#touchstarved reader fic

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The Red Banquet ebbed and flowed around you in a roiling, scarlet ocean of silk and sound. 

You watched over the early embers of the party as Eridia’s elite mingled, sparkling jewelry swinging as they danced, laughed, sneered, and drank themselves to oblivion. Soon the ceremonial dance would begin, and you would be called to the stage - for now you hid in the shadows and explored the palatial inner sanctum of the temple. 

“The night’s still young, yet some are already getting sloppy.” 

You glanced over your shoulder as Mhin approached, slinking through the shadows of the wall until they had reached your side. 

They were already dressed for the dance, in the ensemble that the troupe leader had painstakingly chosen for the occasion: the silk top hooked around their neck in a glittering chain of pearls, descending in a shimmering garnet swath to a matching band across the hem wrapped above their waist, the tiny beads bouncing against bare, pale skin. Two gossamer shawls hung from their arms, cinched at the shoulder, a golden cuff around the bicep, then once more at the wrist. Trousers of the same fabric billowed down their legs to golden anklets that sparkled and chimed with tiny bells.

Mhin moved silent as a ghost despite the jewelry dappled across their frame. A veil of silk hung across his nose and mouth, masking his expression.

“The more, the better,” you said. Drunk people were easier to manipulate.

They braced themselves on the banister, lilac eyes trailing over the crowd. “I always knew their kind never gave a fuck about the common folk, but this is… beyond even my imagination.” Their eyes narrowed on the massive fountains of white wine, tables full of enough fine food to feed ten times the guests present. “Throwing a party, wasting so much money and food, while hordes of Soulless terrorize the villages. Disgusting.”

You crossed your arms and leaned your hip against the pillar. “We’ll have to remember to circle back round to the kitchens after…” you trailed off, sharing a look. “With Leander’s help, we can haul back some of the food for the kids.”

Though the mask hid their expression, you could tell exactly how Mhin felt at the idea of eating the noble’s leftovers - in a word, homicidal - but the thought of Fenrir, Silvia, and the other troupe children stalled that infamously sharp tongue. 

“They would certainly appreciate it more than this lot,” Mhin scoffed. “I doubt a single one of these prissy noblewomen will eat much, even as their pig partners gorge themselves.”

Hoping to lighten the mood, you nudged them with your foot and smiled when they met your gaze. “Silvia would be beside herself at that mountain of fruit.” 

The corners of their eyes crinkled as a reluctant smile likely formed beneath the veil. “Huxtly would stick his whole head in the chocolate fountain. Make himself sick, probably.” 

“Fenrir could eat a whole one of those pheasants by himself.”

“If he could snag one before Yulia devoured them all.”

Grinning, you pushed off from the pillar and leaned on the banister next to them, your shoulders bumping. For a moment, you both enjoyed the idea, the banquet and all its glamor falling away amidst this pocket of peace. Your heart lurched wistfully in your chest. 

“Soon.” At their sideways glance, you continued in a hushed tone, “Soon we’ll be able to give them that. To see the look on their faces, when they have so much food they can’t possibly eat it all.”

Mhin stared for a long moment, before they sighed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. One wrong move, and our heads will stand on pikes outside the temple gates.”

You frowned. “We’ve swam through far more dangerous waters than this,” you said with a nod toward the party. 

“Don’t be flippant. Monsters roam these halls, the likes of which we’ve never seen.” Their hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, their words a fervent whisper. “Don’t trust anyone. Never let your guard down. 

You huffed and stood up, tugging your wrist back. “This isn’t my first performance, Mhin. Don’t you trust me to handle this?”

“You, I trust. Them… him ….” They shot a seering glare at the stage. An empty throne sat in prime of place, a behemoth crafted from snow white, glittering Abaranth silver. A priceless treasure, bought with the brutal culling of the Abaranth people. Mhin’s people. “Never.”

Seething hate burned in their eyes - an enmity born of extraordinary suffering and loss. They had never spoken in detail about the massacre of his village, but you had noticed the remnants of that pain all the time: in the way he gripped his dagger in his sleep, the way he flinched at a campfire that flamed too high, the viciously protective way he guarded you and the troupe members, especially the children.

You looked over the party again.

These people had rejoiced. They had clothed themselves in jewelry hewn from that purest silver and danced on the mountains of corpses they had wrought to attain it. Thousands killed to slake that insatiable lust.

All of it made possible by the god of this temple. 

The Vessel of the Seaspring and his army of Soulless.

“I’ll be careful,” you reassure them softly, your gaze on that empty throne. Determination to see this through burned white hot in your chest. You would succeed. And with this victory, the futures of so many would be saved. 

Spurred by that thought, you glanced at the entrance of the hall and immediately caught the eye of a man lingering in the doorway, his arms folded over his thick chest. Leander’s mouth lifted  into a smile, his chin jerking toward the interior. 

“Looks like it’s time to get dressed,” you murmured before rising and heading toward the staircase. After a moment, you felt the shift in air as Mhin caught up and walked at your side, their arm brushing against yours.

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Ais hated shit like this.

When he reluctantly strode out of the shrine gate and took his place on the thick cushions of the throne, the crowd of nobles cheered and toasted their glasses, spilling wine onto the floor. They didn’t seem bothered at all by his lack of response, too caught up in the drunken revelry to care if he watched them all with utmost apathy. 

With a pointed look at his man by the door, Ais enacted his plan to hurry along the events of the night and return to his rooms to laze about in solitude. Well, mostly solitude - he’d probably invite Princess to join him, maybe one of the dancers if they excited him.

Much as he’d like to, Ais couldn’t abstain from the entire banquet altogether - Ocudeus demanded his due from the horde of bloodthirsty humans - but he could decide how long and when. He figured, if he came for the dancing and ceremonial offerings, he’d at least be somewhat entertained and fed well.

Then, he could leave and sink into oblivion once more.

Chin propped on his palm, one leg thrown over the arm rest of the throne, Ais sat through two performances. The first was an instrumental ensemble with a variety of horns he’d never seen before. The second had dancers, but the kind that put on a theatrical performance, with exaggerated drama and a scene where one person was tragically killed by another. 

The crowd dabbed the corners of their eyes. 

Ais yawned. 

He’s contemplating the swirling red wine in his goblet, contemplating leaving early regardless of Ocudeus’ wrath, when the third performance swept into the room.

Near drowsing, he watched the dancers glide into position in the center of the room, draped in fluttering red robes and glittering pearls. A cluster of musicians set up close to the stage, their instruments polished and primed. He paused as a familiar face appeared just behind the musicians: short dark hair, emerald eye, a winsome smile on his handsome face. Leander.

Ais tilted his head, curiosity peaked. The mage rarely made an appearance in the palace of the Seaspring - before Ocudeus had swarmed his influence over the kingdom, Ais had been a frequent visitor at Leander’s pub. They used to be something close to friends.

Leander’s attention was riveted to the center of the hall. Ais followed his gaze.

The dancers had formed two rings around the stage, fixed in place with their arms out and curled artfully around them like the blooming petals of a flower. They waited, eyes bright and smiles hidden beneath silk veils, for the music to begin.

At the center of the formation was a single dancer - the prima. 

Even at a distance, she shone brighter than the rest. 

In addition to her ceremonial garb, she was draped in an additional robe, this one as delicate and transparent as sea foam and embroidered with the tiniest glittering gems that caught the light like a river of stars. Her long hair was swept high on her head and fixed with a crown: its frame comprised of curling, golden tendrils, cresting in the center around a massive garnet, each tentacle fixed with dangling pearls that danced with every turn of her head. The tail of her hair flowed to the small of her back, a long silky length that curled like rolling waves and gleamed under the torchlight around the hall. Her hands were the color of summer storms, in which rivers of gold branched across the dark sky.

A feast for the eyes.

Ais rose from his slouch and leaned forward on the throne. 

At some unspoken signal, the musicians began to play. An eerie, seductive melody began to fill the room, a string instrument singing through the sharp beats of a drum. The dancers began to turn in place, slow and winding, before curling toward the center and rolling together, their robes forming the waves of a shore. 

They twirled and writhed to the music, twining around each other, the two rings weaving together, separating, leaping around the floor as one. At their center the prima rose and fell with them, her lithe form undulating, each stroke of her arms through the air prompting an ensuing wave amongst the other dancers, as though she were the moon commanding the tides. 

The lethargic tempo gradually grew more passionate and alive. He’s reminded of the insidious curl of clouds that grew in strength and torrent, until a hurricane descended from the heavens - only this particular tempest, wrapped in red silk and gold, burned like an inferno. 

The prima leapt recklessly through the ranks of the other dancers, the glitter of her crown and robes parting the sea of fire like a lightning strike. At one point she danced to the front of the stage, as close to the throne as she could, and her gaze caught his over her veil.

Bright, burning eyes encircled by thick lashes and red paint. Pearls had been fixed in clusters around her temples, then scattered around her taut stomach and back, gleaming against her skin.  This close, he could watch the undulation of muscle and sinew in each curl of her body, each movement graceful, effortless, as smooth as the silk clinging to her frame. 

She spun back to the center of the formation as the music rose to a crescendo, her dancers all around twisting in a frenzy, and then lifted her arms. Every dancer but the prima paused, then fell to the ground like dolls whose strings had been cut.

The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. 

The gold veins across her hands and forearms suddenly flared. An aura enveloped them, golden mist issuing from her skin, and then a single ball of light formed between her palms. 

Ais sat up as the ancient magic welled from within the dancer’s body. 

He tensed, claws gripping the armrests, as her hands molded the sphere of magic, radiating light like a miniature star, before twisting sharply. 

