Chapter Seven

 

“Will you be all right in here, Your Highness?” Rachel looked around the loft room. It was small, the floor covered in straw. There was a stove, a chair, a wooden closet, and a cot. Lach sat in the chair, leaving Shim no place to sit except the cot. “This is the place Max sleeps when he has a sick animal or when I get mad and kick him out of our bed. I can find some space in the house if you would rather. It’s a little rough out here.”

Shim shrugged. “We’ve been in worse. Sincerely, Mrs. Harper, we’re fine out here. After what happened earlier, I’m just happy you’ll let us stay on your land at all.”

Rachel opened the closet and pulled out a couple of woolen blankets, handing them to first Shim and then Lach. “I’m just glad the dead things are dead again. I heard they popped up all over the village. Our healer ended up having to knock the mayor out with a sleep spell. He was walking around with the hidden vamp tech we’ve been gathering for the rebellion shooting corpses and talking about something called the zombie apocalypse. None of us knows what that is. We’re just happy Caleb is damn good with that spell.”

Lach had turned a bright red and mumbled an apology.

Rachel turned to him. “It’s all right. The kids were happy to see Queenie again, even if they’re mad at their dads for lying about the whole dog dying story. It’s really not a terrible thing. It could be quite useful when you think about it.”

“I don’t see how, but we thank you for the accommodations.” Lach kept his voice polite, but Shim could feel the impatience coming off him. He would have to work to keep his brother from running the minute Rachel Harper walked out of the barn.

The sun had set. They’d eaten a small meal, but still Roan held fast to the after midnight rule. Hours and hours of waiting. Hours when they were supposed to get some rest for the hard night ahead. Hours neither of them intended to spend. But they couldn’t just make a mad dash for it. They had to play it cautiously. For all they knew, Roan was watching them.

“Let me know if I can do anything else to help you.” Rachel nodded as she stepped toward the ladder that led down to the barn floor. She stopped at the top, just as her feet hit the first rung. Her face turned down and her voice quieted. “Should I do anything for him?”

Shim held back a grin. Duffy was “patrolling” the barn, his axe on his shoulder. He’d sighed and gotten up from the dinner table when Roan had told them all to get a few hours of sleep before they headed out. He’d announced that he would watch over the princes. Shim would bet Duffy would be asleep in fifteen minutes. He’d always been able to sleep in the oddest of places, ever since they were children. If Duffy wasn’t moving with a manic animation, he was snoozing, often against his or Lach’s arm. “Don’t worry about Duff. He’s a tough one.”

Rachel nodded and disappeared. The minute Shim heard the door close, he turned to his brother.

Lach was already on his feet, a pack in his hand. “I took one of the vamps’ packs. He was already asleep. He won’t notice it’s gone until they’re ready to go. By then, it won’t matter. We’ll be gone. It’s got meal pills, a tablet, everything we could need. We’ll find solid food on the way, but the meal pills should work.”

It was exactly what he’d feared. Shim didn’t move. “Lach, give it an hour. Roan is still awake. The Harper kids are still running all over the place. And we need to get not only us but two horses out of here.”

There was a gentle nicker from down below. “Why two, Your Highness, when one would be easier and so much faster?”

There was a sound like the rushing of water and then a man with shaggy black hair climbed up the ladder. Shim did a double take because the man wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. He was young and very fit, but his hair was a wild nest of darkness, his eyes an amber yellow.

This was the phooka in his human form—a rare sight.

“Are you planning on killing us now?” Lach asked, no real worry in his voice. He had an amused air of expectation around him. It was a fair question. Phookas tended to hide their true form from all, though they had been known to imprint on sidhe from time to time, usually as younglings.

“Which of the Harpers do you belong to?” Shim asked, his mind making the leap.

