to the tap, but her smile was back when she looked over her shoulder at him. “Expected you in hours ago. Trouble tonight?”
He shook his head, reaching for the ale she’d just poured before answering. “Nothing too bad. Just lots to catch up on. How’re you doing? Had any issues?”
Dhavi shifted in his seat. Now feigning inattention, he lifted his ale glass. It looked like the first drink he’d taken from it; in fact, Quinten would bet it was his first glass. He’d probably been forced to order something if he was gonna take up space for so long.
Quinten grabbed his plate and motioned to the far end of the bar, which was relatively free from prying eyes and ears.
“Just the usual,” Merie said once they’d relocated. “Blythe’s ilk has been poking around, but they haven’t overstepped since the last time. Had some trouble with a supplier, but I think Lissa sorted it.”
Quinten perched on the edge of a stool, nodding as he dug back into his food; he wouldn’t butt in unless he was asked to. And he wasn’t. So when she finished filling him in, he said, “Need to see the books today.”
She grabbed the ledger from where it’d been propped against the wall atop the bar, barely shielded from view by a stack of empty glasses. “Thought you might.”
That was new. Usually she had to go to the back to fetch it. Usually he wasn't this late to check in, though, either. So his admonishment was gentler than it otherwise might’ve been.
“Careful about keeping this out, alright?” He frowned at her until she agreed, then finished off the pie as he flipped through the pages. He was better with numbers than words, so it didn’t take him too long.
“Look good?” Merie asked as she collected his empty plate.
“Yup.” So far, anyway. He reached for his ale as he scanned the last couple pages. Merie and Lissa ran a tight shop; he was less worried about them screwing the pack over than them getting screwed over by a supplier or threatened by Blythe’s people.
Speaking of… He narrowed his eyes at the blatant extortion that supplier she'd mentioned had tried to pull. But not two lines down was another entry. He did some quick calculations in his head before a wry grin tilted his lips.
“Found that supplier,” he told Merie, “but looks like they covered the difference. And a little bit more, besides. Lissa must’ve put the fear of the gods in them.”
He took note of who it had been in any case. Not everyone had as sharp an eye as her. Or as sharp a tongue.
“More like the fear of you.” The corners of Merie's eyes crinkled, although how she thought that was amusing was beyond him.
“Good.” Much more of that, and he'd be paying them a visit. One they wouldn't like very much.
He closed the book and ran a finger over the smooth leather cover, eyeing the split skin over his knuckles. Whatever it took, he supposed. “Are we settled enough for a week, you think? Or you want me to stop by sooner?”
She chewed her lip, thinking about it for a moment before responding. “A week should be fine, I think. We’ll send word if not.”
He nodded and pushed off the stool. “Sounds like a plan. Have a good night, Merie.”
Her gaze bounced between him and Dhavi, but thankfully, she kept her opinion to herself.
Dhavi, however, didn’t let it go that easily.
Halfway to the door, a hand closed around Quinten’s shoulder. He’d noted the footsteps closing in on him, of course, but the physical contact came as a bit of a shock. His response was automatic; a quick spin ended with the grip dislodged and the offender’s arm twisted up behind his back. Quinten’s blade rested lightly over the rapidly flickering pulse in Dhavi’s neck.
Dhavi emitted a nervous laugh, but otherwise held very still. “Shit, Quin. Seriously?”
With a disgusted huff, Quinten released him and stalked for the door. He didn’t have time for this shit. If he wanted any sleep, he needed to get back to check out that cabin.
The other man overtook him, though, blocking the exit. His brow creased when Quinten glowered. “C’mon, man, been waitin’ all evening and you can’t even give me the time of day? It’s midweek, isn’t it?”
Fuck, he guessed it was. He’d honestly lost track.
A little color returned to Dhavi’s blanched cheeks as he slyly added, “Been a bit since we caught each other last, but I heard it’s been quiet. And if you’re done for the night–”
“Not in the mood, Dhavi.” He might never be in the mood again, not for him. Not after last time. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the door pointedly, but Dhavi didn’t budge.
His gaze did flicker briefly as he took in Quinten’s bruised and bloody knuckles. “What if I said I had information for you?”
Mother fuck, could the man please catch a hint? Quinten ignored the desire to step back, to put more distance between them, and assumed his mask of consummate boredom. “Spit it out then. I’m busy.”
“What’ll you trade for it?” The way Dhavi ran his eyes over his body made it very clear what he wanted.
Which had been fine before. The right kind of information had been known to change his mind. Rainchecks worked too. It was just a bit of fun with someone he'd grown comfortable with.
But now that comfort was gone, and all it did was make him feel dirty. Which pissed him off.
“Get out of my way.” His mask cracked, and whatever expression leaked through underneath was enough to send Dhavi skittering away from the door. Quinten was through it before he was done moving.
“Quin!” Dhavi’s voice broke, stopping him in the middle of the street.
Godsdamnit. Reluctantly, he turned around.
“Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I won’t… I won’t do… tell me, and I won’t do whatever it was again.” Dhavi shivered, apparently having left his cloak inside, but he still stepped out into the street to look up into Quinten’s face.
The fact that he didn’t even know sent a shiver of revulsion down Quinten’s spine. But it was quickly followed by shame; how was he supposed to know when he’d just lain there and taken it? He could tell him he hadn’t enjoyed what they’d done, and they could just… not do that again. Everything could be fine, if he just opened his damn mouth.
Until the next time he pushes you for something you didn’t want to do to begin with, his conscience chided.
Quinten rubbed his hand over the gooseflesh that prickled the back of his neck.
There was that, he acknowledged. But it wasn’t fair that he hadn’t said anything, either. Hadn’t been able to say anything.