It burst across the air like a firework. Sparkling comets of magic flew through the air, delighting the crowd into shrieks and screams of delight. He flicked a finger as one shot toward him, redirecting it with ease, and watched as it merrily spun in the air before crashing into a statue and dissipating in a last, popping spark. 

Ais eased back onto the throne, surveying the crowd. The magic hadn’t harmed any of the humans, from what he could tell. They continued to clamor rapturously, some even chasing after the last few rays of magic and grasping with their hands to try and catch it. 

His gaze soon returned to the prima, inspecting her with fresh eyes. 

She was panting slightly, her face turned upward as her arms slowly dropped to her sides. Gold magic continued to exude from them, the fine mist now cloying and viscous, drooling from her veins like honey. 

Ancient magic presented amongst beings - humans and monsters alike - rarely but on the chance that it occurred, it did so in unique ways. He’d never seen magic quite like this, in all his centuries of existence. 

The prima then glanced up, searching for a moment before finding him in the crowd. She held his gaze for a moment, a flicker of something sharp awakening in those pretty eyes.

Ais tilted his head back, his mouth curling.

Interesting. 

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When the servant had arrived at the guest quarters of the troupe with a summoning from the Vessel, he was met with little surprise or fanfare. 

Mhin had answered the door and, after a moment, nodded tersely. “She needs time to prepare. Wait out here.”

“The Vessel will not be kept wait - “ the servant tried to stop them, only to jump back as Mhin slammed the door in his face. 

Grimfaced, Mhin joined you in your corner of the dressing room. Fischa was dabbing the sweat from your body with a couple cotton pads, taking special care to refresh the makeup around your face and apply fresh glue to any pearls that slipped on your skin. “It worked.”

“Oh!” The other dancer gasped, her cheeks flushing, before she lunged for the box full of perfumes and essential oils. “How long does she have? Oh, but it’d be best if you could bathe - you can’t service the Vessel with a sweaty body. A wardrobe change, at the very least?” 

A nerve in Mhin’s clenched jaw jumped, but they said nothing as Fischa was soon joined by the other dancers, who dithered around you and argued how best to prepare you for a night with the temple god. 

After much debate, they bullied you into changing into a fresh ceremonial outfit - still vibrant red and accentuated by pearls and garnets, but clean, dry, and embroidered with gold sparrows and delicate blossoms. 

“Just a dab of this, and you’ll be ready to go!” Fischa beamed, her fingers dipping into a lotion compact. She rubbed circles into the crook of her neck and wrists, the scent of honey and clover brushing against your senses.

You wondered whether they would be as excited preparing you for a night with the Vessel, if they knew what you intended to do with it. Still, you would never return their kindness with anything less than gratitude. 

“Thank you, sisters,” you murmured, clasping her hands and offering a slightly wan smile. 

“You know, I can’t remember whether we’ve had a talk about… intimate relations,” Rukia chimed in, wrapping an arm through your elbow. “Have you been with a partner before?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, shutting down that frightening prospect before the other dancer got any further. “I’m aware.”

A series of knocks banged impatiently on the door to the quarters.

Fischa shared a look with Rukia when something seemed to occur to her. She hurried to a small dresser and dug around inside before returning with a small compact. She handed it to you with slightly pink cheeks. “Take this. Surely the Vessel won’t be… too passionate, but just in case.”

Confused, you opened the lid. A clear, viscous salve sat inside. You stared at it for a moment before her words sunk in. 

Your cheeks burned.

Clearing your throat, you screwed the lid back on with clumsy fingers and tucked the compact in your pocket. “Thanks, Fishca,” you said, avoiding everyone’s gaze and turning toward the door. 

Mhin grabbed your arm and pulled you to a stop just before the door. In their hand was a thin, ornate dagger, the blade purest white.

You tucked it within the folds of your pants, strapped to your hip with a leather belt. The drape of your robes should hide the slight bulge - it might cause a bit of trouble unsheathing the dagger, but you’d make it work. 

Mhin leaned close and murmured in your ear. “Don’t hesitate. If anything seems off, do whatever you have to to get the fuck out of there.” 

You nodded. 

“I’ll be nearby.” Their hand brushed across the bracelet at your wrist. It was enchanted with a spell that, when activated with magic, would signal the matching one on Mhin’s wrist to vibrate.

“If you need me.”

You nodded again, this time grabbing their hand and squeezing for a moment, before lifting your chin and striding toward the door. 

The harried servant, clearly both irritated and panicked to have been kept waiting, hustled you through the palace at fast as he could. 

Despite having an excellent sense of direction, you soon found yourself struggling to remember the turns you’d taken, as each hall looked identical with its blood red walls and black marble floors, when the servant guided you around one last corner that opened up to a larger room with a vaulted ceiling.

You paused on the threshold, sucking in a gasp. 

Amongst the luxurious velvet walls, the towering, worn mahogany doors set at the top of an equally ancient set of stairs looked unnatural. Around the circular room, grotesque statues lined the walls - no, not just statues.

Soulless.

Your stomach lurched. 

“Come, this way,” the servant ushered, hovering and gesturing insistently but apparently unwilling to touch you. “Please. He’s been waiting for so long now.”

You swallowed around a dry throat and followed on slightly shaking legs, your eyes darting around the room, trying to keep as many of the monsters in sight as possible. Still, even as you reached the bottom of the stairs, not a single Soulless had so much as twitched in your direction. 

Hell of an entrance. Literally.

“Up the stairs, through the doors. Go, go.”

You’d ascended halfway when you realized the servant hadn’t accompanied you. You looked over your shoulder. 

The servant was gone. 

Only the Soulless remained in the room. Where before they had remained as still and lifeless as statutes, now every red eye in the room opened and fixed upon you. 

Terror shot like fire through your body.

Sprinting up the steps, you burst through the old doors and slammed them shut behind you, your heart pounding in your head, your chest. 

Fighting to calm down, you forced your breath to slow and let your hands fall from their panicked barricade on the door. You sighed as your body cooled, a drop of sweat racing down your spine. Fischa’s anxious attempts to blot your sweat were all for nothing. 

Once your heart had stopped racing, other sounds began to filter into your senses. The soft whistle of a breeze through a cavern. Gentle, bubbling movement of still water. Groaning wood beneath your feet, the faint creaking of hanging metal.

Steeling yourself, you turned around and faced the inner sanctum of the Seaspring palace. 

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She was a cautious thing, for sure.

From atop the rafters, Ais watched as the dancer took short, quiet steps further into the sanctum. 

She drew her robes closer, the chill of the room drawing goosebumps across the bare skin of her stomach and arms. She stopped at the edge of the water, taking in the vast temple encircled by the aging pier, the torii gate that towered above, the lanterns and talismans swinging idly amongst the mahogany pillars. Sweat cooled on her brow, her eyes bright and calculating. 

“Hello? Venerable One?” she called out into the room, her voice echoing to the depths of the cavern. 

He rolled his eyes at the title. The humans found something new to call him every decade or so, each more foolish than the last. 

She waited but, upon receiving no response, began exploring the left side of the pier. When she reached the tea pot and cushions, she hesitated before lifting the lid and peering inside. Searching for poison? Or just curious what the Vessel drinks?

Ais smirked as her nose crinkled. 

She stood up again and looked around. Her curiosity led her to the closest pillar, covered in white paper talismans. For several minutes, she read their contents, a furrow in her brow. 

“What would you wish for?” he asked.

The dancer jumped, her hand reaching instinctively to her hip as she searched for the voice. Soon, she looked upward, finding him amongst the rafters. Her eyes narrowed above the veil. 

“Your Excellency,” she demurred with a bow, even as her sharp eyes held fast on his form. 

He tilted his chin, resisting the urge to smile. “Answer.”

She considered him, that quick mind working behind those bright eyes, before she replied, “I would never dare to wish for anything, without a full understanding of the terms.”

Now, he smirked. “Smart.”

He could tell from the spark in her gaze that she held a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue but kept silent. “Speak freely,” he said, bracing his arm on his bent knee, a pipe hanging from his fingers. “I prefer honesty to pointless pleasantries.”

The dancer bowed her head in acknowledgement. “As Your Excellency wishes.” After a moment of silence, she asked, “For what reason has Your Excellency called for me?”

“Good question. Not sure yet.”

Her brow furrowed again. Her hands twisted in the silk, the many folds of her robes flowing over her arms. During the performance, the other dancers had reminded him of flowers, but she was too animated to remind him of such a staid thing. No, more than a flower, her movements - the way she dove and soared, leaped and tumbled through the air, reminded him of a sparrow flitting through the many bows and trees of a forest, carrying the light of the sun on her wings.

She looked around the room for a moment before turning back to the tea pot. “Shall I prepare a fresh pot then?” 

“No need.”

He watched as she moved to the tea pot and prepared to remove the leftover grinds, then hesitated. Where moments before the pot had stood cold and empty, a full, steaming pot of tea awaited her. Her gaze darted toward him in question.

Ais pulled from his pipe and said nothing, curious what she’d do.

After a moment’s deliberation, she lifted the handle and poured two servings into the nearby cups, her brow furrowing at the deep red color of the tea.

A short laugh escaped him.

Affecting an air both graceful and ever so slightly annoyed, she settled on a cushion and held her cup in hand, her nose poised over the steam as she tried to subtly smell the batch. 

“Is this wine?” she finally asked, after failing to place the flavor.

“Something like that.” 

He blew out two long furls of smoke from his nostrils before rising from the rafter and dropping down onto the pier beside her. She stiffened briefly but recovered well, her head dipping in a chime of clinking pearls and gold, as he approached and took the cushion opposite her. 

Ais leaned back on the pillar and whistled. 

Soon enough, the scratching of claws across the ancient wood grew closer until Princess turned the corner of the temple gate, her many tails wagging behind her, the handful of wet, amber eyes around her head rolling as they surveyed the room, the dancer, and himself. She trotted toward him, her snout prodding into the side of his face, before curling up at his hip.