The phooka grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. “Max. The idiot doesn’t even know I’ve been around him most of his life. He saved me when I was just a child. Some nasty sidhe killed me ma. I took to dog form, and Max took me in. He fed me and healed me wounds. I stayed with him for many years as a dog. Then I took hawk form and finally this one. I take the form needed to protect him. I came to him in my horse form a few months back. It’s the first time I’ve talked to him.” He growled a little. “He doesn’t make it easy to repay my debt. He’s reckless and obnoxious, but he has a good heart. And the children.” He sighed. “I’ve come to care for the little buggers.”

Lach leaned forward, studying the phooka. “Or you’re a tricky bastard and you’re feeding us a huge line of crap in order to create chaos.”

The phooka shrugged. “Or that. I don’t care what you believe, but I’m your best bet to get out of here before those vamps shut you down. Poor little princes. No one ever lets you play. Do you really think you can rescue your princess without getting yourselves killed? You can’t even control your own powers. You’re just as likely to torch her, aren’t you, Shim. Don’t worry, your brother here can bring her back to life. Well, he can bring her corpse back. Do it quick, Lach, before she starts to stink.”

Lach stood, his massive hands clenched into fists. There was practically steam coming out his brother’s ears, and that was Shim’s job. “Get out.”

Shim held a hand out. “Don’t be so quick, Lach. It’s his nature. But it’s also his nature to help his master.”

Amber eyes rolled. “He ain’t me master. He’s me friend, and yes, I want to help him. I was just making a wee joke about the stinking corpses. Come on, man, it was funny. Like the dog today. Damn thing tried to wag half a tail.”

The phooka laughed, the sound a bit maniacal, but he was right. Not about the half-tailed dog, but he was fast in his horse form and phookas were known to be hard to see unless they wanted to be seen.

“You know where Tuathanas is?” Shim asked.

Lach moved to sit beside his brother, a scowl on his face. “I’m sure he knows where everything is.”

The phooka scratched at his scruffy head. “I do, indeed. And I swear on all that Danu’s given me, I’m not lying. I want Torin out as much as the rest of you. Probably more since I don’t have anywhere else to go. There’s no kingdom waiting for me. There’s only this farm and those Fae, and Torin will kill us all if something doesn’t change. We’ve been safe here in the mountains. He hasn’t had the inclination to attack, but he will eventually and we’ll fall. So I’m offering you a deal, one time only, Your Highnesses. I shall carry you to the princess. I will be your ally. Me word is me bond. And I expect that you’ll treat your ally with every due care.”

The phooka’s amber eyes burned in the dim light of the barn.

Lach looked at Shim and slowly nodded.

Shim took the phooka’s hand. “Allies.”

The phooka’s hand tightened and his form wavered. “Don’t forget it, Your Highness. Don’t forget what we do to those who cross us. I’m the boogey man. I know what your fear is.” He turned those burning eyes to Lach. “And his radiates off him.”

The phooka changed, his hand releasing Shim’s. His form shimmered and reassembled itself. Shim shuddered and crawled back at what he saw sitting in front of him.

“Ain’t this what you both fear deep down?” The phooka’s voice spoke, but it was through Shim’s own lips.

Shim sat in front of himself, his smile wide and calm, but the rest of him was on fire, the flames flaring out and crackling, little tendrils of heat and agony pointing like accusatory fingers.

“Look at me. I’m brighter than the sun and a whole lot more deadly. I can’t control meself. I’ll burn down everyone I love.” The phooka changed, taking on Lach’s likeness, but this was a different Lach than the brother Shim knew. This Lach was sunken, all the light in his face gone as though someone had snuffed his candle out and what was left behind was a ruined, useless wick. Death hung on this Lach, a cloak he’d donned and wrapped around his soul. Maggots crawled on his arms, and a black-eyed rat poked its head from under his collar. “Lord of the Dead. Who could love you? Who wants a cold embrace when they could have a hot one? Is there an inch of you that truly lives, Death Lord?”

And then the phooka was a slight, wild-haired man again, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know what scares you both. Don’t you forget it when the going gets tough and someone like me is easy to leave behind. Know that you can never really leave me. I would be with you for always and always, a little nightmare under your bed.”

