Alexis

You become aware you’re dreaming when you look down to see not your pantsuit with stains of blood, but a tiny slip of a black dress. 

It’s a thin and silky fabric that comes to only mid-thigh and has loose spaghetti straps. One strap is already falling off your shoulder as you spin slowly, trying to make out anything in the miles of miles of darkness.

The only reason you can see your dress is because there’s a spotlight directly in front of you. It illuminates a chair. It has a high back that gives it a similar appearance to a throne, just without an armrest. It’s made of dark wood and has red velvet padding on the seat and back. 

You cautiously approach the chair, your walk more of a glide as you’re more graceful in the dream. 

The spotlight flickers as you round the back of the chair and when you come back to the front there’s a man sitting in the chair.

You stumble back in surprise, all too aware of how exposed you are in the black little dress.

The momentary surprise brings that awareness again to you that this is a dream. You know there’s something else you should be doing or worrying about, but your attention drifts and any knowledge of the outside world disappears.

Your eyes go to the man's face first but to your disappointment you can’t see his face. It’s as if someone had been painting a portrait of him, and in frustration had smeared the paint with their hand, causing a wide streak that blended all the colors of his face together.

Even without facial features he has a commanding presence that has you dropping your eyes down to his body, not just because you’re curious about the rest of him, but because looking at him for too long feels like you’re playing with fire.

He has on a grey suit, the slacks stretching across his powerful thighs creating creases in the fabric that capture your attention. He has a simple button up underneath with the first few buttons undone exposing his collarbones and tanlines around his neck. Everything about him calls to you and you swallow, already walking towards him before he can beckon you forward.

You add a sway to your hips as you walk over, hoping that you come across as enticing as you are suddenly eager to please this stranger.

He stops you with a hand curling around the bare part of your thigh, right under the hem of the dress. You’re scarce inches away, the slight sway in your body has the fabric of his slacks brushing against your legs. You can’t stand still, the anticipation and the strange gravitational pull of this man before you have your legs weakening. 

“Sit” the man instructs and you lower yourself to straddle him, the chair suddenly wide enough that you can rest your knees on either side of his thighs. You settle yourself in his lap, eagerly getting as close to him as your bodies will allow. One of his hands settles on your lower back, fingers brushing the curve of your ass, while his other hand goes to the strap that’s still on your shoulder and pushes it down.

You don’t look at his hands but they feel heavy and large, able to touch wider expanses of your body than you expected.

There’s a strange familiarity to him and your eyes flicker upwards, able to distinguish grey hair with small looking curls before you have to look away again. 

With both straps now off your shoulders it’s only logical that the rest of the dress goes away too.

You grab the hem of your dress and pull it over your head, carelessly throwing it in the dark void that surrounds you both.

You’re wearing nothing underneath and you can’t hold in a gasp as his eyes land on your chest. Your nipples perk up under the attention and you straighten your back, wanting to display yourself for him. There’s a heavy weight of anticipation as the hand on your back goes lower and gives your ass cheek a soft squeeze while the other hand traces a line down your throat, teasing in between your breasts, and stops just below your belly button.

Your breath stutters and you feel your core twitch, the beginnings of arousal making you feel flushed and off balance.

“I knew you’d be a good girl,” he says, and you feel a shiver go down your spine. 

The voice is oddly familiar. It’s not deep but it has a rasp to it that tickles at your ears and your nose and-

Wait, that's not right.

Your nose scrunches as another itch makes your nose twitch and you go to sneeze and-

The sun is bearing down on you and you reach up with your hand to use it as a shield as you groggily come to.

You sneeze forcefully, and squint to see your laying in a grassy field and a blade of grass has been trying to make its way up your nose.

There’s no more spotlight in an endless darkness. No mystery man making your entire being shake with need.

You’re still laying on your side so you prop yourself up with your elbow and rub at your nose with your other hand, trying to remember what had led you here instead of the hollow feeling between your legs and your still racing heart. 

It’s grass for miles it seems, with white flags dotting the grounds. You’re sitting in the largest golf course you’ve ever seen and you’re now baffled because how did you get there?

There’s a dryness to your mouth that reminds you of when you’d last woken up disoriented, and you run your tongue across your teeth, getting your senses back in order.

There’d been the whole fiasco at the hospital, your dull headache a reminder of what had occurred there. Then there’d been the kidnapping that had been an unnecessary confirmation that Grace was wanted by fucking weirdo satan worshippers. Like the exploding body at the hospital hadn’t been enough to prove everything Grace had said.

Then being tied to a chair, the explanation from the lawyer…Titus. 

At the thought of Titus your mind drifts back to that chair, to the feeling of large thighs beneath yours. 

The implication was there that it had been Titus, and you shift in the grass, unsure how you feel about that connection.

A groan from your left pulls you from your thoughts and you whirl around to see Grace springing up into a sitting position with Faith on the other side of her still appears to be knocked out.

“What the fuck,” Grace rasps out, looking around without really seeing until her eyes find yours and she launches herself at you.

You are more than happy to accept a hug from her but she only manages to wrap her right arm around you.

You look at her with confusion and you both turn in sync to see her left hand is staying stubbornly behind her. She raises it slowly, Faith’s right arm coming up with it.

The handcuffs glint in the midday sun and Grace gives her arm a shake as if in disbelief at what she’s seeing.

You try to get your legs under you so you can sit up better, but there’s a tugging on your left ankle and you look down to see that you are connected to Grace as well.

There’s no handcuffs for you, but a thick rope that's looped around your ankle and Grace’s, effectively tying you to her. 

“Are we doing a relay race?” you ask stupidly, tugging at the rope utterly baffled.

Grace doesn’t even bother with you, instead focusing all her energy on trying to wake Faith up.

She’s shaking Faith forcefully enough that you’re a bit impressed your younger sister hasn’t woken up yet.

After what feels like five minutes but is probably only one, Faith finally wakes up. Her first words are a sleepy, “Grace, stop it,” as she tries to lazily bat away at Grace.

“Come on, come on, we gotta get up!” Grace demands and Faith’s eyes snap open, her blue eyes looking around in confusion and trying to take in the situation.

“Shit,” Faith mutters, and Grace points to the handcuffs and then your rope tied leg.

“I need you both to listen to me,” Grace says, taking charge. She gathers the skirt of her wedding dress the best she can and starts to get up, which prompts you to do the same. Faith gets up more slowly, her chained arm limp as she glares at Grace in frustration.

“Why do they want to hurt me?” Faith asks and Grace’s face twists in annoyance.

“They don’t give a shit about you Grace, they want me. You both are here to slow me down, which is why I need you both to listen to me. You have to do exactly as I say,” Grace hisses.

Faith is clearly still out of it, her eyes are hazy and she stumbles when Grace tries to move forward even though you’re the one tied to Grace’s leg. Whatever they injected you all with, it’s hit Faith harder than you and Grace. 

“We’re going to go to the woods ok, that’s our best option,” Grace says firmly, looping her arm through Faith’s to keep her steady.

“Could there be someone waiting in the woods?” you ask tentatively, scanning the nearby area for any sign of movement, as if your would-be-killers would be so kind as to give their position away.

The golf course was surrounded by thick forestry and there was no way of knowing what the woods were hiding without getting closer. 

As you face the forest, the sprawling white country club mansion at your back, you feel dread settle firmly in your stomach, your hands becoming clammy with sweat.

This is real. 

There’s nothing that could have prepared you for this. You weren’t particularly sporty growing up, playing Four Square and basketball during recess but never competitively. It had never been appealing to get all sweaty and run around the track for hours, and having a desk job didn’t exactly prepare you for running for your life. 

Needless to say you didn’t have a choice if you wanted to survive. You needed to depend on Grace, seeing that she had survived the first time around, and hope that you are more help than hindrance.

A small bit of pride pushes through your dread as you think back on your quick thinking in the hospital, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

“We’d be dead already if they were that close, let’s go,” Grace answers and then loops her other arm with yours and starts marching forward. You match your stride to hers, the gait awkward and your attention is now torn between keeping up with Grace and your surroundings.

“And if there are people waiting for us in the woods?” Faith asks, her mouth turning into a grimace as tries and yanks her arm out of Grace’s grip. 

“I literally just asked that,” you say with an eyeroll.

“It’s not up to a debate,” Grace snaps. “I’m in charge, we’re going to the woods.”

“Oh you’re in charge?” Faith snorts. “It’s your fucking fault we’re both here.”

“All I did was forget to remove you as my emergency contact,” Grace says.

“It’s been sixteen years,” Faith replies in an irritated tone. “You seriously don’t know anyone else?”

Grace stays silent as the three of you trudge across the golf course, then she suddenly stops, bringing you and Faith to a halt.

“Actually, it’s your fault Faith, that she’s here,” Grace points at you and Faith sputters, trying to come up with a response.

“You’re the one who brought our sister into this on purpose, so can you shut the fuck up and save the dramatics for another time.”

Faith looks like she’s been slapped, her face paler than before, but before she can say Grace is tapping your shoulder and Faith’s, and pointing at something behind you.

You take a step back, uncertain what the move is here when the object gets even closer and you can identify it as a drone. 

Grace takes the initiative, yanking a flag out of the ground and swinging it at the drone, trying to knock it down.

The drone dodges, and through tinny sounding speakers a woman’s voice comes out.

“Woah, hold on, listen.”

Grace makes another attempt at swinging at the drone and it goes up a little higher to get out of her reach. 

“This is Wan Chen Xing, we met earlier. There’s a way out of this!” the woman says and Grace slowly lowers the flag.

“I had my lawyers scour the bylaws and found a loophole. All we have to do is-”

The drone shatters, tiny fragments of plastic raining down on you all and you gap in confusion, not exactly sure what just happened.

There’s a whistling sound and something whizzes by, striking the ground. You look down at a little hole by your shoe and you frown.

It takes the second bullet whizzing by for you to realize what’s happening, and then the three of you are scrambling for the tree line. 

“Are they fucking shooting at us?” you call out, pumping your legs desperately and cursing when you nearly fall over because Grace’s leg lags behind yours for a second. The stupid rope is really going to be the death of you, at least with the handcuffs moveability wasn’t as taxing.

“That would align with the whole trying to kill us thing,” Grace says with fake cheer.

You don’t know how but it works, you reach the tree line and crash through low hanging thin branches and get slapped in the face with several leaves, but the shooting stops and the three of you are now alone in the forest.

The three of you keep running, brushing past the sharp pine trees. You didn’t know how far in you were but the three of you came to a stop at a wall made of dark grey concrete. Instantly you can tell it’s too tall to climb.

Grace tugs you back into the forest and then it’s several more minutes of desperate adrenaline fueled running before Faith begs for a break. 

Grace finds a clearing where there’s some fallen over logs and the three of you sit down to try and catch your breaths.

As you shuck off your blazer, the material too hot now, Grace bends down and tugs at your leg trying to get a better view of the rope. Faith moves down off the log so she can be closer to you as well. The handcuffs clink together as Faith readjusts herself and Grace focuses on her task.

You fold your blazer neatly, displeased when you see tears in the fabric from the branches you’d run through. It was probably best to ditch it here anyways, you didn’t need to get snagged on anything else in the forest. Taking your blazer off lets you see your bare wrist. The bracelet you have to match the one you gave Faith is gone and you have no idea when or where you could have lost it.

You don’t have time to dwell on it that long as Faith lets out a long whooshing breath and then lets out a laugh.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know your husband was in a devil cult? How does that fucking happen? I mean, this seems kind of hard to miss. Your attention must have been on all that money,” she says, her voice shockingly sweet but it doesn’t cover up her harsh words or what she’s implying.

“What?” Grace asks, pausing fiddling with the rope but she doesn’t turn to look at Faith just yet. 

Faith just shrugs and it's a big enough movement that Grace can still see it without looking directly at Faith.

“What does that mean?” Grace asks, her voice flat. 

“Nothing. I’m just saying that I worked for my shit, we both worked for our shit,” she gestures lazily at you, “and we didn’t need rich dick to solve our problems.”

“Ok, ew,” you say, tugging at the rope around your ankle since Grace is no longer paying attention to it, her eyes locked on your younger sister.

“Fuck you,” Grace says.

“Fuck you,” Faith scoffs.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

They go back and forth while you search the forest floor for a thin but durable stick. You think you can loosen the knot if you can get something to pick at it since your fingernails aren’t working. You’re not too worried about the fighting, after all this is probably cathartic for them, it’ll give them a chance to work out their issues even if it’s not the best venue for it.

“Okay what does Derek do?” Grace asks, finally ending the echo chamber of ‘fuck you’s’.

“Finance,” Faith says quickly.

“Oh, and I’m chasing rich dick?” Grace asks and Faith crosses her arms over her chest defiantly.

“He was a starving actor when we first met.”

You stifle a sigh and finally spot a stick that you think will work.

So much for them getting down to the bottom of their issues. You try to be supportive of Faith where you can but her sticking to the whole Derek lie just to stick it to your big sister feels laughable. You’re all in the middle of nowhere being hunted by psycho’s and Faith finds it more important to keep digging in on old wounds.

Though those old wounds are shared by you so you can’t really say shit can you? Grace abandoned you as well, and sure you’ve internalized it better than Faith but that doesn’t mean that you were immune to seeing Grace after all these years. It did mean though that despite everything, a part of you was pleased Faith was ripping into Grace like this. 

As the two of them continue to bicker you dig the stick into the knot, wiggling it around and trying to get it through the rope. Loosening the knot was the trick here, if you could just get a gap wide enough for your finger…

“Guys, I fucking did it,” you say triumphantly as you throw the stick to the ground and dig your finger into the knot. 

“You think I made up Derek?” Faith snaps, ignoring you and standing abruptly up from the floor. She brushes pine needles and grass from her jeans, yanking Grace’s arm with each movement, and starts to stomp away.

That leads to an impromptu game of follow the leader much to your frustration because none of you are free to go without the other. 

“Kinda now, yeah,” Grace says, grabbing Faith by the arm to get her to stop walking, which you appreciate.

“You think I’m pathetic. You just can’t handle it that I made it and you didn’t.” 

The barely audible snap of a twig has you pushing Grace and Faith down to the ground, your heart jack hammering against your chest as you all scooch together to hide behind the cluster of fallen logs you’d just been sitting on.

The forest had been silent the entire time you’d been in there, you hadn't even heard a bird chirp, so the breaking of a twig had been like a clap of thunder to your ears despite your sisters fighting. 

“Grace?” A female woman’s voice calls out. It’s more nasally than the woman who had spoken through the drone and you struggle for a moment to try and place her.

You peek through a gap in the logs and see Ursula Danforth maybe twenty feet from where you're hiding. She has a large pistol in her hand pointed up in the air as she walks. 

She’s changed into a new suit, a light brown one with white ruffled silk scarf around her neck.

You shy away from the gap, pressing yourself further down into the ground to hide from her as she continues her monologue. 

“There’s no use hiding. I know you think we’re the bad guys here, but there are no good guys or bad guys. There’s just the system.”

As she talks an idea comes to your mind and you slowly contort your body so you can reach the rope again. The leaves beneath your body give a slight crunch and Grace shoots you a look, but Ursula hasn’t stopped talking so you haven’t exposed your location.

You begin pulling at the gap again that you had created earlier, your fingers trembling as you try and get the stubborn knot to untie.

“Whether you realize it or not, you’re part of it too. You contribute to it, hell, you enable it. I’m no more evil than you are. You’re just a small part of something that is much bigger than us.”

The rope scrapes against your hands and your finger hurts but finally, finally, the knot unravels and you hastily pull the rope off. It pools to the ground and you rub at your ankle, trying to soothe redness and the sting from the chafing as you had run.

You catch Grace looking at you with a delighted smile and you put a hand over her mouth to keep quiet the giggle that escapes.

“We can wack her with this,” Faith says, lifting slightly upwards a thick branch that had been laying by your side.

“-and die with a little dignity?” Ursula finishes her speech and your smile drops from your face. 

Ursula’s voice is much closer than you had anticipated.

You want to peak through the gap in the logs to see where she is exactly but there’s a shift in the air. The hair on your arm prickles like you’re being watched.

The next sequence of events seem to happen in slow motion.

You hear Faith’s gasp and you slowly turn over to see Titus behind the three of you, a wicked smile on his face as he raises something high above his head.

Grace shoves you roughly to the other side as she and Faith roll the opposite way, the axe in Titus’ hand swinging down into the empty space between. It splinters the log, wood debris flying everywhere. A chip whips past your cheek, cutting it, and you hiss in pain. 

He grunts as he tries to pull the axe out of the log but he’s used too much force and it’s lodged in there tight.

While he’s distracted you can see your sisters scrambling to get up and run so you go to do the same.

Titus abandons the axe, turns towards your sisters and manages to grab the chain dangling between their hands and yanks on it hard. They both go flying down to the ground on their backs. As quick as a viper Titus is flinging his body over Grace’s, trapping her beneath his weight as he wraps his hands around her throat.

You let out a whimper as your sister thrashes on the ground and his head snaps towards you.

Your eyes lock and you can’t help the rush of emotions that overwhelm you. 

The dream hits you full force at that moment. The feeling of him beneath you, the command in his voice. Something must show on your face because he’s startled instead of angry. You watch his cheeks pinken ever so slightly, and his eyes search yours like he will find the answer to everything he’s ever wanted in there.

He’s so distracted by you that Faith is able to shove him off of Grace. 

You blink as his endless stare is ripped from you and half crawl half lunge away from the fight, heading in the opposite direction of your sisters. You glance over your shoulder to see Titus getting up from the ground and going back after your sisters.

You’re still moving while looking behind you so you don’t see the dip in the ground. Your foot goes in and you fall to the ground, pain lancing through your body as you land on your hands and knees.

The sound of boots crushing more twigs and leaves has you scrambling to hide behind a tree as Ursula finally reaches the cluster of logs you had all been hiding at.

You try and catch your breath and peek around the tree to catch a glimpse of Grace’s wedding dress disappearing in the denseness of the trees.

“Get up,” Ursula says, exasperation clear in her tone. She storms over to Titus as he attempts to get to his feet, one hand clasping the back of his head.

You hadn’t seen how your sisters had escaped so you don’t know how he’d hit his head; whether he’d hit it on the ground or Faith had picked up that large branch again and took a swing at him it was hard to tell.

“You cannot fuck up like that,” Ursula says as Titus drops his hand from his head and goes to straighten his clothes. He’s changed as well from the suit from earlier, now wearing greyish blue cargo pants, a dark plaid long sleeved shirt and a fuzzy looking vest. 

“The only way to make what we did to Dad mean something is to win that fucking seat back.”

He takes his time fixing his vest, fiddling with the collar and then tugging it so it sits better on his torso, not saying a word back to her.

“Titus!”

Crack.

The slap is so loud that you can’t help your flinch. 

Of course the flinch is big enough to make a noise, your body shifting in the debris on the ground, and the twins turn to look at your hiding spot.

You freeze, your eyes following Titus’ hand as it slowly reaches into the back of his vest and pulls out a pinecone. 