Ais dropped a hand on her back, his fingers brushing her fur. 

The dancer had stiffened, her back ramrod straight, fear mixing in with the lovely scent of honey and spice around her. Bemusedly, he realized the addition didn’t put him off in the slightest.

After several moments, she relaxed again, hiding her eyes behind the thick rim of lashes. She lifted the cup to her mouth, took a delicate sip, and then set it back on the ground again. “How can I be of use to you, Your Excellency?”

“Use?” He took a long drink of his own cup and savored the burning down his throat. “What do you think?”

Ais watched the quicksilver calculation flash through her eyes. Then, her posture shifting, she seemed to settle into her determination. 

Her robes loosened, the sumptuous weight falling down around her elbows, pooling around her hips. The smooth skin of her shoulders were bared, her head tipping forward to allow her long hair to spill over them in soft curls. Her eyes narrowed again, not in calculation, but in sleepy, languorous seduction. 

Ais let his bent leg fall to the side, opening his lap. 

She took the invitation without hesitation, all curves and silk as she crawled across the distance and settled on top of him. This close, he could sense the brimming magic swimming in her veins, the golden branches across her hands and arms shining with power. 

Her hands smoothed across his chest, the tips of her fingers teasing beneath the folds of his clothes, before sliding around his shoulders and settling at the nape of his neck. She curled into him, those bright eyes inches from his own, the veil hanging between their mouths. 

He could sense her breath on the air, could taste it across his tongue. 

The smirk that spread across his face was an evil thing, even to his own mind, but still she did nothing as he tugged the edge of her veil from its fastenings and took her mouth.

______________________________________________

He kissed like a demon. 

His tongue invaded in a hot rush of teeth and breath, his mouth working with a fervor at complete odds with his attitude thus far. You’re swept in the tide, hands seeking purchase on his thick shoulders as his hot tongue found yours, each brush of rough wet muscle a torrent on your senses as you struggled to keep your wits about you. 

He tasted strangely spicy, the thick mulled wine from the teapot seeping across your palate. Each shallow swallow of the taste burned a line down your throat and settled in your stomach like whiskey.

Countless times, you’d lured targets just like this. Honeypot was something of a specialty, for all that you’d rarely engaged in true intimacy. You could separate the sensations from your head, your thoughts always focused on the mission, dissociating the physical from the mental. Missions just like this were a dime a dozen - entice, approach, distract, execute. Simple. Straightforward.

Nothing about this felt simple. Never before had the pleasure been this strong, this mind-numbingly good - never had it been this difficult to just think when a target laid hands on you.

Heat flooded your body, pooling in the pit of your stomach. When his hands braced your waist, scorching palms a brand on your skin, mischievous thumbs stroking along the dips and plateaus of your stomach, every nerve in your body seemed to perk up and come alive with tingling pleasure. 

You broke the clasp of his mouth, panting as his tongue swept across your lip. 

Red eyes bored into you, their weight intense and all-consuming. The Vessel pulled you against his chest, his hands guiding your hips down into the valley of his lap, and instinctively they began to grind against him, as though called to dance by a lewd melody you couldn’t hear. 

A stifled moan rose in your throat as the hard jut of him notched against your sensitive mound and rose to meet you, rubbing deep and slow against your clit through the perilously thin fabric. God, he’s big. You felt yourself growing wet, your arousal dampening the silk further, heightening each brutal brush against your folds.

Sweet, heady fog began to slip into your head, teased and tormented on the precipice of that perfect, elicit friction. 

The air between you felt cloying, humid and hot. You tossed your head back, fighting for breath and swallowing a moan as his eager mouth found your throat and proceeded to nip and suck. 

The mission. Don’t forget what you’re here for - oh fuck, that’s good . 

You struggled, searching your memories for the fuel to keep on trick. Mhin’s face, the glimpse of hollow grief on his face at the mention of his village. Fischa and Rukia. Huxtly, Fenrir, and Yulia, playing out in the fields around the tents, the breeze carrying their laughter.

Gritting your teeth, you dragged your hands from around his neck, down the firm planes of his chest and covered his where they sat on the curve of your waist and guided your hips in their lazy, exquisite dance against him. 

You held his wrists and drew him upward, until his palms smoothed over the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers teasing along the hem of your top, pearls on thin gold chains slipping over his knuckles. He took the invitation eagerly, roaming beneath the silk until his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, testing the firm points as those terrible red eyes watched your face, devoured your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. 

Your pleasure seemed to feed his and vice versa, a conduit forming as riotous heat and lust charged the air between you. 

Your hands left him to his devices, namely torturing you with flicks and pinches and hot handfuls of skin, and then returned to your waist, gripping your own hip bones as though bearing down on the thick ridge of his cock. Your right hand slipped within your pants and found the handle of the dagger. 

His tongue licked a hot swath up your neck, his mouth lingering by your ear, his breath puffing against your jaw. You turned and caught his mouth again, sucking his tongue inward, your head swimming even as you fought to think.

With a quick jerk, you pulled the dagger out of its sheath, cutting through the fabric of your pants, and lifted it into the air, poised above his neck. Your grip tightened, prepared to tilt and plunge the blade into his jugular, when - 

Your body froze. 

What - what’s happening . Every single nerve in your body continued to sing with pleasure, your mound aching like an open wound, your skin tingling with the heat radiating from his body and touch.

Your mouth gaped, paused in the middle of a deep kiss, as he sighed and leaned back, his gaze tracing the blush on your cheeks, the dawning horror in your eyes. His hand slipped out from your breast and cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip and dipping inside to tease your still tongue. 

“Should’ve known not to drink from my cup, sparrow,” the Vessel said, his red eyes narrowed in satisfaction, before inspecting the raised dagger with interest. “Looks sharp.”

Then he withdrew a couple inches, just enough to bring his face closer to the weapon. “Oh…?” He met your paralyzed gaze over the blade. “Abaranth steel?” He tilted his head thoughtfully before a smirk spread across bruised lips. “So it’s personal.”

You watched, terror quickly replacing the fading pleasure in your body, sucking the warmth from your veins until sweat lay cold and dry on your skin, your heart racing furiously.

The Vessel dragged his hand down your neck, across your shoulder and down your arm in a mocking caress, fingers cupping your elbow teasingly, before reaching the thick gold veins embedded in your skin. “Wanted a closer look at these, but… turns out there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You fought against the unnatural paralysis with all your might, those same veins he traced with his thumb lighting up with stifled magic - but to no avail. His words bubbled to the surface of your panic. You glanced down at the mug you’d taken barely a sip of. 

The wine?

The Vessel hummed low in his throat, his gaze pausing on your face, before a slow smirk spread across his mouth. 

Checkmate, sparrow , he whispered, but not once had his lips moved to form the words.

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic building to a crescendo, your body vibrating as though struck by lightning. What is this? What did you do to me ? you thought feverishly. What did I drink ?

His scarlet eyes flared, their malevolent glow burning like banked embers in the gloom of the temple. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the tea pot’s lid spun off the frame and onto the ground nearby. He hooked his fingers over the rim and lifted the pot until the chamber was level with your eyes.

Thick, blood red water sloshed from within, dribbling down the side of the pot.

The same water that ebbed beneath the pier.

You stared, a scream echoing from the distance. 

Now , he mused, his voice almost bored even as it invaded your mind, let’s see what secrets you’ve got tucked away in this head of yours. 

_____________________________________

_____________________

The clinic was cold and quiet when you slipped inside through the back door, lockpicks stowed safely in your coat pocket. As you shook off drops of rain from your hood and dropped it on the coat stand, the lantern on the counter sparked to life, filling the room with a white, clean glow.

The stool where the good doctor usually perched sat empty. You tugged at the doorknob to his office, found it firmly locked, and listened at the hinge of the door for a moment. No soft shuffle of papers, no dainty chimes of bottles kissing as concoctions passed between them.

He’s out, then.

You hesitated, before inspecting the gash on your arm. A soulless had taken a cut of flesh on your return to Eridia, nearly catching the bag of valuable potions ingredients you’d brought back to sell. There were a couple things in there that you thought Kuras might be interested in buying: thalus roots, spotted sunshrooms, a particularly thick undu stem that could be stored and siphoned from for months before it’d run out. You’d intended to trade treatment for a discounted rate, but perhaps you should try your luck elsewhere. 

Distaste hollowed your stomach at the thought. The local clinics had a habit of prying whenever you’d been forced to visit, finding excuses to try and remove the bandages wrapped around your hands. 

Kuras never pried. As patient and steadfast as a saint, he would wait, golden eyes soft and alluring, an effortless grace that seemed to coax others to open themselves up like flowers to the sun.

Though you’d rather seek treatment here, you might be short on time. Blood continued to drip sluggishly from the wound and, from within the open gash, the muscle and tissue inside seemed to be darkening, pink flesh graying like rot.

Poison or a curse, you couldn’t be sure.

Just as you prepared to shrug your coat on and brave the storm, the front door opened with a tingle of bells.

He must have noticed the lights on, and yet Kuras still strode undaunted into the examination room. His gaze alighted on you immediately, and a gentle smile curled his full lips. “Ah, my favorite patient.”

You smiled back, a little sheepish. “Your most consistent one, at least.” 

“How may I assist you this evening?” he inquired graciously, his hand gesturing toward the exam bench. 

You huffed under your breath before placing one boot on the stepstool and lifting yourself onto the edge, the sheet crinkling under you. You looked him over as he turned toward the counter and swept a few papers neatly into a leather book.

