Coven of Consequence: A Gothic Romance (Eternal Enemies Book 2), page 6
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You’re not supposed to go to the circus. We agreed.”
My stomach churned, irritation battling against a pinch of guilt inside me. “I agreed not to go inside the circus. And I didn’t. I was outside of it when we got dropped into the aqueducts by a big clown.”
“A technicality. I can’t believe you,” he groused, voice full of menace. Anita bobbed on his shoulder in agreement. “You’re ignoring my explicit concerns with syntax? Your bullheadedness knows no bounds.”
Heat warmed my face, and my hands made fists. “I was very clear about my intention to continue our investigation with or without you. This wasn’t a secret. You’re the one who called a truce last night and told me you didn’t want to discuss it further. Stop acting like I’ve tricked you!”
“We aren’t investigating that bloody death circus,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I was clear on that!”
“Well, you’re not the boss of us!” I said, voice rising.
“You could have died!” Rorick roared.
Anita shot webbing at me. The sticky silk struck me gently in the cheek. It was like being slapped by a slightly chewed marshmallow.
“Go home!” I snapped at her, wiping webbing from my face. The spider bobbed defensively, but she obeyed, leaping from his collar to my skirt and climbing back into my pocket.
Tension built further between Rorick and me. The less that was said out loud, the more I felt it brewing in the air, coiling in my muscles.
“I had no idea where you were or what you were up to when I awoke,” he said coldly.
“The sun was up,” I fired back. “What good would telling you my exact plans do either of us? You’d fret, and we’d fight more. Don’t we do enough of that as is?”
“Well, tuck in because we’re about to do a whole lot more of it!” His voice echoed around the arched ceilings. “This is just like the incident with the gargoyles! I told you not to go into that cave without me, but you—”
“Gargoyles are as much of a threat to me during the day as you are! They were all turned to stone! It was the perfect time to go looking around their lair for the evidence we—”
“—you deliberately ignored me then, and you’re doing it again now! I told you that cave would have traps! I told you they’d have defenses up and ready for an intruder like you!”
“They did!” I fired back, puffing out my chest, standing toe to toe with him. “They tried to keep out intruders like me, but I thwarted them anyway! I found what we needed, and I stopped those thieves! Let that be a lesson to you, because you couldn’t stop me then and you won’t now!”
“You’re going to get yourself killed, is what you’re going to do! All your academic efforts will be for naught. Why does it feel like death is a waste for everyone else but yourself? Don’t you have any respect at all for your own mortality? Cherish your life, Quiet! Please! Because I certainly do!”
“With or without you,” I spat, shoving a finger into his chest, “I’m going to save those children and face those consequence that you insist on hiding from!”
His jaw went slack for a moment, my words finding their mark and sinking deeper than I’d meant for them to. “If you think this is about some sort of cowardice—”
“I don’t think that,” I said, softening. Instead of an accusing finger, I flattened my hand over the place where his heart should have beaten. “I know what you’re after here. I know you’re trying to protect me.”
He peered down at my hand, and his nostrils flared. “Then stop making this so hard. Stop torturing me. Every sun slumber, I worry you’re about to do the unthinkable all on your own! I’m terrified of what I’ll find after I awake next!”
“Then come with me! It’s not as though I want to do this all alone—but I know you won’t! And it’s no matter because I’m going to save them,” I repeated, and my next breath hitched. “Because there’s something different about this big clown—the sad one with the mallet and the frown. I’m going to give him what he wants, Rorick. I think that’s the best chance I’ve got at stopping him from doing to you whatever it was he did to Inspector Sheridan.”
“If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it already,” Rorick said, but his tone lacked conviction.
I shook my head slowly, my hand dropping from his chest. “He wants something from us, wants us to save the children—but all I want is to save you!”
Rorick pulled me into his arms then, grip tight. He breathed in my wet hair, exhaling long and slow.