Ursula is the one staring at you this time and the rage and eagerness is almost tangible in the air.

“Go,” she snarls and he’s after you like a dog. 

One second he’s nonchalantly throwing the pinecone to the ground, the disgruntlement showing on his face, the next he’s moving faster than a jack rabbit.

He’s the predator and you're his prey.

You barely have time to get to your feet before he’s there, his hand grazing your shoulder as you last minute jerk to the side. 

You race through the trees, panic clouding your senses as you jump over fallen branches and zigzag through the firs.

Titus is hot on your heels.

Your pants snag on a branch and you trip. Titus takes that chance and slams your back into a tree, pinning you there with his weight as you wriggle beneath him.

He has you held tight, his hands squeezing around your upper arms and trapping your hands against his chest.

You’re already sticky with sweat from all the running, the silk an unforgiving fabric, but you find that you don’t mind that Titus is a furnace against you. His heat draws you in and you do something stupid.

Your body sinks towards Titus, trying to escape the roughness of the tree. You're tired and so sore and you want this all to end. You think your mind has finally snapped under the pressure and panic of the day as you look up at him through your lashes.

He tenses immediately.

Titus is taking in large lungfuls of air, his chest moving up and down against yours as he stares down at you incredulously. 

You can feel his hands spasming around your arm like he’s uncertain what to do with you now that he has you.

You hesitantly move your right arm.

Titus allows it with a sharp inhale, his eyes tracking the movement as you raise your hand up enough to softly cradle the cheek Ursula had slapped.

His face is on fire at your touch and now it’s your turn to pay close attention as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing jerkily.

“Who are you?” he whispers as your thumb lightly smooths at the redness where Ursula had slapped him.

“Didn’t you say it was going to be you who gets me?” you ask, your voice equally as quiet.

His hazel eyes bore into yours, slowly getting swallowed as his pupils dilate. He leans in closer, hot breath hitting your neck as he leans in and noses at your jaw. 

“I did say that, didn’t I,” he says breathlessly, but that confidence from before his back. You shudder as his lips leave butterfly kisses at the hollow of your throat and the tip of his nose brushes gently against your skin.

You keep cradling his cheek, tilting your neck up to expose more of your skin to him, letting out a frustrated whine when his touches stay light. You want firmer touches, you want to feel him. You tug impatiently at his vest with your free hand, getting lost in the sensation of him crowding into you, not at all thinking about where you are and who you’re with.

His sharp gasp pulls snaps you out of your haze as the noise sounds wrong to your ears.

Titus slumps forward, a dead weight against you instead of a good and heavy weight.

He crashes to the ground and you look to see Faith breathing heavily with a large tree branch in her hand.

She’s knocked him out cold.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” she asks, reaching across Titus’ unconscious body to pull you into a hug after she drops the branch.

You nod shakily and hug her back, hard.

“What the fuck was that?” Grace asks, her lips pursed as she looks at you clinging to Faith.

You open your mouth and close, not sure what to say.

Because what was that? 

Because of all the fucked up things to happen today that might’ve been the most fucked up thing of all. 

“We have to go,” Faith says, pulling out of your embrace and urging you away from Titus’ body. 

With one final look behind you, the three of you leave him there and go deeper into the forest.

You have moments of half-consciousness as they scoop you up from the floor of the hospital.

There’s a vague sense of motion like you’re in a car then sometime later, a quiet murmuring and the sounds of feet stomping around. The pain in your head has spread and is sharp against the fogginess you find your mind in. You think one of your sisters wakes up before she’s supposed to based on a sudden commotion around you as you hear hear her try to speak, but then everything goes dark again and you stay under this time, any awareness from before erased from your memory.

You wake up in a surprisingly familiar place, a living room scattered with stuffed animals and coloring books. There’s a half-finished lego set on the coffee table you’re hiding under. 

You’ve been under there for what feels like an eternity and your suspicions are confirmed when you hear a key turning in the front door. Your foster mom has returned home and your game of hide and seek started an hour ago, it shouldn’t have taken Grace and Faith that long to find you. Your spot had been pretty obvious because you wanted to be the seeker. The sooner you’re found the sooner you can switch places.

You crawl out from under the table with a weird feeling in your chest knowing that your sisters forgot about you. This is one of the first times you became aware that you were on the outside of their relationship. Three was an awkward number, an odd one. It made sense for them to pair up for certain things, but you didn’t think it meant you were forgettable.

Your sisters had came running down the stairs to greet your mom but both abruptly stopped when they saw you standing there.

Grace’s smile falls and Faith rushes over to hug your waist.

There’s apologies, explanations, exact words left to time, but that first curl of darkness had made itself known that night.

When you finally come to, your mouth is drier than the Mojave desert. 

Cotton mouth comes to mind and you move your tongue around in your mouth, trying to get saliva production to start again, but there’s something blocking your ability to move the muscle.

You probe at something hard and circular in your mouth, though the more you fiddle with it the more your jaw hurts.

Realization hits as you try not to choke on the fucking ball gag in your mouth. They’ve fucking gagged you.

The dryness of your throat - probably a side effect from the gas they used on you - starts to fade and having the ball gag in your mouth helps speed along getting your mouth wet. 

The first swallow has you wincing.

You can hear people talking and things moving around. You think you can identify the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and the creak of people setting their weight on them but you’re not sure, you can’t see jack shit.

The air you breathe in is hot. When you open your eyes all you can see is darkness until you peer down and see a sliver of light. They have you wearing some kind of bag over your head. 

You can see you’re wearing the same pantsuit, still splattered by all the gore from the detective and the guy in the blue suit. You can make out Faith’s blue jeans and Grace’s wedding dress on either side of you. It’s on the edges of your limited sight but it brings you some comfort. 

You focus on the rest of your body, the pounding in your head duller now than it was before. You can feel rough rope around your wrists, binding you to the armrests of the chair you’re sitting in. The same for your feet, your legs slightly splayed open. You give tentative jerks of your limbs, testing the strength of the rope.

It holds fast, you don’t think you even manage half an inch of movement.

Your knees and palms feel a little sore, probably from breaking your fall earlier, but otherwise you seem to have no new problems to add to your shitty day.

You see movement out of the left of your eye, Grace’s knee jerking, and then you hear a low groan from her. A second later there’s a whimper from your right, meaning Faith is waking up too.

You feel relief wash over you as you realize you aren’t alone anymore.

The people in the room seem to catch on as well because everything quiets down except for some strange electronic noise. You think it sounds familiar but then the bag is whipped off your head, messing up your hair so you have to blow a strand out of your face.

A tough looking woman whips Faith’s bag off too and marches - literally marches - to the front of the room with three black cloth sacks in her hand.

You squint up at the person in front of you, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the light again.

He doesn’t look like much, a little on the shorter side with blue eyes that seem to be digging into your soul. You feel uneasy and let your eyes dart around the room, trying to make sense of where you are.

The room has a circular conversation pit that you and your sisters are conveniently located on. It’s obvious you three are the main event. Even the lights overhead are larger and more ornate than the smaller chandeliers around the room. You have your own spotlight.

The walls are a dark forest green to compliment the mahogany tables where various people are sitting, but you don’t focus on them yet, though you’re not sure you want to see the people who are watching you.

There are several gold framed paintings in your line of sight, and thick curtains pulled to the side of the tall windows that bring some natural daylight into the room. Wherever you were was a place you can only assume the wealthy came to. Everything was clean and not a piece of furniture was out of place or clashed with the rest of the decor. 

The flooring at your feet has an intricately done mosaic of blue, red, and beige. 

When you look forward again you notice an extremely large book is now on the podium. The lawyer is tapping his fingers on it, waiting for everyone to settle.

There’s an impatient cough from somewhere behind you, and that insistent, annoying other noise that -

“Is that a fucking switch?” you exclaim.

Or that’s what you try to say but with the ball gag in your mouth there’s only a jumble of muffled words that come out, but you’re too busy doing your best impression of an owl, turning your neck as far over your right shoulder as it’ll go to find the source of the noise, to care whether anyone actually understands you.

There’s a guy, maybe in his 20’s, playing something on his switch just totally engrossed in it. The woman next to him has a small resigned frown on her face. You feel like you’ve seen that look on parents with their toddlers and assume that’s his mom.

There’s a clomping of heels and the woman who removed the bag from your head is blocking your sight. She firmly turns your head to face the front of the room, and then you can feel the gag in your mouth start to loosen. She unlatches it and goes over to Grace to undo hers. She walks away after, which has Faith making a noise of indignation as she’s the only one still gagged.

You make a disgusting sucking noise as drool comes out of your mouth and you try to not get it everywhere. Some still sits on your chin, and the rubber taste lingers in your mouth. You have a moment to wonder if you should spit before thinking better of it. 

“You’re seriously playing a fucking game right now?” you ask, tilting your head down and lifting your shoulder up so you can wipe your drool away from your chin. 

The man at the front starts to say something but you cut him off.

“This has to be some kind of joke right? You kidnap us but you have some kid in the back playing freaking animal crossing or mario kart or whatever the fuck.” Your head is reeling and it’s not the point, it’s way beyond the point, but your brain is completely stuck on the fact that these psycho’s, are planning on probably murdering you like they tried to do with Grace, and one of them can’t lift his head up to acknowledge you and your sisters for one minute.

You can feel Faith and Grace’s stares boring into you so you shut your mouth, aware your outburst has left some of the other people tittering.

“I’m sure this has been hard for you miss..” the man at the front cocks his head to the side but you refuse to say anything more.

“You know, we weren’t expecting so many…guests to be here. Only Mrs. Le Domas.”

“It’s MacCuley,” Grace says, quiet but firm.

The man doesn’t spare her a glance, oddly focusing on you with a tilted smile like he knows something about you that you don’t. 

“But here we have Grace, Faith, and Hope.”

You shudder at the usage of your birth name, the one that was written on a note taped to the baby blanket you’d been swaddled in when you were left outside the fire station. You don’t use that name because that’s not who you are. You wanted nothing to do with your birth parents so when you were old enough to come to that decision you had demanded everyone call you by your current name, and eventually you legally changed it.

“Fucking Irish Catholics.”

Your eyes dart to the left, just trying to see a glimpse of the man who had just spoken, because really? But you find you can’t look away from him once you meet his eyes.

It’s like he knew you were going to look at him. He holds your gaze with such intensity that you swear you can feel your heart skip a beat.

You force yourself to look away because what the fuck. What the actual fuck.

But you can still feel his eyes boring into you as you stare down at your knees, your heart racing and a flush heating your cheeks.

There’s no way you found this guy hot right? It’s just adrenaline, some weird physical response your body is going through to get you through what you’re dealing with mentally.

You lick your lips, catching a drop of sweat on your upper lip, and glance up again into his eyes; a murky lake, a brown mixed with green that you're hesitant to call hazel but there’s no other word for it.

His eyes are on your mouth as he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“You’ve caused quite a stir, Grace,” the man behind the podium says, and you let your attention drift back to him as you let out a long exhale. He seems to want to be charitable by using your sisters first name, instead of insisting on her married last name.

“I am the sole attorney for Mr. LeBail and the LeBail organization. The organization was made up of six families which are now down to four, thanks to you three.” The lawyer says with a polite smile on his face like this was a normal conversation, not one layered with murder and the devil.

“Mr. Wilkinson of course was… over eager to say the least, so he’s mostly to blame for his family's demise, whereas you won the game of hide and seek, sealing the Le Domas family's fate. And your own. By winning, you triggered a seldom used clause in our organization’s bylaws.”

The lawyer takes a small box off the podium and reveals a heavy looking ring. It reminds you of the rings in the brochures you received in high school and college, when they’d try and get you to buy a class ring. One of those chunky gold ones with a sigil on it. 

You can’t see the exact details because you’re too far away, but you can tell it’s all silver, not a standard gold, and it looks to be speckled.

The lawyer puts the ring away and opens up the book, trailing his finger down the page as he looks for something. 

“While each family here holds power, the one who wears the ring has the high seat making them the most powerful. Until now, that seat was occupied by Chester Danforth,” the lawyer gestures over to the man and woman sitting to the left of you. “Titus and Ursula’s father, I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” The lawyer looks at you with an expectant eyebrow.

Your nose scrunches unknowingly as you rack your brain for that name. 

“He was interviewed a few years ago when his placement on the Forbes list changed, some inquiries about his wineries and casinos. I didn’t work on that piece,” you mutter and shift uneasily in your chair, sneaking a glance at Ursula and Titus.

Ursula is beautiful in a W.A.S.P way; clearly privileged and clearly aware of her beauty. She has finely tweezed eyebrows and slightly pinched features like her default expression is to purse her lips. Her light blonde hair is pulled back into a low slick backed bun, with a pair of expensive looking sunglasses perched atop her head. Her black suit isn’t anything too fancy, sleek and practical, but the giant folded over lapels and just the general look of her, meant that suit probably cost double your rent. 

She’s been interviewed more recently than her father, by the magazine you work for and multiple other high-end ones. If you scour your memory you think you might have seen her walking to your bosses office in a similar suit, but in pale pink. 

Her brother on the other hand…

He seems to always be in the shadows, mentioned off-handedly in interviews with his family, but you can’t think of any articles that actually interviewed him.

Titus still has one leg crossed over the other, appearing laid-back, but as soon as you look at him he becomes tenser. He leans forward now that he has your attention again, and twiddles his fingers at you in a mockery of a hello. His smile doesn’t quite fit a leer but it still makes you feel funny. Inexplicably you can feel something between the two of you. 

You let your eyes roam him over as the lawyer keeps talking, explaining to Grace that she’s been given the opportunity to fight for the seat.

Titus' smile hasn’t budged an inch and brings out the lines at the corner of his eyes and by his mouth. 

Titus pulls off the rough but put together look, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders but he still has to appear in his Sunday best. There’s a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and you briefly wonder if there are other places on his body you could find more. His stubble is light, looking almost blond in the darker lighting of the room.

His outfit is as wealthy as Ursula’s and is a dark black coat and pants, the fabric over his thighs stretched tightly across them. The collar is high around his throat and you have a image flash in your mind of folding down the collar and-

“No, are you fucking deaf? Did you not just hear what I said? I’m not playing.” Grace snarls with such vehemence that you immediately return your attention back to the situation at hand. You know. Where you’re kidnapped and not meant to be ogling a guy about two decades older than you. 

The lawyer looks put out which is kind of comical, the casual undertone of all this, like it’s a normal Tuesday.

Which, since they’re Satan worshippers, maybe this was a typical Tuesday activity. 

“Let me reiterate. You have been given a gift, you should be grateful that you have the opportunity to win the high seat. You, and the other heads of the remaining council families will be competing to win the seat for themselves.” 

“Or in our case, take back what should still be ours,” Titus says, causing a man to your right to laugh.

“Ah, you’re afraid one of us is gonna take daddy’s place, eh?” he says.

The man’s at a table with a boy somewhere in his early teens and that puts an unpleasant feeling in your stomach. For his part, he’s smiling like the man you assume is his dad, equal parts amused and smug.

“You never know, Mrs. Le Domas could win,” the lawyer says, looking with annoyance at the man and his son.

Grace mutters a curse under her breath and the lawyer smiles at her again.

“Mr. LeBail has smiled upon thee.”

A chorus of ‘hail Satan’s’ fills the room and you feel a shiver go down your spine. What kind of fucked up nightmare were you in?

“Any questions?” the lawyer asks, clearly expecting one of you to talk but the woman behind you that has the son with his stupid game, speaks up first.

“I actually do have a question. Where is Chester? He’s been absent as has Ignacio’s daughter, isn’t she supposed to be here too?”

“My apologies,” the man sitting to your right says, identifying himself as Ignacio. “My daughter is running a little late but she just texted she’s at the gate. It was such short notice ya know,” he waggles his phone screen which is open to a text conversation before he puts it back in his pocket.

“Our father…passed,” Ursula says, her face dropping into a frown. If you hadn’t been so attuned to Titus you wouldn’t have noticed how Ursula elbowed him in the rib, disguising it as her adjusting the lapels of her blazer. His face drops to match her frown but it’s clear by the slight twitches in his face that he’s trying to keep a different expression at bay. 

“What the fuck,” a man behind you exclaims and the energy in the room shifts and you’re stunned to find yourself and your sisters no longer the main attraction.

“What?”

“Wait, wait, wait.”

People are expressing their outrage faster than you can figure out who is talking.

“Last night, in his sleep,” Ursula’s short explanation causes more outrage.

“So does that mean that you’re playing now?” Someone asks and Ursula nods solemnly.

“As we are twins, we will both be taking the field.”

Titus smooths a hand over his mouth, but you catch the hint of a smile before it’s wiped away.

There’s more grumbling but the lawyer claps his hands together.

“Can we please get back to the matter at hand and, Pernilla, you can ungag the other sister,” he waves his hand over towards Faith. 

“We can make this real quick, because I don’t want your fucking chair. I’m through playing games with you psychopaths,” Grace says over Faith’s hacking as the ball gag is finally removed from her mouth. 

“You’d have control of everything if you won,” the lawyer says impatiently.

“Everything?”

"The world, it would be in the palm of your hand.” 

“So I just pull another card out of the box?” Grace asks wearily and you wish you had more slack to the rope so you could hold her hand, do literally anything to comfort her.

“Even simpler, think of it as double or nothing. You survived hide and seek so you will get the chance to play the game again, this time-”

“No!”

“-with the council members.”

Grace is shaking in her seat, a mixture of terror and anger.

“So for me to win the seat?” she asks, her glare turning glacial.

“Survive until dawn.”

“And the rest of them?” Grace asks, jerking her chin to gesture to the people around them.

“This part will be familiar. They will try to kill you, whoever does, wins the seat. There will be a special ceremony in the Black Temple where the winner will be coronated. A truly special occasion where the creme de la creme of Mr. LeBail’s faithful will be in attendance. The seat must be filled by dawn or…Mr. LeBail will be most displeased.” 

Grace’s face goes through a series of complicated emotions. 

“Still not playing.”

You eye the lawyer wearily, wondering what he’ll say to that. This doesn’t seem like the sort of situation where anyone has a say in this matter. They’re offering Grace a courtesy by explaining everything to you all.

“I’m sorry, but you have to compete.”

“I’m not playing!” Grace yells, lurching forward so hard her chair makes a scraping sound as it scoots forward.

“You have to,” the lawyer says tersely. 

“Not playing,” Grace says with finality.

The lawyer stares back at her, clearly fed up but trying not to show it.

“Ok. Pernilla, kill the sister, the one in the middle.”

Your eyes widen in shock and you press yourself back into the chair as if that will help you escape.

“No, no, no, fuck no, fuck you!” Grace yells as Pernilla starts walking over to you, a gleam in her eye. 

You can do nothing but watch in horror as she stalks towards you.

“Wait! Listen!” Faith yells and surprisingly Pernilla does stop.