Kuras had clearly been out in the storm for some time. Rain had soaked into his hair and coat, the edges dripping fast onto the tiled floor. His long mane of hair stuck wetly to the coat, a few curling locks caught in the gilded plates of his coat. His face looked dewy soft, his fan of lashes thicker with moisture. Drops trailed perilously slow down his thick neck, skirting the edge of that high collar.

Heat pooled in your stomach, a strange restlessness harrying your limbs.

You cleared your throat and glanced down. “Ran into a soulless on my way back today. Turns out, not all dark, mysterious strangers are happy to see me,” you quipped.

“A fault on their part, I assure you.” He approached and leaned over you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over your lap. “May I?”

“Will I need to strip down this time, doctor?” You asked, striving for innocence but struggling to keep your mouth from trembling into a smile.

“Rolling up your sleeve should suffice, from a medical standpoint,” he replied smoothly, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. His golden eyes narrowed in mirth. “Though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”

Flushing slightly, you tugged your sleeve to your elbow and offered it up. As he craned his neck to inspect the wound, a couple raindrops fell to your skin. 

Kuras frowned. He straightened up and murmured, “just a moment.” Two strides of his long legs later, he had vanished into the back room. A moment of silence passed before he returned.

You sucked in a quick breath. 

The massive, white coat that draped his form was gone. 

Smooth, coffee skin was laid bare on his shoulders. His sleeves cinched around his biceps with gold cuffs, the fabric thin and see-through to the forearm before wrapped in flowing white silk. His hair, before flowing freely down his back, had been tied back simply with a leather thong.

He looked so different in that moment - so much more open and unguarded and tangible - for all that he’d only bared his shoulders, that the sight took your breath away.

“My apologies for the lack of courtesy and the delay,” he said, producing a clean towel from his pocket and dabbing carefully at the spot where the raindrops landed.

“Kuras, you’ve sewn this same arm back onto my body,” you said with a short laugh, still grappling for equilibrium. “You could drip acid on it, and I’d still be grateful.”

His brow furrowed more. “While there are valid applications of acidic substances, I would consider them a last resort.” He folded the slightly damp side of the towel inward before using the folds to carefully hold your arm and inspect the injury. “It would be most abhorrent to risk tarnishing your skin.”

A flutter of feathers stirred in your stomach. Still, you joked with an edge of bitterness, “Yes, my precious, corpse gray skin that drives people to insanity. Can’t risk that, or I’ll never trap a partner.”

Kuras paused. He looked down solemnly at you through his fan of lashes, the gold of his gaze molten and bright. “Beauty lies within the eye of the beholder,” he replied, his voice low and achingly gentle. “You have always been beautiful in my eyes.”

The intensity of him - his voice, his gaze, the way his body seemed to curl around you, a shield against what would harm you - each word genuine and strong, as though he spoke a undeniable truth of the world, cut you to your core.

Your head turned, eyes lowered, flinching against it even as your chest grew warm and full. 

For a long moment, you struggled to reply, your jaw clenched tight as your heart pounded in your chest. 

Kuras seemed to sense, as he always did, the riotous feelings inside you, because the next moment he had retreated to the counter and begun pulling various ingredients from the shelf, his head lowered to give you a moment of privacy.

The gratitude that welled up inside you threatened to boil up through your throat, tears stinging at the back of your eyes. 

“There does appear to be a venomous residue within the wound,” he murmured, deep and scholarly in tone, his mien serene as a moonlit pond. “I have encountered a similar substance before with other patients. Certain species of soulless grow mutations that secrete toxins into the bloodstream of prey, in their claws or fangs, not unlike the parotid salivary glands of snakes.”

You listened quietly as the frantic race of your heart settled, letting his velvet voice lull the storm inside you. Rain pitter-pattered against the window and battered the roof above, occasionally subsumed under a rumble of thunder.

Calmed once more, you faced him again, your gaze lingering. 

Without the coat, his large, willowy form was in full view: his broad back tapering to a slender waist, prim ass, and impossibly long legs. Dark, curly hair trailed down his back, still wet and soaking into his silk shirt. The lamplight shone around him, tracing his body in an edge of white light even as his shadow encompassed the room.

His head turned, the gold hoops at his ears sparkling, and surveyed you for a quick moment before gliding closer. In one hand was a bowl of smooth dark green paste, in the other fresh bandages. He set them on a metal table by the exam table by a bowl of clean water and a pile of cloth before reaching within a box and withdrawing a pair of white silk gloves. 

As he perched on the stool, his body leaned into your space. Heat rolled off him, as though he had swallowed a star.

“We will apply this poultice for now, monitor for infection, and then reconvene to sew the wound closed.” Kuras pulled on the silk gloves and, after a quick, searching look of your face, took your arm in hand and began cleaning the wound.

You held still and breathed through the pain - at times a dull ache, others pinching and acute. Rinsing the wound brought searing heat that had your teeth clenching tight, trapping any sound that attempted to escape up your throat.

The doctor’s treatment, from the outside, looked more like a dance than medical practice. He did not coddle or cajole, nor castigate or belittle, as was the style of other doctors you’d seen - instead, Kuras worked with utter silence and composure, all of that overwhelming intensity focused on the task at hand. Each movement was efficient, graceful, and imbued with an exquisite gentleness that would endear even the worst of enemies to him. 

Each dab of poultice like the brush of a master painter. Each stitch into flesh the weaving of a master dressmaker.

Poetry in motion. Medical practice envisioned in art form.

The treatment seemed to pass quickly and effortlessly. One moment you were gripping the side of the exam table as he smoothed the creamy poultice over the wound, the next your inflamed, gray skin had been wrapped comfortably in fresh bandages.

“How does that feel?” Kuras inquired, removing the gloves with a small flourish.

“Good as new, doc,” you replied with a sigh. 

He smiled, his eyes thinning with pleasure.

“Excellent. Then your next priority should be a good night’s rest.” His large hand curled around the side of your arm, his palm feverishly hot even through the thick bandage. “Allow me to escort you back to the Wick.”

He rose from the stool and began to pack away the poultice bowl and bandages.

Your left hand replaced his, holding that fading heat to your skin for a little longer, as your gaze wandered to the window. Rain continued to batter the window panes, the sky outside an endless abyss.

It was tempting to ask if, rather than venture out in the pelting rain, you could remain there, in the clean, cozy atmosphere of the examination room. You could lie back on the exam table, draw your cloak (or his) over your body for added warmth. You’d bet all the coin in your purse that you’d sleep like the dead.

But you couldn’t intrude on his hospitality any more than you already had. Heavens knew you’d arrived in the middle of the night. You’d probably delayed his own well-earned rest before the next endless line of patients would arrive at his door at dawn.

“I’ve got some things for you,” you said, rising from the exam table to grab your satchel.

Kuras gave you a bemused look over his shoulder. “You know well that I require no payment for my services.”

“Not payment,” you denied, well used to this debate. “Favors amongst friends. You mentioned a few days ago that your stock was low on a few items.”

One thin, dubious brow rose, but he inspected the haul you offered from the satchel with the calculating interest of a man well-used to haggling in the market for prime ingredients. “I will purchase them from you.”

“They’re a gift,” you insisted.

Kuras’s eyes narrowed, his full lips frowning. “The value for the undu stem alone would fetch you a generous price. More than enough to lease a private residence in Lowtown.You cannot think me so crass as to take advantage of you in this way. ”

You hid a smirk. For all his manners and professional admiration for Leander, his quiet but strong dislike for your current accommodations grew more obvious by the day. 

“Never,” you replied easily, adding, “Neither so crass as to thrice refuse a gracious gift from an appreciative friend.”

Kuras held your gaze for a moment before a cat-like smile curled across his lips. “I seem to have been out maneuvered.”

“Out mannered, more like.”

“Then I concede and accept your gifts with gratitude,” he said, his voice velvet smooth and mirthful. “I will endeavor to use them well.”

“Do as you will,” you quip. “Roast them for lunch, it’s your choice.” As long as they’ll be useful to you.

He took the ingredients with careful hands. The undu stem, which took you both hands and significant strength to lift, he took in one hand. He carried them into the office and stowed them away properly in glass containers before returning his coat draped over his arm.

“Shall we?”

You watched him take the shoulders of the coat in hand, preparing to sweep the heavy fabric over his back, before stopping him.

“Wait.” You hesitated, licking your lips. “Won’t that be uncomfortable? With your hair, I mean.”

Kuras paused, his eyes wide, before that gentle smile reappeared. “You need not concern yourself with me. We’ve only a short walk, after all.”

“It’ll get tangled, though.” An offer sat on the tip of your tongue, enticing enough to embolden you to speak it. “I could braid it for you.” You cleared your throat and fought the urge to stare down at your boots. “Nothing - nothing fancy, or anything. But it would help.”

“Your injury…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“It’s fine, really. I’m not in any pain, and this would be - nothing.”

Kuras seemed to mull that over, his face inscrutable.

After a long, tortuous moment in which you wished you’d kept your mouth firmly shut and resolved to keep it shut for an eternity, Kuras nodded. “Then I accept.”

Your jaw dropped. “Really?”

“I must admit my surprise, but the prospect intrigues me.” That cat-like smile returned with a vengeance. “Unless you would like to rescind the offer? But surely, my friend, you’d never be so crass to do so.”

Oh, you - 

Flushing hotly under your clothes, you squinted at him. “I seem to have been out-maneuvered.”

“Out-mannered, I believe, was the term you used, and just so.” 

With an air of smug satisfaction and humor, Kuras draped his coat over the exam table, then crossed the room in two strides to withdraw an antique brush from a drawer. He perched once more on the stool, one golden eye glancing over his shoulder. 