Thankfully, the darkness hid the flush that stained his cheeks. “Dhavi…”
Nothing would come out after that, though, and eventually he pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I have to go.”
“Please,” Dhavi said beseechingly. He reached out for him, and Quinten had softened enough to allow it. “Please, don’t be like this.”
Don't be like this.
Quinten sucked in a breath.
Don't be like this. Don't be like this.
“I remember. But it's been months,” Dhavi said as he straddled his thighs. “Things change.”
A very talented mouth distracted him from that line of thought as he kissed his way down his body.
Quinten was flushed and panting when he came back up for air.
“We know each other better now. And you know I could make it good.”
What he knew was that this wasn't the time to discuss this. He shook his head.
Dhavi's eyes sparkled with mischief as he dipped his head back down. Quinten fisted the sheets, letting out a strangled moan.
He brought him to the edge and left him there, instead kissing his way back up his body until their mouths fused.
Quinten's erection throbbed, trapped between the press of their bodies but without the friction he needed. He bucked beneath Dhavi, who broke their kiss with a satisfied laugh.
“See? You think it feels good now, but it could be better.”
He shook his head again, but he was barely aware of what he was refusing anymore, and Dhavi could see it.
“I like it, don't I? Just try it, and…”
Hands bracketed his face, keeping him from shaking his head again.
“Don't be like this,” he whispered. “I got you.”
He got him, alright.
“You still good?” Dhavi asked, watching his face as his oil-slickened fingers scissored inside him.
No, he wanted to say. A moan escaped instead, and Dhavi smiled and latched his lips around him again.
“You still good?” he asked, poised at his entrance.
He still hadn't let him come. No. Yes. He didn't know! Gods, he couldn't think. Anything, anything, if he'd just let him come.
“You still good?” Seated inside him, so deep he couldn't breathe.
There hadn't been much point in saying no, then.
The worst of it was that it had felt good. The orgasm, when he'd finally been allowed to come, had been one of the best he'd ever had.
But when he got back to the lair, he'd drawn his own bath and sat in the cold water until his fingers pruned and his lips turned blue.
He hadn't slept well since, too plagued by old memories he'd thought he'd long since put to rest.
Don’t be like this.
Quinten blinked, then stiffened. A quick scan of the surrounding area assured him they were still alone. Mother fuck, he couldn't check out like that. Ever.
“Be like what?” he snapped. He shook Dhavi's hand off, but his skin still crawled where he'd been touching him.
“So difficult.” Dhavi had the nerve to look hurt as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Figured after all these months, I’d rate something more than… whatever this is.”
After… after… Quinten took a step back before he did something he'd regret later. “Figured after all these months, I’d made it clear there were things I didn't want to do, but that didn't matter much to you in the moment, now did it?”
“Fucking pits, that's what got your knickers in a twist?” Dhavi gaped at him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? I asked, didn't I? If you didn't like what I was doing, which I know you did, by the way, why didn't you… you could've… you, you're”–he waved his hand over Quinten’s body–“you!”
You're bigger, stronger. You could've stopped me at any time. You could've said no. You could've done anything other than lie there and let me think you liked it.
The words he didn't say were louder than the ones he did.
Quinten angrily raked a hand through his hair. He knew all that! He knew!
Dhavi huffed a sigh. “Fuck me. I'm sorry, okay? I thought… no, that doesn't matter. Clearly, I was wrong. I won't do that again. I won't push. Whatever you say goes, alright?”
There was an awkward pause while he waited for a response that Quinten didn't give. Cautiously, he moved closer. “We good?”
“I don't know,” Quinten ground out, leaning away when Dhavi reached out for him again. He couldn't even stand for him to touch him right now, for fuck’s sake.
Couldn't tolerate the close proximity, either, so he hooked his hands behind his head and started pacing the street. “It's not fair, but I don't know.”
His skin twitched with remembered intimacies, ones that had been used against him. Why hadn't he said anything?
His fingers dug into the back of his skull. Dhavi was suspiciously quiet, allowing him time to consider, he guessed, since he couldn't manipulate him with sensation.
He'd never had a problem like that before. Had never been with anyone long enough to find out if he would have.
None of them had been Carr.
The tavern's lanterns were the only ones that remained lit this late. Water dripping from the eaves the only sound breaking the night's stillness. That and the splash his boots made when he paced through a puddle.
A part of his mind continually scanned the darkness beyond for lurking threats while he considered that line of thought.
She'd always been touch-averse to varying degrees. And while she was obviously comfortable with the guy she'd brought back, every touch between them was weighted with such intention that it was hard to look away from.
And yet, she'd been so stiff with him in the stands before Nykim's rescue.
It hit him all at once that he'd never seen her at ease with basic physical contact.
Was this how she felt all the time? Like every touch was a threat, even from the people she should be able to trust? It made him wonder if she'd ever felt safe, which he quickly realized was a stupid fucking question. How could she have, keeping a secret that big?
He'd expected to be angrier that she'd deceived them. But… it had made so much sense, and she was the same, exactly the same. It didn't seem to matter if she was a woman or a man.
So honest it hurt. Zero tolerance for bullshit. Loyal to a fault.
She never would've done this to him.
Not that he'd ever had the slightest chance with her. Hadn't stopped him from wishing. He still wished it could've been him, but after watching her around Resh, he understood why it wasn't.
After she'd left, he'd tried to move on. And it had been working. Made him wonder if he would've moved past this easier if she hadn't returned. Hadn't shown him how it could be with someone who cared. But she had, and now…
“Answer a question for me, Dhavi.” He stopped pacing and waited for the nod before continuing. “If I were captured, and you knew where I was, would you do anything to try to help me?”