“You guys seem like good people! And I don’t even know why we’re here besides Grace, so why don’t you let me and my sister go. We haven’t seen Grace in sixteen years,” Faith pleads, looking at the lawyer with desperation.

“Sixteen years?” someone asks in disbelief and Pernilla backs off to her original spot, heeding some unspoken command.

“Why not?” The lawyer asks.

“It’s complicated,” Faith says, looking a little taken aback by that being the focus of what she said.

“You don’t get along?” Ignacio asks, looking at the three of you with a new appraising look.

“We had a bit of a…falling out,” you offer, giving Faith a warning look which she ignores as she answers someone else who asks what the fall out was about.

“She’s fucking an asshole.”

“Faith,” you hiss.

Before Grace can defend herself the lawyer cuts in.

“Allow me to wrap this up, the game will begin at exactly 2:31pm in observance of the exact time Mr. Le Domas-”

The sound of a door slamming into the wall behind you startles everyone and then someone’s yelling, “daddy!”

The lawyer mutters what sounds like ‘for Satan’s sake’ as a woman about your age barrels towards Ignacio and hugs him.

This must be the daughter the others had been talking about earlier.

The woman whips around, her eyes skipping over Faith, then you, and fixes a glare at Grace.

“Well holy shit, here you are,” she says, puffing up like some kind of territorial bird. She walks over to Grace and smiles nastily. 

“Francesca Alcaido, you dumb slut,” she says introducing herself.

Grace looks bored as she she looks up at Francesca, her answering ‘okay’ as bored as her face.

“Alex’s ex-fiance,” Francesca says, arching an eyebrow, clearly expecting more of a reaction but not getting anything more than another bored, ‘okay’.

“Where the fuck is my ring bitch?” Francesca asks.

That sparks something in Grace who allows a small smile to break through.

“I threw it at him right before he exploded,” Grace says and Francesca lets out a screech.

“You’re nothing but a cock-sucking whore,” Francesca spits out.

“Alex wasn’t stupid, but he sure was fucking gullible.”

“You ruined my life!”

“And I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

Francesca raises her arm up, clearly preparing to slap Grace in the face, but you surprise everyone but spitting at her.

A glob of spit lands on her cleavage - you had been aiming for her face but beggers can’t be choosers - and she stumbles backwards, batting at her skin. 

“Ew, ew, ew, you fucking bitch,” she shrieks, using the sleeve of her black and gold satin blouse to rub your spit off of her.

What you wouldn’t give to be able to knock her teeth out, or watch Grace do it. Grace could handle herself but you were finding you were having an itch for violence since she’d threatened your sister. It'd been a knee jerk reaction too because what were you supposed to do to protect your sister when you're all tied up?

You hear a snort of laughter and catch Titus’ eye, the amusement clear in his expression. It makes him look younger. You feel your cheeks flush and you quickly look down at your lap.

“Anymore interruptions?” the lawyer asks impatiently as he gestures for Priscilla. She nods, leaning over a tray that she wheeled in front of her at some point.

“I have one,” Titus says and you keep staring down at your lap as you hear him stand up. You can hear the swish of the fabric of his pants as he walks, and the solid steps of his boots as he takes his time walking around Grace and stopping right behind you. 

“This one,” you feel your hair being pushed aside and then a heavy hand around your neck. His fingers curl around the side of your neck while his thumb presses at the bone right under your right ear. “The biter, what about her?”

A confused noise escapes your lips and there’s a little more pressure added to your throat as he leans in, his lips centimeters from your left ear.

“We watched the footage at the hospital and someone was extra naughty,” he says in a whisper that can’t hide his delight.

Your breathing picks up as does your heart rate and you hope he can’t feel your pulse pounding in your neck.

“Let go of her you creep,” Grace hisses out. She sounds awful, the words hurled from her throat like they could do damage her bound limbs can not. 

He squeezes a little tighter and then releases, moving his hand to your shoulder and you let out a reflexive whimper.

“We already weren’t expecting the yappy one over there and now there’s a third one. Clearly these three don’t have any love lost between them, maybe I can-”

“If you do anything to her you psychopathic dick I’ll shove my fist so far up your ass,” Faith yells, cutting off whatever Titus was going to say.

You can’t see his expression but the hand on your shoulder flexes and digs in. 

“Don’t worry about it Mr. Danforth, we always come prepared,” the lawyer says. 

Like anything in the last twenty minutes reassured anyone that his words were true. 

“Titus, we haven’t got all day man,” someone whines from behind you and Titus clicks his tongue impatiently, but his hand leaves you and he walks to the front of the room where Priscilla has been preparing something on the tray all this time.

“I wanna do it” Titus says roughly and picks up something from the tray, ignoring Priscilla’s admonishing look. He’s shielding your view of whatever’s on the tray with his board back and your eyes dart to Grace. You need to focus on the situation you’re in, rather than how soft the curls by the collar of his coat look.

“I’m going to get us through this,” Grace whispers through gritted teeth, looking you dead in the eyes before leaning forward to do the same to Faith.

“I swear,” she says, and for a moment you believe her because she’s Grace.

She’s your big sister.

And then there’s a glint of silver that draws your attention over to the needle Titus is holding and your stomach drops to the floor. 

This time he doesn’t step behind you, he crouches right in front of you, the needle pressing against your neck. You hold yourself as still as possible, your chest heaving up and down as you start to panic. 

His eyes drop to your chest, watching it go up and down, before he looks up at you with a serious expression. 

“It’s going to be me…who gets you,” he says, and it’s not a threat but a promise.

The needle goes in and your mouth parts in shock.

Whereas your “no” is softer, like an exhale after you’ve had the air punched out of you, Grace’s “no” is shrill and loud; a plea.  

It’s the last thing you hear as the darkness takes over you once more.

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It’s somehow brighter on the inside than it is outside, the entire place  lit up with fluorescent lights that make your eye twitch with annoyance and your step falter. The smell too, antiseptic with a touch of febreeze and something akin to B.O. 

You make your way to the front desk, not letting go of Faith’s hand.

“Hello, we were told that our sister was here. Grace MacCullay.”

“Grace Le Domas,” Faith corrects and squeezes your hand when you suck in a deep breath.

The wedding invitation you’d received is sitting in a box in your closet mixed in with things from your childhood; a baseball ticket from a game your first foster parents took you to, a half-eaten candy necklace on a string, a love letter from your first boyfriend, and so on. You had intended on going, really, you had. You’d forgiven Grace a long time ago because that’s what you did best, you took the hurt others gave you and worked out why they hurt you. 

Then you let it go.

Because you knew that if you held onto it, it would fester and grow and feed that darker part of you.

Faith didn’t work like that. 

You’d been there after all to watch Faith take a lighter to the invitation. It had been a nice one, heavy and an off white color, with bold black letters and baby blue and gold details.

The lady behind the desk tells you both where Grace is and you both head over to the elevators.

“You’re going to play nice right?” you ask, smoothing down your blazer to do something with your hands as Faith presses the button for Grace’s floor. 

Faith smiles cheekily at you and blows a bubble, leaning in close to your face as it pops. You shove her lightly and make space for a few more people to enter the elevator when it opens before your floor.

When the door finally opens for the 9th floor, you take a deep breath to steady yourself and step out. It’s quiet on this floor but you can hear some faint conversation coming from the nurses station up ahead. 

You walk shoulder to shoulder with Faith, glancing curiously at each room you pass as you make your way towards Grace’s room.

The door is shut and Faith slams it open. It seems whatever hesitancy is no longer lingering around her anymore. She’s stomping into the room, clearly intent on saying something, when she comes to a halt which leads you to collide with her back.

“What the fu…” you trail off when you peer around her shoulder to see a man standing at the edge of Grace’s hospital bed.

Your stomach sinks to the ground as you take in everything before you in bits and pieces. Grace’s wrist hand-cuffed to the bed, her withdrawn expression, the badge on the strange man's hip identifying him as some sort of law man - though his outfit reminds you more of an old chemistry teacher you had in high school.

“Why do you look like you got into a fight with a giant bird and lost?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to Grace’s matted hair and then towards the various bruises and cuts you can see on her face and arms.

She lets out a sharp bark of a laugh that you don’t think you’ve ever heard her make before.

“And who are you?”  The man asks and Faith stands in front of you a little more, her body tense and defensive.

“I’m the emergency contact.”

The man looks at you next, clearly expecting you to say something, but all you’ve got to say has already been said, and it’s a shitty expression of concern for your sister who looks so small in the hospital bed.

You find yourself walking over without a thought, getting so close the railing presses uncomfortably into the front of your pelvis.

“Hey,” you whisper quietly as you gently take her hand in yours.

“Hey,” she says just as softly, licking her lips and swallowing loudly as she looks up at you and then at Faith, who seems to be grilling the man as much as he’s grilling her.

“What the actual fuck is happening?” you ask shakily, squeezing her hand and then immediately apologizing when her face screws up in pain. You register something rough in your palm and you glance down to see the hand you’re holding is bandaged around the palm. You adjust your hold to squeezing the tops of her fingers.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she says wearily, before she turns her attention back to Faith. Grace’s expression had been more open when she’d been looking at you but it shutters as she stares at your youngest sibling.

“How about we start small then, like your injuries,” you say, getting her attention back.

She starts to speak but the man interrupts her.

“I’ll give you a moment but remember Mrs. Le Domas you have a lot of questions to answer at the station.”

Grace flinches at the mention of her last name and the three of you are silent as the man leaves.

“So that was a…detective?” you ask when neither sister speaks.

“Detective Roger Basset,” Faith informs you.

“Right ok, so let’s start with your chart-”

“Why the fuck are you here?” Grace spits and your mouth closes automatically.

“I’d like to know that as well,” Faith snaps. Her hands which hang by her waist turn into fists effectively being tucked under her armpits as she crosses her arms. 

You gently drop Grace’s hand and round to the end of the bed where Grace’s chart is sitting.

Dehydration. Multiple lacerations to the arms and face. GSW, clean through the left hand. Minor bruising to legs and stomach.

There’s more on her chart but it’s filled with medical jargon so you pick up the chart and poke Faith’s side with it.

“You didn’t remove Faith from being your emergency contact,” you say awkwardly. 

She takes the chart from you with furrowed brows and scans the top page.

“And what about you? You're here too,” Grace says, turning her attention now to you.

“Faith called me next since we weren’t exactly sure of the situation,” you say, managing to speak calmly as Grace’s glare burns through you. “We were worried-”

“Speak for yourself,” Faith interjects, huffing out the words, but her hands give a slight tremble when she puts the chart back in place.

“I don’t need you here,” Grace says. Her face is screwing up like she’s trying not to cry but her glare is fierce and blinding whenever it leaves Faith’s face for yours.

“You don’t need us here? We just drove 2 hours to the middle of fucking fancy pants suburbia to check on your sorry ass-”

“2 hours? What do you mean two hours?” Grace snaps.

Faith looks at you and you helplessly shrug. 

“Murray Hill…” Faith says.

“Murray Hill, Manhattan?" Grace scoffs in disbelief.

“Is there any other one?” you interject weakly which means Grace has turned her full attention now to you.

“It’s just funny because I’m in Chelsea. You know, the fucking next door neighbor to Murray Hill,” Grace snaps and a tear finally leaves her eye and trails down her cheek. She goes to wipe it but her hand is jerked back harshly because of the cuff.

“Ok yes, She’s in Murray Hill and I’m in Lenox Hill, I really don’t think this matters-”

“I’m a social media coordinator,” Faith starts talking, and you turn to give her a weird look.

“I have a kick ass one bedroom with my hot as shit boyfriend, Derek, and it’s nice and there’s a bunch of brand collabs so I get tons of fancy free shit. And our dear sister here works for The Black Sheep for the Paloma Rice, she edits all those big articles and shit. And she lives in New Lenox and we did all that shit without you! And without needing to marry Alex Le Domas!” Faith is practically screaming at that point, but you don’t say anything because you’re watching with morbid fascination as Grace’s face gets redder and redder.

“We both worked our asses off supporting each other,” Faith says, pointing between you and her. “We did it without marrying some rich socialite like Alex Le Domas, and we did it without you,” Faith reiterates, like she’s trying to prove something to Grace.

You’re taken back to that night, Grace’s quiet explanation, Faith’s furious resentment. 

What Faith is saying is lies…or at least half-truths when it comes to her life - because who the fuck is Derek? And last you heard Faith was a waitress - but she’s on a roll and you’re not going to correct her.

Faith finishes and that seems to make the wind go out of Grace’s sails. Her body deflates into the pillows and she looks up at you with shiny eyes, like she’s holding back tears.

“Is that how you know I- that Alex was-” she’s clearly struggling to get the words out with how her jaw clenches after every few words so you decide to be kind and help her out.

“You sent us the wedding invitations, remember? but my boss…she’s done interviews with the Le Domas family before. There’s a piece on you both from your engagement,” you say and a tear slips down her cheek.

“I thought maybe you didn’t get them…  the wedding was yesterday,” she says and you nod, not knowing what else to say.

“Are we done here? Little miss perfect is all fine and doesn’t need us just like we don’t need her,” Faith says, starting to tap her foot impatiently against the hospital's tile floor.

“I want to know what happened,” you say, leaving no room for argument.

You look at Grace again and wait, ignoring Faith’s curses under her breath and the tapping of her foot.

“The engagement felt… quick,” she starts, her hand moving to cover her ring finger but then shrinking away, like she just noticed there was no ring there.

“And I’m brought to this huge estate, the Le Domas estate where everyone’s so excited to meet me and then at dinner they tell me about this..tradition, of theirs. Some initiation ritual, which,weird right? But I want them to like me because they’re going to be my new family.” She gets a faraway look on her face and you bite your bottom lip, ignoring the sting of Grace’s words. “They have me pick a card so they know what game to play,” a hysterical laugh bursts out of her and her uncuffed hand comes up to cover her mouth. Her eyes are welling up with tears again but she continues, her voice sounding choked.

“And wouldn’t you know it, I picked the bad card.”

Her smile is offsetting and you can see it startles Faith too, even though she’s been trying to avoid looking at Grace since the start of the story.

“When we were little we used to play hide and seek behind the library, remember? because it led into the park and there were nooks and crannies we could fit into easily. Because we were small. I was never that good at hiding back then,” she says and she looks up at you but its more like she’s seeing through you.

“So I picked the bad card. Hide and Seek. And Alex knew what was going to happen and he never-”she chokes and there’s tears spilling from her eyes and she wipes at them furiously and you can’t help it, you go back to her side to try and help, but she bats away your attempt to give her a tissue from the table beside the bed.

“Alex’s father gives this rousing speech about tradition and the Le Domas family games and all that shit and he pulls out a box. This nasty black box with carvings and I sat there like an idiot because I think anyone would get weirded out, would have some red flags going off, but I was so in love.”

She takes another shuddering breath and continues.

“They put a card in the box, a blank card - and I never got around to asking actually what other games would entail. Like if I had drawn Go Fish? Or someone there had gotten Old Maid… I guess he said they just played Old Maid so based on that we would’ve just played. We would’ve just played some normal stupid game but no, we played Hide and Seek.”

“Hide and seek is normal,” Faith says, edging a little closer to the foot of the bed but still keeping her distance.

“Not to Satan worshippers they’re not.”

You and Faith are silent as you take in what she says.

“Do you think if I’d put that on the wedding invitations, that would’ve gotten you both to come to the wedding?” she smiles bitterly. 

“How does hide and seek lead to this?” you ask, not bothering to answer a question you assume is rhetorical.

“Well, since I was the one being initiated, I was the one they were hunting. They were convinced I had to be sacrificed to the Devil. They told me I could win if I stayed hidden until dawn. I was shot at, the bullet going through my hand” - she tips her head towards the handcuffed hand with the white bandage around the palm -  “and then shot at again with a cross bow. I think there were two crossbows not like that really matters in the long run, got beat to shit by a butler, and then my darling husband stabs me… but yeah…my inlaws hunted me for sport because if they didn’t kill me by dawn they’d explode, and you know what happened?”

You shake your head weakly.

“Boom,” Grace says, mimicking an explosion with her hands.

“They exploded,” Faith says dryly and Grace nods, suddenly looking more like herself as she squares her shoulders. “They all died because it was either me or them. And I fucking won,” she snarls the last part out. She glances down at her chained wrist and tugs on it with a grimace. “I fucking won and this is what I get.”

It’s silent in the room as neither you nor Faith knew what to say. 

“There was also a guy at the end,” Grace says so quietly you almost don’t hear her. “A guy in the chair, after everyone blew up. And he was see through so he was probably.” Grace shrugs and your left to fill in the blanks on that one.

Finally, Faith sits down heavily at the edge of the bed and laughs. “Oh yeah, they definitely won’t believe you,” she says.

That gets a laugh out of Grace which makes Faith laugh again and suddenly you’re all laughing. 

This is both the most traumatic and funniest thing you’d ever heard because come on now, really? This sounded insane, like properly insane.

Your sister was almost sacrificed to the devil by her shitty husband?

The detective walks back in at that moment and the air gets sucked out of the room. 

“Time to go,” he says, eyeing you like you’re all crazy and you want to point at Grace and say it’s all her, but there’s something inside you that makes you hold your tongue. You know your sister well and can tell by her eyes and how she told the story, that no matter what actually happened, this is what she believes. 

While a nurse helps Grace out of bed, the detective hovering nearby, you step outside of the room and lean back against the wall.

Faith is talking to another nurse inside the room, to get further details about the extent of Grace’s injuries and to be given a care bag and list of instructions on what to do for aftercare.

Not like it’ll be much help when Grace is in jail.

If. Not when.

You stop that line of thinking immediately, because while your sister's story is insane you don’t want her to go to jail. She’s clearly traumatized. Who's to say what really happened? It sounds like some fucked up horror movie with Grace as the final girl. They obviously did something to her, but what, you couldn’t possibly say. 

Your line of thinking is stopped when the nurse that was talking to Faith comes out and hands you a bag of bloody clothes. You clutch the bag to your chest, squeezing it tightly before finding the courage to look at it. There’s a pair of yellow converse with blood splattered around the tops, and a white dress utterly soaked in blood. The only reason you can tell it’s white is because there’s a thin sliver of the fabric around the neck that’s held its color. You can make out what looks like delicate lace stitching throughout the dress and you think that it must’ve been beautiful. That Grace must’ve looked beautiful at her wedding.

You turn the bag over in your hand, searching for anything else but there’s nothing. You feel around, squishing the clothing and trying to move things around within the plastic but you don’t feel any jewelry. No ring.  

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Faith asks cheerly and you look over to see her in the doorway wheeling Grace out in a wheelchair.

The detective is behind her, making a face at Faith’s comment. 

You give a small smile and allow the three of them to go ahead of you.

You're nervous about what’s to come, the detective seems particularly grouchy with Grace and you’re worried about what’ll happen to her. You start to get your phone out to check your calendar to see if you can take a few days off to be there for Grace, when you hear commotion up ahead.