“I need to fix you,” he said, his nose tickling my scalp. “You’ve gone and hurt yourself like the stubborn-headed witch you are. Let me make it better.”
“Go on then.” I sunk against him. I hadn’t realized how rigid my muscles had gotten until the moment my body loosened against the plane of his chest. Hadn’t realized I’d dug little crescent moons into my palms with my nails until I unclenched my fists.
He licked the wound above my brow with a swift flick of his tongue, and warmth curled in my belly. His scent of apples filled my nose. The wound went hot, numbing my discomfort. Under his care, the skin turned tight and itchy.
“I’ve got your blood on my tongue,” he rumbled. His nose dropped to my neck, nuzzling. He breathed deep. “And you smell . . .”
“Like a cistern?” I guessed. My clothes kept most of me dry and clean, but my hair was a swampy mess.
“You smell bitable,” he crooned, and my knees went weak. He inhaled me again, and I let out an appreciative little hum.
“Then bite me already,” I begged.
It had hurt when he’d denied me the night before. I understood why, or I thought I did. Rorick was very particular about such things, and our history with his meals was more than a little fraught. But hang it all, I loved the connection I felt when he took my blood. I craved the sweet release it brought us both.
Rorick drew back, meeting my gaze. Uncertainty furrowed his brow.
“Not here,” he said finally. Taking my hand in his, he led us out into the foyer. It had been weeks since I’d stepped inside the castle, and much had already changed. It was clean and sterile with evidence the craftsman had been hard at work everywhere: walls patched and bare, ready to be papered. Tools lying about. Furniture covered in cloth. Everything smelled like drying oil.
He guided me up the stairs and into our room, our haven on the second floor. Our good luck place, a room of peace in a castle of nightmares.
Out of habit and for reassurance, I dug out three charmed wards from my hat, placed one on my wrist, slipped another in the pocket of his waistcoat, and hung the third on the doorknob. The magic worked quickly. The air grew hotter and smelled of sunlight and earth. Then I folded up my hat and tucked it away in the void in my pocket.
A tub remained empty on the floor where we’d left it at the foot of the bed, but the sheets had been replaced and turned down. The room was as sterile and tidy as the rest of the castle. While I lit candles, Rorick sidestepped the tub and plopped into the plush armchair in the far corner. It was wide, with an old stain on the cushion and a tear in the nearby ottoman.
He spread his legs as I drew near. Hands on my waist, he sat me in front of him. I pulled my braid over my shoulder, trying to contain the strands that had escaped, winding them together, suddenly nervous. I should have been used to his touch by now, but the thrill of it always scrambled my thoughts and put me on edge. The promise of what was to come surged through my pulse, caught in my lungs, and made my heart hurry.
Rorick’s lips found the exposed skin at my throat and trailed down to where the collar of my blouse flared. His nimble fingers loosened my buttons, opening it, exposing my shoulder and a sliver of my linen shift.
Hypnotized, I watched him slide open my clothing, felt the gentle tugs down my back as he loosened my corset. Heat pooled between my legs. Evidence of his desire for me pressed hotly against the crease of my ass.
Rorick rucked up my skirts, fingers dragging along the clasps of my garter. They traveled farther up my thigh to the split in my drawers.
“Oh.” My head lolled back onto his shoulder. “Please bite me.”
He rolled his hips, pressing his length against my ass, rocking me forward. “I need to touch you first.”
“You need to torture me first,” I accused, not at all bothered by the prospect. Torture from Rorick was exquisite.
He explored my heat, coaxing my thighs farther open, finding the sensitive parts of my flesh that were the most wet and needy, teasing them with a whisper of touch. He dragged his thumb across the furrow between my thighs in tight, tempting circles. I rocked against his fingers.
“That’s it, love,” he breathed in my ear, “ride my fingers for me like the good witch you are.”