You take the brush, looking it over. It’s a beautiful piece, comprised of gold filigree and a stunning mother of pearl inlay on the back. The bristles were soft but firm, scratching lightly against your palm as you tested the feel. The gold handle was a cool, easy grip, its engraved markings depicting flowers, feathers, and what looked like an eye pressing against you through the veil of your bandages.

Gripping firmly, you surveyed the waterfall of dark hair in front of you, your heart beating fast.

With a fortifying breath, you gathered the heavy, silky length in your hands and started from the ends of his hair, stroking the brush as gently as possible. Despite how wet and woven the strands were, there were very few knots to tease out.

Kuras sat peaceably for several minutes, still as a statue in prayer, before he asked, “Have you done this for others?”

You paused, now smoothing the hair at the middle of his back. You thought about what to say for a moment, but the truth seemed easiest. “My mentor. She had long, red hair that would frizz at the slightest spit of rain. Every morning, since I was old enough, I would tie up her hair for her.” It had been a small but daily act of care that, with time and distance, you had eventually realized she never reciprocated.

He hummed softly but said nothing more.

When you reached his neck, your hands danced with delicate caution, holding his earrings out of the path of the brush. Kuras seemed to stiffen ever so slightly whenever your fingers brushed his skin, but soon relaxed back into his posture. 

Once you had brushed smooth from the crown of his head to the dusky purple ends, you set the brush down on the exam table and began to braid.

A rhythm soon developed, your fingers twined the hair into five sections and began weaving them together, each pull drawing to the very tips of the hair to prevent bunching at the bottom. The movement was made effortlessly easy as the hair was still damp and content to be handled.

All the while, Kuras sat patiently, his hands clasped in his lap. When you finally reached the end of the braid, now well past his waist, he finally broke from his vigil and held a black leather tie from the crook of his finger.

You tied the braid securely before letting your hands smooth down the braid, testing for any loose sections. The braid itself looked immaculate: neat, tidy, his dark hair gleaming in the soft lamplight. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. A heavy sigh followed, his shoulders drooping, before he rose to his feet. He turned around, his hand drawing the braid across his shoulder and inspecting the work. 

Somehow, his face seemed different than only moments before. A tension you hadn’t known existed in his bearing had been smoothed out: his brow clear, his lips parted, those captivating golden eyes softer than you’d ever seen.

Then, he met your gaze, his musician’s hand stroking down the braid, and smiled. “Thank you. That was… truly an experience I will not soon forget.”

You froze, still caught, the world narrowed in on that single, sweet smile.

He draped the coat over his shoulders, showing particular care with his braided hair, before gliding forward. With a firm hand on your waist, the heat of him radiating through your clothes, Kuras coaxed you toward the back door. 

“Now, let us step into the night.”

________________________________

“Let’s tie you up first. I think that would be safest, for both of us.” You glanced back at the Wet Wick. “Would they have a room we could use for a short while?”

His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, his cheeks flushed, before he asked, “You… want to tie me up?”

“Mm.” 

“Oh. Uh. Hold on, let’s - ”

You led the way back into the Wick.

A dozen heads seemed to turn around as you stepped through the doorway. Hesitating, you glanced through the crowd but when no one met your gaze again you approached the bar. The din of the crowd pressed against you, laughter and the clinking of glasses ringing in your ears. Somewhere in the middle of the room, Leander caught up to you and trailed behind.

The barkeeper refilled a glass and looked up, her dark eyes flickering over you first, then Leander with something akin to boredom. “What can I get ya?”

“Do you have a room we could borrow?” you asked, mentally counting what little coin you had left in your purse. “We’d only need it for a short time.”

“Oh?” Her gaze swept you from head to toe, taking the measure of you, before she shot a narrow-eyed look at Leander. “A short time? I’d have thought this one would warrant more than that.”

Leander flushed and cleared his throat, his expression sheepish, but you cut in before he could speak.

“He’s been more than generous with his time,” you said, not wanting the barkeeper to think less of Leander on your behalf. “It’s at my humble request. I’d be happy to pay a fair wage.”

A thin, polished brow arched high. She seemed to digest that for a moment, then shrugged. “To each their own.” She reached under the bar and slid a key across the counter. “Your usual room’s open.”

You turned to Leander. “Oh, do you live here?”

The barkeeper snorted. 

With a quick, strained laugh, Leander placed his hand on your back and guided you toward the stairs. “Not quite, but you know how it is. Late nights, plenty of drinks, good friends. I’m a regular.” His face was turned back toward the counter, exchanging a look with the barkeeper you couldn’t quite see except for the grin on her face. 

“I see.”

Old, beautiful oak wood and iron finishings molded the second floor of the Wet Wick. A long hallway stretched into the back of the building, a new door fixed every few paces and labeled with their own knocker. As you walked, you took note of the emblem’s etched into the surface: a hissing badger, a sleeping squirrel, a dog with its nose and tail poised in the air. They’re well-made and charming, in a strange way.

“Animal motifs?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m curious to see what lies on your usual door.” 

Leander’s boot caught on the floor, and he stumbled. His hand swept through his hair, a grin spreading on his lips. “Ah ha ha, don’t read too much into it. Barkeep’s got a twisted sense of humor.”

By then, they’d reached the end of the hall. One door took up the corner, its front and trim cast from a dark, glossy rosewood and decorated with more delicate filigree. This one too had a crest on the front, though much larger and finer than the rest. Initially, you mistook the shape for a large rat with a long tail - then you recognized it.

“A mongoose?” you asked, leaning closer. A narrow head grew out from the furred body, with gleaming gold eyes and a protruding fang, its tail curling high as though warding off predators. You considered that for a moment before glancing at his neck, where the golden earring of the sword and the snake, eating itself, rested. “Because of…”

He unlocked the door with a flare of his wrist. “Like I said. Twisted sense of humor.” He held the door open and gestured you in. “After you.”

You paused before the threshold, instinct rising like a wary wolf and baring its teeth in the back of your mind at the thought of entering a closed room with a stranger. A powerful stranger at that. A mage with abilities similar if not greater than her former teacher. A man nestled in the heart of his territory, surrounded by his pack. 

That mental beast of vigilance had hunted you - dogged your footsteps through the journey to Eridia. Always wary. Always watching, waiting for the knife to swing on your back.

Forever you would look at every shadow with fear, every person with suspicion. After all, Mericka had been your teacher and companion, your guide in this volatile world - if even she could plunge the knife and turn it, why not a stranger?

Still, you had to try. Otherwise, how could you move forward?

Several people seemed prepared to vouch for Leander. The mysterious doctor, Kuras. The barkeeper. The unknown dozens of people who worked as part of the Bloodhounds. This - trusting him - was a calculated risk.

“Is this the room reserved for the rich and famous?” you asked, surveying the spacious room with a table, chairs, dresser, and a large bed in the center of the wall. Two bedside tables were draped in a green velvet cloth and topped with antique feylamps that cast the room in a golden, slightly greenish glow. A tapestry was draped over the wall and undulated under a breeze invading from the window opposite the door. Its many threads and colors depicted a map of the city itself.

“I’m about as famous as it gets for the Wet Wick,” Leander said, amused, as he closed the door and crouched down to untie his boots.

You hastened to follow. It’d be rude to dirty the floor for this, when there might be guests using the room later. 

With boots and jackets hung by the door, you lingered just by the foot of the bed. “So… ropes?”

When you turned to look at him, your breath caught in your chest. Beneath the coat, the layers of shirt were skin tight and sleeveless. Taut muscles bunched beneath the black fabric but bared his arms, leagues of smooth skin threaded with the occasional vein. The scar that peeked over his jaw spread down his left arm, the edges jagged but faded, like ink across the thick bicep and forearm.

You blinked and forced yourself to look away. It’d be rude to stare.

At your question, Leander’s brows arched, but he clapped and said, gamely, “Jumping right in! Brave one, I see. Well, I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants.” He headed for the bedside table and began rummaging through the top drawer. 

You’re the brave one . Your hands twisted together, your gut tightening. 

“Luckily, I’ve always got the essentials on hand.”

“Rope counts as an essential for your nightstand?” 

Leander’s shoulder twitched, and when he glanced over to you, his face was slightly rosy. “Well, you never know where the night will turn.”

You mused over that before nodding. In a sprawling city like Eridia, full of monsters and magic, you supposed the likelihood of getting ambushed while asleep was high. It’d be useful to have rope nearby to subdue your attackers for interrogation.

“Here we go!” Leander turned. In his hands was a pile of silk.

You stared at the fabric. “You’re… quite kind to your prisoners.”

Leander’s lips parted, his eyes searching for something in your face, before a single, awkward laugh escaped. “Not into that?” 

“No. I mean,” you hastened to explain as his eyes widened, “It’s not that,  just… It’s a good thing, I suppose. Just surprising. Will that truly be able to subdue a fully grown man?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned as he looked down at the silk, the slippery material almost dripping from his wrists. “It’ll hold.” 

He spoke with such confidence that you assumed he must know from experience. You stepped closer and inspected the bundle. “Is there an enchantment on it? To make it binding?”

Leander met your gaze. The soft fringe of his hair fell across his brow, the ends caught in the fan of his lashes. “There could be. Do you want that?”

The quiet held between you for a moment. “That might be for the best,” you murmured, though you would understand his caution. After all, you were just as much stranger to him, as he to you. That he would even allow you to tie him up spoke volumes on his courage.

He leaned closer, and his next words brushed across your face. “So sure your touch will drive me to madness?” His eyes held you to the spot, the clear, emerald depths gleaming, identical to the magic that had conjured lilies from thin air in the pub below.

Your throat felt exceptionally dry. You swallowed, your gaze trailing across the strong nose and olive skin, his gold earring swaying from his ear, before lingering on the edge of the scar that cut up his jaw. “Yes,” you whispered.