You lean around Faith’s shoulder to see a large man in a bright blue suit barreling down the hallway. He’s shouting out something but you’re too focused on the fucking gun he has in his hands, waving it around as he says something that sounds like ‘I’m not waiting for anyone.’

The detective is slow, seemingly as in shock as the three of you are, and that is ultimately his downfall.

Before he can draw his own gun, the stranger has lifted his own gun and aimed it straight for the detective.

There’s a bang and you’re hit by something wet and hot. You blink rapidly as you look to your left to see blood splattered over the arm of your blazer and down your pants. Then your eyes shift downward to where the detective is slumped on the ground. Your nausea climbs its way up your throat so suddenly your eyes start to sting with tears. 

You're staring at a shattered skull, with blood seeping out and bits and chunks of grey matter splattered everywhere.

A nurse screams and without thinking you grab both of your sisters by their upper arms and drag them out of the man's direct line of sight and into a short hallway. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!” Faith chants, her breath coming out in short pants.

Grace is strangely calm, her face devoid of any emotion.

Wait no, there’s something there. Something like resignation.

“You weren’t kidding?” you ask weakly, and it’s a stupid question but right now you don’t know if you can handle the information that your sister was almost sacrificed to a devil cult, and now someone from said cult was trying to finish the job.

Grace looks at you incredulously and you shrug helplessly.

“You can’t be that surprised that I didn’t totally believe you,” you whisper and suddenly there’s a loud bang as the man's gun goes off again, making all three of you flinch.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Faith whispers. She pushes at the doors at the end of the small hallway but they’re locked and say STAFF ONLY. You’re all effectively trapped.

“We hide,” Grace says dully, and then it’s her turn to pull the two of you behind the reception desk. She shoves you all under the desk and you all huddle together with her in the middle. You try to calm your racing heart as you hear the bear of a man lumbering around trying to find Grace.

You know he’s going to find you soon, your hiding spot is good for a minute or two, so you close your eyes and try to think of where to go. What to do next. 

“Come on, do what I do,” you hiss to your sisters. They look at each other and then at you and then follow your lead. The three of you crouch, trying to be as quick and as quiet as possible at such an awkward position. You round the desk, peaking out to see the man walking down the short hallway you three had originally fled down.

You suck in a deep breath and scurry across to one of the doors and try your luck, nearly weeping in thanks at finding no resistance from the knob. You turn it with ease and usher your sisters inside, following closely behind. 

The room is identical to Grace’s and luckily empty. You leave the door open a crack so you can keep an eye out for the deranged man.

He’s managed to pry open the doors Faith hadn’t been able to open and you realize this is your chance.

You start moving, motioning with your hand for them to follow you. You step carefully around the detective, stomach rolling with anxiety and the nausea that hasn’t gone away just yet. Grace stops though to grab her bag of belongings that you hadn’t even realized you’d dropped.

“I’m going to need my clothes,” she says when you and Faith look at her in disbelief.

She strips off her hospital gown and you turn away to give her some privacy and to watch out for the man. You can hear fabric rustling and her quiet grunts of pain. After what feels like an eternity but is just a few minutes you feel a small kick to your shin.

“All done,” Grace says.

You turn to see her crouched on the floor, just having finished tying her shoes. Now she’s reaching back behind her towards the detective's body. She carefully removes the gun and pushes down on the safety to release it.  

“Do we really need that?” Faith hisses, looking at you first but you don’t give her what she’s looking for.

“I trust Grace with what we need to do,” you say and Grace gives you a grateful look while Faith rolls her eyes and starts walking towards the elevator.

“I’m glad you guys are bonding over this but I think more importantly we should be leaving.”

You both scramble after Faith, trying to be as quiet as possible as the three of you head to the elevators.

You’re halfway down the hallway when there’s a war cry from behind you.

Grace whirls around first, but she’s a second two late. She has the gun up but the guy in blue tackles her just as she shoots, making the shot go wild. You get clipped by his shoulder, which takes you down too since you’re not expecting it. You don’t fall flat on the ground thankfully, your hands and knees managing to take most of the impact, but someone’s leg - either his or Grace’s - kicks out wildly, hitting you square in the ribs and has you toppling over, hitting your head hard against a radiator. 

Your vision gets blurry, accompanying a thrumming that starts around your right eyebrow. There’s disorientation and a faint ringing in your ears, like you were just listening to your favorite band right up by the speakers, and now you’re out in the quiet night with tinnitus.

You feel hands trying to pull at you and you start to struggle, only relaxing when your hearing returns to normal and Faith is yelling at you to let her help you up.

You blink your eyes rapidly, trying to will them to see clearly again as your sister helps you up. You cling to her shoulder with one hand as you straighten, and put your fingers against your temple with the other. You hiss as pain blooms from the pressure and you squint down at your now bloody fingers.

“Fuck,” you groan, trying to shake away the dizziness, which in hindsight you should’ve realized that would make you even more dizzy.

“Grace!” Faith yells and you turn your head in time to see the guy rear back his arm preparing to deck Grace in the face. She’s laying on the ground, a determined expression on her face as she tries to wiggle out from under him and go for the gun that she’d dropped when he tackled her.

Still dizzy and in pain, you let out a yell that startles everyone. You push Faith away and leap at the guy, sending him flying backwards off Grace.

“Grace!” you shriek out, not really knowing what you’re trying to tell her but hoping she figures it out regardless. Right now your attention is focused on the man beneath you and the split second decision you impulsively made before he can gain the upper hand of the situation again.

You don’t think. You open your mouth wide and bite his nose, clamping down hard on cartilage and bone. A growl comes out of you and you can hear his high pitched yelp ringing in your ears. A fist slams into your stomach and you moan through clenched teeth, only stubborn determination and fear for you and your sisters lives keeping your mouth glued to the man's nose. He starts to buck, hips and torso slamming up into you, but you clench down harder, giving a shake of your head like you’re trying to rip his nose off.

There’s another buck and his hands dig in under your ribs and you rear back, falling off of him.

Blood is gushing down his face and in shock you spit out a flap of skin you’ve managed to take with you. 

You taste blood but you can’t tell if it’s his or your own from the head wound. 

“You fucking bitch!” he snarls. 

Grace has the gun in her hand again but there’s something wrong, like it’s jammed, and she’s trying to get it to work but you feel it in your bones that it’s too late.

You and your sisters finally reunite and not even twenty minutes later you’re going to all die.

The man gets to his knees, using the wall for support as he gets up. You’re shaking on the ground, the adrenaline that was coursing through your body leaving you as quickly as it had came. You whimper as your head pounds and you glance up at Faith but she’s frozen, her mouth open in a wordless cry.

“Fuck the rules, I get a head start and this, is the thanks I get?” He says, swinging his hand out to motion towards you all. His words are muffled between the gushing blood and his hand trying to hold it.

He digs into his back pocket and pulls out another gun.

“Asta la vista fuckers,” he crows and points the gun at Grace.

Between one second and the next he’s there and then gone.

You're hit by blood and chunks as he explodes right there in the middle of the hallway.

You gasp, the smell hitting you instantly, like charred rotten meat. You feel something in your lap and you look down to see a chunk of flesh sitting there. A morbid part of you wonders what part of his body you’re looking at when a wave of nausea hits you.

You roll to your side and heave up your guts.

It’s nasty and adds to the stench of the blown up corpse surrounding you but it makes everything feel more real.

You’re not in some story, this isn’t a hallucination or a dream. You are actually sitting on the floors of the hospital watching a man’s guts drip down the wall like chunky paint.

“Holy fuck,” you wheeze out, unable to keep the bit of awe out of your voice as you push yourself up into a crouch. 

Faith and Grace are on the other side of you in an instant, grabbing you under your arms on either side to bring you to your feet.

“The cops have to believe me now,” Grace says shakily, motioning at a camera in the corner of the hallway ceiling with her gun.

“How’s your head?” Faith asks, tilting her head so she’s looking directly at you.

“Like it was trampled by several horses,” you say.

“We’ve got to go, there will be more coming,” Grace says, turning you towards the elevator.

“Of course there’s more coming,” Faith complains. “Like this is utterly insane right? It’s one thing to hear you drone on about people hunting you and human sacrifice to a demon, and whatever else. Clearly you have a funny way of coping with trauma but no, that man just tried to kill you and then he exploded!” Faith yells and you lean away from a little since she’s basically screaming in your ear.

“Yeah, imagine how I feel,” Grace murmurs, and the three of you start to walk - or more like hobble - towards the elevator, when it gives a ding that someone’s arriving to the 9th floor. 

You feel a wave of relief that’s swept away just as quickly because as soon as the elevator doors open you see something is wrong.

Three men stand there with gas masks, the one in the middle throwing a canister at the ground. It rolls down the hall towards you three, a hazy grey smoke sputtering out.

You start coughing instantly, the choking smoke smothering you all.

“One berry matcha and a chocolate croissant,” the barista says, sliding both items across the counter and into your waiting hands.

You thank her and beeline for the doors and out into the sun, cringing when the rays hit your eyes. It had been overcast when you had entered the small cafe, but clearly ten minutes was more than enough time for the weather to do a 180. 

You raise the bag holding the croissant over your forehead and speed walk to your car, your heels clicking faintly toward the end of the block where your car is.

Because of the bag being your stand-in sunglasses, you almost miss the shadowy silhouette of the cop putting a ticket under your windshield wiper.

“Oh fuck me,” you mutter and break into a jog.

“Wait, sir- hold on!” you call, finally reaching your car and placing the drink and bag on the hood so you can dig your phone out of your purse.

“The app says I have another three minutes,” you wheeze out, trying to catch your breath as you shove your phone out to the cop. 

He leans over and then looks up at you apologetically.

“That would be right miss, but you parked in a tow zone,” he points up at the sign that you can barely see since the tree you parked next to has its leaves covering most of the damn thing. 

There’s a nagging feeling in the back of your head, like you know something bad is going to happen. That this is the start. Of what exactly you're not sure but you’ve had this feeling several times over the course of your life and it’s never gone well.

You go to try and talk to the cop again but he’s gone.

Poof.

Like a mirage.

“Damn cops and their ticket quotas,” you say under your breath. You walk around the front of your car and snatch the ticket out from under your windshield, and resist the urge to crumple it in your fist. You instead grab your car keys out of your purse and shove the ticket inside, zipping the small brown bag with harsher treatment than it deserves.

You go back to the passenger side and open the door, throwing your purse on the seat, and then grabbing the matcha and croissant and placing them inside.

You close the door and walk around, waiting patiently for a few cars to pass before you slide into the front seat.

You stare blankly ahead, not really focusing on one thing or another.

Then you slam your palm against the steering wheel.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each smack is followed by a litany of curse words as you dare the universe to do its worst.

Your phone rings where you’ve put it in the phone holder and you glance over to see its Faith calling.

The feeling of unease from before returns and sits low in your stomach.

“Hello?” You croak out after you accept the call.

“Did you know I’m still Grace’s emergency contact?”

Faith's voice comes out quietly over your car play so you turn up the volume, then frown and start to shake your head when you realize she can’t see you.

“Um no, I thought she would have…” you trail off, stare down at your fingernails and idly start picking at a hangnail.

“Scrubbed me clean? Gotten rid of anything to do with us? I guess fucking not because guess who called.”

You wince as the hangnail leaves a tear in your skin, a little bit of blood pooling by your nail bed. You roll down your window and flick the dead skin out and suck on your finger, trying to manage the blood.

“Hello? You still there?”  Faith asks and you make an affirmative noise.

“Sorry, sorry I’m here,” you say and make yourself focus on the conversation.

“Anyways, the hospital called me. She’s all the way in Nordica and I need you to drive us there.”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs.

“Grace is hurt?” you ask and the phone is silent for a moment.

“Yes, she’s well… it was a voicemail.”

“You called back, didn’t you?” you can’t help the pleading tone from entering your voice.

“No.”

You look at yourself in the rearview mirror. 

You don’t look your age you don’t think, younger than 32 that’s for sure, but right now you’ve withered and aged in a span of a heartbeat.

“Text me the number to the damn hospital and text me your address as well,” you grumble.

“Yeah ok, perfect. I can be ready in-”

“I also have to tell my boss that I have a family emergency. She’s going to be so pissed,” you say the last part out loud but more so to yourself. 

“What kind of bitch makes a fuss about that,” Faith scoffs.

“I’ll text an eta in a bit,” you say in lieu of a goodbye and hang up. A second later two addresses pop up on your phone, but you don’t bother looking just yet because you need to get your boss her stuff or she’ll flip. 

The elevator ride up is claustrophobic with several other busy looking people all shoved in with you. You hold the drink tightly to your chest, trying not to let your thoughts take over. 

You and Faith still had contact, though it was on and off over the years as you both grew up. Grace on the other end, you hadn’t heard from her since you were all teens. About sixteen years.

The number rattles around your head and makes you sick.

It’s the same age you were when she left you both behind.

You mechanically file out of the elevator with everyone and find yourself in the reception area. Denise is on the phone but the perks of being the boss's fave writer is you can bypass Denise.

You don’t though.

You leave the drink and croissant on the desk making Denise arch a thin blonde eyebrow in curiosity but you shake your head. You focus on smoothing any wrinkles out of your pants and redoing your pony-tail so it's tight.

“Do we have any more of those shortbread cookies?” you ask innocently when Denise finishes her call.

“We do,” she says, sliding open a drawer and pulling out a small plastic bag tied with a blue ribbon. She hands them over and stares at you expectantly.

“There was a family emergency, I need to -” you gesture towards the doors your boss is sitting behind and Denise nods in understanding.

“Good luck,” she offers as you scoop up the drink and sweets and head into the office.

It takes several emphasises on emergency, and no, you have to go, for you to emerge victorious. You rush back to your car and check the addresses. There's mild surprise that where she wants to pick you up is 10 minutes away. You don't recognize the name of the building but you think it's some type of art studio. You check the hospital's address next, internally wincing to see it'll be a two hour drive.

You go to call the hospital to get more information since Faith hadn't but something holds you back, like hearing the news by yourself won't make it real, besides Faith is the emergency contact, they probably wouldn't release information to you without Faith on the phone.

You flip down your visor once you're on the road, cursing yourself once again for not having your sunglasses. The damn things are probably on the table by your front door, where they normally are for you to grab when you leave. 

When you pull up Faith is already standing on the curb in front of the studio. It's an industrial area, complete with graffiti and shops accented with iron. 

When she hops into your car you can’t help but notice the difference between you two.

She’s wearing a white tank top and an aqua button up over it. She’s left it unbuttoned but she’s tucked the tank top and button up into light worn jeans, cinched with a chunky black belt. She stretches her legs out revealing lace-up doc marten boots that you recognize since she’s had them since forever. 

In contrast to her more casual outfit, you have several pieces of jewelry on your fingers and wrist. You’re in a dark green suit set, the pants flattering and wide legged with a matching blazer. Underneath you have a silk beige blouse on. The most casual thing about you is your driving shoes - your heels tossed into the backseat - a pair of old gym shoes that had long ago given up being white.

She lets out a low whistle once she’s buckled and takes you in.

“Where did you get all this from then?” she asks, playfully plucking at the scallop link bracelet. It’s a dupe, nowhere near as expensive as the original, but you can tell by her teasing tone that she assumed as much.

She saves her anger and resentment about money towards Grace.

“Open the glove compartment,” you say, looking at her nervously out of the corner of your eye as you make a right turn onto a busier street.

She does, grabbing a small box you’ve wrapped with purple ribbon. She closes the glove box with her knee and opens the box with a slow exhale.

Inside the box is a matching scallop link bracelet, hers in silver. 

“Happy birthday,” you say weakly when she still hasn’t said anything after two minutes. "I know it's a month late but the article I was editing had so many issues it almost didn't meet the deadline, and then you weren't answering my phone calls so I thought you were mad at me, and - well it doesn't matter." You clamp your mouth shut ending your nervous rant.

She clears her throat and puts the bracelet on, shoving the box in the compartment on the side of the door.

“Please tell me its-”

“Relax. You know I get you only the finest T.J.Maxx has to offer,” you rush out to say and the tension in Faith’s shoulders leaves.

“What would we do without good ol’ T.J.Maxx,” she asks rhetorically and you giggle. She reaches over the console and squeezes your wrist.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely and you feel lighter.

The mood stays good in the car up until you reach the hospital parking lot.

The two of you had been having a good time; singing along to old 2000’s songs, trading gas station snacks when you had to fill up your gas tank. Hell Faith had even opened up about wanting to go back to school for her masters since her original degree had done jack shit for her so far. 

But now the two of you were standing at the hospital entrance like it was going to bite you both. 

And you realize neither have you had called the hospital to get more information on Grace.

Fuck.

“Maybe it isn’t an actual emergency,” Faith says, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. 

“Then they wouldn’t have called us,” you say exasperatedly, but you don’t make a move towards the doors. 

She reaches into your purse, ignoring your attempt at swatting her away, and pulls a stick of gum out and pops it into her mouth.

“Ok. I’m ready,” she says, nodding her head and staring straight ahead.

“Ok,” you agree.

Neither of you move.

“This is ridiculous,” you sigh, shifting your purse higher up your shoulder since it likes to slip down the material of your blazer.

Words: 1,197

PROLOGUE

Things come in three’s.

It’s an old superstition, where when one bad event occurs two more will follow suit. Could be big, could be small.

Maybe you start the morning breaking your favorite coffee mug, shattering it in the sink when it slips from your hand. Some pieces slip into the drain, and one cuts your thumb. That afternoon the printer jams and you're stuck on the phone with IT for 2 hours, cursing when you need both hands to fix the printer, pushing with your bandaged thumb. And finally it's night and you’re home and the third thing sneaks in. A glass of relaxing red wine becomes a bloodbath that stains your new white leather couch, because you were adjusting yourself on the couch or maybe you heard something and moved too quickly or…well the reason doesn’t matter, but you stare down at your bandaged thumb with unease. Like it’s to blame.

Bad omens don't have to be something as tragic as death.

But you’ve found there are other things that are crueler and stick worse than death.

You are aware of three’s, because you yourself are a three.

The third sister, the middle child.

Grace.

You.

Faith.

The three of you hadn’t always been together. You had been an only child until the age of five when you were moved to a new foster home. There you had met Grace and Faith, two kids as scared and curious as you. While not biologically related, the three of you became inseparable, though there was always a nagging feeling in the back of your head. That you weren’t a missing puzzle piece, but you were the wrong piece someone was forcing to fit.

On the morning before your 16th birthday, you woke up with a pounding headache and clammy skin. You knew that feeling, you were coming down with a cold. Or maybe a fever, seeing as how the room seemed to spin when you sat up in bed, throat dry and limbs weak. You tried to stay low most of the day because if your foster parents found out you were sick they wouldn’t let you, Grace, and Faith go to the movies for your birthday the next day. 

Grace and Faith had seemed on edge the last few months. 