The phooka smiled as though they had been having a pleasant conversation. He tipped his head. “Meet me in an hour out back, and be ready to fly.”

The phooka disappeared, and they heard the rush of air and then a whinny signaling he was again a horse. There was the sound of hooves on the floor and then all was silent.

Lach got up and stared down at the floor of the barn. “I’m thinking once that fucker’s dead, he’s mine. How would you like that, phooka? How would you like dangling on my strings, dancing when I tell you to dance?”

Shim sighed. He was still shaken, but the truth was it was no surprise to him. “Leave him be, Lach. He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. You’re afraid of what I’ll do, and I’m scared of losing you to the darkness.”

Lach scrubbed a hand through his hair as he paced. “Why do you always come off sounding better than me? Though I still think I have the better idea. It can be hard on the road. Horses make good jerky. He’ll have a damn hard time sneaking under my bed when the bastard’s in my belly.”

There was a long whinny, but Shim would have sworn that horse was laughing. Lach sat down on the cot, his anger dissipating. “He has a point.”

“His kind always does.” It was sort of the point of the phooka and other tricksters like him. They knew how to go for the throat.

“Why would she ever want me? I make dead things crawl. I’m utterly useless unless you want to pet your dead dog one last time.” Lach sighed. “Maybe that’s why our connection isn’t as strong. Do you think she can feel how cold I am?”

Shim thought about planting a fist in the phooka’s muzzle, but they really did need him. “You aren’t cold, Lach.” He started to say something else, but then he felt it. Panic. Disorientation. Pain in his head like someone was taking a hammer to him.

Bronwyn was awake.

“I can feel her,” Lach whispered, his hand going to the back of his head. “I’m going to kill those guards. Can you talk to her?”

“Only when we’re sleeping and you know how it is then.” His heart was nearly stopped in his chest. Bronwyn was struggling. He could feel her panic and her intent. She was going to try to escape. In that one moment, she didn’t care that she would likely be killed. She simply wanted it to be over.

Lach took a deep breath. “We have to focus. We have to get her to calm down.”

Shim’s hands were shaking. “I’m open to suggestions, brother. She transmits well, but she never listens.”

“Make her.”

Shim could feel Lach’s will pressing on him. It was a palpable thing.

“What are you doing?” Shim asked.

“I’m opening myself up. I’m done letting this thing control me. We need power to connect us to her. Well, I know where my power comes from, and there’s a trail of dead between us and her. I can feel it, Shim. I can use it to push my way into her head.”

Shim took a deep breath and understood what Lach was doing. The phooka had shown them what they didn’t want to face. They feared each other. They feared themselves. But what if they didn’t have to? What if they could figure out a way to control it, to use their natural elements to fuel their power and not the other way around?

Shim closed his eyes, trying to push Bron’s panic aside. He felt the fire in the Harper’s hearth. The power rushed along his skin. That fire led to another, a stronger fire, a bonfire somewhere along the road. It was all connected, a line of flame and heat that bounced to another. Each one he grabbed hold of flared, possibly sending the Fae who sat around it reeling back a bit, but Shim kept control. The fire didn’t bloom out, burning anyone. He could do this.

Lead me to her.

He breathed deeply, the smell of flames and smoldering embers filling his every sense. This was his home, given to him the day he’d bonded with his mate, connecting him to the other half of his soul.

“So many dead,” his brother whispered.

Lach’s power was a cold chill that ran up Shim’s spine. His brother was so strong, but he feared his gifts. “Yes, so many dead who can lead the way to Bronwyn. Don’t stop.”

“I have her.” Lach opened his mind and, sure enough, Shim felt her. The connection was right there, stronger than ever.

Shim grabbed it, letting go of his own hunt, the fires dying down for now. “Hold the connection, Lach. Can you do it?”