A hum rose from within him, rumbling like the early boiling of dragon’s roar. “More and more,” he said, almost in your ear. “I’m starting to believe it.”

A shudder slipped down your spine. 

With a quick breath, you stepped back. You cleared your throat and said, fighting the tremble that threatened to slip into your voice, “You should.” 

Leander rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking, before his winsome grin returned, if a bit more subdued. “We’ll see. So,” he gestured to the bed, “how do you want me?”

You walked around the bed, grabbing the headboard and the frame to test the give of the wood. Luckily, the headboard seemed to have been nailed to the wall. Likely to prevent thieves from stealing such high quality pieces. There was even a decorative window of wooden spokes embedded across the length of it. “We can improvise with these.” You grabbed one and tugged hard, but luckily the wood held fast.

Leander’s lips pressed together as though fighting the urge to say something.

“Or not - think they’ll break?”

“Oh, no, they’ll be fine. They were,” he paused, his cheek hollowing, “practically made for that purpose.”

For tying rope ? You pondered that for a second before setting that aside to consider later. Perhaps weavers used the spokes to create custom throws and bed sheets.

Leander sat on the end of the bed before laying down and sliding over, his head nestled on the feather pillows. His arms stretched out to the corners of the bed, his muscles shifting beneath the shadow of his shirt. He somehow seemed even broader spread across the bed like this, the thick duvet holding him snug. 

“How’s this?” He reached back and hooked his fingers through the spokes, tugging until his back lifted an inch from the bed, the muscles of his arms and abs flexing, straining. 

Your heart was beating strangely fast as you considered him. Must be nerves.

“Hmm. It’d be a more effective hold if your arms were tied together. Less flexibility or leverage to maneuver.” 

“Like this?” He lifted his arms above the crown of his head, his elbows loose by his ears. 

“Yes. Same with your legs.”

As he shuffled into place, you picked up the bundle of silk from the bed and rubbed the fabric. There’s more to the texture than the silk you’d felt in the past - the old but well-cared for square that your teacher had spread on the altar - a sort of roughness that sparked beneath your fingertips. The strengthening charm, you’d bet.

You tied first his legs before moving up to his arms, Leander docile beneath you. As you leaned over his face, working the silk around his wrists and spokes into a double-looped mooring knot you’d learned from fishermen in your childhood, he shifted slightly. You glanced down. 

He was watching you from below, his chin tipped back. His dark hair had fallen back onto the sheets, exposing his face to the warm glow of the feylights, their flickering embers dancing in the corner of his eyes. His lips were parted, his skin flushed once more.

You froze, realizing your position. “Sorry, almost finished.”

“Take your time,” he replied, sounding a little breathless. 

You glanced down again with concern, looking at his chest. Could the position be restricting his ability to breathe? The shirt had seemed flexible, if rather tight. You’d better pick up the pace.

With a tug, you secured his arms and sat back to give him space. “How does that feel? Too tight? Not tight enough?”

Leander licked his lips and peered up at you from heavy-lidded eyes, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Just right.”

You stared back, bemused by his attitude. “You’re being awfully gracious about all this. Most people would balk at the idea of a stranger with a dangerous curse tying them to a bed.”

“I’m not most people,” he said, “and it’s not the first time I’ve been tied up by a beautiful stranger.” Leander rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck while you attempted to digest that statement before he continued. “Well, I’m ready for you. Shall we?”

You hesitated. “...are you sure?”

“That I want your hands on me?” He grinned. “Never been more sure of anything.”

“This isn’t a joke, Leander.”

He released a long, heavy sigh before shifting his hip to nudge your thigh. “All of this,” he began, gesturing to his tied up body with a flutter of his fingers, “is for your sake, not mine. Well, maybe a little for mine, but not how you’d think,” he conceded with a quick grin but held your gaze.“Listen to me. I’m confident in my abilities. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

A film of luminescent magic swept over his body, as thin and glossy as a spider’s web. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek brushing his arm.

“So,” he continued, his voice dropping deep and soft. “Touch me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, anxious, racing. His eyes were as calm and bright as the surface of a pond, without a trace of fear. 

With a sinking feeling, you looked down. If you ignored the bandages, your hands could almost look normal. The size. The shape of them. You hadn’t been born with tentacles or massive talons or nails as sharp as knives. Maybe that would have been easier. 

What made them grotesque far transcended their appearance.

With trembling fingers, you pulled the end from the bandage around your wrist and began unwinding. Each new layer revealed more of the skin beneath, dark and stormy like a bruise, threaded with strange cracks of hardened gold, until you’d dropped the last of the bandages from your black fingernails. 

You flexed your fingers idly, dread sitting like a stone in the pit of your stomach. When you glanced over, Leander was watching eagerly.

“Interesting…” Then, with another warm smile, he gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the golden pin on the front of his shirt. “We match.”

You huffed before swallowing around the weight in your throat. “Where should I…” you trailed off, avoiding his gaze. 

He hummed thoughtfully, sounding far more at ease than he should be. “Since I can’t hold your hand properly like this, how about my arm?” 

You paused, wondering if you should do this on your feet for a faster escape, but in the end you simply twisted your hips until your leg pressed against the side of the bed. 

Leander laid perfectly still and relaxed, as though he were out on the grass tracing shapes from clouds on a summer afternoon, rather than subjecting himself to potential insanity. The arm closest to you eased further into the bed as he settled in. His right one, where the edges of that scar reached around to the more tender flesh of his inner arm. 

You checked his eyes again, searching for any hint - however tiny or hidden or cowed - of fear, concern, anything. He only smiled back. 

You took a long, steadying breath, your heart in your throat. Then you reached out with a shaking hand until a point just beside his elbow. Retreating for a moment’s panicked indecision, you repositioned closer to the middle of his forearm. 

You stared at your own fingertips, enduring that familiar loathing and fear down to your marrow. Please. Please, don’t hurt him . You prayed whatever powers that Leander believed in were steadfast and watching.

Then, you let your fingertips drop to his skin for a single moment, before immediately yanking them back to your chest.

His body twitched, the bed creaking at the sudden movement. That luminescent web of magic flared, rippling across his skin for a brief, bright wave, before vanishing. His eyes were closed, his face blank.

“...Leander?” Pulse pounding, barely daring to breathe, you waited.

Then as his mouth slowly twisted into a smile, one eye peaked open. “Is that all?”

You watched with bated breath, still on the edge, still waiting. 

Leander tossed his hair back from his face and stretched his arm out toward you, encouragingly. “Come on, you’ve got me all wrapped up like this - it’d be a shame if you stopped there.” His voice lowered, rich and sweet as honey: “Keep going.”

Inch by inch, your shoulders began to sink. The tension in your body ebbing away with every word - every confusing, vaguely ridiculous word. You suddenly felt your body again, as though you’d been adrift as a spirit before getting sucked back into your mortal flesh: the sweat sticking to your back, the ringing fading from your ears, your heart beating against your ribs.

Your lungs pinched, forcing you to suck in a quick breath, and the relief seemed to burst over you. 

“Leander, you’re - “

“Just fine.” His eyes softened, more of that genuine warmth seeping through the cracks of his charismatic facade. “That’s one hell of a curse. Nothing I can’t handle, though.” Leander gestured once more with his chin. “C’mon. Try again?”

Inexplicably but hopelessly tempted, you reached for him again, still wary, your eyes darting from your hand to his face. You let your hand fall until your whole palm was pressed against him, skin to skin, checking his expression all the while.

He’s flushed around the cheeks and collar, but there’s warmth and humor and life in his face. 

You could hardly believe it, but it’s there. 

You smoothed your hand up his arm carefully, in awe at the feeling of his body heat against your bare skin. Fingertips pressing in here and there, tracing the curvature of muscle and bone, your thumb lingering on the pulse just beneath his glove, his heart thumping beneath your touch.

You’d touched people before - even been intimate and embraced others - but always through the veil of the bandages. You’ve spent the past few years on the cusp of giving up all hope that you could ever have this. 

Now, at the threshold of your final desperate chance, the very day after you’d made your peace with death as you laid bleeding out in a swamp, at the claws of a vicious monster - you’ve found it.

You traced your hand back down his arm, following along the path of a vein, your other hand gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles strained white. The feeling was unlike anything you’d ever known.

Leander’s hushed voice broke through the dream-like trance you’d fallen into. “Am I the first person you’ve been able to touch like this?” 

Caught between embarrassment and abject longing, you admitted, “So far.” Idly, your fingers continued to delicately trace his scars, the raised edges contrasting vividly against his smooth skin.

His lips parted, the look in his eyes inscrutable, before he said, his voice slightly rough, “Anything you want.”

You froze.“What?” 

“Touch anything you want,” Leander said again, his cheek nestled against his arm. “I’m all yours.”

Your hand stilled as the bold, frankly outlandish offer sunk in. 

For having only known you for a few hours at best, Leander was proving to be very generous with his time, his skills, his magic, and - apparently his body too. You’re even a little concerned at the prospect - as he himself had said about the Senobium, things that seemed too good to be true usually were. But was the truth here that Leander was creating a trap, or that he was by nature generous to the point of endangering himself?

Still. You licked dry lips as you fought with yourself. No one had ever offered a second touch before. No one else had survived the first.

Feeling your morals losing the battle against utter temptation, you asked, “... you wouldn’t mind?” You knew you shouldn’t - truly he’d been generous enough, you shouldn’t take any more than that. But you wanted to, more than a little desperately.

“Not a wick.”

Treading with caution, you braced one knee on the bed and rose over him. You reached forward until both hands stopped, poised above his wrists. Being able to touch another person with one hand - that had been barely more than a dream. Both seemed like utter fantasy. With a small breath for fortitude, you gingerly laid both hands on his skin.

