“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me!”

“Go home!” he roared. “Why do you insist on bothering me?”

His words were intended to be a slap, but I countered back, prodding at the tender places he refused to acknowledge.

“Because I love you, you asshole!” The declaration was a gauntlet thrown. One I hadn’t even realized I’d been clutching. “I’m going to help you capture that ogre, and I’ll carve out its heart myself.” I stepped closer, my hands fisting into the thick collar of his cloak. “And if that beast dies before I can do that, then I’ll stay in this forest with you forever. Do I make myself clear?”

Wicked’s eyes darkened, his pupils flaring into dark black pits of nothing, and he let out a whoosh of air like I’d lifted up my foot and kicked him straight in the stomach. He seemed to bend in on himself as he folded, when a noise in the leaves summoned our attention.

A bulk moved toward us, shadowed by the darkness. It was huge—even taller than Wicked and built like a barrel with arms and legs. Dark green skin glistening in the moonlight, its back was hunched and its hands were the size of church bells. It didn’t look like it could move very fast, but it was probably best not to underestimate it.

“Fuck,” Wicked said, shoving me behind him as he drew his sword. “Run back to the Castle, Rowan. Now.” He snarled at the ogre as it lumbered closer, its beady black eyes glittering.

I remembered what Wicked had told me. That the ogre would be mindless with want for my blood. Maybe we could use that to our advantage. “I’m going to draw it away from you, and you attack it from behind. It’ll follow me. You said it wouldn’t be able to resist.”

He looked back at me, his expression thunderous. “No. Absolutely not.”

“On the count of three,” I said, gripping the back of his cloak, digging in my heels and preparing to run.

“Rowan, no!”

“Three...two...”

“I swear to the gods, I’m going to lock you back in my cage if you do this.”

“One!” I bolted, the ogre’s head swinging my way as I ran as fast as I could. I heard Wicked yelling after me but didn’t look back as I wove through the dense trees, hearing the rustle and snapping of branches. After everything, I trusted him. I knew Wicked would do anything to protect me. And if he failed, then there was no point to this life without him.

I didn’t need to see to know the ogre was right behind me. I could feel its hot, fetid breath on the back of my neck right before a hand snagged the back of my cloak, tearing it from my shoulders. When the clasp pinched the delicate skin on my throat, I cried out, but I didn't stop running.

My feet crunched in the snow, branches snagging on my nightgown, the icy air whipping through the fabric and tearing at my hair. “Wicked!” I screamed, sure he had to be close.

The ogre lunged, an arm banding around my waist before it lifted me in the air, and I belted out an ear-piercing scream. I kicked and flailed, trying to land a solid blow somewhere it might matter. But the ogre was steel and sinew, and it squeezed me so tight, I couldn’t suck air into my lungs.

I struggled against its hold, my vision darkening when I heard a crunch, followed by a sickening squelch, and then the ogre’s hold slackened before we both collapsed into a heap on the ground. I screamed and tried to get the monster off me, its weight crushing me to the earth.

A moment later, Wicked was at my side. With a heave, he lifted the body of the beast enough that I could slip out and back away. Wicked’s sword stuck out of its back, like an offering to the sky.

“You killed it,” I said, my eyes wide with wonder and fear.

Wicked’s eyes floated shut, and he let out a sigh so long it sounded like he’d been keeping it bound for centuries. He seemed to be in shock as he moved, pulling out the sword and then flipping the ogre on to its back. Its eyes were dull, staring at the starry sky.

He pulled out his dagger and leaned over the beast before he paused, contemplating it.

“Do you want me to do it?” I asked, knowing he needed the heart. I didn’t want to slice it out, but I had sworn I would just a few minutes earlier. He shook his head, and I tried not to show my relief as he dropped to a knee and executed the grisly task.

Pulling out a cloth from his cloak, he extracted the glistening heart from the ogre’s chest and wrapped it up.

“Now what?”

“I need to eat it,” he said, and I wrinkled my nose.

“Wow, your brother really hated you.” Neither of us smiled at my failed attempt to lighten the mood as our gazes met.

“I need to get back to the castle.”

“I’ll come with you.” I stalked back through the forest, finding my discarded cloak and wrapping it over my shoulders. He seemed like he wanted to argue, but I held up a hand. “I’m coming. Don’t even bother trying to stop me.”

He pressed his mouth together, grunting in response. “Get on my back and hold tight.” He bent down so I could do as he asked and then, without another word, we raced into the night.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Nineteen

Before I knew it, the familiar sight of the castle loomed ahead, standing on its hill, lonely and forlorn. I remembered the first time I’d seen it, terrified that this was to be my new home. Never did I think I’d be happy to be returning some day.

Wicked flew up the switchback, through the courtyard, and slammed open the door to the small room. He set me down, tossed off his cloak and moved to the kitchen. The sight was so familiar and comforting; it fired an ache in my chest.

Well, familiar except for the fact he’d just dropped the heart of an ogre into a massive stockpot. He said nothing as he worked, boiling the organ and tossing in ingredients for some kind of stew. As I watched him quietly, I got the sense he needed a moment to collect himself.

After all these years, what did it feel like to finally arrive at this moment?

When he was done, he filled his bowl and set it on the table, meeting my gaze with a resigned look. Facing down the bowl like it was the firing line at his execution, he sank into his chair and began eating. We said nothing as he swallowed the contents, one fateful bite at a time.

When he was done, he pushed it away and while he stared at the table, I stared at him.

“Did it work?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel any different.”

“Should we go outside? Test the boundaries of the trees?” I asked, just as I noticed the markings on his face were moving. They swirled like a painter mixing them on his palette. “Your tattoos,” I gasped. They morphed into a shapeless blot and then slowly dissolved, leaving nothing but a blank canvas of Wicked’s smooth olive skin. “They’re gone.” I stood up and tugged open the collar of his tunic to find more unmarked flesh.

“They’re gone,” he echoed, his voice hollow, his eyes distant. I stepped away, wanting to give him space. He planted his elbows on the table and dropped his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. I slid into the chair next to him, watching as he collapsed with the burden of the years.

“Wicked?” I placed a soft hand on his arm. “Tell me what you need.”

He lowered his hands and turned to me, his knees encasing mine and his eyes lined with silver.

“Did you mean what you said out there? You would have stayed here with me? That you...” His voice was rough, dulled to a jagged edge of hope.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Of course, I meant it.” I leaned closer, pressing my hands against his chest. “Don’t push me away.”

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you,” he said as though it were an absolute chiseled into stone.

I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

“I took you away so I could use you as bait. You can’t love me.”