I did as he bid, understanding in that moment the draw of being bossed. Bracing my weight on the cushioned arms, I took him into my body, reveling in the decadent drag of his touch, the warm stretch of sensitive flesh as he added another digit.
“Just like that,” he praised me as I rocked faster. He met the jerk of my hips, rubbing his length against my ass and lower back.
Then he worked open the fall front of his trousers and it was his flesh, hot and heavy, teasing the crease of my ass over the thin cotton of my drawers.
Our movements fell in and out of sync, but it didn’t matter, I was so absorbed by his touch, his breath on my neck, his heat and pressure behind me. It sent me climbing.
“The sound of your moan is as delicious as your blood on my tongue,” he grunted.
“Rorick,” I pleaded. I was climbing, and I needed him to get me the rest of the way now. Immediately.
Yesterday!
He trailed his lips down the column of my neck, left a wet kiss at my pulse. His tongue swiped at my flesh, and then I felt the prick of his fangs, a teasing little nip.
“Please, Rorick!” I whimpered.
He bit me hard, fangs piercing the flesh at my throat. My pulse jumped, and our connection beat inside my heart. I tasted the copper of my blood on his tongue. Felt the building pressure in his pelvis as he rubbed his fist down his cock, felt tension building in his balls.
He bit me again at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Sweet release flooded my body. My eyes rolled back, and light burst at the corners of my eyes.
Groaning, Rorick slowly pulled his fingers out of me, and then he came against my lower back. He rested his hand over his spend. I collapsed against him. He took one more drag of my blood into his mouth, then licked both bites clean.
I scratched at the healed spots. My limbs felt like rubber.
“Better now?” He produced a handkerchief from his waistcoat and cleaned his fingers, then wiped his spend off my back.
“It helps,” I whispered.
“It does . . .” He’d left something unsaid, and my stomach lurched.
“It does, but what?” I turned in his arms and rested my head under his chin, tucking myself against his cold hard chest.
Remaining silent, he let his fingers make random geometric patterns down my back. “Being near you makes me sad,” he admitted.
I sighed because I knew exactly what he meant. Lately his presence made me sad too.
“What are we going to do?” I asked the dark as if it might have an answer for us both.
“Normally, you’re the one who decides,” he said, his tone playful.
He was right, though. He found a case, I bossed him, we solved it. Rinse and repeat.
“Perhaps this time I could try letting you have the say.” I felt so tired and comfortable in his arms I could just about have fallen asleep there with my cheek pillowed against his satin cravat. There was a chance I’d regret speaking those words later when I was more alert, but right then, giving this man whom I trusted with my whole heart all the say felt incredibly freeing.
“You asked me to always be honest with you. No more secrets, you said. But it feels like we’re on two completely different paths, hiding things, avoiding each other. I don’t want that.”
I sighed against his chest. “I don’t want that either.”
“Partners?” he rumbled.
“Partners.” And to prove I meant my words, I told him about canvasing the circus between shows, watching for more signs that the number of geds who entered didn’t always match the number of geds who came out again. I told him about the trapdoor to the tunnels underground, about how it appeared corpse-eaters and possibly coffin-dwellers had been feasting down there, snagging circus-goers. I was worried about what it might mean for us if the circus was somehow feeding those creatures.
I told him about scanning news articles for evidence of missing children. Prim knew to always advise me every time she caught word that a child had been lost in the province. But looking into those when they came always felt like a dead end. I could never connect them to the circus.
I told him about traveling through the aqueducts, the trial, and the new candle I carried around in my pocket.
When it was his turn to unload, I felt his chest fill under my cheek. His exhale made the air smell like an orchard. “I’m starting to remember things. Things about before, when I was Jonathan and not a detective. I had a meeting with Hecate in the historic district at midnight last night,” he explained, and I frowned but didn’t interrupt him as he described further the exact location. “It wasn’t the first time. We’ve had meetings before—long before. When I needed her guidance, that’s where I’d find her, at this tiny pub in the middle of nowhere. This time she hired me to work a case, and she cautioned me about consequences and constants.”
