Page 45 of Held

Wick took off. Marigold waved, big and goofy, both hands raised. Briar laughed and waved back, watching the forest blur around them.

Briar grabbed for Wick’s shirt, laughing when her hands slid against bare skin.

“Your clothes look so real,” she said as they soared above the trees. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” Wick replied. “Like there is less of me.”

“It sure looks like it.” Briar looked up sadly at his skull-less face, those boring normal teeth behind his lips. She had been so terrified of his monstrous features when they first met—his fangs, his hulking height, his fiery eyes—and now she was missing them.

She looked away, worried he would catch something embarrassing in her expression. Then she cursed and tried desperately to reign in her emotions, which he could fuckingsmell. She was never going to get used to that.

With another powerful beat of his invisible wings, Wick broke the tree line.

Briar stared at the mountains looming overhead. They were grey and oddly savage looking, cruel points twisting into the cold air.

“I didn’t realize they were so close,” Briar said.

Wick didn’t respond. He was staring up at the mountains, something faraway in his eyes.

Briar cleared her throat uneasily. “We’ll need to find somewhere warm for you to take care of my curse.”

“Yes,” Wick said after a moment. His arms tightened around her, and for a moment, Briar thought she had caught a spark of fire in his eyes.

“We will do that as soon as we find the town,” Wick continued.

Briar rubbed her chest. The curse was barely a flicker this early in the morning. But she could still feel it if she focused—a small, dangerous ember glowing behind her ribs.

“Fly fast,” she said.

Wick let out a concerned rumble. “Why? Are you in pain?”

“No, just…” Briar swallowed. There was no casual way to admit she wanted the comforting weight of him on top of her, his impossible cock stretching her out. He might look different with the glamor, but there would be no mistaking what he truly was when he was fucking her.

“I just like getting it out of the way for the day,” she said.

Wick said nothing. When she risked a glance up, his eyes were fixed on the mountain.

Yedzeva was a small village on the southernmost edge of the mountain. There was a snowy cliff hanging over it, casting them in shadow for most of the day. And they didnotlike strangers.

“State your purpose,” barked a guard at the village entrance.

Briar blinked. His accent was strange, thick and twisted in a way that made her think of other lands—but none she’d heard of.

Wick looked expectantly at Briar, who smiled easily and linked their arms together.

“My husband and I are looking for a room for the night,” Briar said. “We wanted to pass straight through the mountain, but our carriage got stuck. Do you have a room available? We’ll take anything, truly.”

She rubbed her and Wick’s arms, trying to look as sad as possible.

The guard grunted. Then he jerked his head, standing aside.

“Don’t cause any trouble,” he warned.

“Us? Never.” Briar gave him a grateful smile and then dragged Wick with her over the village border to the snowy path leading uphill. She waited until the guard was out of sight, then tossed Wick a wink. “What did I tell you? I can talk my way into anything.”

“I believe it.” Wick paused. Then, delightfully clumsy, he winked back at her.

Briar cackled. Then they reached the top of the hill and stopped. Yedzeva lay ahead: a cramped collection of houses around a town square full of snow and stalls and people dressed in thick robes, walking very fast.

---