“Look at me, Reid.”

The memory flashed, unbidden. My knife embedding in his ribs. His blood streaming down my wrist. Warm and thick and wet. When I turned to face her, those blue-green eyes were steady. Determined.

“Please,” I whispered. To my shame—my humiliation—my voice broke on the word. Heat flooded my face. Even I didn’t know what I wanted from her. Please don’t ask me. Please don’t make me say it. And then, louder than the rest, a keening wail rising sharply through the pain—

Please make it go away.

A ripple of emotion flashed in her expression—almost too quick for me to see. Then she set her chin. A devious glint lit her eyes. In the next second, she whirled to straddle me, brushing a single finger across my mouth. Her own parted, and her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. “Mon petit oiseau, you’ve seemed . . . frustrated these last few days.” She leaned lower, brushing her nose against my ear. Distracting me. Answering my unspoken plea. “I could help with that, you know.”

Absalon hissed indignantly and dematerialized.

When she began to touch me, to move against me—lightly, maddeningly—the blood in my face pitched lower, and I closed my eyes, clenching my jaw against the sensation. The heat. My fingers dug into her hips to hold her in place.

Behind us, someone sighed softly in their sleep.

“We can’t do this here.” My strained whisper echoed too loud in the silence. Despite my words, she grinned and pressed closer—everywhere—until my own hips rolled in response, grinding her against me. Once. Twice. Three times. Slowly at first, then faster. I dropped my head back to the cold ground, breathing ragged, eyes still clenched shut. A low groan built in my throat. “Someone might see.”

She tugged at my belt in answer. My eyes flew open to watch, and I flexed into her touch, reveling in it. In her. “Let them,” she said, each breath a pant. Another cough sounded. “I don’t care.”

“Lou—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” My hands tightened on her hips, and I sat forward swiftly, crushing her lips against mine.

Another cough, louder this time. I didn’t register it. With her hand slipping into my undone trousers—her tongue hot against mine—I couldn’t have stopped if I tried. That is, until—

“Stop.” The word tore from my throat, and I lurched backward, wrenching her hips in the air, away from my own. I hadn’t meant for it to go this far, this fast, with this many people around us. When I cursed, low and vicious, she blinked in confusion, hands shooting to my shoulders for balance. Her lips swollen. Her cheeks flushed. I clamped my eyes shut once more—clenching, clenching, clenching—thinking of anything and everything but Lou. Spoiled meat. Flesh-eating locusts. Wrinkled, saggy skin and the word moist or curd or phlegm. Dripping phlegm, or, or—

My mother.

The memory of our first night here flashed with crystalline focus.

“I’m serious,” Madame Labelle warns, pulling us aside, “absolutely no sneaking away for any secret rendezvous. The forest is dangerous. The trees have eyes.”

Lou’s laughter rings out, clear and bright, while I splutter with mortification.

“I know the two of you are physically involved—don’t try to deny it,” Madame Labelle adds when my face flushes scarlet, “but no matter your bodily urges, the danger outside this camp is too great. I must ask you to restrain yourselves for the time being.”

I stalk off without a word, Lou’s laughter still ringing in my ears. Madame Labelle follows, undeterred. “It’s perfectly natural to have such impulses.” She hurries to keep up, skirting around Beau. He too shakes with laughter. “Really, Reid, this immaturity is most off-putting. You are being careful, aren’t you? Perhaps we should have a frank discussion about contraceptives—”

Right. That did it.

The building pressure faded to a dull ache.

Exhaling hard, I slowly lowered Lou back to my lap. Another cough sounded from Beau’s direction. Louder this time. Pointed. But Lou persevered. Her hand slid downward once more. “Something wrong, husband?”

I caught her hand at my navel and glared. Nose to nose. Lips to lips. “Minx.”

“I’ll show you minx—”

With an aggrieved sigh, Beau pitched upright and interrupted loudly, “Hello! Yes, pardon! As it seems to have escaped your notice, there are other people here!” In a low grumble, he added, “Though clearly those other people will soon shrivel up and die from abstinence.”