A breathless laugh escaped you as you stroked gently down, the sensation electric for all it was a barely-there touch. Once you’d reached just above his armpit, you trailed them back up again, this time with the lightest scratch of your nails.

Goosebumps chased your fingers up his arms. Leander seemed to shudder under you.

His eyes narrowed on your face for a long moment before he clenched them shut. “You’re really not doing this on purpose, are you,” he said, the words more like a pained truth than a true question.

You frowned, unsure what he meant. You started to pull away, but the moment your hands left him, his head whipped up.

“Wait, that’s not - Ignore me.” When still you hesitated, Leander attempted to shuffled closer, his back lifting from the bed as though intending to close the distance himself. The bedframe creaked ominously, something wood letting out a hissing wheeze. “Keep touching! Do with me as you will. Don’t stop on my account, please.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t move so much - your wrists - “ When you glanced up, his hands were turning purple from the tight pull of the silk rope. 

Without thinking, you leaned forward and tried to unravel the knot as quickly as possible amidst the shaking of the bed, only for Leander to grow suddenly still underneath you. You paused in your struggle to unravel the mooring knot and looked down.

His face was just inches from yours. You froze, staring into his shocked green eyes, the thick fan of his lashes, his flushed skin and full, parted lips. He held your gaze for a moment before glancing down at your mouth, then back, and something about the way he looked at you snapped a curl of fire through you, like a lit match sparking on a line of gunpowder.

Purely on instinct, you grabbed the headboard and pushed yourself back, almost tumbling off the bed in your haste. “Sorry, sorry,” you hastened to apologize, burning from head to toe. “That was - an accident.”

On the bed, Leander was silent for a moment, still angled toward the ceiling. Then he sighed. “...I know.”

You turned away to hide your face, working furiously to get yourself under control. You couldn’t believe how thoughtless you’d just been. Here Leander was, sacrificing his time and safety and comfort to help you, and you just - smothered him in the process? And to almost - 

The sight of his lush, parted mouth flashed through your mind.

Immediately you began silently reciting the Register of Alchemical Ingredients , fighting for distraction. By the time you’d reached spirit of nitre, your once teacher’s voice echoing in your head, you turned around and cleared your throat.

“I apologize again if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

Leander’s brows rose, but he shook his head. “Not at all. Well - “ He glanced down his body before avoiding your gaze. “No harm, no foul. Want to continue?” He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling, but soon frowned when you shook your head.

“It’s probably for the best that we stop here.” Clearly, you’d need to prepare for the next opportunity. If there was one, either with Leander or someone else. You felt dizzy with this new opportunity, this freedom you’d been searching for all your life. Even so, you couldn’t lose all sense of respect like that. 

You untied him, from the side of the bed and well out of his personal space. As Leander slowly sat up and rubbed his wrists, the skin now bright red and raw, you felt a pinch of irony well bittersweet in your chest. You took a seat next to him and pulled a small vial of salve out of your pocket. He’d already begun tugging his gloves off and offering his hands at the sight, an eager smile on his face.

It’s enough to make you genuinely fond of him already.

“It’s funny. We restrained you in case you lost control, and then I…well,” you trailed off, delicately holding his wrist and smoothing the salve across the angry marks. To have bruises this dark, even with silk…. “I should have been more considerate of you.”

“I disagree. If anything,” he said in a low voice, just above a whisper, “you could’ve been greedier.” 

For what felt like the thousandth time that afternoon, you glanced at his mouth again, your blood heating at the sight of that whiskey sweet smile spreading across his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Still could be, if you want,” he continued, leaning in, his shoulder bumping into yours. The swing of his earring caught the glint of the feylamps, the light flickering down the length of the sword.

You got to your feet and tucked the salve back into your pocket, along with your other meager belongings. “I couldn’t impose.” He looked a second from arguing the point, until you met his gaze solemnly over your shoulder. “Thank you, Leander. I can’t express how much this meant to me.” 

Then, you smiled. 

It was undoubtedly an awkward, cracking thing - you couldn’t remember the last time you’d attempted more than a half-smile or a short laugh. This one seemed to fill your cheeks up.

You had a moment to witness Leander’s jaw drop, before you hurriedly turned and began gathering your things. It’d be rude to overstay your welcome, after all. 

Your eagerness to get back out into the city had nothing at all to do with the way his mouth kept popping up in your mind or the way your hands ached with the desire to touch him again.

________________________

“How about you, sparrow? I did say I’d buy you a drink earlier.” 

“No, no, no, my treat. ”

“If anything, I should treat you, Leander.”

“Oh? ” 

“As an apology for the rope burns.”

“..."

“...”

“...”

“It’s, uh. Both exactly what you’re thinking and not.” 

_________________________

Luminous magic clung to his fingers, the lilies born of his magic curling toward her as real flowers might toward the warmth of the sun. The green light washed over her face, brushing away the shadows of her hood. Bright eyes peered back, embraced by thick lashes and a faint sense of wonder. Silken hair tumbled from the side of her neck and down her chest.

Leander felt his breath still for a moment, until he caught his stride and said, with a slow smile, “How about you?” He held them out to her, as a suitor might for a new love.

In all honesty, she likely could use some luck. 

Bruises beneath her eyes, mud slicked boots. A weight and slump to her stance, as though she had shouldered a heavy burden long enough to steel her spine and chip away at her soul. He breathed in the air around her, and beneath the smell of the bar that pressed against his senses like the misty fug on a brimming pint lay an unmistakable, acrid trace of magic. Old magic.

She hesitated for a moment. Then a slender hand reached from beneath her sleeve. Bandages wrapped every inch of her skin. His stomach lurched at the sight, an old ache echoing from inside him pricking a tenderness with pity and curiosity.

Her fingers touched the flowers. Instantly the magic faded. 

At her surprised look, he shrugged easily. “That’s the problem with flowers. They don’t last long, but they leave an impression, right?” He grinned, clapping his hands to diffuse the remnants of magic clinging to his hands. His willowisps drifted upward before dissipating, little more than twining spirals of dust beneath the light.

The stranger paused, her brow furrowed. 

Then a small but sweet smile spread over her face, softening her features and the edge of grief that dogged her steps.

Leander’s heart gave a sudden, strong thump against his ribs at the sight.

Well, hello there . 

______________

He watched the stranger from the corner of his eye, his curiosity growing. 

Her eyes seemed older than her appearance would suggest, perhaps hewn from a hard life or misfortune. At the same time, she stalled at even his gentlest of flirtations, as though unused to the idea or uncertain how to respond to them. She’s careful with her drink and her distance, drinking a tall glass of water and curling her shoulders away from him at the bar. Less so with her words.

Uttering the word Senobium in the Wet Wick had earned scores of men and monsters broken bones, cracked teeth, and a thousand pleas for mercy ignored. His hounds were better trained than most, but he knew that many nursed a grudge where the institute was concerned. He’d helped sort many of them himself. 

They’d calmed at his words, but he led her from the bar anyway, after finishing his beer to wash the sour taste from his mouth. 

Out in the alley, Leander turned and asked, in a low voice, “Kuras didn’t send you here for help with the Senobium, did he?” Though he had yet to pry the doctor’s pristine shell apart for the pearls within, he knew the other man well enough to know he’d never turn someone with a genuine need to the institute’s door. 

She glanced away, frowning. “He suggested I find an alternative.”

“Yet here you are, asking about them anyway,” he continued, folding his arms over his chest and appraising her. “What do you need the Senobium for?”

Her mouth tightened. Her reticence was obvious. 

The first thing that had clued him in to her recent arrival to Eridia was the openness of her expressions, how easily he could stare into her eyes and glean her thoughts. Well, that and her looks. He hadn’t lied - he couldn’t imagine ever forgetting a face as stunning as this.

“Well, I see you’re already aware of the city’s currency. Information’s worth its weight in gold here.” He gaged her expression once more before adding, “Kuras told you the truth. The Senobium’s dangerous. Get on their bad side and they’ll imprison you if you’re lucky, or torture you if you’re not.”

The image of a sulky, sneering fox broke through his thoughts in a vision of fiery red hair and black leather, before he shook it off.

Her face fell. “But the Senobium’s supposed to be a place of learning, a sanctuary…”

Leander grimaced. “That’s what they want you to think, but things that seem too good to be true are often just that.” If he felt a pinch of guilt at the words, he forced it deep down inside. Clearing his throat, he clapped his hands to dispel the bleak thoughts. “But as I always say: there’s a solution to every problem, and alternatives to every solution.”

She was watching him warily, her shoulders slumped. Clearly the hard truth about the Senobium had come as a low blow - he could only imagine the hard journey that had brought her all the way here, only to be told that the institute was a facade.

He smiled, eager to turn the mood around. “That’s why Kuras pointed you to the Bloodhounds.” He leaned his head to the side, glancing humorously at the posters plastered all along the alley way, his own face grinning back at them. “Let us help you. Whether it’s hunting Soulless, finding people, or recovering stolen valuables, we can do it all. And free of charge.” … at least, in terms of currency.

Even as he delivered his speech, she shook her head. Her hood fell back to her shoulders, exposing her hair to the gaze of the sun. His eyes followed the slow unfurling of a lock down her neck, teasingly slow as drizzled honey.

Her mien was far from sweet, though. “Listen, I appreciate the offer. But my problem can’t be solved by a group of good samaritans.”

Leander nodded, sorting through the information with quicksilver decisions. “Then your problem must be fairly serious. And if the Senobium’s your first choice… you’re searching for a magical solution, aren’t you?”

Her face once again gave her away, all wide eyes and slack jaw. 

He straightened, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. “I’d be happy to help you out. That is, if you tell me what ails you.” 