Dhavi tucked his fingers under his armpits and stared at him blankly. “What… what do you think I could do, Quin? What kind of question is that?”
Quinten rolled his eyes. “There’s options that don’t include trying to get me out yourself single-handed.”
He could think of all manner of things. Even if Dhavi wasn’t suited for staging a rescue attempt, he could keep the pack informed, feed them information as he’d been feeding Quinten information for months now. He could infiltrate wherever he was being theoretically held under the guise of an informant–which wouldn’t even be a stretch since that’s what he was, and offer aid that way.
“Can you seriously not think of one?” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “I think you can. You just don’t wanna admit you wouldn’t take the risk.”
“Quin.” Dhavi’s tone took on a placating edge. “You know how it is. I don’t have enough info, anyway. Who fucking took you? Who would dare?”
“There’s always someone who’d dare,” Quinten hissed, stalking forward until Dhavi’s back hit the tavern’s wall. “They took fucking Nykim! We aren’t fucking invincible!”
Rage washed over him, along with remembered helplessness. And guilt, so much fucking guilt. He’d done nothing. He owed that man fucking everything, and he’d done nothing!
“We all bleed red,” he said, wondering what the fuck he’d ever seen in the man he was looking down at. “Just say you don’t give a fuck. Say you wouldn’t do shit, Dhavi. Say it!”
They were so close Quinten could feel Dhavi’s chest quivering under his own. The other man's eyes glistened as he looked up at him, and despite everything, Quinten desperately hoped he was wrong. He’d forgive it all, if he just said he cared.
But Dhavi’s throat bobbed, and he averted his gaze. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Quinten said bitterly. He ran his hand through his hair again as he backed away, tugging too hard on the strands.
This… whatever it was… or had been, it wasn’t what Carr had with her magicky guy. Nykim and his woman weren’t even together, and it still fell short of that.
Which was fine. It was supposed to be casual.
But the utter lack of anything substantial between him and the guy he’d been fucking for months suddenly made him sick to his stomach. He was fucking comfortable enough to push boundaries, but not enough to even consider helping him if he needed it?
If the fucking was all there really was, what was the point if he couldn't even enjoy that anymore?
Dhavi had relaxed when he’d given him space, but he cringed into the wall again when Quinten released a frustrated snarl.
His mask slipped back into place as he returned his attention to him. Fucking coward.
“Y'know what? No, we're not good. We're done, actually. I'm done. You still want to pass info, I’ll pay you for it, but that’s all I’m trading.”
He had no interest in listening to whatever Dhavi might say next, and even less in watching the tears that threatened to slip free.
He raised his hood as he stepped into the darkness, then turned his back and took off.
Dhavi didn't call out for him again.
At the pace he set, Quinten closed the distance to the lair quicker than usual. His face felt wet and cold, but that was from the chill wind shearing across his eyes, was all.
He swiped it away and headed into the woods.
Next
Taglist (lmk if you’d like to be added/removed <3)
waiter waiter more depictions of traumatised malnourished characters putting on some weight postcanon to show their recovery from the horrors please !!!!!!!!!!!
CW’s: so uh, the chapter title, for one. we also have some PTSD going on, a very angry woman behaving in ways she normally wouldn't, angst, withholding knowledge of knowing another language, getting drenched in a cold rain, continued trauma-informed wariness around men, and being physically restrained with the fear of possible sexual assault
WC: 6276
Chapter quote:
Her hands clenched into fists. She should be there. She wanted to be there.
AN: I'm gonna try this thing called let's not spend days on end picking with this chapter so we can just move on (two days is enough, anyway, right?). Mostly bc I have the next chapter written and then I'd be editing back to back for weeks lol.
As an aside, 170k deep in a fic isn't too late to add a new pov, i hope. bc well. i did lol
Riah
Riah woke with a start when her hand landed on something that crinkled.
That wasn’t the only thing that was off, either.
What was surely mid-afternoon light streamed in from the bathing room, since the door was wide open. A door that was too far away. Nykim’s scent surrounded her, because she was sleeping on his side of the bed.
When had it become his side, anyway? It was his bed; all the sides were his.
She had a hazy memory of him leaning over her. If he’d said something, she didn’t remember what it was, but the warmth of his lips lingered on her temple. When she tried to raise her hand to touch it, the object beneath it crinkled again.
Time seemed to slow as she lifted her hand, revealing a slightly crumpled, folded slip of paper with her name scrawled on top.
Her vision flickered. The paper, the note, took on the yellowed cast of aged parchment.
Time rushed back into sync, and her heart slammed into her chest as she pushed herself up and away.
Away away away. Away.
Something hit the ground with a soft poof of displaced air. The sheets tangled around her bare legs. She kicked at them until her back thumped into the headboard. The paper rode the midnight swell of cotton, refusing to sink. It never left her line of sight.
The color shifted from yellow to white. The whorls of her name swirled and expanded until there were too many letters.
Too… too many letters?
She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
The last time someone had left her notes, it had been to demand her attendance for Nykim’s torture sessions in the ring.
Not there, she reminded herself. Couldn’t be, because the air she sucked in tasted of medicinal salves. There’d been no need for those in the manor, nor had she ever gotten close enough to Nykim to be able to tell if they’d been treating his injuries. She rather doubted they had. She closed her mouth, took in slower, measured breaths through her nose.
Beneath the medicinal tang, she caught a fainter scent she couldn’t name, but which put her in mind of… sitting on the ground beneath a tree on a sunny day. The trunk was sturdy when she leaned against it. Beneath her, the earth was soft, cushioning.