Lach’s voice was firm and in control. “I have it. She’s in a jail. There’s a cemetery a short distance from it, but the place is coated in death. It’s easy, Shim. I can see her. Gods, I can feel how scared she is. She’s going to try something foolish.”

“Stop, a stoirin.” Shim put a wealth of power behind the word. He shoved every dominant trait he possessed into that one word, sending it over the line that ran from him to Lach to Bronwyn.

Nothing.

“She can’t hear,” Lach said. “But I think she can feel. I clenched my fists and she clenched hers almost like she was answering me. Shim, she’s trying to work the lock open. I think there’s a guard right outside her door. They’ll kill her, or we could lose her. She could run and we wouldn’t be able to find her. The war is about to start.”

Shim knew all the ways this could quickly go very, very badly. “We have to calm her down.”

She wasn’t listening, or talking didn’t work the way they thought it did. This connection was new to them. To be able to communicate when they were all conscious was brand-new territory. But if she could feel, then Shim knew what to do.

“Hold the connection, brother,” he said to his other half. “I know just how to turn our little mate’s mind to something that won’t get her killed.”

 

* * * *

 

Bronwyn stopped. She shuddered, the cold threatening to overtake her. They hadn’t even left a blanket in the cold, dank cell they’d tossed her into. There was nothing but a cot and a bucket. She didn’t like to think about what the bucket was for.

Her head ached. She wondered if Ove was even alive.

She had to get out of here. She had to. If she stayed the night, they would execute her in the morning.

Goddess, what had she done? She’d felt the heat in her hands, rolling up from her soul. She’d called it. It had been hers to command. Little Ove had been lying on the ground, her fragile body seconds from being kicked apart by brutal feet. She hadn’t thought. She’d acted and the world around her had gone up in flames. It had been natural. She hadn’t feared the fire.

But she was afraid of the cold she felt now.

She had to ignore it. She was scared. Sure she was. She was locked in a prison. She had every right to be scared. Her head throbbed. What had happened? She remembered everything up to the fire coursing through her veins. She was a pyromancer. It was the only explanation. She needed to come to terms with it. It could help her enormously.

She was done. Watching sweet little Ove lie there in the dirt had crystalized her resolve. She needed to stop hiding. One way or another, she was going to be Bronwyn again. In life. In death. If Torin was looking for her, maybe it was time to make herself available to the rebels. Gillian was wrong. Her only job wasn’t to stay alive. Her job was to fight.

She looked around her small cell. They hadn’t placed her in the jail, but in the private cell of the sheriff’s office. A thick oak door with a small rectangular hole stood in the way of her and freedom. She had to get out. Staring at the door, she tried to call the fire forth.

Nothing.

Her palms were cold, not hot. And she could feel them flexing almost as though they weren’t her own. Her hands clenched of their own volition. And yet there was something about it that felt almost soothing, like a hand reached out to embrace her own.

She ignored it. She was alone. No one had hugged her or touched her in years. Gillian would pat her hand or her back. Ove hugged her, but it was for the little brownie’s comfort. It had been thirteen years since she’d really felt compassionate hands on her body.

Except in her dreams. But she wasn’t dreaming now.

She got to her knees in front of the door, trying to peer out the keyhole. She could fashion a lockpick. She’d been taught by the best thieves. She simply needed two pieces of flexible but strong material. Her hands felt around the material of her dress. There was a pin that held her neat apron to the tunic. It would do. She pulled it out. Flexible and easy to work with. She could scrape the pins of the lock with it. Now she needed something more solid to hold the lock in place.

Sweet heat invaded her veins.

Bronwyn.

Her name rumbled along her skin. A dark, sensual masculine tone echoed in her brain. It said her name over and over. It wasn’t an unpleasant thing meant to draw her attention, more like a monk whispering a prayer over and over.

Except the low feeling in her womb didn’t remind her of any religion.

She struggled to breathe. Her pussy was warm. Except it wasn’t a pussy.

