Page 78 of Apples Dipped in Gold

“You are everything,” he said.

His words twisted inside me. They were so close to the ones I wanted to hear but still so far away, but there came a point after he started to move that I no longer cared how he told me he loved me, because I could feel it in every part of my body. It was like he had taken ahold of everything inside me. My head fell back, and my hands slid over his back to his ass. I gripped him hard and pulled him into me. I wanted as much of him as I could get.

“Samara,” he whispered my name as he kissed along my throat, matching the pace I desired. “Beloved.”

He buried his face in the crook of my neck and held me tight as he rocked into me over and over, faster and faster, until his breath caught hard in his throat and his entire body tensed as he came. I could not describe the euphoria I felt, knowing that part of him was inside me, and I knew I’d been right to ask for this.

“Are you okay?” he asked as his body relaxed against mine.

“Yes,” I said. “I am perfect.”

“There is nothing truer,” he said, his lips teasing mine.

We kissed and explored each other in the aftermath of our coupling, but there came a point when I knew I had to go. It was strange rising from where we had made love. I felt different, renewed in a way I never expected, and so in love my heart ached.

Once I was dressed, I turned to find Lore watching me. His stare was hard, and his brows were lowered. My heart ached suddenly, afraid that he had already decided to regret what happened between us. I decided I wouldn’t ask, because I didn’t want to know. I would show him soon enough that we were meant to be together, that his love for me was just as real as what we had shared tonight.

“Here,” he said, wrapping the witch’s ragged bandage around my hand to hide his work. After, he picked up the bowl of stew. “Rub some of the juice around your mouth, and pour it on your apron. I know it will be awful, but she will think you have eaten with me.”

I took the bowl in hand, but before I could complete the task, Lore tilted my head back, and his mouth came down upon mine. I wanted so badly to stay with him, but there would be other nights, I told myself, knowing I was trading this one for hundreds more after.

“Get some sleep, wild one,” Lore whispered when he pulled away.

I held my breath as I smeared the horrible stew around my mouth and poured it on the apron the witch had given me before leaving the barn. I paused at the door to look back at Lore.

“I love you,” I said, because I did not think I could say it enough, but I turned before I could see his expression and hurried to the witch’s cottage where a pretty orange glow filled the windows, though I knew it to be from the fire upon which the rancid stew still boiled—and likely many other terrible things.

I tried to prepare myself for what I would hear and taste and smell on the other side of her rotten door, but knowing what to expect did not make it any easier.

I cringed, turning the rusty knob, and a wave of nausea hit as I pushed the squealing door open. The witch was sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth, knitting with a pair of long needles. As she worked, they scraped against each other, and I ground my teeth harder and harder with each pass.

“You have been gone for quite some time, pretty thing,” said the witch. “Your dinner has gone cold.”

I glanced at the table and saw that she had prepared my bowl. There was a glass of wine and a loaf of bread too. When my gaze returned to the witch, she had moved and stood only an inch from me. I was glad that I’d clenched my jaw so tight. It kept me from screaming at her nearness, but I did stagger back. She gripped my wrist as she seemed fond of doing and dragged me close, taking a deep breath.

“You smell like the prince,” she said. “But it seemsyou are full. Full of the prince and full of stew. Now it is off to bed with you.”

She turned and dragged me into the dark of her cottage, to a room with an iron bed. It was neatly made, with many pillows and a coverlet edged with lace. A candle sat on a table nearby, but it had burned low and would soon go out.

The witch let go of my hand and pushed me farther into the room. I stumbled but caught myself before I could fall.

“Rest, pretty thing, for your belly is full. Nothing will harm you tonight, unless you wake before daylight.”

She slammed the door, and the candle went out.

Alone, I placed my hands on the bed and recoiled instantly. The coverlet was damp, and so were the pillows. I would not rest there and instead lay down on the floor by the bed. It was like sleeping in the kitchen at home, and I suppose it was that familiarity—and my exhaustion from the evening spent with Lore—that helped me sleep despite my awful surroundings.

* * *

I was torn from slumber by a sudden, sharp kick to my side. I woke trying to catch my breath and full of terror as a terrible shriek filled the room and the witch crashed to the floor beside me. With horror, I realized I had forgotten the fox’s final task. I had failed to stretch seven lengths of golden thread from the door to the bed.

Still gasping for breath, I rolled onto my hands and knees and tried to rise to my feet, but the witch wrapped her hands around my ankle, and it was then I realized that she had claws, for they were sharp and cut into myskin. I screamed as the pain sliced through me and she pulled me to the ground.

I fell flat, and my lungs felt paralyzed in my chest. I couldn’t even scream as I lost the ability to take in air.

I tried to rise again, but the witch jerked me toward her.

“Pretty creature, full of vicious fae,” the witch seethed. “I will cut them out of you. I will drain you dry, but first I will take your eyes.”

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