54
HENRY
aking staff from the fort walls makes me very uneasy. We need every ableT body guarding the fort, especially on the three darkest days of the year, but if we want to carry out this final stage of our revenge plan, we can’t do it without some help.
We don’t have the manpower to take on the Carrenwells and every other magical family in Lunameade, but we do have strategists and the weight of rebel forces behind us. I am not the most devout person, but I prayed to the Divine when we were crossing the Drained Wood.
Leaving my parents alone at the fort without Carter or Bryce to back them up makes me very nervous. Saying goodbye to them felt so final. I’m less worried about the people of Mountain Haven and more concerned about what these evolved Drained will be up to in three days of darkness.
My parents don’t have the benefit of being Deathless like me, but I have to trust that they can handle things on their own. This isn’t a time to have my focus divided, especially when Harlow can read my agitation in my aura.
We’re staying in a luxury boarding house in the southwest quadrant of the city. It’s close enough to South Hold that we can travel there easily, but far enough away to give the illusion of independence.
It was Harlow’s idea. By not staying at her family home as soon as we arrive, we establish ourselves as a separate entity from the Carrenwells and, therefore, outside of their interest.
I button the last few buttons on my vest and slide on my jacket as I peer
out the boarding house window. Carter and Naima are sitting on the back patio. Naima joined us for this part since she’s such an adept healer and it’s possible we will need more substantial help if things go wrong. She, Carter, and Bryce are all staying in the boarding house as well. The secondary benefit of staying somewhere other than Carrenwell House is that it offers them the opportunity to come and go without the Carrenwells noticing.
Naima tips her head back and laughs at something Carter says. Watching them is like getting a front-row seat to intimacy, whether you want it or not.
It’s not the big, sweeping things. It’s a hundred small touches. It’s the way he can tell when she wants tea and always has her favorite kinds on hand. It’s the way she stops at our table and rests a hand on his shoulder when he’s tense. I still remember the day he came running into the bar to meet me and Bryce and told us he could see color. As happy as I was for him, I was also a little envious.
When I was young and carefree, I aspired to that kind of closeness, but I’ve spent years trying to cut the desire for love right out of my chest. I did not die so many times to allow myself a weakness when I’m this close to the vengeance my people deserve.
But I have starved that dream so long, it has become clawed and clever. If given even a sliver of a chance, it will take root again and grow into something unstoppable. Wanting is a dangerous thing. It is perhaps the one thing I can’t survive.
I am so aware of Harlow all the time—so attuned to her shifting moods. I sense her agitation. She’s both relieved and restless to be back in a familiar cage. When we rode through North Hold, she didn’t take her eyes off the windows of the manor the whole way. I don’t blame her. She wants to see her sister, and that desperation will only grow until she’s settled this score with Rafe.
I have tried everything I can think of to drive a wedge between Harlow and her family. The truth is that the wedge was already there, but none of what she’s learned has made her any more forthcoming about what magic her siblings or mother have. I’d hoped we would be a little more prepared, but I wasn’t counting on her finding out I was Deathless before Dark Star Festival, and I really wasn’t expecting her to have to deal with losing Gaven so soon after that.
Instead of making her more willing to rely on me, she’s withdrawn.
I’m out of time. I have to do whatever I can to gain back her trust.
She brushes her hands over her dark dress and twists from side to side. I don’t need to see color to know it’s black. That’s the color everyone wears for Agony night.
I know she must be nervous, but I can only see the barest hints of it in her rigid posture.
I saw on her face when I told her about her father killing anyone blessed with holy fire. She knew it was true immediately, but she still believes there’s no other way to keep her people safe. I respect that she doesn’t play the hero, but she does have her own code. I just don’t know how to align our goals with that code.
She steps in front of the looking glass and slides a few pins into her curled hair to hold it back from her face. Then she presses a hand to her heart and looks down. She sighs and shakes her head, clasps her hands, and softens her face into a forlorn expression.
“Are you practicing looking sad?” I almost laugh at the absurdity.
She shoots me an annoyed side-eye. “Yes, Henry. Everyone is going to be looking at me in an hour as I say a bunch of untrue things about what a great man my creepy, criminal dead husband was. I need to look sad enough that they’ll believe my grief is genuine, but not so sad that they think I haven’t found healing in my new marriage to my mountain man husband.” She stares at her face again, shifting through several micro-expressions before she settles on one and turns to face me. “Does this face say, ‘I’m sad my husband died, but I’m glad I found someone new to marry me and give me value according to our flawed societal ideals for women’?”
I bite my lip. “I’m not sure it says all of that, but it looks sincere if that’s what you’re going for.”
She spins and wanders back to the mirror with a smirk on her face.