Bronwyn sighed and closed her eyes. What the hell was happening to her? A cock. She could feel a cock as though she had one herself. It was a wonderful thing to have a cock. A cock was the center of the whole world.

Bron felt her head roll back, her focus scatter. She couldn’t concentrate on the door. How could she think about anything but the warm feeling in the center of her body. Stumbling back, she held her hands out, trying to find that cot. Her feet felt dumb, her whole body being taken over by sensation.

What in all the planes was happening to her?

Calm down, love. Let it happen.

The words flowed over her. She knew that voice. It was the voice of her Dark Ones. They often spoke as one, their tone flowing in and out. She knew it well. Tears pricked her eyes. She was still asleep. She was dreaming. The whole incident with Ove had been naught but a terrible nightmare. It was still the night before the festival, and she had time.

She fell back on the mattress, worrying because this bed wasn’t hers. It was hard and unyielding, made of wool. Her sheets were of a soft cotton. They had brought them when they left the last province, she and Gillian. Those sheets had been easy to slip into their packs. A reminder of the home they had enjoyed for a few years.

So many “homes.”

She gasped. A hand circled her dream cock. Tight, strong fingers tightened around masculine flesh. No wonder men became obsessed with such a thing. She felt lit from the inside out. That hand laid a light touch along her cock. Her cock? What sort of dream was this?

The kind that keeps you out of trouble.

That voice echoed through her head like a shout from the wrong end of a long tunnel. She tried to call back, but was robbed of her breath as that dream hand grasped her cock and began to squeeze with light pressure.

She fell back on the cot, not giving a damn about the scratchy wool on her back. It could be pine needles for all she cared. This feeling was glorious.

Yes, love, give in. Let us help. Let us find you.

Her ears only caught a part of what her dream voice said, but the sensation ruled her core. She felt her cock and balls, both so, so sensitive. Her balls were tight against her body. They always were when she was around. They drew up at the very thought of being close to her. She was beautiful. So fucking gorgeous. They didn’t need to truly see her. They knew what she was because their souls had meshed. They had mingled in dreams since childhood. A lovely tangling of their bodies was a simple next step.

She felt the moon on her face, the light a gentle slash across her eyes. Were they feeling the same moon on their faces?

She groaned, the sound masculine and deep to her ears. She wasn’t hearing her own voice. She was hearing his.

Shim, love. My name is Shim.

She fell back against the cot. Shim. Was that his name? Her Dark One? This connection felt different. There had always been a gauzy, dreamy quality to the connection before, but this felt so real. His voice wavered a bit, but there was a solidness to it that had never been there before.

Bronwyn. My name is Bronwyn.

There was a low chuckle. She could feel its warmth like he was beside her and his breath could heat her skin. Yes, love. You’re…Always known.

She wanted to hear him, everything he said, but there was a maddening disconnect. And then she felt a surge of arousal. It took her breath away. What was he doing?

She needed to get up. She needed to get away, but he called to her. Perhaps she was still dreaming. Yes. She was dreaming, and this was her precious time. She wasn’t about to waste it with plotting and planning that wouldn’t come to fruition. Bron took a long breath and mentally reached for Shim. Shim. She loved his name. For so long she’d dreamed of him and his twin, but they had no names. Shim. It made him seem real.

And Shim was a dirty boy.

I want to touch…breasts. Touch…

How could she even think when his hand kept stroking his cock? A cock was a marvelous thing. Long and thick, it was like a lightning rod that attracted pleasure. Shim’s heartbeat was steady and strong, his hand moving up and down. An image struck her, slamming into her head with gentle force.

He wanted to spread her legs. He wanted to take that cock and enter her body, joining them together.

They would be naked, not a stitch between them, only warm flesh that fit together perfectly. He would cover her, his chest to her breast, bellies rubbing, legs entangled. Even their toes would kiss. His mouth would sink onto hers, his tongue fusing them together as his cock laid claim.

Her whole body relaxed.