I sat up in his lap. “Every witch knows about constants and consequences. Did she tell you something about yours . . . ?”
His face fell. “She cautioned me that I had to be very careful what I said specifically to you on the matter.”
Heat flared in my belly. Years of repressed frustration with my mother reared its ugly head, then immediately left me feeling deflated. “There’s nothing I dislike more than agreeing with Hecate,” I said reluctantly, “but my mother isn’t of our world. If she told you not to share something with me, then . . . you probably shouldn’t. There are risks involved in changing the fate of others. Information is a dangerous thing between worlds.”
“But I thought we agreed not to have secrets? How are we to work together successfully if we don’t share everything?”
“Can you tell me what case she’s hired you to work at least?” I asked.
“Yes, she said we’re to work on the case together. She’s hired me to investigate my first death. Apparently, I was murdered.”
My eyes widened at that. I’d assumed his fall was an accident like everyone else had. “I don’t like the secrets either, but I’ll like it even less if the knowledge sends an eternal consequence after me. I don’t want to be in Inspector Sheridan’s shoes.”
“Or mine,” he said solemnly.
On that point I wanted to disagree with him but couldn’t.
Chapter 8
There are powerful lesser gods amongst us, though they go by many names. They travel the worlds through the crossroads, and they have a special talent for meddling. They are powerful, but only the greater gods are worthy of your prayers. Do not waste your time on lesser ones.
-Hecate’s Guide to Arcane Philosophy
Rorick
Ihelped Quiet re-dress, fastening her corset, then buttoning up her blouse as she tucked the ends into the waistband of her skirt. She’d fallen silent and contemplative. I wanted to know her mind but sensed it was best to leave her to her process.
What I wanted more was to undress her completely and have her, but that’d have to wait until we weren’t inside a murder castle.
Stepping around the tub at the foot of the bed, I followed her toward the door. “It’s best we leave now,” I said. “I don’t want to be caught here when the sun rises.”
“I don’t either.” She opened the door a crack. “Oh,” she cried, snapping it shut again.
I glared at her. “What the devil was that about?”
Quiet leaned back against the frame, concealing the knob from my person. She wore the expression of a child who’d gotten caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Her lips parted to form words, then she hesitated, biting it instead.
“Quiet,” I snarled, “what’s behind the bloody door?”
“I feel I should remind you that I strongly believe the clowns mean us no harm. Their trials are a message. A means of teaching us things . . .”
My dead heart stirred sluggishly in my chest. A prickle of worry went cascading over my skin. “Move over.”
“Rorick—”
“Step aside, Quiet, or I’ll move you myself.”
She raised one dark brow at me in challenge, but I remained resolute. I’d do it, damn it all.
Looking me over, her shoulders sagged. “Oh, fine. Just . . . try to be open-minded, will you?”
Removing the ward from around the knob, she shuffled over. I flung the door open. The foyer was filled with red balloons that hovered not far off the ground. These ethereal creations oozed an eerie energy that filled me with anxiety. Long cords of braided twine dangled from each of them, tied into a noose that draped drearily toward the ground. Hundreds of them were packed along the banister. I craned my neck to see even more crowding the corridor and floating down the stairs.
“Harmless, yes, I see now,” I said sardonically, handing her back the charmed ward she’d given me earlier. “The noose, a well-known token of friendship. How could I have ever doubted them?”
Quiet harrumphed at me as she dropped the matching wards into her pocket. “I would prefer to complete this trial with less cantankerous commentary from you. It exhausts me, and I’ve had an especially long day already.”
“Look at that one,” I said, pointing down the stairs. We were both tall enough to see over the landing to where a large snow-white balloon bobbed. Dangling from its tied end was a noose made of heavy rope.
Quiet worked her throat. “Well . . . I still don’t think they mean us harm.”