She pulled the sheet up and buried her face in it.
It smelled like the woods and the earth and the warmth of the sun. Like strength and safety and light. It smelled like… Nykim.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she dropped the sheet with an embarrassed laugh. How ridiculous. How utterly ludicrous. People didn’t smell like light. Or any of that other stuff.
Try as she might, though, she couldn’t put the thought out of her mind. It made her want to stick her nose in the crook of his neck to prove herself wrong. He’d probably smell of sweat or metal or leather, depending on what he’d been doing.
What had he been doing, that he felt the need to leave her a note?
Slowly, her eyelids rose. Her heart skipped a beat when the paper came back into view, but then settled–somewhat–as she took in the differences. It looked like scrap paper rather than the heavier stuff used for formal correspondence. And there were too many letters, because it was addressed to Shadow.
Riah stared, worrying her lower lip. No good reasons as to why he’d leave her a note came to mind, not after the series of conversations they’d recently had. And she couldn’t decide whether calling her Shadow was being used as an endearment or to soften a blow.
Only one way to find out.
She used the hem of her shift to dry her sweaty palm, then leaned over to retrieve the paper.
Her hands were shaking enough that she needed to use both of them to hold it steady. Maybe he’d changed his mind about talking. Was he sending her to the city after all?
She imagined being all alone in some one-room apartment, with strange men stationed outside that she was supposed to trust to protect her. Maybe there’d be a lock, but she’d have to open it if she wanted food or water brought to her. She’d spend the whole time waiting for one of them to request payment for their services. To withhold supplies until she agreed. To overpower her when she had to open the door. To pick the lock while she slept.
Who would that situation be better for, her or him? Because she thought it might be him.
A sudden desire to crumple the note unread and pitch it into the banked fire overtook her. Her fingers spasmed, wrinkling the paper. If he wanted her to leave, he could tell her so to her face!
Pain speared through her clenched jaw. No. No, she wouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.
She unfolded the note and smoothed it out against her knee.
Shadow,
I’m not asking you to leave.
A shaky breath shuddered out of her, and she had to look away for a moment.
I know the timing is bad, and I’m sorry for that, but…
Whatever came next was heavily scribbled out. She lifted it up to the light, but no matter how she squinted, she couldn’t make out more than a few words, none of which made any sense on their own.
Her brow furrowed, but she lowered the note and continued reading.
I feel like any conversation we have would be more productive if I’m not drugged up while we have it.
She frowned at the formality and the implication behind it, which was quickly confirmed.
So I’m going to take care of that. I’ll be gone a few days, but Carr and the betas will watch out for you. Carr will explain more later.
When I return, I promise we’ll talk.
He’d signed his name with a flourish, then beneath that had added:
It’s okay if you’re angry with me over this. Just stick around to tell me about it, alright?
That… that was it? She turned the paper over, but there was nothing. Just… just…
The words blurred as her vision unfocused. She didn’t know what to think, what to feel.
She was definitely angry. And hurt. But did she have any right to be? She’d told Carr to get him off the drug as soon as possible, so how could she possibly blame him for doing what she’d wanted?
Maybe… maybe if he wasn’t in this room, he wouldn’t have so many issues with the wean. And a controlled wean wasn’t the same as a withdrawal.
Riah rose in a daze, narrowly avoiding the fallen pillow on the floor. None of that helped.
It was clear he didn’t want her there for whatever would happen. He hadn’t been willing to tell her how bad it would be, which meant it would be. Bad.
She was no doctor, or herbalist, or even midwife, but she’d seen her fair share of nasty weans and withdrawals. Had helped her sisters through them. She’d expected to do the same for him.
Her hands clenched into fists. She should be there. She wanted to be there.
The balled-up paper she threw bounced off the headboard, landing in the empty space where his pillow should be. Good. Let him see what she thought of his fucking note!
She needed… she had to do something. Halfway across the room, she realized getting dressed first might be desirable. The delay, though, not so much.
The dress she'd been wearing the day before was neatly draped across a chair on the other side of the bed. Nice to know she could still take care of her clothes while playing whore against her will.
She stomped out of Nykim's room without it and returned to her temporary quarters. There were two more options in there, and neither was red. Even if she hadn’t worn that dress for the past couple of days, she wouldn’t have put it on now, just for that.
The nerve that man had. He should’ve said something! Given her a chance, at least, to convince him to allow her to help!
She washed up quickly at the washstand and changed, pulling on a fresh shift and the blue dress Quinten had brought her with sharp, angry motions. He liked the blue too, but she was vain enough not to want to wear the shapeless thing she’d first been given unless she had to. It’d have to be enough that another man had chosen it.
Fuck him for leaving her behind. Fuck him for thinking she needed permission to be angry–although a small, quiet part of her whispered that maybe she had needed the permission to express that anger.
A snarl buried that small voice. Riah yanked the brush through her hair, probably ripping out more strands than she detangled, but she was past caring. She had to catch him before he left.
He wanted her anger? He could fucking well have it, then.
~~~
Quinten
A combination of dark clothes and a shadowed alcove kept Quinten out of sight of anyone passing through the lair’s foyer.
Most anyone. Every now and then, another pack member would pass through, and he noted which ones spotted him and which ones didn’t. The ones who didn’t were added to a mental list of dumbasses who needed more training. Thankfully, that wasn’t his job.
Something else that shouldn’t be his job was fucking standing there in the first place, monitoring a woman who rarely ever left the second floor. Literally anything would be a better use of his time.
Although she had come down yesterday, so there was that. Still. Quinten shifted position to lean on the opposite corner of the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
Something strange was going on with Nykim. He could be investigating that instead. Not that he’d gotten very far. Not that it was really any of his business.
