Page 34 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Tehlor placed her palm on his chest. He sank into the bed, allowing her to guide him, and trailed his hands along her thighs, hips, settling just beneath her ribcage. Her naked body thrummed from the dream, clinging to magic and godhood. She still felt Fenrir’s teeth clamped around her, splitting her skin, and the blood-rain bouncing off her forehead. She reached for his muzzle and slipped her thumb into his mouth, pressing the pad of her finger against his long, curved fang.
Pain, the sharp, brittle kind, bloomed in her hand. She pulled away and smeared the blood over the rune she’d etched onto her crucifix. Lincoln made a worried noise, like a growl but weaker, and licked his teeth. The magic strung between them pulled tighter, humming like a plucked bowstring. Tehlor remembered the ghostly hands around her arms, the ethereal voice tempting her at the Haven house, and Sophia’s awful scream. She remembered the presence ofnothing. How power unmade itself in the presence of whatever she’d stumbled upon.
But you will not unmake me, she thought.You will not take what’s mine.
Lincoln fumbled for his necklace on the nightstand. Tehlor leaned over him, flattened her hand over his arm, and trapped him against the bed.
“Patience,” she cooed.
“Be reasonable.”
“You embarrassed?” She ran her free hand over his snout and cheek, framing his ear with her fingers.
Beneath her, Lincoln pressed himself between her thighs.
“Tryin’ to be courteous,” he said through gritted teeth.
Tehlor sank down on his cock. She saw glimpses of herself through his eyes—pupils misted over, red streaked on her sternum where the cross bumped against her skin, mouth slightly parted—and focused on magic, on chaos, on truth. She smiled at the ill-restrained leap of his hips. Breathed deeply, mindfully as Lincoln’s lashes fluttered and his scarred chest reddened.
“Be honest,” she dared.
Lincoln sighed. “Didn’t think you’d want to kiss me like this.”
She leaned closer, riding him slow and hard, and pressed her mouth to the side of his muzzle. She kissed his face until his ears drooped and his grip tightened on her waist. Lovingly ran her lips across his bony nose, pressed a kiss between his eyes, and didn’t stop as he fumbled for his necklace again, didn’t move away when he let her go, fastening the magical gemstone around his neck.
“I made you in the image of the true gods,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek.
Lincoln kissed her as the cloaking spell settled. She felt his sharp teeth on her lips before they were gone, heard the growl flutter in his throat before the sound eased into a soft moan. She thought of Fenrir, and magic, and godkin. Imagined the beat of Valkyrie wings, the clash of iron, the arctic sea rushing over black sand.
“Brave little witch,” he whispered, gently, like a lover, rocking his hips in time with hers.
Glory, she thought, gasping against Lincoln’s mouth.Glory, glory, glory.
The revival started at seven o’clock.
Family-friendly picnic areas draped the wilderness park in a false skin. But deeper, the Gideon Preserve’s perfectly manicured trails and popular campgrounds faded. Trees leaned together, shielding outsiders from the mossy forest floor, turning the state-protected area into a place for illicit affairs. Drug use, illegal bonfires, séances, cultish gatherings. Anyone with a score to settle or a spell to cast knew to wander past the signs—WARNING: THICK BRUSH AHEAD and CAUTION: LIMITED RANGER ACCESS—and follow overgrown paths toward unknown rivers and unnamed meadows.
Lincoln drove the clunky truck down a dirt road. The headlights striped tree trunks and shot through the blackness. Icicles glinted like eyes in the pitch. Tehlor held Gunnhild beneath her chin, stroking the rat with two fingers. It’d been a silent, tense drive, but when Tehlor finally opened her mouth to sayI hope we’re not lost, she stopped, catching a glimmer in the distance. As they cruised closer, the image solidified. Candles on stilts lined a skinny road that led into the belly of the woods. A cross faced outward from the mouth of the path, holding up a sign that read:Rejoice for the Lord on High is Here! The Blessed Begin Anew!
“Park the truck, join the flock, find the girl,” Lincoln said, reciting the first half of their plan in a calm, steady tone. “I distract the congregation, you take the girl, we meet at this trailhead and call it a night. In the morning, we regroup with Haven and join the search party. Play the part, put on a show.”
Tehlor nodded. It was a good, simple plan. “And if something goes wrong?”
“We improvise.”
“And if something goesreallywrong?”
Lincoln turned to face her. His strange, mismatched eyes—lupine and a little too animal to be wholly familiar—narrowed playfully.
“Then we kill them,” he said, shrugging. “Leave their bodies to freeze overnight, take the girl back to the townhouse, and either find a way to extract the Breath of Judas or figure out how to use her power.”
“You’re serious.” She let her eyes slip shut and inhaled a long, deep breath through her nose. Gunnhild squeaked restlessly, squirming between her palms. “Let’s hope this shit works. I survived juvi, but I’mwaytoo pretty for prison.” She shot him a cold glance. “And you are too, so.”
He laughed in his throat.
The truck lurched over uneven ground, creaking as they followed the twinkling candles.
If things went wrong—they won’t, they can’t—Tehlor had very little room for improvisation. She took a mental inventory of her body. The black jumpsuit she’d chosen was sleek and easy to move in. Her wool coat was heavy enough to keep the cold out but fit snugly and didn’t make a sound. She’d taken Lincoln’s advice and worn boots. Easier to run in; inflicted more pain if necessary. She shifted her foot, pressing her shin against the sheathed knife stashed behind the zipper.