“Why are you so calm?” I ask.
She reaches over, adjusts my tie, and looks up at me with mischief in her eyes. “I can’t afford not to be.” She smooths the front of my jacket. “Oh, one more thing. I’m calling in that favor you promised me. I need you to say something after the ceremony, when we’re at the reception for the high houses.” Her voice is casual, but she won’t meet my eye.
“What do you need me to say?”
She turns away from me, looking into the mirror as she smooths her dress. “I need you to accuse Rafe of being the one who orchestrated the Drained attack that brought down Mountain Haven. I need you to say it was
his manipulation magic from Polm that turned the Drained from the city and sent them to the fort.”
The words are so stunningly untrue that it takes a moment for them to register. Just when I thought that she could not surprise me any more, she drops something so explosive, I almost lose my composure entirely.
“You want me to lie to all of your people, to cast blame on Rafe?”
She stares at me expressionlessly. “Yes.”
I am almost shaking with anger. “When I know it was your parents.”
She crosses her arms. “I don’t know that. I suspect, but I don’t know. But as much as you will loathe saying it, this is necessary. I told you that there would be a cost to your lie. A lie for a lie seems an equal bargain.”
Rage boils through my blood, but Harlow looks through me, her lips tipped into an amused smirk as she observes whatever my aura is doing in response to this request. Her assessment is sobering. I need to control myself.
This is a critical moment where I’m going to need her trust. If I slip up, she will pull away more and I won’t be able to reach her.
“This is not just a lie, Harlow. This is a betrayal of my people—of my sister’s memory.”
“Would the greater crime not be that man in charge?” she counters.
“Don’t grow a conscience now. Don’t insult me by acting like our marriage is about anything other than revenge. Not after literally living off of me. This isn’t a request. This is an exchange. You can respect me enough to hold up your end of this deal or you can get out and I’ll find a way to do this without you.”
“I can’t betray Holly’s memory with a lie about who killed her. How could you ask that of me?”
She points toward the door, her eyes narrowing. “Because it’s necessary.
Because vengeance isn’t neat or tidy. It requires doing ugly things. You love to play the part of a monster, but you don’t have the guts to do the dirty work.
You are involved in your cause, but you aren’t committed.”
How dare she doubt me? How dare she think that I haven’t suffered for this?
“What the fuck are you talking about? I have spent ten years committed to this. I have died repeatedly to make myself into an indestructible force, all for vengeance for my sister.”
Harlow barks out a bitter laugh. “You’ve made yourself into an indestructible force for you—to assuage your guilt. But you can’t bring Holly
back with your suffering.”
The words are a gut punch. I can’t breathe, but Harlow is not finished.
“Lots of people want to be involved,” she says. “They want to look like a hero, claim the daughter of their enemy, literally suck the life out of her. But being committed means surrendering your ego to do whatever is necessary.
You of all people should know there is no dignity in revenge. There is only what you are willing to do and what you can’t stomach. You are involved,
but you’re not committed.”
“I am,” I say.
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You’re not. You can claim you have put in your decade of loathing—that you’ve died and returned repeatedly so that you can avenge your sister—but if you can’t sacrifice your ego to tell a temporary lie, you’re not as committed as you think.”
I want to argue with her, but I know she’s right. What is one lie compared to the satisfaction of taking her father out?
She takes a tremulous breath, her body vibrating with rage. “I’ve lied to hide my parents’ sins. I’ve married and fucked and killed for them, because that was the price to keep doing this work when I couldn’t get my sister out.
I’ve stood between the women of this city and their abusers. I have risked life and limb and I’ve been hurt to keep them safe. Because it’s not enough to be guarded from men, just like it’s not enough to avenge myself against their violence. I have ingested it, sucked it from their marrow. I’ve become the monster. Because it’s not an appeal to their empathy that will make men fall in line. It’s the fear that they aren’t the most dangerous thing walking these streets.”
Harlow glares at me, eyes wild with menace, chest heaving with breathtaking anger. I have never been more attracted to a woman in my life.
She pokes me hard in the chest. “You made a vow. Now follow through or learn to dread me with the rest of them.”
Harlow is undeniable. Her conviction is an arrow shot through the center of me.
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. I track the movement, shifting to try to ease the strain of my cock hardening in these fitted dress pants.
“How much time do we have?” I ask.
Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “A half-hour. Why?”
I bring my hand up to her neck and force her to look up at me. “Because you seem tense.”
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not interested in getting fucked by you twice in one day,” she says, but her heartbeat kicks up.
I can’t help but laugh. “How about just once?”
The furrow in her brow softens. “Not unless you swear you’ll do what I’ve asked.”