They always included you, yet their bond was always just a tad closer than what they had with you. They understood each other in a way they didn’t seem to get you. Sometimes a comment you made would shift the air, make things awkward. A joke would fall flat or you’d try to speak but they were already in another conversation. They loved you, there wasn’t a question there, but on dark nights you wondered what it would be like if you weren’t there. How easily would Grace and Faith get over having a third sister when sometimes it felt like you weren’t even there at all. After all they had been fine without you before, could be they be fine without you after?

Loneliness would creep in sometimes. Something that stuck to your chest and wouldn’t let go, even when Grace would pick you to be on her team at the foster care meet-ups, or Faith whispered secrets only to you so she wouldn’t get in trouble with Grace or your foster parents.

You were just there, in the moment. It was hard to shake that feeling of being invisible when more times than not you were left behind.

Which was why it was strange to play mediator to both of them, the rising tension in the house getting close to suffocation. 

They didn’t speak at breakfast and didn’t even seem to notice how sweaty you were, or how hard it was to force out words. You snuck out around lunchtime to go get some medicine at the local drugstore, your legs pumping as you forced yourself to go as fast as you could on your bike. 

On the way back home you took too sharp a turn and you went flying from your bike, your knees skidding painfully on the ground, your hands moving too late to catch yourself. You lay there on the pavement and stare up at the cloudless sky, a bag of cough syrup beneath your thigh and - if you tilt your head - the front wheel of your bike spinning next to your face.

Needless to say, being sick and injured does nothing to help your state of being when you get home to witness the beginning of the end. 

Years later, when you find yourself feeling that deep loneliness, a feeling that comes and goes like a wave, never quite leaving but never quite staying, you think of that night. What they said.

“And that’s your great plan huh? Leaving?” Faith had spat out.

You stood in the doorway to the bedroom you shared with Faith. Clearly you had walked into something but not sure what. You wanted to sleep, the sickness and your aching scrapes making it hard not to collapse on the ground right there.

“Listen Faith, I want what’s best for all of us, not just me. To do that I have to go.”

The room was spinning again and you think you asked what was going on but either they didn’t hear you or you’d never spoken in the first place.

“That is utter bullshit-”

“Faith come on-”

“-you just standing there and saying you're leaving me.”

You could hear a pin drop with how silent it became. 

You didn’t get a chance to feel that dark loneliness rear its head at Faith not including you because of her next words.

“Please, don’t leave us.” 

“This is what I have to do.”

Faith had barreled past you and ran downstairs and you had been left with Grace. Grace had explained things, the plan to go to college and get enough money to get you and Faith out. You were numb to it all really, passing out because of your fever before Grace could finish talking.

You had tried over the next few months to get them to make up, to talk things over, but there was a wall. One that you avidly tried to ignore even though you had one of your own now, because you wanted all of you to stay together.

Grace left.

You and Faith stayed.

But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same because they hadn’t even told you about Grace wanting to go to a college in New York. 

You had  just assumed she’d go to the community college nearby. Had it never occurred to them that you would have wanted to know too? You were so unbelievably hurt that they’d kept something like this from you, because it was clear they’d had this conversation before. You had been too late, brought into the decision when it had already been decided.

Three months of playing mediator and then three more months of trying to get them to speak, and not once in all that time did they think about you.

And maybe that was selfish, but fuck you were their sister too. 

Jaskier woke up in a cold sweat, the nightmare fading from his memory as he scrambled to grab onto Geralt for purchase. He needed something to ground him, and a big overprotective Witcher was a good person to have.

Geralt made a murmuring sound and pulled Jaskier to his chest. His nose nuzzled Jaskier’s head and he placed a kiss on his hairline.

“Are you ok?” He grumbled.

Jaskier tries to answer but he's still shivering and he needs a moment to gather himself. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt grumbled again. Jaskier tilted his head up to kiss Geralt’s bared throat and rolled away slightly. 

“It was just a nightmare.”

“Did it have anything to do with how well practiced you are with a dagger? Or about how you can wield those throwing knives?”

Jaskier winced. “Straight to the point I see.”

He then remembered that one of his throwing knives was inside a guy's skull, and who knew where the other one was. Maybe they had remembered to bring his dagger?

As if reading Jaskier's mind, Geralt motioned to the nightstand drawer.

“They're all cleaned and in there.”

“Thank you, right, yes. Onto...more pressing matters eh?”

He sat up and fiddled with the sheet as Geralt followed suit. Geralt arranged them so they were facing each other knee to knee. 

“Well, what do you want to know?” Jaskier laughed uneasily. While it was true that he wanted Geralt to know everything, it was an entire other thing to actually tell everything to him. 

“The weapons.”

Jaskier chuckled again, this time happily. He should have guessed that the matter of him being able to fight was the most pressing question on the Witcher’s mind.

“How did you think I survived when we would go our separate ways?”

“I assumed you were with troupes. Or at some wealthy Lord or Ladies estate.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes good-naturally. “I suppose that does make sense, and I won't lie, when you go to Kaer Morhen I usually do just that. But for those few weeks we don't see each other in less wintery months, and before I ever met you, I have to be able to defend myself. I actually learned it in my childhood. My father deemed it appropriate that I should learn sword fighting and hand to hand combat. It didn't mesh well with the life of a child, wake up early for studying all day and then get sent on your ass by a sword trainer at night. It began to get hard to tell whether the bruises were from my father or my trainer getting in a good punch."

Geralt frowned at the nonchalant comment about Jaskier's father and Jaskier tried to wave it off.

"What's done is done. I won't lie, he was a horrid man who didn't give a shit about his family and used me as one of his favorite targets but....I wanted to tell you everything about me, not just my weapons trainings. So I have to lay it all out for you."

Jaskier took a deep breath and continued.

“I actually ended up having a keen eye for long distance weapons - I threw a spear at one point, not something anyone can do let me tell you - which is how I ended up switching from a sword to a bow and arrow. It wasn't til I got to Oxenfurt that I learned about throwing knives. My roommate at the time helped taught me and gifted me my first set when I was sixteen. The dagger wasn't until you gave me one those couple years back. I managed to find my old trainer and he kept me practicing when you weren't around to spar."

Geralt gently took Jaskier's hands into his own and traced the calluses on his fingers and palms with a light finger.

"I always thought they were only from your lute."

"Well it would have only been the lute if my father didn't think that music was for the common people and I should have real proper schooling. I was being taught by only the most esteemed tutors, ones for arithmetic and economy and boring other things that would mold me into the perfect man to take over the estate when my father died. I mean what little child doesn't dream of being a Viscount and collecting taxes and ruling over a county or what not -”

“Wait, Viscount?”

“Ah, yes. Jaskier isn’t my actual name..”

“I figured as much. I just thought your actual name wasn’t to your taste so you changed it.”

“Well you’re not quite wrong. My full name and title is Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove.”

Geralt looked him up and down and Jaskier felt fear grip at his heart. He had heard Geralt grouch about nobles a million times in the last decade. He didn’t think that Geralt would treat him any differently now that he knew but there was still that seed of doubt.

“You don’t look like a Julian to me.” Geralt said with a shrug and Jaskier relaxed immediately. 

"I also figured it'd be harder to trace me back to Lettenhove if I changed my name. I had a nanny, Lorelei, who would sneak me into the city so I could see what it was like outside the pompous courts and upper class. She was the one who truly treated me like a person instead of a job or a future heir. Her daughter, Essi Daven, was and still is my closest friend. Essi and I meet up occasionally and she's become a bard herself so now we can play together in taverns. She, like her mother, never cared for titles or who I was supposed to become. Essi's father had a passion for music and when Lorelei would sneak me away he would teach me how to play the lute. She used to call me buttercup and well it sort of stuck. The last time I saw her was a month or two before she died. A year or two after I went to Oxenfurt."

He looked around the room at that moment and was happy to see his lute was on the seat of a chair. Maybe now that he had Geralt back he'd be able to compose. 

"Well between my love for the lute and my actually giving a fuck about Lettenhove's citizens, my father was far from pleased. He threatened to disown me, or to cut me off from the world until I was to take over for him. So at fourteen I ran away and did odd jobs all over. I would go to poorer places and offer my writing and reading skills, almost became a teacher but I had no education outside of tutors myself. One day, I met a man who was looking for a tutor for his son. His son, Herbert, was failing all his classes at Oxenfurt and he needed someone to get Herbert through til graduation because it would be a stain on the families name if Herbert flunked. I offered to help if the Lord would pay for me to attend the college as well. I guess he was just that desperate and we shook on it. He didn't go back on his word either and continued paying for my classes long after Herbert had graduated."

While he had been talking, Geralt had sneakily pulled Jaskier into his lap and was not disturbing Jaskier's long ramble the way he normally would. He just made 'Hm's' at appropriate times and held Jaskier close to his chest.

"Oxenfurt was a dream come true. I was away from my family, I was learning things that actually interested me and I could play my lute for extra cash at the local tavern. They even had a music hall that I play for sometimes still. And after I graduated I learned that the roads were rough and my hand to hand combat and throwing knives became handy as I tried to make it as a bard. And then I met you and....well no one's safer to be with than a Witcher."

Geralt gave a low growl and Jaskier gave his chest a playful shove.

"Oh come off it. You play the big bad guy but we both know you would never let anyone hurt me. You made me feel the safest I've ever felt in....well a very long time."

Geralt "Hm'd" again and pulled the bard closer.

"But I did hurt you," the older man all but whispered.

"I won't sugar coat it. You certainly did. I gave you ten years of my life, ten! and you throw it all away because you weren't angry at anyone but yourself and what you had done. I'll admit that I played a part in it, but I'm not the full blame. It wasn't I who made the Djinn wish. I didn't claim law of surprise."

Geralt pulled away a little so he could look at Jaskier. Gold eyes met blue ones that were starting to tear up.

"I'm sorry Jaskier. I don't know what I can do to make it up to you." He looked surprised when Jaskier leaned in and kissed him on the lips. It was short but unexpected nonetheless.

"Just promise me you'll never do that again." Jaskier met Geralt's lips again as the Witcher mumbled a promise against him.

"And," Jaskier pulled away with a teasing smile, "you have to apologize for calling my singing a filling less pie."

Geralt rolled his eyes but turned serious a second later. "I apologize for saying that. You have a beautiful voice Jask, I'm not much of a music fan but even I can appreciate your talents."

Jaskier flushed.

"So many words today Witcher, you leave a man speechless."

"Hm." Geralt raised an eyebrow and Jaskier moved his legs til he was straddling the Witcher's waist between his thighs. "I'm not just any man." He tilted his head and dove in to kiss Geralt, all thoughts were pushed aside as Geralt nipped at his bottom lip. He groaned and opened his mouth, giving Geralt's tongue easy access. Jaskier didn't know where he wanted to put his hands, just that he wanted them everywhere at once. They traveled up and down Geralt's arms and around his neck to play with his hair. A particularly sharp tug of the hair at the base of the Witcher's scalp had him make an almost purring sound.

Geralt's hands went to Jaskier's hips and kept him pressed tightly against him as he leaned forward so Jaskier's back was now on the bed and Geralt was hovering over him. Jaskier used the change in position to thrust upwards. He smirked as he felt Geralt was just as hard as he was, and he thrusted up again, craving the friction that was setting his lower stomach aflame.

"Please," Jaskier all but whimpered.

Geralt growled and used one hand to pull at Jaskier's shirt, while the other pressed his hips into the mattress so they couldn't thrust up again. Jaskier could feel himself hardening more at the thought that Geralt could keep him down with only one hand. As soon as Jaskier's shirt was off, Geralt was nipping and sucking up and down Jaskier's throat. Between moans Jaskier was begging for Geralt to go lower, to touch him more. Geralt was holding himself above the bard enough so their bodies were almost touching. Only Jaskier's legs wrapped around Geralt's waist had been able to maintain contact.

Geralt was suddenly moving away and unwrapping Jaskier's legs from his waist. Jaskier writhed on the bed and made a pleading noise as Geralt walked away.

"Geralt!? Geralt where are you going?"

He unbuttoned his pants and forced them down over his tenting erection. He felt his heart beat frantically as he threw his pants at Geralt.

"I swear to everything holy if you leave right now I'll make Yennefer turn you into a toad! Or I could just tell Roach what you have done and she'll stomp on your toes you spineless-"

Jaskier cut himself off as he saw Geralt holding up a bottle full of scented oil.

"Oh right well next time tell me you're going to go get oil." Jaskier tried not to pout as he crossed his arms over his chest. Geralt ambled back over to the bed and Jaskier's legs fell open to accommodate him. He placed the oil up by the pillows and placed both his hands on Jaskier's cheeks as he covered Jaskier's body with his own.

"I would never leave you." 

Jaskier felt his face flush as he looked at Geralt's eyes. They seemed to be staring straight into his soul and he reached up to push a strand of white hair back behind the Witcher's ear.

"I believe you love." Jaskier said softly, enjoying the way Geralt's face blushed a pale pink.

"Now get the rest of your clothes off so you can fuck me. It's unfair that I'm the only one in my underwear! Are you actually wearing socks Geralt? Socks in bed? Are you that paranoid someone was going to break in here and you had to be battle ready? Surprised the swords aren't on your back as we speak-mff"

Geralt had seemed to stop listening after Jaskier had told him he wanted to be fucked, because his clothes were flying off left and right, and now Geralt was shutting him up with a kiss that was sloppy and wet but somehow still managed to feel like the best thing in the world. Geralt's large hands were bracketing Jaskier's hips as he trailed open-mouth kisses down his chest and to his stomach, stopping inches from the waistband.

Jaskier gave a hesitant twitch of his hips and Geralt growled and sank his mouth over Jaskier's clothed erection, making the bard give a high-pitched noise.

"You-you're supposed to...take off the," he huffed as Geralt nudged the erection with his lips and started blowing cold air onto the tip where a bit of pre-come had soaked through the underwear, "supposed to take off the underwear you giant ox." Jaskier finished with a groan.

"Hm?"

"Oh don't hm me! Put your mouth around my actual dick!"

Geralt gave small noise which was probably laughter and slowly pulled the underwear down. Jaskier felt hot and sweaty but it was a good combination and he really wanted Geralt inside of him. He didn't want slow right now, he wanted hard and fast. He was just about to tell Geralt so when his dick was engulfed by the Witcher's warm and wet mouth. There was a slight brush of Geralt's teeth around the base and Jaskier thrusted upwards without a thought. He groaned low and long when he felt the Witcher's approving hum.

Oh gods, did Geralt want him to throat fuck him?

Jaskier gave a tentative upward thrust again and this time Geralt's hands went underneath him to support his ass. Geralt took him all the way down and Jaskier bit at his thumb to keep an extremely loud moan from escaping.

Geralt removed his mouth and looked over Jaskier's dick and down towards him.

"I won't continue until I hear every noise you can make."

Jaskier was surprised he hadn't came right there and then. Geralt wanting to hear him? 

"Please Geralt." He huffed as said man's tongue moved towards his inner thigh and started sucking at it. There would be a mark there tomorrow no question about it. Jaskier didn't hold back any noises as Geralt sucked harder and his hands started kneading Jaskier's ass cheeks.

Brought a whole new meaning to 'bread in his pants.'

Geralt sank his mouth back down and Jaskier's brain went offline again. He reached down to pull at Geralt's hair and kept whispering and shouting praises. He was seconds from letting go when Geralt pulled off of him and yanked Jaskier harshly even more upwards so he was slightly uncomfortable and his legs were spread higher and even wider. As Geralt reached across to grab the oil, Jaskier saw how red and full the Witcher's lips were now and he groaned once more, fingers digging into the sheets with vehemence, he was certain he'd be able to tear these sheets in two.

"Ah, ah yes." His yes was drawn out like a hiss as Geralt's oiled up fingers brushed against his hole. Geralt dipped his hand in more oil and stuck a finger in. He waited for Jaskier to adjust before adding a second and then third finger in. Jaskier squirmed and panted but Geralt was holding him steady with one hand while his other hands fingers started to keep a slow pace of stretching him wider and wider.

Jaskier in his position hadn't been able to see how big Geralt's cock was but he could only imagine as Geralt added a fourth finger. His hole was fully stretched now and he let out a whimper.

"Geralt, I'm going to come. Please, I need you inside me right now!" He squirmed some more and Geralt seemed to finally get the hint. He removed his fingers and Jaskier was a aware of him dipping his hand in oil and rubbing it around his cock so it would be slick enough for Jaskier have enter him.

He was then hoisted, as if he weighed nothing, on Geralt's lap. Geralt slowly inched his way inside of Jaskier, murmuring soft words and kissing every groan and plea from Jaskier's lips. 

Jaskier was used to bedding more women than men but Geralt's careful stretching made the stretch less painful and almost fully blissful. His thighs trembled with effort and he gave a small grunt has he fully bottomed out, his ass hitting Geralt's thighs. He leaned forward and panted heavily against Geralt's chest, taking his time to get used to the feeling. It wasn't a bad kind of uncomfortable, he felt full and the burning in his gut was instationable now. He started to rise and Geralt's finger gripped tighter around his hips as he went back down. He kept it slow as he adjusted, but was quickly lifting himself up more and practically slamming back down. 

Geralt was making enough grunts to show his pleasure as Jaskier sped up, bringing himself down from even higher up each time. Geralt was now joining in, thrusting up to chase after Jaskier and they finally reached a rhythm that had allowed them to be even closer than before. Jaskier's upper body was plastered to Geralt's upper half as the older man sucked and kissed at anywhere he could get. One of his hands sneaked down between them and started to jerk Jaskier off.  Jaskier's hands dug into Geralt's shoulder, his nails sure to leave a mark, as he felt himself clenching.

"Geralt," he groaned in warning before he came all over himself and Geralt. The Witcher followed soon after, coming deep inside of Jaskier's hole. As he came Geralt bit down hard on Jaskier's un-injured shoulder, making Jaskier shiver.

Geralt lapped at the wound, and pulled out of Jaskier as the bard flopped backwards onto the mattress with no grace. His limbs felt like they had become jelly and he needed to catch his breath. He watched wordlessly as Geralt grabbed an article of clothing off the ground and wiped off Jaskier first and then himself. He titled his head towards the door, clearly listening for something, before he returned to the bed. He slid in beside Jaskier and wrapped himself tightly around Jaskier.

"I heard Yen and Triss moving around outside, they're probably impatient to see how you are."

Jaskier groaned and snuggled closer to Geralt.

"We would need to take a bath first. I'm not opening the door looking like I do now." Jaskier whined, pointing sluggishly to his wild hair and kissed lips. Geralt shrugged and slipped out of the bed. Jaskier wanted to follow but he still couldn't feel his legs properly. 

"Geralt, Geralt don't you dare!" Jaskier screeched.

The Witcher just opened the door wide to tell Triss and Yennefer to give them more time as he stood as naked as the day he was born.

Jaskier buried his head under the pillows and wished his lover could have the decency to not let Jaskier have a pretend sense of privacy from the two women outside.

††††

After a long bath and some alone time together, Jaskier was now ready to face the two women. Geralt filled him in on how Pegasus' was getting along with Roach, and how all their things that Jaskier hadn't seen were tied up on Roach's back as Geralt wanted to get moving after that night.