The packmaster was doing remarkably well despite the severity of his injuries, but maybe he’d had a setback or something, and that’s why he was disappearing for a few days. Quinten didn’t really know. Nobody told him anything; something he’d been fine with before, but now had him questioning things.
He bared his teeth at the empty stairwell. Nykim was the only person Riah seemed to trust, so he had no idea how she’d take this or if she’d even say anything if she was unhappy about it. As far as he was concerned, the likelihood of her leaving the fucking lair was next to zero, so this was a waste of time. He could’ve still been sleeping, for fuck’s sake.
A door slammed upstairs, hard enough to rattle the sconces in the stairwell.
Quinten stood up straight, hands dropping to the daggers at his hips, although after a few moments, he removed them with a disgusted sigh. What was he gonna do, draw on Nykim’s woman? Seemed like a great way to die.
Muffled thuds and banging noises intermittently sounded from upstairs, but no irate lady appeared. He stood at attention for a few minutes longer before giving up to lean against the wall again.
She wasn’t happy, that was for sure, but sounded like she’d returned to her room and was taking her anger out in there. He’d wait around a bit longer before moving on with his day. Pissed-off people didn’t usually run off anyway.
Quinten occupied himself by stretching out the hand he’d injured during that batshit wild rescue. The slice across his palm was healing well, but it had gone deep. Last thing he needed was a band of stiff scar tissue limiting the function of his dominant hand, so he did the exercises. Wasn’t the first time he’d sliced himself open catching a blade midair.
While he was doing that, another pack member passed through the foyer without noticing him. He rolled his eyes. Fucking shit, people were getting lazy. That might become his job after all, which sucked ass.
Another door slammed, and his current job appeared at the top of the stairs. With flushed cheeks and pinched lips, she descended, which was when he realized that he’d have to be the one dealing with her pissy mood.
He wasn’t as irritated with that as he could’ve been, more curious to find out if she’d actually let her anger out on him or not. So he slipped out of the shadows while her gaze was averted and waited.
Riah reached the landing and turned, starting a little when she noticed him, which made him glad she hadn’t seen him while she was stomping down the stairs. What if she’d missed a step? Maybe this was a dumb idea.
He shifted his weight, but it was a bit late to back out now.
“Quinten.” She said his name in the manner of a surprised inhalation, and her hands fisted in the skirts of the blue dress he’d brought back for her early on.
It had been a decent choice, despite the fact that he’d had no clue what the fuck he was doing. Although maybe he’d pick a less busy pattern next time. Not that that was relevant at the moment. He put the thought from his mind and crossed the room, taking care to place his body between her and the front door.
He stopped a few paces farther away than was typical for carrying on a conversation and sketched a quick bow. “Quin, m’lady.”
Her gaze sharpened, his first sign that he probably shouldn’t provoke her in her current mood. “Where is he?”
He completely ignored the warning, of course. No fun in that. “Where is who?”
“You know who,” she snapped, then pressed her lips together, visibly reigning herself in. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Quinten said mildly, raising an eyebrow.
Irritation flickered over her features, half hidden until she tucked the thick fall of her dark hair behind her ears. “Fine. No, I’m not.”
Riah descended the last step and closed the extra space he’d left between them for her comfort. Interesting that she didn’t seem to need it. Didn’t seem to notice when he crossed his arms over his chest either.
She was nearly toe to toe with him when she finally stopped. “Tell me where he fucking is so I can stop this madness. Or at least be there for it.”
His eyebrows shot all the way up at that. “Huh. The lady has a mouth on her.” Also, what the fuck madness was she talking about?
Riah took several steps back at his tone, which he wasn’t especially unhappy with. She’d gotten real close, and she barely had to look up at him, which was kind of unnerving.
Also unnerving was that she’d been that close without him knowing if she was carrying anything.
Belatedly, he scanned her for weapons, thinking maybe those others weren’t the only ones who’d gotten lazy. She’d been spending a lot of time with the most lethal man in the city; who knew what kind of shit she had access to?
“Stop calling me that.” Her frown pulled at the edges of the scar tissue slashing across her cheeks. “I haven’t been–I’m not a lady.”
You sure about that? Quinten’s brow furrowed briefly before he wiped his expression clean. Who had given her those scars? “My apologies, my, um, ma’am.”
“For fuck’s sake, Quinten. Just tell me where he is. Please.” Concern seeped through cracks in her angry mask.
Just for that, he dropped the pretenses. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” she cried.
He winced at the pain in her voice. As gently as possible, he said, “Because I don’t know.” And he was honestly kind of pissed about it now, because he couldn’t even double-check to make sure this was what Nykim wanted. Had he known how upset she’d be?
She retreated to the stairs, where she sat on the top step and buried her face in her hands. Quinten shuffled in place, wondering if he should approach her or something.
While he was still deciding, Resh crossed through the back of the house. He did a double-take almost as soon as he came into view of the foyer and, with barely a pause, headed toward Riah.
The look he shot Quinten's way was accusatory, and Quinten bristled.
“I'm not the one making her upset.”
Resh's fingers flashed. “You aren't helping make it better, either.”
Quinten raised an eyebrow, and Resh slowly lowered his hands. A flush crossed his cheeks, but he rolled his eyes instead of pursuing it and crouched in front of Riah.
Moving a little closer to them, Quinten tried to ignore the prickle of his guilty conscience. He’d keep his knowledge of sign to himself as long as he damned well pleased.
He’d learned for Nune because they were on overlapping shifts and he considered him a friend. Surprisingly enough, the knowledge had come in useful a time or two, but that had only happened because no one knew he was fluent.