I tighten my grip on her throat ever so slightly, feeling the thrum of her pulse beat harder against my fingers. “I swear to the Divine I will lie and say that Rafe compelled the Drained to attack Mountain Haven and that he’s a threat to the wellness and safety of the people of Lunameade.”
Her heartbeat kicks up faster. “Purple.”
“Hmm?”
“The underwear you’re about to shred are dark purple.”
I shove her back into the wall, sending a picture hanging beside us shattering on the floor as I kiss her. She grabs a handful of my hair to tug me in closer. I unzip my pants and pull my cock free, giving it a quick stroke.
She gasps as I tighten my grip on her throat and cup her breast through her dress. Her nipples are already hard, poking against the dark silk and the lace beneath it.
This is different. This isn’t part of a ritual or a part of a performance. This is something she’s doing far away from prying eyes simply because she wants to. Even if she still hates me, it gives me hope.
It’s tempting to take my time and be thorough, but I don’t want to go slow. I want to fuck her so hard and deep that she’ll feel me in every movement for the rest of the week. Days of holding back and waiting out her anger have worn me down to nothing but wanting.
The dress is more conservative than what she normally wears, given the somber ceremony tonight, but I slide my hand up the slit in her right leg and hike the dress higher. She hooks her right thigh over my hip, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I lift her up, and, after a moment of fumbling with the dress, she wraps her legs around my waist.
I don’t shred her panties because I want to peel them off of her later and shove them in her mouth while I fuck her again. Instead, I brush them to the side and thrust into her hard.
A guttural moan tears out of Harlow’s mouth, and all I want is to hear that sound again and again, as many times as possible. I pin her to the wall and drive into her hard. She kisses me and bites my lip, and my fangs sting and push at my gums. I try to hold them back, but it’s almost impossible with
her.
“Fuck, Harlow. You’re so wet,” I groan.
I kiss down her jaw and neck, breathing in her floral scent. I shouldn’t bite her. The next few days are going to be long and exhausting, and she needs her strength. But just the slightest brush of my fangs on her neck has her quivering around me.
I sink my teeth into the soft skin, and she moans and arches into me as I withdraw my fangs and suck her blood into my mouth. Her body spasms
against me. She feels so good.
“Harder,” she groans.
The wall creaks behind her as I pump into her. Harlow’s hand flails out to the side for something to hold onto, and she knocks several books from the shelf built into the wall. They thud onto the floor as I continue fucking her.
It feels so good, so deep in this position. It’s only been a few agonizing days, but that’s way too long. I need this every night.
I take one last pull of her blood and kiss the wound closed. She whines in frustration.
Turning, I draw her away from the wall, carrying her over to the table where the boarding house staff left a tea set up for us.
Using one hand, I swipe the entire tea set off the table, sending the delicate cups and saucers shattering on the ground.
I lay her down. Her dress bunches around her waist as I shove her knees up toward her shoulders, and push into her again. The sight of my cock sliding in and out of her almost sends me over the edge. I lean over her, pressing deeper, and kiss her.
The sweet poison taste of her mouth mixes with the remnants of her blood in mine, and this is the only thing I want to taste forever.
The thought is jarring. This isn’t forever. It’s only until she finds out what’s really happening.
I fuck her harder, with all the frustration of being caught in this trap I created. Wanting her this way is a huge liability, but I can’t stop. I’m so hard it hurts. It’s not supposed to always be like this, but I’m so into her and her violent temper.
Harlow squirms beneath me, the tension in her body so close to breaking.
I want to punish her for feeling so good. I fist my hand in her hair and force her to look at where our bodies are joined.
“Look how wet you are. Look how well you take me.”
That’s all it takes. She gasps and her whole body goes rigid. She cries out a hoarse moan. I hold her hips and thrust into her as my climax crashes over me.
Finally, it ebbs, and Harlow goes limp beneath me. The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing.
I draw away, trying to collect myself and smooth my clothes.
Harlow stays there for a few moments, her legs spread, hanging limply off the edge of the table as she catches her breath. Finally, when she’s stopped trembling, she slides her panties back into place, stands, and runs her hands over the front of her dress.
She looks well-fucked. The curls she spent so much time working her dark hair into are wild, the pins knocked loose.
She licks her dark, bitten lips and presses her hands to her cheeks. I can’t wait for everyone to take one look at her and know she’s just been fucked by her new husband on her way to mourn the old one.
That thought is quickly banished by the realization that I am on my way to betraying not only my sister’s sacrifice, but the sacrifice of all of the people who died to protect the fort that day. Ten years of strategizing for this chance at vengeance, and all I have to do is risk the plan we’ve built with a lie that will exonerate the very man responsible for all of our suffering.
I’m no longer just involved. Now I’m committed.