Jaskier had stopped in the hallway on the way to the women's room and felt uncertain. 

Geralt quickly kissed him and reassured him that Jaskier was welcomed - more like wanted - and they could go wherever Jaskier wanted. An image of the coast came forth in his mind and was giddy when Triss opened the door and hugged him happily before leading him over to the table in her and Yennefer's room as they waited for someone from downstairs to bring up food. 

Jaskier figured since Triss and Yennefer were now well aware that he and Geralt had gotten together, then it was his right to wear one of Geralt's shirts. He had tucked it into a pair of his pale blue high-waisted pants - which really did show off his ass - but it kept sliding off his shoulder so he had to keep adjusting it, which meant he'd had Geralt so enthralled that the Witcher had tripped over a chair that Yennefer had pushed into his way.

The Witcher grumbled through her laughter and grabbed the chair to place it next to Jaskiers. 

"Well I'm glad we're all in a better mood now." Triss said happily as she took her own seat. Yennefer hovered by Jaskier for a second, looking at his bandage before giving a hum of satisfaction and going over to sit on Triss' other side. 

"Very good moods." Yennefer commented.

"Just because I'm getting sex and you're not-"

"Who said I wasn't?"

Jaskier's eyebrows went up in shock as he looked over at Triss who's face, neck, and ears were flushed dark red.

Heat of the moment after a battle didn't make sense as it'd been days since Jaskier had killed the witch and they'd all decimated Jean and his buddies. So maybe it wasn't an adrenaline thing? He looked over at Yennefer and was surprised to see her head turned away and her hair framing her face just enough to hide it. Definitely not adrenaline then.

He threw a thumbs up at Triss who squeaked before returning with her own thumbs up.

"Alright, now that, that is out of the way, we have some matters to discuss."

Jaskier's good mode dampened. Right away his thoughts went back to the Bone Blade. The blade that only he could wield.

"I wanted to get a better look at the blade, but to do so I would need to be back at my own place. All my equipment that I don't move around with me is there and I'd feel better being in a heavily warded area that I have complete control over." 

Jaskier felt some relief and also an unknown feeling of the blade being taken into her care. He had made his peace with her so the feeling of protectiveness over the blade could only be coming from the blade itself and that made him uneasy. 

"Be my guest, take the blade for as long as you want." His voice sounded weird to his own ears and he wanted to shrink in his seat as three pairs of eyes turned to him.

"I could have just taken the blade but I figured asking permission would be best. Though judging by your reaction you don't want to part with it. You could come with-"

"No!" Jaskier yelled, shocking them.

"No, I just. I'm fine with my daggers and throwing knives. I have no need for that blasted blade and yet I..." He trailed off and tried to relax as Geralt laid a comforting hand on his thigh.

"The residual magic left with it has connected itself to you." Yennefer said and Jaskier looked at her confused.

"You have an urge not to part with it right? Even though you don't want it? Jaskier you made a connection with it whether you wanted to or not when you picked it up. Like calls to like."

"Will I feel it forever then?" Jaskier asked bitterly.

Yennefer shook her head, "it should wear off as long as you don't use it. Using it strengthens your bond."

Jaskier bit at his finger nail and focused on Geralt's grounding touch. Maybe there would be a day when he would need it but it wasn't anywhere near now. He was quite happy without it. He said as much to Yennefer, giving her full access to blade. She offered to let him come visit. She meant it as in anytime and not just for the blade so Jaskier accepted. She seemed happy when he accepted and Jaskier felt a warm feeling in his chest.

They seemed to be finally getting somewhere. It seemed like there never ending sea of bad guys was dwindling and Jaskier was very thankful for that. He could hold his own but he didn't have the stamina of a Witcher or a Sorceress, though Yennefer was starting to tire out as well. Jaskier could see it by the sweat on brow and how defeated she had sounded about needing Triss' help soon.

Jaskier was now facing Jean, who had taken a sword off of one of his men and was valiantly defending himself and the Bone Blade. 

"I told you that you should have let us go!" Jaskier called to him, dodging and rolling out of the way of Jean's sword. The burn in his shoulder increased with each roll but it was background to him as he focused on the fight.

He suddenly felt a warm glow from behind him and he knew that Yennefer had initiated the spell. Jaskier turned just enough to see Yennefer taking a cloak from Pegasus' pack and wrapping Triss up in it before he had to return his attention again to Jean. He was fighting like a man with nothing to lose. Which, given that his failure was determined by a witch's punishment, maybe it was smart if he died protecting the blade instead of facing her.

And the witch would be here soon. 

With one misplaced thrust, Jean was off balance and Jaskier took his chance, digging his dagger through the man's chest.

Jaskier yanked his dagger out and wiped the blood off on Jean's corpse before resheathing it. He felt sick as he looked around the massacre of bodies he had been a cause of and stumbled over to the Bone Blade. Yennefer was at his heel's and she squatted down to lift it. Her hands shook with the effort of it as the fur fell away and the sickle like blade was revealed. Jaskier hadn't noticed before but the handle was encrusted with pale green jewels and there were words etched into the white of the blade. It was too dark to read but the bone had been polished to an almost milky white sort of mirror and the moonlight reflected the dips where the words were.

"I can smell her coming." Geralt grunted and Triss pulled the cloak tighter around her bare shoulders. It snapped all the way up so there was no fear of it falling open as she made a quick dive into the underbrush surrounding them to hide and wait for her cue.

Geralt's back was stiff and Jaskier pressed a hand firmly against it, trying to give the Witcher some comfort. Yennefer flanked his other side, her grip strong on the blade though he could see a slight tremor in her arms.

There was a bitter smell in the air now and a loud crackling noise as a woman popped into view. She looked wild, her black hair a mess, dark under eye bags and sunken cheeks. Her dress was similar to Yennefer in style but was a murky blue. Jaskier's eyes dipped down to her hand where a white ring stood out against her gloved hand. The Bone Ring.

"The Butcher of Blaviken." The woman's smile was dagger's and her voice was a whispery croak. It sounded strained to Jaskier's ears and he had to lean forward so he could hear her better.

"Do I know you?" Geralt grumbled and the bitter smell of Chaos grew stronger.

"You don't remember slaughtering my lover before my eyes Witcher!?"  The witches voice became shrill and Jaskier found himself taking a step back. 

"I remember killing a werewolf who had been feasting on the little girls of the village."

The witch shrieked again and raised her hand, sending a wave of magic their way. Yennefer dodged less gracefully since she had the weight of the sword with her, and Geralt easily plucked Jaskier by the back of his doublet to get out of the way of the rush of black magic. It hit a tree behind them, turning it dark and twisted like it had been left to smoulder for a fortnight. 

"Now you'll see." The witch was shaking and she brought the ring to her mouth. "When you're forced to kill your own lover because she'll be unstoppable in her quest to kill you!"

The witch let out a loud cackle and the ring glowed with a faint white light that was echoed by the blade. The scythe seemed to move of its own accord as Yennefer made her way toward Geralt. Her eyes were wide and her words were frantic as she told Geralt to get out of the way. Jaskier felt a shiver of fear as he moved away from the two of them. He was uneasy, either Yennefer was really good at acting or the blade's control was powerful enough to take over Yennefer. The blade was still heavy - he could see it in the set of her shoulders and the awkward grip she had - but when she raised to strike the blade went swiftly like a butter knife cutting through butter. Geralt jumped out of the way and frowned and flickered his eyes towards Jaskier.

"Yen, you don't need to do this." 

Jaskier could hear the pleading tone in Geralt's voice and he felt anger when he noticed the witch gleaming at the fight. Yennefer was swinging her arms wildly while Geralt either met each blow with his own sword or avoided the hit entirely. They were circling each other and Jaskier became aware of Yennefer's feet becoming more sure of themselves and of her strikes getting closer and closer to Geralt than before. He could see a glimmer of fear in her eyes and he knew that they hadn't thought this through. They hadn't thought that the sword would still be able to control someone who wasn't the true love of the target. 

He would have believed that Yennefer was Geralt's true love, that they'd been wrong about saying it was him, if not for the fact the sword never became lighter in Yennefer's hands, and the way Geralt kept looking at Jaskier to make sure he was safe and that their circling didn't go anywhere near him.

Without thinking, screw the plan, he dashed towards the witch. She seemed to have forgotten about him, too enthralled by the thought of Geralt being killed, so when he tackled her to the ground she wasn't able to do anything.

Her magic coursed around her, choking the air Jaskier was breathing in but he wasn't going to let this bitch hurt Geralt. He heard a shout behind him as Geralt called his name and then a clang as his sword and the Bone Blade met once again. He pushed the witch further into the ground, wrestling her boney limbs to keep still so she couldn't use her magic. She snarled at him and managed to raise one hand up to his face. He closed his eyes, preparing for the chaos to overtake him when Triss bound over to them and struck the witch in the face with a bolt of magic. Triss' magic made the choking feeling go away as her slightly less bitter smelling magic tangled with the other witches.

Triss urged him to get the sword from Yennefer and he jumped off the witch, allowing Triss to fight magic with magic.

Yennefer's face was paling as he drew nearer and he could tell she was about to collapse but the sword wouldn't let her. With the witch efficiently distracted he could only hope that the Bone Ring didn't hold power over the sword and its holder anymore. 

Jaskier yanked the blade out of Yennefer's hands and he stumbled as a white light engulfed him and the sword. He felt like he was glowing and from the way everyone had turned to look at him he knew he wasn't imagining it. Jaskier didn't feel exhausted anymore or sore, and his shoulder no longer hurt. It was as if he had just woken from a restful night in the best bed in the world where no nightmares of his father or Geralt dying could ever reach him. His hand adjusted to hold the sword firmly more and it felt like the perfect weight in his hands. He gave it an experimental swing and it slashed through the air with a hiss.

"No." The witch hissed, reaching for her ring, but Triss blasted her with more magic which sent the witch flying backwards into a tree. She was momentarily stunned and Jaskier took his chance. He ran fast, faster than he ever had before, the blade almost pulsing in his hands. Triss lunged out of the way as he careened towards the fallen witch. She was only able to look up at him with a stunned and enraged look before his blade sliced through her neck, cutting it clean off.

He shuddered to a stop beside the body and stepped over it to step on her fingers, crushing the Bone Ring beneath his heeled boot. The Bone Blade hummed with energy until he dropped it besides the witches corpse. The white light instantly died and he felt his muscles become sore and his shoulder start to throb again.

Jaskier staggered away from the blade and the witch and straight towards Geralt. He was aware of Triss running over and kneeling besides Yennefer, her small hands cupping Yennefer's face asking if the sorceress was alright.

Jaskier didn't focus on that for long because all he wanted, no, all he needed was Geralt.

He had started to fall forward when Geralt caught him, pulling him close to his chest.

"You did good." Geralt said as his large hands settled around Jaskiers waist and he leaned his head down an inch so they were forehead to forehead.

"Wanna kiss y'u" Jaskier slurred. He was unsteady on his feet and he felt himself sinking to the ground with Geralt following. His shoulder was now back to feeling firey hot and he heard Geralt yelling something towards the women. Everything was starting to look blurry and Jaskier wanted the pain to go away. He tried to move his arm to reassure Geralt with his touch but he could only groan as his shoulder pulsed white hot.

The last thing he heard before everything went dark was Geralt pleading for him to stay awake.

††††

Jaskier didn't know how much time had passed. He remembered waking up in complete agony, his whole body jostling up and down as if he were on a horse, and hearing Geralt telling him to hold on. The next time he awoke it had been dark and he'd slipped back into unconsciousness just as quickly as he'd broken free from it.

He opened his eyes now to soft sunlight coming through the window. It lit up the small room he was in and he sighed in relief at feeling the soft downy mattress beneath his body and the warm quilt on top. 

A grunt was heard from his right and he came face to face with a sleepy looking Geralt and he realized a pressure around his hand. He looked down to see Geralt had interlaced their fingers together.

“You look like shit.” Jaskier croaked, turning away to cough into his elbow. Geralt nudged a glass of water towards him and he drank eagerly, only slowing when Geralt warned him he would throw up.

Geralt still hasn't released his hand.

“I take it my injury was worse than I thought.”

“You were out for two days.” Geralt replied gruffly.

Jaskier winced and tried to sit up, relieved his shoulder wasn't on fire anymore but it still ached like a bitch. He could feel a tight bandage wrapped around his shoulder and part of his upper chest.

Geralt let him get readjusted before standing up.

“Triss and Yennefer are eager to see you.” 

Jaskier pouted. “I'm eager to see them too but you're the only one I want to see right now.”

He tugged at their enclasped hands til Geralt arranged himself on the bed on his side, facing Jaskier. Their hands were folded on Jaskier’s chest, while Geralt’s free hand supported his head up and Jaskier’s other hand twiddled across his thighs in a nervous habit.

“Hi.” He said softly and Geralt’s mouth twitched at the corner in a smile. 

“Hm.”

“I'll have to admit, I'm too tired right now to really lay it on you.”

Geralt lifted an eyebrow and hesitantly pulled his hand out if Jaskier’s so he could cup the younger man’s face. 

“I remember asking for a kiss.” Jaskier’s eyes looked down at Geralt’s mouth and back up to his gold eyes when Geralt still hadn't made a move.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry.” Geralt started and Jaskier cut him off with a kiss.

“Later. We have all the time in the world now.” 

Geralt smiled an actual full smile and Jaskier tugged him closer, kissing him as if they would never be able to kiss again.

Geralt’s hand moved from his cheek down to his waist and started tugging at his shirt, slipping his large calloused hands onto Jaskier’s bare skin. Jaskier hitched a breath as Geralt moved downwards, his lips trailing down his neck to his collarbone and staying there.

The door swung open and the hand on his waist tightened hard enough to bruise as Geralt growled a warning.

Yennefer and Triss stood in the doorway, the latter looking sheepish while Yennefer looked smug.

“I see you two love birds are keeping cozy.”

Jaskier felt his face flush as Geralt moved away to the chair he had been sitting in when Jaskier had awoken. He missed the warmth of the Witcher’s hand and tried to keep the pout off his face. 

Triss walked over first and gave Jaskier a large hug. The curls of her hair tickled his nose and he resisted the urge to sneeze as he hugged her back.

“Glad to see you in one piece.”

“You too.” Jaskier replied cheekily.

She kissed him on the cheek and they both laughed when Geralt let out a growl and turned his head away in embarrassment.

“Thank you for all you did.” She said and settled herself at the edge of the bed so Yennefer could walk over next. 

“Your wound had dirt, blood, guts, and everything in between. With the added strain from using your weapons it's astonishing your shoulder was able to be fully repaired.”

She smoothed her dress down as she sat and moved his bangs off his forehead.

“So I’ll live to play the lute again?” Jaskier asked.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Don't worry bard. The world will hear your music once more.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before standing up beside Geralt and addressing him.

“The Bone Blade is still a matter of issue.”

They were comfortable in each other's spaces again so clearly they had found time to talk during the time Jaskier was out. He felt a little jealous but clamped it down when he remembered Geralt kissing him and waiting for him to wake up with worried eyes.

“The blade no longer can be controlled since you destroyed the ring,” she turned to Jaskier now as she talked, “and it's still too heavy for any of us. It seems that when the ring was destroyed the sword was left with whoever it was last meant to be used on, aka Geralt. So only his true love can use it still so it's officially yours.”

Jaskier gave an unenthused clap.

“Maybe I will trade in my lute so I can happily cull grain with my fancy sickle. Get a farmer's tan, I think I'd look good with some color to my skin.”

Geralt huffed in amusement but Yennefer wasn't having it.

“Jaskier you have to take this seriously. That is a powerful weapon that might I remind you, only you can wield comfortably.”

Jaskier studied the sheets that he had bunched in his hands as he remembered how he felt holding it. The light that had came from him and the Bone Blade.

“I'll think about it.” He said softly. It was one thing to carry his throwing knives and his dagger. It was another to have the infamous Bone Blade strapped to his back next to his lute.

He was a bard. He wasn't supposed to be a dashing and daring hero, slaying monsters by Geralt’s side. He only went after human monsters that tried to rob him or kill him in the night. Men like his father. He vowed he would tell Geralt about everything, about his father, about why he knew how to fight but never practiced it when Geralt was around. 

With the Bone Blade could he ever return to normalcy? Just watching and documenting as Gerlat took down noonwraiths and drowners. Sure he would come to Geralt’s aid from time to time but never like this.

He had felt powerful using the blade. It had taken away his fatigue and sores; had made his shoulder injury null.But he had also felt terrified deep down under the awe and power. Terrified of what that raw energy could be used for.

What if he didn't play the helpless bard anymore?

Yennefer didn't look too happy but Triss had placed a hand on her thigh and the violet eyed sorceress kept quiet.

“We’ll let you sleep in a little more. We should be able to leave tomorrow.” Triss said gently and started tugging at Yennefer to follow.

Yennefer allowed her though, and before exiting the room she turned around to gleefully say, “enjoy your new guard wolf,” and shut the door before Geralt could do anything but grumble.

Jaskier smiled and patted the side of the bed beside him so Geralt would come back. The Witcher came over and slid under the covers, tugging the bard close to his chest, careful of Jaskier’s injured shoulder.

There wasn't anywhere to go. They could keep running but Yennefer was unfortunately a liability and Jaskier had no idea where they were. Running further into the unknown woods was just as dangerous as facing the men six men. Luckily, some of the men looked scrawnier than even Jaskier which meant as long as he could take them out first he had a chance. 

Yennefer twisted out of the way as another arrow shot past where her shoulder was. The archer was definitely a problem. He would have to use the trunks of the trees as his shield and hope that the men wouldn't be able to surround them. The men that were racing towards them had torches in hand so it was easy to spot them, but Jaskier only could tell that the archer was somewhere to the left. He told that to Yennefer and ushered her behind a tree as one of the faster men finally came within Jaskier's reach.

Jaskier didn't hesitate to lash out, his knife finding its intended target in the chest. The man had enough sense to lean back so the cut wasn't as shallow as Jaskier would have liked and Jaskier dived forward again, closing the space between them to this time slash with both of his throwing knives. There was no chance for the man now and he slumped down to the ground just as two others rushed forward to take his place.

He was aware of the others circling around them, pushing them back to the campfire where there was more open ground and less trees to hide behind. Jaskier tried to keep Yennefer covered but it was getting harder and harder with each slash of his knives. With a well practiced aim, Jaskier risked throwing one of his knives. It would leave him with only one to defend himself but his aim was true at he had taken down another bad guy, the blade driving itself into the man's eye and piercing his brain. 

Jaskier heard a startled shriek behind him and he whirled around to try and face Yennefer, which meant the other henchman he'd been fighting was able to dig his knife into the bard's shoulder. He grimaced but was determined to help Yennefer. The sorceress though was proving that she didn't need her hands in a fight. She angrily stomped her foot on the man holding her elbow and then arched backwards to then head slam him. There was an awful sound as skull met skull and the man went down with Yennefer not even looking dazed.