The ability to eavesdrop on Carr and Resh was just a bonus. Not that they used sign all that often, which was annoying.
Resh placed a hand on Riah’s knee, which was pretty ballsy on his part, Quinten thought.
And… yup, she startled and twitched away, to which Resh held up his hands. He must’ve done something to reassure her, though, because she relaxed. At least until she realized she’d been presented with a new source of information.
She narrowed her eyes. “Is Carr with Nykim?”
Resh’s eyes flicked over to him, and he shrugged. His own fault for getting involved. With clear reluctance, Resh nodded, then reached for his notebook.
“Do you know where they are?” Riah stood abruptly, and Resh rose as well, only to take a step back away from her.
Quinten acknowledged he’d probably do the same if a woman as agitated as that one towered over him.
Her agitation only grew when Resh continued to scribble in his notebook rather than answering right away. “Please don't give me some excuse why you can't say. You have to tell me. I have to do something. Stop him. Help him. I don’t even know, but I should be there.”
He glanced up at her, then returned to what he was writing.
With a frustrated-sounding huff, Riah advanced on him, like she’d shake the information out of him or something.
Resh snapped his head up, wearing an expression serious enough to halt her in her tracks. He raised a finger, silently requesting more time.
“Sorry, I–sorry,” she murmured, backing up a step. She ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall forward, and started twisting her hands in front of her.
Quinten frowned, wondering if he’d imagined that flicker of purple light in Resh’s eyes before he’d returned his attention to whatever he was writing. He’d avoided thinking overly much about things like magic since they’d brought Nykim back, mostly because he knew Carr was serious about slitting his throat if he made any wrong moves.
But… magic. What defense did he have against that? His blades weren’t going to be of much use if the other man could stop him in action with some kind of magicky shit. Which meant he couldn’t protect Riah from him. Which… was a huge problem. Did Nykim know?
He was suddenly as interested in Resh’s answer as Riah was, but she snatched the notebook when Resh held it up, and he couldn’t see it. Fuck.
She looked up faster than he would’ve been able to read that wall of scribbled lines, her brow creasing. “What do you mean, she’ll talk to me later?”
Resh shrugged, gesturing helplessly at his notebook, which she still held.
She made no move to give it back. “I don’t want to be talked to later. I want to see them now. Do you know where they went?”
Another nonanswer from Resh had her shoving his notebook back at him. He took it, carefully closed the cover, and returned it to his back pocket.
Riah’s posture stiffened, and Quinten watched the range of emotion that flickered across her face with some fascination.
“Fine,” she finally said, using a tone that implied the exact opposite. “I’ll find him my fucking self then.” With that, she brushed past Resh, heading through the foyer toward the back of the house.
Not having expected that at all, it took Quinten a moment to catch up mentally and move to follow her. Thank gods she wasn’t trying to go out the front.
“At least I wasn’t making it worse.” He glared at Resh as he passed him, too pissed off to watch what he was saying.
Resh’s gaze bored into the back of his head. Whatever. He could interpret that however he wanted. Didn’t mean he’d admitted to nothing.
~~~
Riah
Pack members filled the back of the house, more than she’d ever seen inside at once. Their voices rose and fell like a wave, crashing over and beyond her.
She surged through the bodies, although they offered no resistance. They parted before her, voices fading, then swelling again once she’d passed.
Two cloaked figures stood by the door to the courtyard. Their features blurred, lost in the darkness beneath their dripping hoods. Riah’s heart seized in her chest, but momentum carried her forward.
Her fingers scrabbled for the door handle, only to slip off the surface. Shit. The back of her neck prickled. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, but stopped when she flinched away.
Luckily, the latch gave way on her next attempt, and she pushed through the door to run out into the courtyard.
It quickly became clear why so many of the pack had been inside.
Rain pounded down, soaking her all the way through in seconds. Icy water plastered her hair to her face. She shoved it out of her eyes as she skittered to a halt in the center of the path, gasping for air.
At least no one was likely to follow her.
She could barely see through the downpour, but she remembered the forest beyond the courtyard’s gates and the buildings she’d seen along the treeline. Shivering violently, she pressed forward.
She stumbled more than once as the gravel shifted unexpectedly. Her sodden slippers, which were not meant for the outdoors, did little to protect her feet and squished disturbingly with each step. Despite the stones stabbing into her soles, she managed to maintain her balance up until she reached the gate.
Gravel transitioned into thick slabs of stone, extending about three feet in either direction of the gate and the surrounding wall.
Very slick stone, she discovered as soon as she stepped onto it.
She went down, landing in the gravel, which was probably the better option, but still didn't feel particularly good stabbing into her backside.
With her pride stinging more than her flesh, Riah crawled across the stone. She should've changed her shoes. Not that she had any to change into, but still.
Tears might’ve filled her eyes, but the rain made it hard to tell. She reached the gate and grabbed for the bars to haul herself up.
Hands gripped her waist to assist her ascent back to her feet, but she was too breathless to shriek her surprise. She whirled around as soon as she was stable, her eyes widening when she beheld the cloaked figure who'd come after her.
So much for the rain keeping them from following. These men were much more dedicated than Veshda's. Well, Merrick’s, now. Maybe.
The bars of the gate dug into her back as she pressed into them. “G-get away from m-me.”
The figure raised their hands and backed off immediately. Riah groped behind her, searching for the gate’s latch and desperately hoping it wasn’t locked.
“What in the everloving fuck are you doing?”
She froze again when the figure’s arm moved, but all they did was push back their hood, revealing… Quinten?
If she’d thought he looked irritated in the kitchen the other morning, that didn’t hold a candle to his current expression.