Lou’s grin turned wicked. Her gaze flicked to the sky—now pitched the eerie gray before dawn—before she looped her arms around my neck. “It’s almost sunrise,” she whispered into my ear. The hair on my neck rose. “Shall we find the stream and . . . have a bath?”

Reluctantly, I glanced at Madame Labelle. She hadn’t woken from our tryst, nor from Beau’s outburst. Even in sleep, she exuded regal grace. A queen disguised as a madam, presiding over not a kingdom, but a brothel. Would her life have been different if she’d met my father before he’d married? Would mine? I looked away, disgusted with myself. “Madame Labelle forbade us from leaving camp.”

Lou sucked softly on my earlobe, and I shuddered. “What Madame Labelle doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides . . .” She touched a finger to the dried blood behind my ear, on my wrist—the same as the marks on my elbows, my knees, my throat. The same marks we’d all worn since Modraniht. A precaution. “Coco’s blood will hide us.”

“The water will wash it away.”

“I have magic too, you know—and so do you. We can protect ourselves if necessary.”

And so do you.

Though I tried to repress my flinch, she still saw. Her eyes shuttered. “You’ll have to learn to use it eventually. Promise me.”

I forced a smile, squeezing her lightly. “It’s not a problem.”

Unconvinced, she slid from my lap and flung open her bedroll. “Good. You heard your mother. Tomorrow, all of this ends.”

An ominous wave swept through me at her words, at her expression. Though I knew we couldn’t stay here indefinitely—knew we couldn’t simply wait for Morgane or the Chasseurs to find us—we had no plan. No allies. And despite my mother’s confidence, I couldn’t imagine finding some. Why would anyone join us in a fight against Morgane? Her agenda was theirs—the death of all who had persecuted them.

Sighing heavily, Lou turned away and curled into a tight ball. Her hair fanned out in a trail of chestnut and gold behind her. I slid my fingers through it, attempting to soothe her. To release the sudden tension in her shoulders, the hopelessness in her voice. A hopeless Lou just didn’t make sense—like a worldly Ansel or an ugly Cosette.

“I wish . . . ,” she whispered. “I wish we could live here forever. But the longer we stay, the more it’s like—like we’re stealing moments of happiness. Like these moments aren’t ours at all.” Her hands clenched to fists at her sides. “She’ll reclaim them eventually. Even if she has to cut them from our hearts.”

My fingers stilled in her hair. Taking slow, measured breaths—swallowing the fury that erupted whenever I thought of Morgane—I wrapped a hand around Lou’s chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. To feel my words. My promise. “You don’t need to fear her. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She scoffed in a self-deprecating way. “I don’t fear her. I—” Abruptly, she twisted her chin from my grasp. “Never mind. It’s pathetic.”

“Lou.” I kneaded her neck, willing her to relax. “You can tell me.”

“Reid.” She matched my soft tone, casting a sweet smile over her shoulder. I returned it, nodding in encouragement. Still smiling, she elbowed me sharply in the ribs. “Piss off.”

My voice hardened. “Lou—”

“Just leave it alone,” she snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.” We glared at each other for a long moment—me rubbing my bruised rib mutinously—before she visibly deflated. “Look, forget I said anything. It’s not important right now. The others will be up soon, and we can start planning. I’m fine. Really.”

But she wasn’t fine. And neither was I.

God. I just wanted to hold her.

I scrubbed an agitated hand down my face before glancing at Madame Labelle. She still slept. Even Beau had burrowed back into his bedroll, oblivious to the world once more. Right. Before I could change my mind, I hauled Lou into my arms. The stream wasn’t far. We could be there and back before anyone realized we’d gone. “It’s not tomorrow yet.”

A Warning Bell

Reid

Lou floated atop the water in lazy contentment. Her eyes shut. Her arms spread wide. Her hair thick and heavy around her. Snowflakes fell gently. They gathered in her eyelashes, on her cheeks. Though I’d never seen a melusine—only read of them in Saint-Cécile’s ancient tombs—I imagined they looked like her in this moment. Beautiful. Ethereal.

Naked.