"Who's the thick-headed one now?" He managed to wheeze out before the pain of the blade in his arm caught up with him again and he refocused on the man in front of him. His other throwing knife was still buried in the dead guys eye so he would have to make due with his fists and his remaining knife. He dodged and lunged his way through the trees with Yennefer close at his heels. He managed to block another blow from one of the men and then found himself and Yennefer back at the campsite.

The horses were neighing nervously as the men trickled out of the forest. There were definitely way more men then before and Jaskier could only wonder at how Jean had managed to gather so many others. Jaskier still hadn't caught sight of the archer which was even more troubling.

The moon was still high above them but it gave little comfort in the ways of being able to see. 

"I think it's about time we put a stop to this." Jean said. Jaskier tilted his head to see the leader of the group casually sitting on a log, the Bone Blade at his feet and Jaskier's own dagger in his hand. He was using it to clean his nails and Jaskier wanted to bash his head in right there and then.

"You two should have just sat quietly and waited for your rescuer." Jean shook his head as if he was scolding children and stood up from the log, his eyes never leaving where the dagger was cleaning his nails. "Now, if you two would-" Jean was cut off as a flash of red tackled him from the side. It didn't knock him fully over but he dropped Jaskier's dagger so he could cup his cheek where the creature had sliced at it with its nails.

He let out a howl of pain as Triss landed roughly on the ground, giving a warning bark. 

There was silence as the henchmen and Jean tried to process what had happened, and Jaskier took that to his advantage. If Triss was back, then that meant Geralt was here too. He did not need that Witcher distracting him from tearing down anyone he could get his hands on. Especially Jean. That was Jaskier's fucking dagger that Geralt had given him and that bastard was using it as a pick for his dirty nails!

Jaskier reached the dropped dagger just as Geralt burst through the trees. Jaskier swallowed roughly as he took in the sight before him. Geralt looked absolutely terrible in the moonlight but unlike the fear that normal people would have, Jaskier was really enjoying it. Geralt's chest was heaving against his armour as his eyes flickered around the group, his black eyes settling on Jaskier. The first time Jaskier had seen Geralt use Swallow he nearly shit his pants. The man had been as pale as death and had bulging black veins that stretched their way across his face and down his neck and who knew how much further down. His eyes had been a black void for they had become so dilated by the potion. After Jaskier had gotten over his fear he'd rushed over to help the Witcher and reassure him that he was as scary as a wet kitten. Geralt hadn't believed him but Jaskier hadn't missed how the hulking man had relaxed when Jaskier had touched his arm like normal to lead him out of the swamp that he had been fighting the Kikimore.

After seeing Geralt like this multiple times throughout the decade the fear had eventually dissipated into something a little more inconvenient for their current situation. Jaskier licked his lips which had dried as soon as Geralt had stepped into the moonlight looking all devilishly handsome and ready to rip everyone's head off. Geralt's eyes followed the tongue movement and Jaskier swallowed again.

The moment was broken as he felt a sharp kick to his head and he was sent to the ground. Right, they were in the middle of a fight and Jean had just kicked him upside the head because he was ogling his ex-best friend. At least he still had the dagger in his hold. 

His head was now pounding but he was aware of Yennefer rushing toward Geralt and demanding him to take the cuffs off her. Geralt ripped them off with little to no problem and Jaskier was very glad he was on their side and not on their opponents. His head was now aching from the kick but he had to start moving. The men were now starting to attack and he wasn't going to sit back and let Yennefer and Geralt have all the fun.

Triss scurried over to him and he caught her in one arm as he rolled away from Jean who had tried to stomp on his head again. Jaskier forced himself to push off the wave of dizziness as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted towards Pegasus. He knew Triss wanted to help but she wasn't able to do much in this form. He apologized as he settled her on Pegasus' back and then rushed back into the fray. 

There was a moment when Geralt was suddenly at his side and he could tell the man had questions for him but now was not the time. Geralt was too distracted with whatever he wanted to say that he missed the man with the arm wound that Jaskier had inflected the day before, coming towards him ready to lop off his head with an axe. 

Jaskier dashed in front of Geralt and slashed his dagger downwards. The blade split the man's forehead all the way down to his chin and Jaskier felt a wave of satisfaction as the man fell backwards. The bard felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder and the Witcher pressed against his back.

"What the fuck was that?" Geralt's voice was always deep but it was even more pronounced and growley when he had taken Swallow and Jaskier felt a shiver go down his spine.

"We can talk about it later," Jaskier hissed just as another arrow shot by them. Geralt reflected it with his sword and it bounced away to hit a bad guy in the knee. Jaskier turned in the direction of the arrow and finally spotted the arrow. Got you now fucker, he thought triumphantly to himself. He spun his throwing knife in his hand and let it sore through the air. It met the archer directly in the neck and Jaskier raised his arm in triumph before remembering that was where the shoulder wound was.

"You're hurt." Geralt's voice sounded worried, and no that couldn't be. Geralt had made it clear he didn't give a damn about Jaskier.

"I'm right as rain." Jaskier put false bravado in his voice and tried to ignore Geralt's growl of displeasure as it rumbled from the Witcher's chest to Jaskier's back. When had Geralt slid up behind him again and why was he that close?

Yennefer huffed by them and raised a single brow. 

"Can you two quit flirting and fucking help me!" 

She let out a blast of magic, sending three men flying high into the air, their bodies hitting the tree branches with sickening cracks as they came back down. The smell of chaos whirled around them but Jaskier felt safe when it wasn't directed towards him.

"We're not flirting." Jaskier sputtered, stomping his foot and realizing how childish that made him seem.

"Aren't we?" Geralt asked and Jaskier looked up at him in surprise.

Who the hell had given the Witcher the right to come here all cocksured and trying to sweep Jaskier off his feet. Was this a doppler instead? Had Geralt hit his head on the way down the mountain and forgotten how much her surely hated the bard?

"We need to get Triss back to normal and then we need to get the Bone Blade." Yennefer gave another huff and spread her hands out, creating a shield around the three of them so none of their attackers could get them.

Geralt rumbled a questioning hmm and Jaskier found himself falling back into the habit of translating what Geralt was asking.

"The Bone Blade is real." Yennefer said grimly and pointed it towards where it was lying next to the log Jean had vacated minutes earlier. 

"The witch that cursed Triss was really after you. She was cursed in such a way that I can only undo it with you nearby. The minute she's released from the curse the witch will be summoned and she's going to use the bone blade against you. Either way we're fucking screwed. We should get Triss out of here and at least have the witch be summoned somewhere nowhere near the bone knife but our options seem limited right now. Those cuffs have done a number on me I'm not proud to admit and with how many bad guys there are left I will need Triss to help me."

"You want to summon the crazy witch in the middle of all this?" Jaskier windmilled his one good arm, nearly clipping Geralt in the chin with his dagger. 

"I have a bit of a plan." Yennefer said as Geralt easily batted away Jaskier's arm.

"She believes that I'm Geralt's true love. We just play along. It'll be hard for me to act like that sword isn't heavy but once she's distracted enough to believe that I'm going to kill Geralt, I'm going to have Triss attack her and then you're going to take the sword from me and you're going to kill her."

"Why would the sword work for me?" Jaskier asked. "I'm not Geralt's true love. If I was then I wouldn't have been crying my eyes out in front of you because the Witcher over here grabbed my heart and tossed it over the side of the mountain. If I was Geralt's true love then he wouldn't hate me. He wouldn't want me out of his life, and he wouldn't think of me as being pathetic and worthless and -" Jaskier couldn't stop talking and the tears were filling up in his eyes.

This was neither the time nor the place but he had to let it out. He had to understand why Yennefer was pushing this storyline that Jaskier would be the one who could handle the Bone Blade and not her.

He only stopped his rambling when a firm set of lips met his and suddenly he was being kissed. It wasn't at all like he had fantasized about it. It was tender and hesitant, not at all like the hard and rough kiss that centered in most of his dreams. His shoulder in the dream scenario also wouldn't be on fire when he lifted his hand up to cup Geralt's chin, to feel the black veins under Geralt's smooth skin. 

They pulled away and Jaskier whined at the loss. Geralt just rested his forehead against the bard's and breathed in deeply.

"I'm sorry." Geralt's hand clutched tighter around where it had fallen to Jaskier's hip and Jaskier was aware of Yennefer's impatient huff but he was too focused on Geralt now.

Destiny could allow them a few more seconds.

"I shouldn't have said those things on the mountain. I just wanted to hurt you because I was hurting and...I'm not good with words Jask." Geralt's looked at Jaskier with almost desperate eyes. "I understand if you won't forgive me. I need to apologize too for how I treated you before, but I can't lose you now. I need you." Geralt's words were soft and filled the empty space in Jaskier's heart.

"We're going to have a long talk after all this," Jaskier twirled a piece of Geralt's hair that had fallen out of its ponytail and leaned forward for another kiss. "And they're going to be very angry words and I'm going to make you beg and grovel on your knees." He whispered the words between kisses and gave a low grunt as Geralt pulled their lower halves together.

"And then I'm going to forgive you and you're going to fuck me within an inch of my life-"

"And you can do that when we're not in the middle of this fight." Yennefer groused. "You have a fucking audience."

The two pulled apart and Jaskier smiled sheepishly. 

"Right. Now that its all settled and you two pulled your heads out of your asses, it's time we finish this."

Geralt cleared his throat and rumbled an apology to Yennefer.

She took it with grace and nodded her forgiveness, though it was clear he would be making it up to her for a long time.

When Jaskier came to, he had his hands tied behind his back and his legs were bound at the ankles. He let himself marginally relax when he felt Yennefer pressed against his side in a similar situation. Being separated would make their escape harder, he didn't want to have to search the area for her while also having to dodge the bad guys. 

He took in the rest of their surroundings. It was almost nightfall so that meant they'd been out for a couple hours. That man had seriously whacked him. Even though Yennefer and he were bound, with the added anti-magic cuffs on Yennefer's wrists, they weren't tied to a tree or pole. They could hobble their way if they had to.

There was a large campfire a good ten or so feet away; large enough he could feel heat on his face. There were two men sitting around it with their backs to their captives. There were several horses tied to the trees surrounding the fire, six of them not including Pegasus who was still wearing Jaskier and Yennefer’s things. That meant four of the men were unaccounted for. 

Yennefer didn't start stirring till a third man arrived from behind a few dense bushes. He’d probably been there the whole time taking a piss. 

“How the fuck did they get the drop on us?” She whispered angrily. Almost too loudly. She was tensed beside him and he nudged her, hoping to calm her. 

“Neither of us exactly have Witcher senses. The element of surprise works unsurprisingly well.” Jaskier softly chuckled at that earning him a harsh shove from Yennefer which he didn't retaliate because he sort of deserved it. 

Jaskier wanted to start running escape scenarios in his head but a snap from behind him alerted him to the other three members coming back to the fire.

“Well, well, well what do we have here?” A man squatted down in front of them, giving them a large whiff of B.O.

Yennefer’s nose wrinkled in disgust but Jaskier kept his face blank. 

“Two songbirds for the price of one,” the man leered, giving them both a look that had Jaskier wanting to take a bath immediately. 

“One’s an actual singing bird,” the man tipped his head towards Jaskier, “and the other is a whole different type of bird that I'd be happy to make sing.”

His hand started to reach for Yennefer’s breasts and she jerked forward trying to bite his fingers. 

He snapped his hand back, causing the other men to laugh at him. Teasing him for being scared of a woman. 

Their chortelling was stopped when a rough voice ordered them to be silent. 

A man, clearly the leader, was the best looking of his crew. Which wasn't really saying anything. His clothes were slightly less torn and he had white instead of yellow teeth but nothing else to him. 

He easily shoved aside the man who had tried to assault Yennefer and assessed the two. “My name is Jean. I take it you two are unaware of why we’ve captured you?”

Jaskier shook his head. Knowing why they were taken could be used to their advantage. 

“Yes, please tell us before I rip your larynx out of your throat.” Yennefer smiled sweetly, her mouth opened in a snarl.

Jean just laughed and tapped her cuffs. “Not with those on you won’t.”

Yennefer tried to lunge again but Jaskier leaned in front of her.

“Why would you tell us?” He asked, earning a sour smile from Jean. Jaskier’s curiosity was getting them somewhere.

“Because I like to let people know what they're getting into. Plus I'm a sucker for reactions. The angrier you get, the harder you cry, the more I get from the job.”

Jean shrugged as if he was telling them why he liked the color blue instead of showing them his sadistic side.

“Now, the witch that hired me told us that capturing you would lead us to a Witcher.” He looked around the camp and shrugged again. “I see no Witcher here but she did say he would come for his violet eyed lover.”

Yennefer scowled and Jaskier looked away, his heart clenching.

“But we were also supposed to catch a fox. We were supposed to make this woman here,” he pointed at Yennefer, “break the curse and then my client would appear and take care of the Witcher and everyone else.”

He sighed and grabbed Jaskier’s chin to make him face him.

“Unfortunately we have a bard instead of a fox.”

“Truly an unfair trade.” Jaskiers mocked.

Jean’s laughter sounded genuine but without warning he slapped Jaskier in the cheek, causing him to go careening into Yennefer, his jaw getting clipped on her sharp shoulder.

“I'm a man of words myself but I won't take lip from you, or you .” He turned to face Yennefer as she opened her mouth to say something.

“So now we sit here and wait for this Witcher to appear to save his true love and all that nonsense and get our payment from the witch after she kills you all.”

Jean started to walk away and Jaskier called out.

“We can pay you more!”

Jean shook his head with a laugh. “I have no doubt about it bard, I’ve been through your bags. You have a mighty fine horse as well. And that lute of yours will get us a pretty penny. But it won't save us from a vengeful witch who learns we’ve turned on her.”

“Yennefer here is even more powerful. She can get you whatever you want!” Jaskier tried again.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow when Jean turned to her. “I'm not going to sell my worth to you.” She huffed when the silence showed he was waiting for her to back up Jaskier’s words.

“Ok so she comes with a bit of attitude but if you keep me alive she'll be more compliant!” Jaskier dodged a jab from Yennefer and used that movement to test the hold of the ropes on his wrist and feet. They were tight. Fuck.

As he straightened himself back up, something sharp pricked him from inside his pants pocket.

Those fools! They hadn't checked him for weapons. They had probably figured his dagger was all he had because he was just a bard. They didn't know about the set of throwing knives he had and this time they were in the right pants!

He stored this information for later and tried again with Jean. 

“Come on good sir, Yennefer and I can help you with this witch of yours. You're already in trouble since you don't have a fox and this way you won't have to worry about a Witcher on top of that.”

Jean just smirked. “I won't be punished for my men's incompetence. As for the Witcher, he ain't shit.”

Jean motioned one of his men forward. The man who hobbled forward was one that Jaskier recognized. Their eyes locked and the man growled. In the light from the fire Jaskier could see just how badly he had cut the other man’s arm earlier during the fight. Jaskier felt a smidge of pride for doing a good job and then turned his attention to the large furry thing in the henchman’s arm that was the cause for his weighted down position. 

The thick fur looked coarse, like bear fur, and Jaskier began to recognize it as a sheath. But what sort of sword would be that heavy and need a cover like that? He heard Yennefer gasp beside him in shock and Jean smiled.

“Ah, so you know what this is?”

He took the fur from the man and laid it gently on the floor. He then struggled to pull out a blade that looked more like scythe. The blade was pure white and had a simple leather handle. Jaskier wasn’t sure why it was so special, but even he could feel a raw power coming from it. The way it gleamed from the fire and the moonlight of the moon which had started to appear made it look even more threatening and ethereal.

“The Bone Blade.” Yennefer choked out.

“It’s a glorified sickle.” Jaskier couldn’t help but say, making Yennefer and even Jean look at him in astonishment.

“You must know the stories.” Yennefer’s voice was disbelieving. “They’re told to every child, even my mother told it to me.”

“Well tell me about this grain cutting weapon of destruction.” Jaskier wanted to move his hands to further demonstrate his sarcasm.

“It’s nothing to mock .” 

The biting tone from Yennefer was a surprise and he looked over to see her watching the blade with an awed look that she wasn’t even trying to hide.

“The bone blade is a- well was a myth. A fairytale for children and romantics. There is the Bone Blade, and then a ring. Both fashioned from the same bone. The story goes that a young maiden fell in love with a gold dragon. The gold dragon, when human, was a noble man who was charming and good looking and had men and women falling at his feet. The girl was plain and had few friends but the dragon could see her heart and knew that she was good.”

Yennefer licked her lips and continued.

“Many girls in the village were angry with this, for they wanted him for themselves and didn’t think the other girl deserved him or his love. A few brave - or foolish - girls went to a witch who lived deep in the woods and begged her for a love potion first. When she refused they then begged for poison. The witch was irritated with them for she was a greedy woman and some village girls wouldn’t be able to give her enough money for what they were asking. Then they mentioned that the man was a dragon. A gold dragon. The rarest of them all.”

Jaskier was entranced by the story as Yennefer told it, he felt like he was there, the story clicking into place in his head. He could feel the hatred of the girls, the soft gaze of his beloved as they sat by the lake. He shook his head, knowing those thoughts and feelings were not his. 

“The witch agreed to help them, but she didn’t tell them that she was actually going to kill the gold dragon and use him for her spells and potions. There was another motive. Because Gold dragons are the only ones who can shift their form from dragon to human, they have extra special properties about them. Just a chipped off piece of Gold dragon bone could buy you would let you live for the rest of your days in luxury. But she had other plans for the bone. The witch made the potion and instructed the girls to make the dragon drink it. When he did, he was now stuck in absolute agony as he was forced into a state between shifts. His bones were now a mix of human and dragon and the witch took the opportunity to first fashion the Bone Blade from them.”

Jaskier felt queasy, thinking about that man stuck in between shifting. How agonizing and scared the dragon must have been. 

“The Witch tried to use the Bone Blade but failed multiple times. It was too heavy and bulky even though it had been made to be light and easy to use. She tried many different tricks but none worked. Finally, be it fate or magic or something else , she knew how to make the ring. The ring, when worn, could control whomever had the blade. So she didn’t need to wield it, she just needed to control whoever was able to. During this time the dragon’s lover had found out what happened and had been trying to find them for days. The girl got a hold of the Bone Blade and went to kill the witch but the minute she picked it up the witch was able to control the girl. She made the girl cut up her dragon lover so the witch could use the rest of his parts. 

Jean made a humming noise in the back of his throat and touched the tip of the Bone Blade with his finger.

They all watched as a trickle of his blood fell down into the grass.

“But it was too late for her. She hadn’t been strong enough to resist the Bone Blade and she had to carve into her own lover. She went mad. The witch was killed further down the line and the bone and blade went missing til now.” Jean finished.

“How do you intend to use this sword then if you’re struggling with it. Obviously it hasn’t chosen you.” Jaskier said quietly.