With his curls plastered to his skull and water running in rivulets down his face, the press of his lips and the lines creasing his brow took on a more sinister cast than mere irritation could account for.
She eyed the distance between them nervously. He was big enough, strong enough to force her compliance. Movement had her flinching back again. She inched away from him.
Quinten crossed his arms over his chest, so heedless of the rain that she half wondered why he’d bothered with the cloak. Dark eyes followed her tiny sidesteps, but he made no move to match them.
She found the latch and ran her fingers over it behind her back. Please, don’t be locked. Please.
“It’s locked,” he said tonelessly.
A whimper escaped her lips, and her eyes darted to the side. The stone wall was too high for her to climb, even if it hadn’t been raining.
“C-can, can y-you un, unlock i-it?” Her shivering made her stutter worse than usual. She sniffed and wiped her face with cold-numbed fingers, although the action was futile.
“Why?” he asked in that same flat tone.
“S-so I can look for him!” she cried. “I-I saw… s-saw some buildings–”
“What is it you think he's doing that you need to find him so bad?” Quinten slicked back his hair, then resumed his previous pose, looking utterly disinterested.
Riah fell silent. She couldn't tell if the question was genuine. Had a hard time believing it could be. Was… was this a test?
When she didn't answer, he looked up to the sky. He blinked rapidly against the continued rainfall for a few seconds before pinning her with a very unamused gaze. “Do you enjoy getting rained on? Because I don't particularly enjoy it, especially when it's this cold.”
“N-no,” she said quietly. “I don't. But he n-needs me.” Perhaps that was presuming too much, but… she had a feeling it was truer than not.
“Why?” Quinten asked again.
He either had endless patience or she was about to be forcefully dragged back to the house if he didn't like her answer.
It was impossible to tell which. She swallowed, making herself speak past the fear clogging her throat. “H-he's detoxing, from the p-pain med… m-medicine.”
“Mhm.” Quinten cocked his head. “And when he’s not in those shacks we use for storage, what then?”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out because she didn’t know. Was she going to wander the woods in the pouring rain, searching for someone who had elemental earth and could easily hide any trace of their passage? Would she try the city, where she’d surely get caught by her pack while she asked around?
She hunched her shoulders as Quinten’s gaze drilled into her.
“Mother fuck,” he muttered, almost too softly to be heard over the rain. “Look, I want to know where he is as much as you do at this point. So how about you let me handle the investigating, and you go get warm before you catch your death?”
Her fingers twisted in the waterlogged fabric of her skirt. That probably made loads of sense, but she… she couldn’t.
She couldn’t be safe and warm and not hurting when he wasn’t. She couldn’t, because it was her fault. Her fault. Her fault he needed to wean back off the drugs. Her fault he’d needed them in the first place. Merrick might’ve had it out for him, but it had been her fault he’d gone to the extremes he had. Her fault Nykim hadn’t escaped when he’d had the chance, not once, but twice. Her fault. Her fault!
She hadn’t realized she’d turned and started clawing at the gate until her hands were removed.
No! She keened a wordless protest and threw herself forward only to find her way blocked by Quinten's arm. No matter how hard she tried, her feet slipped and slid on the slick surface beneath her, and he held her back easily.
And then it wasn’t an arm in her way, but his whole entire body.
“Fucking shit, I didn’t think you had it in you.” His hands closed around her upper arms, and the animal wildness raging inside shriveled and fled, trying to find a safe place to hide.
Oh gods, what did that mean? She held very still, terrified she was about to find out.
Had she crossed some line even Nykim’s protection wouldn’t cover? Because this wasn’t the Quinten she knew, who’d been nothing but gentle with her, who’d joked with her and brought her a dress for no reason.
She’d had a glimpse of this version the other morning, but this… this was pack beta Quinten. And he was deadly serious, his grip like iron around her arms. She risked a look up at his face before dropping her gaze to their feet, but his expression gave away nothing. Which was likely a bad sign.
This Quinten had had to chase her out in the rain, where she’d openly defied him and physically tried to force her way past him. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.
“And we lost her.”
Was that a hint of amusement in his voice, or was she imagining things? She looked back up to check, but he just shook his head and released her.
Stepping back, he gestured at the now-open gate. “Well? Faster we get this done, faster we can get back in and get dry.”
Riah’s mouth parted, but she snapped it closed before too much water could get in and took off at a run toward the treeline. He couldn’t change his mind if she was already halfway there.
Cursing sounded behind her, closer and closer as he closed the distance. Her skin prickled with a sense of danger, but Quinten never passed her, let alone tackled her or whatever her imagination was conjuring these days.
Water dripped off her chin as she leaned against the first building, gasping for the air she’d left back at the gate. Rough planks of wood scratched at her palms, promising a painful splinter if she moved her hands wrong.
The squeal of hinges had her straightening back up, thankfully splinterless despite her lack of care.
Quinten tucked a chain back under his cloak and held the door open for her. She eyed the lock, then his chest.
“Yeah, locked. Aren’t you glad I came along now?” he asked drily.
She bit her lip and walked inside without responding.
What she found was exactly what he’d described. The building was more of a storage shed, filled with boxes and crates and bundles of only the gods knew what. It was dark and cold inside, and her wet clothes and hair only made it worse. She might’ve been warmer getting rained on.
She was warmer getting rained on, she discovered as she trailed behind Quinten on their way to the next shed.
Nykim wasn’t there. He wasn’t in any of the handful of buildings Quinten led her to, including a few past the treeline she hadn’t known about.