Touch…

He wanted her to touch herself. Her breasts. She put her hand to her breast, his satisfaction pulsing across their connection. He wanted to hold her breasts in his hands, cupping them, playing with the nipples.

It wasn’t enough. Without opening her eyes, she undid the buttons on her bodice, the cool air caressing her breasts. Her nipples tightened.

Ours.

She pushed the sides of her bodice away, cupping her own breasts. She didn’t feel her hands. She felt big, masculine hands on her body. She pinched her nipples, the image of what Shim wanted playing in her brain. He wanted to own her nipples. He wanted to roll them in his fingers, dress them up with jewels.

She pulled at her nipples, feeling the heat of his mouth. This was what he wanted. Shim wanted to suck her nipples. He would start with little kisses, like pixie wings on her skin. He would cover her flesh with soft kisses, and then she would feel the long slow lick of his tongue.

Yes, love…what I want…

She sent the image out. She wanted it, too. She wanted his mouth on her, devouring her like a treat after a hard day’s work. His tongue flicked around her nipple, making it a hard nub. It stood straight up, pointing to his mouth, begging for more.

The rough edge of his teeth dragged along her nipple. It was a wickedly decadent feeling, running just the right side of pain. He bit at her nipple and then sucked it into his mouth with lavish affection.

It felt so good. The sensation raced from her nipples to deep in her pussy where an ache had begun.

And all the while she felt the tug on his cock, his strong hand running the length. There was a wetness at the tip. His seed. That’s what the women called it.

Cum, love. That’s…cum.

Cum. The head of his cock was covered in a light coating of cum. It eased the way of his hand to stroke from bulb to base and back in an easy, slow motion. He loved this. He did this often, and when he did, he thought of her. When he stroked his own cock, it was always with her pussy in mind. He would close his eyes and see her, as she was in their dreams. She would be over him, her breasts bouncing as she rode him like a horse. She would be under him, covered by his body, open to him. She would be tied up and awaiting his pleasure, her ass in the air.

Such images assaulted her, making her gasp at the sheer eroticism that played through his mind. He’d thought up a thousand scenarios, a thousand ways to have her. It was his pastime—dreaming of ways to fuck her.

He had so many plans. He would dominate her. He would take care of her. He would fuck her over and over and over until she could always feel him inside her. Until he could be a thousand miles away and still feel his cock in her pussy.

He was hot. So hot. His touch sparked across her skin, little flames licking at her.

This was where her fire came from. It came from Shim.

She moved on the bed, restless and alive. She felt more alive than she had in years. Her whole body was awake, but she was missing something.

Where is my other Dark One?

Did he have a name? His face was the same as Shim’s. Why wasn’t he here with her?

Hush, love…holding the connection…holding…pissed he can’t join in…

Shim moved down her body, kissing her breasts and the valley between them. He wanted to see her tied up. It was an odd image, one she might turn away from, but she could feel how much he wanted it. He wanted to see her wrapped in thin ropes, the ties elaborate, reminding her of the tortoises who lumbered down the road from time to time. He would bind her and then take his time creating the design, her body his canvas. He was an artist with the rope, spending hours and hours practicing on women in some odd place. She could see it as though sharing his memories. An elegant place not of this plane. Vampire plane. It had to be. There was no other place with lights that carried no flame, wood that wasn’t wood under her feet. Shim would tie the women up, but he never touched them for his pleasure. That was reserved for her and her alone. Everything was for her. All the training, all the pain. To be with her.

Tears pooled in her eyes. What a lovely dream she was having.

Not…don’t…listen, Bronwyn…

She shook her head. She didn’t want to argue. She could feel the connection waver. She grabbed it with her mind. She didn’t want the dream to end. She didn’t want to leave this place where she could feel Shim. All that was waiting for her was pain and heartbreak and death. This was where she wanted to be. If she could she would sink into this place and never leave them.

She sent him an image of what she wanted. Him. The other him. One and her Two. Shim cuddled to her front and her other at her back. She wanted a name for him.