“Nope,” Jean covered the blade back up and handed it back to his henchman, “but we have someone here who can. There’s nothing true love can’t do right?”

With a wink he walked away, leaving the two of them to think.

Jaskier felt his stomach roll as he came back to one conclusion. Yennefer would be forced to use the blade against Geralt. It was obvious that the two of them were meant for each other, he had tried to get used to the idea but it had never felt real until now. He was going to watch the man he loved die at the hands of a sorceress.

Sending Triss to go look for Geralt would help with her curse, but overall they were leading Geralt like a lamb to slaughter. They would have to escape, and soon. They had to go somewhere where they had the high ground. Where they could break the bottle far away from the bone blade. They would have a plan by then and they would kill the witch after the curse was broken and it summoned her.

No one would be hurting his Witcher.

††††

They were only given some small bites of bread and then were left again once more. The men under Jean’s command were lazy and were too busy talking around the campfire or preparing for bed to pay any attention to Yennefer and Jaskier.

Jaskier started to scoot backwards. It earned him a curious look from Yennefer and he didn’t speak until the pocket of his pants was aligned with her tied hands.

“I’m going to need you to dig into my pocket. I have a knife in there that I can use to break the ropes.”

Yennefer scooted herself closer and after a few failed attempts finally reached inside his pocket and pulled out the dagger by its handle. He took it from her carefully and inched himself back to where he was sitting before and started a sawing motion on the ropes tied around his arms. The knives weren’t meant for this but they were still a sharp handy tool for cutting through the ropes.

“I'm sure we can find some way to get those cuffs off you without having to search these goons for the key.” Jaskier huffed. The strain of the odd angle he was trying to cut his ropes with was evident.

“Doesn’t matter. We need to get as far from here as possible.” Yennefer said.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Jaskier grunted.

“They can’t possibly believe it will work.” Yennefer murmured, watching the men around the campfire for any sign that they would be noticed.

“At this point Yen how can you be? We live in a world where most cures for curses actually are true loves kiss.”

Yennefer scoffed. “Well I’m not arguing that. The violet eyed lover was just a lover. I am not, nor ever will be, his true love.”

“Please.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. His bit his tongue in concentration and with one final stroke was able to cut through the ropes. He wanted to rub at his raw wrists but there was no time so he started working on Yennefer’s ties.

“Don’t please me Jaskier. I will admit there was love at one point. I don’t know what sort of love but it wasn’t as strong as true love. True love can not come from a wish Jaskier. We were forced together so many times because of the djinn it’s hard to know what emotions were real and which were exaggerated.” Yennefer’s voice was soft and hurt and Jaskier felt a tug at his heart for her. 

“There’s no one else.” Jaskier hissed. “Which I suppose is a good thing because then no one can lift that blasted blade.”

Yennefer turned her head and gave him an odd look as her bonds finally broke. Jaskier began on their feet, humming a little song to help pass the time.

“Are men normally this thick-headed?” Yennefer asked as she stretched her legs. He was now working on his legs, glad the henchmen had decided to not bother with a guard and just go to sleep. They could run off with no problem. 

Jaskier looked at Pegasus across the fire light and vowed he would return for her and his lute no matter what it took.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jaskier said as the insult finally registered.

He hopped to his feet and helped Yennefer up. It would be difficult to her to run with her arms still cuffed behind her back but it was still better than nothing. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes and started moving, her long black dress hardly creating a whisper as they moved stealthily through the trees. 

Jaskier dug into his other pocket for his other knife and held it tightly in his other hand. He was on edge as they made their way through the forest. It was good that he was because after maybe twenty minutes of walking an arrow zoomed by his ear and hit a tree a few inches in front of him.

He could hear yelling behind him and Jaskier cursed.

Yennefer and he spent most of the rest of the night having stilted conversations.

They were still on rocky footing, Jaskier still too hurt to let go right away with his hatred of Yennefer. He knew they would eventually find their rhythm and they'd be ok but for now he was filling the silence in their conversation with his lute. There was a song running through his mind that felt awkward to compose in front of Yennefer, especially because it was a ballad about Geralt and Yennefer and also himself.

He was frankly relieved when Triss grabbed the package off the table and leaped to the ground with it in her mouth as she went behind the curtain. A few minutes passed and Triss emerged from behind the curtain in the marigold dress. She gave a little twirl and Jaskier clapped and stood up from his seat to bow before her.

"My lady Merigold you are truly stunning. I could write many a ballad about you and this dress-"

"Oh shut up will you." Yennefer cut in and Jaskier straightened and looked over at the sorceress and changed tactic. If the two of them were going having a truce then he was going to take full advantage of it. He gave Yennefer an even deeper bow than he had given Triss and dared to even take her hand.

"I'm so sorry m'lady, it was truly rude of me to deny you my compliments as well. Your raven hair is just ravishing in this light and-"

Jaskier cut himself off when Yennefer laughed. He looked up at her in surprise to see she had thrown her head back with the force of the laugh.

"Don't give me any ideas bard. Keep going and I'll hex you to only speak compliments about me." She gave him a small smile and tugged her hand out of his. Jaskier let it slip from his grip and then motioned for Triss to take his seat.

"Now. Let's get to business. We don't know why you were cursed." Yennefer's was quick to switch from a joking mood to a more serious one as she waited for Triss to talk.

"Well," Triss cleared her throat and played at the hem of her sleeve as if embarrassed, "truth be told it was partially my fault. I was provoking the woman but she said such nasty things about Geralt and Yennefer you should have been there. She stunk of dark magic."

"So this has to do with Geralt then?" Yennefer asked, raising one finley threaded eyebrow.

"Of bloody course it does." Jaskier all but moaned with annoyance. "The big oaf blames me for all his hardships and then turns out to be the reason behind this."

Yennefer's mouth twisted into a grimace and Triss watched with clear confusion on her face.

"I didn't want to ask beforehand but given by how you're acting Geralt's pissed you off too Yen?"

"Oh he's done much more than that." Yennefer all but snarled. She ran a hand through her hair and clasped her hands together on the table. "Let's move on from that though. What was the witches reasoning for her hatred of Geralt?"

"Well from what I gathered from all her very specific insults, he killed her lover."

Jaskier's brows furrowed. "Well there must be a good reason for that. Geralt doesn't just kill people."

"Exactly what I was trying to tell that woman, but with all that dark magic swirling around her I don't think she was able to be reasoned with. I'm surprised she didn't give me a worse curse, unless it's going to present itself later on."

Yennefer looked Triss over and then closed her eyes and mumbled a few words. Her eyes were moving frantically behind her closed lids and when she opened them again she was breathing heavily. 

"I won't lie Triss, it's not good."

Triss sighed and accepted Jaskier's outstretched hand of comfort. 

"Of course it's not," she said miserably.

"The curse has managed to have spread all over you. It seems like the longer you are cursed the shorter amount of time you'll have as human until you will become a fox indefinitely."

"Well you can fix it right? Triss said she needed a witch equal to or more powerful than the witch to break it. You're the most powerful sorceress I know Yennefer!"

"It doesn't work like that. There's an extra layer to the curse, it will only be broken if I break it near its true intended target. If I try to break it now I'm sure nothing pleasant will happen, Triss will either get stuck in fox form forever or something worse. We need to get her to Geralt and then I can break it."

Jaskier found himself pacing around as he absorbed the information.

"So we have to actively look for Geralt now? Shouldn't be hard since you two are still tied together and destiny hates me. You're the only one Geralt doesn't seem to hate or have angered right now Triss." He put on a faux smile when he addressed Triss and ignored her sympathetic look.

"You still haven't told me what he has done." Triss said looking at them both.

Yennefer just shrugged and looked at the fire instead of Triss' earnest expression. This meant that the auburn haired mage had now turned her attention on Jaskier who felt trapped under her gaze.

“I suppose you won’t leave it alone unless one of us speaks hm?”

Triss nodded, looking a little guilty. “I’m a firm believer in not keeping your emotions inside. It feels good to release that pent up energy and negative emotion.” 

Jaskier sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling as if it had the answers to his misery. He thought he was the most stubborn of the group but clearly he had met his match.

“When I was little the only person who could stand having me around was a little girl who lived in the poorer part of Lettenhove. Her name was Essi Daven and for the longest time she was my only friend. I'm sure you've noticed that I make friends everywhere I go but none of them ever want to actually know me for more than one night or care to stick around after a few drinks and songs.” 

Jaskier wasn't sure why he was starting it off this way. Maybe he wanted them to understand just how badly Geralt hurt him. How Jaskier wasn't just some side character that was part comic relief and part scapegoat.

“So imagine my surprise when Geralt let me stay with him. I'm stubborn but I'm not stubborn enough to force a Witcher to be my companion. It was nice having someone besides Essi to converse with, or well converse at, in Geralt’s case. For all that I talk, I don't open up as quickly as I let people believe I do. I left Lettenhove when I was 16 because of a very toxic relationship with my father and I've never looked back. I got into Oxenfurt, studied and trained and did what I loved and finally was able to start traveling as a bard. Geralt had me putting my walls down almost right away. I wanted to tell him everything about myself, I had found someone who didn't make me feel like I had to hide myself, someone I could even tell my real name too, because under all his harsh words I could see their real meaning. We all know his actions show how he truly feels.”

He at this point had stopped pacing and decided to sit cross-legged on Yennefer’s bed. The silk sheets felt good in his hand as he made useless patterns in the material. 

“And then Geralt, the man who is very careful with his  words because he's not very good with them, uses them to tell me exactly where I can shove off too.”

Yennefer, surprisingly, was the one who walked over and sat next to him first. Triss followed after, plastering herself against his side in a side hug, her long arms snugly holding him around the waist.

“And I've had doubts, of course I have. You can only get called stupid so many times but I love that man.” He choked out and this time the tears that had been threatening to come out the last two days fell free. 

“He has no right to treat you like that,” Triss hissed, sounding truly pissed for the first time. “I know he's a but of hardass but come on.”

“What did he tell you.” Yennefer asked quietly, her hand found his and rested atop it. She didn't hold it, just let her hand splay across his. 

“Which part?” Jaskier’s laugh sounded cold and forced even to his own ears. “It was after his fight with you.” He couldn't keep the bitterness from his words and he couldn't look at Yennefer.

“I found him by himself and I didn't read the mood so to speak. I hardly got a word in before he asked me, why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?”

Jaskier hiccuped through his tears and relaxed further into Triss’ hold. “I said he was being unfair and then he said.” Another hiccup broke through.

“Then he said, If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”  

He and Triss were startled when Yennefer stuck her hand out and a burst of magic fizzled in the air and broke one of the chairs on impact. She was shaking with anger and her violet eyes turned to him with a look that made him feel bare.

“He doesn't get to do that. He doesn't get to bind me to him with his djinn wish, he doesn't get to stand there like a trout when he can't understand why I'm angry that he's rejecting his child surprise when I had to give up what I want most now?” 

She grabbed his hand at that point and squeezed it harshly. 

“He also does not get to treat his friends like shit. I hope he feels so regretful and guilty it brings him to his knees,” she growled the last words out making a shiver go down Jaskier’s spine.

“I think we should go to bed now.” Triss said quietly, breaking the tension. 

Jaskier wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

“We’ll probably have a long day ahead of us trying to track Geralt down.” Triss continued as Jaskier stood up from the bed. “What he did isn't a quick forgiveness and you both deserve a groveling apology but I really need his help.”

Jaskier and Yennefer exchanged a silent look. There was no question of being able to push aside their anger and hurt so Triss could get to Geralt. 

“Of course.” Yennefer said quietly and Jaskier nodded his agreement

He wished them a soft goodnight and practically fell into his bed. He fell asleep to Yennefer and Triss’ whispered voices on the other side of the curtain.

††††

He woke up to the room back to how it had been the night before. Yennefer was already in her furs and waiting patiently on the edge of his bed.

“Hurry up bard. We need to go to the cottage I've been using so I can grab my things. I need to make a potion that can help speed up the process of finding the Witcher.” 

Jaskier grunted and threw the covers back. That action left him exposed as Triss jumped on to his chest and barked eagerly on his lap. “Right, right I'm up.” 

He changed first into his new mauve doublet with puffed sleeves and a low neckline. He dabbed some lavender oil on the inside of his wrist and his neck. He was so demanding a bath at their nearest convenience. He then shimmied his way into the matching breeches that might have been a tad tighter than he thought it would be. Maybe all that walking had finally caught up and his leg muscles were filling out the pants. Or he was gaining weight as he got older. 

With everything all set they left the inn and went to get Pegasus from her stall. She gave Jaskiers hair a welcoming nibble and eagerly greeted Yennefer. The witch hid her surprise well and hesitantly stroked Pegasus’ flank before they were off.

Jaskier spent most of the walk to the cottage composing and the other half trying to talk to Yennefer.

Him spilling his guts last night had helped with the tension between the two and she ended up explaining to him the more in-depth story she'd been telling Triss last night about why she was so furious with Geralt.

“For what it's worth,” he said as they finally came to the cottage, “I think you'd be a good mother. No one is able to just suddenly know how to take care of a child, it takes time and practice. My mother used to tell me stories about what a little terror I could be and how she didn't know how to handle me in the beginning.” He gave her a bittersweet smile at the memory of his childhood and Yennefer returned it with a thankful smile. 

Yennefer’s cottage had peeling paint and looked unable to fit the three of them inside but much like her tents it had been enchanted on the inside to be bigger.

The space inside smelled like her perfume. It was spotless and well organized, all the furniture tastefully chosen. 

While Jaskier went about tying Pegasus to a nearby tree with a fresh patch of sweet grass for her to chew on, Triss was helping Yennefer brew the potion they would need to find the Witcher.

When he walked in Triss was jumping around and grabbing small viles with her mouth, handing them off to Yennefer who was pouring various liquids and herbs into a large pot on the stove.

Jaskier was asked a few times to grab things Triss couldn't but other than that he watched with interest as Yennefer stirred the concoction with a large wooden spoon.

It was ready sooner than he would have thought. The now purple liquid was poured carefully into a vile and corked. 

“It has to sit for a few hours before it's ready. Triss you will then need to drink it. It'll pull you in the direction of the Witcher. Hopefully destiny will work with us rather than against us this time and he won't be too far.”

“Are we going to wait here then?” Jaskier perked up, thinking he could get a long and nice soak in Yennefer’s tub.

Instead Yennefer shook her head no.

“I’ve no need of this village anymore and I'd rather be on the move.” She looked at them hesitantly and looked uncharacteristically fearful.

“Nilfgaard is making moves, there are whispers that they're nearby and I don't want to be around for that. 

“May I request a bath before we go?” Jaskier asked, eager to move away from Nilfgaard’s troops but not enough to lose the chance at a bath. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes and pointed towards the stairs. “Last door on the right.”

Jaskier gave his thanks and bolted out of the room and up the stairs, his lute bumping against his back. 

The bath was already filled when he got there and sunlight poured into the room from the window, giving the water an ethereal sheen.

He undressed quickly and set his lute down on his clothes before climbing into the welcoming warm water. Jaskier let out a long and pleased sigh as his muscles released their tension with the help of the soothing bath. He laid there for a bit before finding a bar of soap and began washing himself. The soap was unscented and buttery soft as it glided over his skin. The oils for his hair on the other hand smelled strongly of cloves and oranges. It wasn't his usual scent but it was a good smell and he wasn't one to complain. 

Jaskier didn't know how long he had stayed in the tub but a knock at the door startled him from a near sleep.

“We’re going to be leaving now! Staying in the bath all day won't change the fact you smell.” Yennefer called out.

Jaskier flicked his hand at the door in a rude gesture and then squealed when the water became ice cold. He jumped out of the bath cursing as Yennefer walked away from the door with a cackle.

He toweled himself off quickly and rushed to put on his clothes and grab his lute. 

Once he stepped outside the house he felt a whoosh of air and turned around in shock to see the cottage was gone. 

“Now, if you can do magic like that, why can't you get your own horse?” He turned to glare at the witch who was sitting side-saddle on Pegasus’ back, Triss in her arms. 

“Aren't you used to walking alongside a horse instead of riding one?” Yennefer asked with a quirk of her brow.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered, feeling quite betrayed by his horse as she just snorted at him as if to say she wasn't going to fight Yennefer.

“Let's get going then.” Yennefer said and Jaskier grabbed Pegasus’ reins to guide her. Triss gave him a sympathetic whine but didn't join him in walking, instead burrowing herself further into Yennefer’s skirt. 

††††

The path they were now on was thin and jagged. Jaskier had moved to sit behind Yennefer and kept apologizing to Pegasus about his added wife but there was no sense of him twisting his ankle on the treacherous road when the horse was more capable of navigating.

“You said something about Jaskier not being your real name.” Yennefer interrupted one of his stories about Oxenfurt and he went quiet.

“Trust is important to you, I understand that now. Especially after last night I can now see how you avoid certain topics about your past. But I want you to know you can trust Triss and you can trust me.”

They continued on in silence til Jaskier broke it with an uneasy cough.

“My name is Julien. Viscount Julien Alfred Pankratz.”

“That makes sense in a way.” Yennefer said as she turned her head towards him. “Your taste for luxury fits a viscount more than a bard with good taste.”

“Ah, so you admit I have good taste.” Jaskier said teasingly.

Yennefer huffed and returned her attention back to the front of the road. 

They had only tackled another mile before they reached smoother terrain. Jaskier was about to get off his horses back so she could have a rest when she started to neigh uneasily.

He looked around nervously, wishing he had Witcher senses to help him see what was making Pegasus nervous. The sun had disappeared about halfway through their journey, hidden by dark grey clouds, so it was slightly darker on the road making it near impossible to see into the surrounding woods for any threat.

Jaskier could have sworn just then that the only sound was their breathing before there was a loud crack and Jaskier was pushed off his horse, Yennefer toppling off along with him.

He reached for the dagger in his boot and easily bounced back to his feet, the blade ready in his hands.

They were surrounded by several men dressed all in black. Clearly bandits which was just their luck. Yennefer should be able to take care of them though. Jaskier took one step forward and dug his blade into the nearest man. The man howled in anger as the dagger sliced through his arm. Jaskier went to strike again when he was distracted by a snk noise and he turned to see two men clasping handcuffs on Yennefer’s wrists. By the way she was struggling and unable to use her magic the cuffs must have been crafted to keep their wearers magic contained.

Jaskier growled, realizing that it would be a whole lot harder if not impossible to take out all these men without Yennefer’s help. Yennefer seemed to have come to the conclusion at the same time as him and yelled for him to get the bottle.

The bandits hadn't noticed Triss, who was hiding under Pegasus. 

Jaskier dodged one of the men and dived to his knees in front of Yennfer, his hands went immediately to her skirt and he dug around in the fabric til he found the pocket that had the purple potion. Without thinking he tossed it to Triss who caught it in her mouth.

“Go!” They shouted at the same time to Triss who looked like she wanted to stay and help, but there was nothing for her to do. 

Triss ran from under Pegasus and past all the men, her little legs moving her body swiftly into the night.