It was an effort of will not to collapse to her knees in a soggy puddle of skirts when the last building proved empty, but she managed to swallow back her tears. So she wouldn't be able to stop him. That didn't mean she had to give up.
Quinten waited patiently by the door, which he held open with his body to provide her some light. He hadn't rushed her, still wasn't rushing her, even though it was clear no one was there.
Maybe that meant he'd help her again. Later. Or tomorrow even.
“I guess that's it, then.” Riah’s voice wobbled despite her best efforts. She wrapped her arms around herself, too cold to even shiver properly anymore.
“I'll talk to them,” he offered as she squished past him.
Miserably, she nodded, and they started the trek back to the house. The tree's winter-translucent foliage admitted what light there was left this late in the day while shielding them from the worst of the rain. From the sound of it, it hadn't let up much at all.
They were approaching the treeline when Quinten cursed from where he'd fallen back behind her.
Next thing she knew, he’d grabbed her and dragged her around the side of the nearest shed. And before she could wrap her mind around the unexpected attack, he’d pinned her against the building.
The man was a solid wall of muscle that she had no hope of budging. He only pressed closer when she squirmed, and the second she opened her mouth, he slapped a hand over it. She shook her head, shrieking into his palm while she tried to dislodge him.
“Quiet.” The order was barely audible, but her body recognized the danger behind the tone.
She stopped screaming. Frozen, she barely dared to breathe.
He watched her for a moment before lowering his head.
Her heart slammed into her rib cage, and she squeezed her eyes closed. How could she have been so stupid? Hot tears welled, burning her cold-numbed cheeks when they slipped free.
“You're safe,” Quinten murmured in her ear, but she twisted her head away. Her chest heaved beneath the slower rise and fall of his.
He closed the gap of the space she'd tried to create, still whispering. “Look, I'm dead if anything happens to you. Worse than dead, because he'll strip the flesh from my bones while I'm still breathing if you come to harm under my care. I'm not gonna touch you, Riah. I don't even normally go for women, okay?”
Her nostrils flared above the hand he still had clamped over her mouth, but she stopped trying to twist away. He what?
“I saw Carr, and I don't want her to know we saw her. We need to stay here for a few minutes. Quietly. Nod if you understand.”
Eyes wide, she searched his face. Still not much to read, but… his free hand hadn't wandered, and as close as they were, she'd be able to tell if he were aroused, and… he wasn't.
Her heart slowed enough to stop trying to break free from her body, and she emitted a small sob into his hand before she nodded.
She pressed her lips together to contain any other noises when he uncovered her mouth.
Calluses scraped her forehead when he swept the wet strings of her hair out of her face, and while he didn’t move, he no longer pressed into her so hard. “I'm sorry. Just a bit longer, I promise.”
Gods, gods. Her stomach roiled, but she nodded again. At least he was warm.
As if he'd read her mind, he chafed his hands over her arms, even as he craned his neck to look around the side of the shed.
“Okay,” he said at last, barely louder than the whisper he'd been using. “Stay here, I'm gonna check and make sure it's clear.”
She didn't trust herself to speak, so she nodded again.
Her knees nearly gave out when he pulled away, but she managed to remain upright. Her shivering returned full force with the absence of his body heat.
It felt like he was gone for hours, but it had likely only been a few minutes when he reappeared, slipping around the corner of the shed so silently that she nearly shrieked at the top of her lungs. She covered her own mouth that time.
“Pits, you're jumpy, aren't you,” Quinten remarked at a more normal volume, but the look he gave her was apologetic. “C'mon, let's get back. You're freezing.”
She was, and she was. Her joints felt iced over as she stumbled after him.
They were crossing the courtyard when she finally spoke up. “Do w-we need to sneak in or s-something?”
“No,” Quinten said, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I don't care if she knows we were out there. Just didn't want her to know she'd been caught.”
Caught? Riah paused under the eaves of the house. “What does that mean?”
“There's someplace else I'd like to check.” He moved closer to her, speaking quietly enough she had to strain to understand what he said. “Farther out in the woods. I'll do it after my shift tonight, and I'll let you know what I find tomorrow.”
She whipped her head around to stare at the gate. Or he could just tell her where to go… a violent shiver overtook her, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
“Your teeth are chattering,” he said, not unsympathetically. “You need a warm bath, dry clothes. A hot cup of tea. You're done for today.”
Tears welled again, but she blinked them away and followed him back inside.
It was one night. A wean wasn't the same as a sudden withdrawal. And he wouldn't be in his room, where all those awful memories were. He'd be okay for one night.
He would. He'd survived worse, after all. He'd be fine.
She bathed and changed and sat in front of a roaring fire with a scalding cup of tea, but she was still shivering when she left her bed in the room she'd been given to crawl into his.
She clutched his pillow to her chest and told herself he'd be fine for the thousandth time.
If only she could make herself believe it.
Next
Taglist (lmk if you’d like to be added/removed <3)
i do NOT write for myself i write for the eleven year old girl walking circles on the playground making up stories in her head and muttering the dialogue out loud. i see you girl. that stick you found DOES look like a cool dagger.
Love when a character is bound and gagged on the floor, the person who put them in that position is approaching and they’re frantically trying to push themself backwards on the floor to get away from them.
thinking about injuries/scars on a character that were undeniably caused by intentional harm from another person
ligature marks around wrists or ankles, evidence that the character has been restrained against their will
bruises in the shape of finger or handprints
scars or brands purposefully fashioned to look initials, a logo, etc!!
whip marks. So clearly malicious and done to a person who, for whatever reason, was defenseless at the time
bite marks!!
Just…. the way these kind of marks tell an immediate story in the way others might not, and the terrifying vulnerability of a character literally having their experience written all over them
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