Lachlan.

It whispered through her body, like a cool little thrill going up her spine.

Shim and Lachlan. Her Dark Ones.

They would surround her, making her feel so small. She wouldn’t have to be a princess with them. She didn’t have to be strong. She just had to be theirs.

She could feel Shim’s deep pleasure with the image. It was what he wanted, too. The three of them together. The halves of his whole finally combined through her mind, her soul connecting theirs.

They would almost flow into one another, their pleasures combining.

Shim took over. His breathing picked up, sending her heart racing. He was close. His balls, so heavy and aching and infused with power. They didn’t swing anymore. They were drawn up, ready to spill inside her. He wanted that. He wanted to fill her with his cum, his child.

There was a tingling at the base of her spine, so wild she jerked a little, but then she knew what was happening. Shim was coming, finishing, completing the cycle they’d begun.

Bron’s heart nearly stopped at the pleasure. Relief cascaded through her like a giant river as he spilled his seed. She could feel Shim’s joy in the act. In his mind’s eye, he pumped in and out of her pussy, grinding against her, giving her everything he had. He squeezed his cock, wringing every ounce of pleasure.

She dragged air into her lungs, blood pumping through her body in a pleasant pounding rhythm. She was happy and lethargic and she felt so, so good.

And then a hard voice echoed in her head. He practically screamed as though he wasn’t sure she could hear.

Stay where you are! We’re coming for you.

Bron came awake. She sat straight up in her little cell, the moonlight streaking through the high bars the only illumination.

Her head hurt again. Had she been sleeping? It had been so different. They had spoken to her, telling her their names. She’d felt his pleasure.

Symbiotic twins. She laughed a little ruefully. Well, of course, she’d dreamed up a set of symbiotic twins. She missed her brothers. She was in a horrible position and symbiotic twins were powerful. Tears squeezed out of her eyes. She was alone again. She could still feel her nipples throbbing and the wetness of her pussy. She acknowledged for the first time that she might be a little crazy.

“Uhm, are you finished with all that…whatever you were doing?”

Bron screamed a little and sat up, pulling the flaps of her bodice together. Dear goddess, she’d been caught masturbating. She looked up and saw a guard staring through the cell door. There was a small window that opened from the opposite side. The guard shoved a tray of food through the slot in the door.

She remembered him from the day before. She’d fed him while he stood guard for the mayor. Now he was her jailor. So much for kindness.

She pulled her dignity around her. Well, whatever dignity she had left. Now he probably thought she was a whore along with being a witch. She carefully schooled her features. No matter what she was accused of, she was still Bronwyn Finn. If she was going to be burned tomorrow, she wouldn’t let her fear show.

She forced herself to stand and walk across the cell. Her legs felt a little wobbly, like a newborn lamb just learning to walk. Crossing the cell floor with small steps, she held her head high. She grasped the wood tray. There were slices of bread and an apple that been quartered. Nothing else. Still, she took it.

“Don’t forget this, Isolde.” The guard regarded her seriously through the small window, his hand pressing through the slot. A small, folded piece of paper was in his hand.

She took it, placing it under the tray so anyone else looking wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Eat well, witch. Tomorrow you burn.”

The window slammed closed, and she heard the guard’s boots ring down the hallway.

Bron forced herself to eat the bread and the apple. She let an hour go by and then two. When she was sure no one was watching, she finally pulled out that little slip of paper.

Trust Niall. He’s working with us. I won’t let you burn. G

Niall? She stared at the door. The guard. The one who had looked pissed when the mayor had talked about purification. The one who had told her to hide the brownies.

The one who had passed her the note.

Bron tore the note into tiny pieces, taking her time to make sure no one could ever put it back together. She shoved it into the seams of the mattress and lay back.

Her head still hurt, but her heart was worse. She would follow instructions. She would trust Niall, but she wanted her Shim and her Lach, and they didn’t really exist. She was damaged. So damaged.

She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.