She seemed torn for a long moment, her teeth biting the corner of her mouth as she stared hard at the cobblestones below their feet. Either she would confide in him, or she would seek her answers somewhere else. He would support her either way, though he’d prefer she take a chance on him and let down those stiffly high walls a bit.

He gave her room for her thoughts, taking his own time to allow his gaze to inspect her cloak, the dagger strapped to the curve of her hip, shapely legs that hinted of lith muscle. 

Then a whisper stole across the silence. “... I’m cursed.”

The admission seemed to cost her dearly. 

“Cursed?” he echoed, now inspecting her with a more clinical mindset. “Oh, now I’m very curious. Something ancestral or more recent?” 

“It’s your hands, isn’t it.”

Her immediate flinch was answer enough. She curled in on herself, her hands stowing away in her pockets, shame twisting the gentle eves of her face. His beautiful stranger forced herself to continue, short and hushed, “My touch is dangerous, it changes people, hurts them –” 

He tugged his glove off his right hand, stretching his fingers after their release from the sticky leather. An anticipation settled over him as he recalled that scent around her in the bar, that taste of magic that lingered on the back of his palette. 

“Let’s see it,” he coaxed easily, offering his hand as he cast his strongest protection spell over his body. Exceptionally few enchantments or curses would be able to break through this one - Vere had been gracious enough to test that for him several months ago. 

She balked immediately. “I can’t. Believe me, this isn’t an ordinary curse.”

And I’m no ordinary mage, beautiful . “I’ll be fine. Perhaps where you came from, your affliction was strange and one of a kind. But spend a year in this city, and you’ll see a thousand curses and thrice as many cures.” He frowned slightly as a thought occurred to him. “Do you really think Kuras would send you here if I couldn’t handle it?”

She shrugged. “How should I know? I only met him today.” 

Ah. Leander took a breath and calmed himself. He wasn’t used to this much resistance to his offers of help - and perhaps his and the good doctor’s notoriety had gone to his head in some ways. 

Still, he tipped his chin up with pride and said, “I’m as good as any mage in the Senobium. Better even. If they can help you, so can I.”  And he’d do it without a sanctimonious lecture to boot. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” 

Her eyes watched him as though from a great distance. Leander recognized that look for what it was - a lifetime of suffering, enduring, loathing oneself to the point of desperation. He knew that feeling all too well.

The thought of freeing her from that hell was compelling. Dangerously so.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” he murmured. 

His stranger looked from his hand to his face, caught in between hope and fear. Leander smiled to set her at ease and waited patiently. 

With a barely audible sigh, she began to unravel the bandages from her hands. “Fine. But if you lose control, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lose control ? Leander bit the inside of his cheek and replied, “You can tie me up first if it makes you feel better.” His face heated at the thought: strapped down on a bed, bared and open, at the mercy of a gorgeous stranger…. He’d certainly been in worse situations.

She ignored him, her face grim. Whatever she’d experienced as a result of this curse, she clearly wasn’t one to crack jokes about it.

He watched, fascinated, as each inch was revealed. 

Her skin flowed a murky gray from the tips of her fingers and up her arms, the color of summer storms or puddles of rain forming eddies on the street. More strange than that was the rivers of gold etched across her skin, forming gleaming branches across her wrist, hand, and fingers. Ebbing, seeping, as though flowing like veins under her skin.

He’d never seen anything quite like it.

His stranger lifted her hand above his.

“Ready when you are,” he said softly. She seemed liable to startle at any loud sound or sudden movement, like an animal toeing around a spring-loaded trap.

Scant inches hung between them now as she hesitated. Leander studied her expression, the sweat studding her brow, fear shadowing her eyes.

“Three… two… one…” she said, barely above a whisper.

Her fingers dipped down another inch. She hesitated just a hair away, even as he surged forward, his hand wrapping around hers.

The effect was instant.

A wave of magic broke across his shield, torrential, overwhelming. Leander braced himself against it, his smile falling in concentration as he fought against the invading presence. Something snaked around the edges of his senses, flowing over the surface of his magic as though searching for entry. She’d been afraid of this power - physically afraid, flinching even - to the point that he had expected pain at her touch, but this was - this was worse.

It was pleasure. 

Blistering, tingling, syrupy sweet. Whispering into the back of his mind, sultry as smoke, to touch. To consume . The power pushed at the hot blood inside him, sewing lust and temptation into his veins as though those same gold rivers across her hands now flooded into him. 

He’s hard as stone in his pants. His hands ache, as though the urge to touch her was a physical need . His gaze bored into hers, saliva pooling in his mouth, spell-bound by her quickly paling skin, her wide eyes, the bob of her throat.

He let his spell of protection weaken just slightly so that he could analyze the feeling, a shudder running down his back as the curse tried to push deeper. 

Leander had assumed it would be a fairly powerful curse. Otherwise, Kuras might have handled it himself. This was unexpected, though. Powerful. Old. Wild and beguiling and singing to primal instincts. Almost… ancient in nature.

“Leander?”

She’s tugging at her hand, trying to pull away - her words brush like a breeze across his mind. She’s closer than before - no, he’s closer than before, his arm rising without conscious thought. Her voice, trembling, terrified, broke the fog like the swift cracking of an egg. 

His magic barreled up from within him and bit back at the curse until the golden fog receded from his mind.

His stranger flinched away from his hand. “No, you’re - “ 

“Just fine,” he reassured her with a gentle smile, dropping his palm on her shoulder. “Interesting! That’s one hell of a curse.”

Her body trembled, at the precipice of fear that had quickly dissolved into a shaky relief. 

Bright eyes stared into his face, searching, so intense that he had to glance away when heat rose in his cheeks. His grip on her hand softened, just enough that she could move, and move she did. 

Gray fingers, surprisingly tender and achingly gentle, began to map out the lines of his palm, brushing along the curves of each finger, before tracing up his wrist and forearm. Her thumb smoothed across each fingernail and lingered at the pulse pumping fast beneath his wrist. So careful was she that Leander felt himself growing hyper aware of the feeling, her touch almost ticklish, drawing goosebumps across his skin.

There’s something like awe in her face, earnest and pure and wondrous - so opposite to the lustful thoughts circling the back of his mind that he felt like a wolf allowing a lamb to brush and play with his fur coat. 

He wanted to bite, a little.

He could still feel the electric hum of her power, each gossamer touch seeking to land a hook into his mind. Even at his strongest shield, it pressed fervently against his defenses, not enough to overtake and control him but enough that he could feel the insidious presence.

Little wonder that she kept her hands so tightly bound. He could see now, how a simple brush of her bare skin would drive a man completely mad. 

He watched as her hands travel curiously up his arm, fingertips dancing over the edge of his scar at the edge of his sleeve. Quicksilver eyes flicked up to his jaw, to the matching band across his cheek, before dropping once more to his skin. He’d feel like a lab specimen, except for the almost reverent way she touched him, as though this were a wholly new experience.

Leander paused at the thought before venturing to ask, “Am I the first person you’ve been able to touch like this?”

She froze. “...so far.”

Warmth settled in his stomach. He couldn’t deny that the thought was strangely satisfying, filling himself up with a heady, eager buzz like a stiff drink. “I’ll admit your touch does make it somewhat difficult to stay level-headed. But not due to your power… “ 

Leander grabbed her hand again and twined their fingers together, before drawing them up by his pin.  “Look, we match,” he joked softly, hoping to ease the tension. 

His stranger stared at their clasped hands before another shy, genuine smile appeared. His heart gave another insistent leap in his chest. 

When she drew her hand back, he felt the loss in the cold air seeping back over his palm, the sound of the busy street behind breaking into the quiet solemnity of the moment. She wrapped her hands absentmindedly, more habit than anything, and adds in a small voice, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Leander nearly offered his hand again immediately, possibly forever, but managed to hold on to his air of mystery and dignity. 

He offered her another slow smile. “You were right to hide this from me. That curse of yours… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with. I can tell you’re discreet, but you’d best not go showing that off to anyone else.” 

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“Are you staying in Lowtown?” At her shrug, Leander clapped his hands and guided her back to the Wet Whick with an open arm. “Let’s get you settled then. Bloodhound rates.” 

As she led the way back into the inn, the door opened with a flood of oak, sawdust, grease, and beer-stained air. Just beneath that was the delicate scent of her, herbs and leather, and that faint bite of magic. 

Leander paused on the threshold, his eyes lingering on her form as she glided swiftly through the tables, her hair tumbling down her back, candlelight dancing across her face. His pin sparked, his skin tingling where she’d touched him. His stomach seemed to hollow for a second.

He felt… strangely empty, hungry. Alive in a way he hadn’t been just hours before. 

Eridia never slept, never stalled - the city was always changing, always adapting. Mysterious strangers were a dime a dozen. 

And yet, this felt different. She felt different. 

Leander curled his hand into a fist, hoping to stretch out the prickling sensation, to no avail. It was as unsettling as it was addicting.

He wondered how he might convince her to touch him again. 

Soon.

___________________

______________

A thin trail of cigarette smoke issued from the open maw of the Seaspring’s temple.

You felt the tension leave your shoulders, breathing in a lungful of briny air as you breached the steps and entered. This must be what it felt like, to tread on the tongue of a colossal whale: humid, salty air drifting around you, almost cloying to the skin; the arching red gates and rafters forming the palate, stalwart pillars covered in white talismans like teeth; a lake of blood pooling below like saliva.

As you surveyed the room, a form lounged between the pillars on the left, one long leg hanging over the pier, his boot stirring the water below. Your gazes met over the embering butt of a cigarette, his eyes glowing amidst the shadow and gloom of the temple.

You waited for a moment, gauging his mood, but, when the corner of his mouth slowly rose, you approached. The pier creaked underneath your boots, the talisman’s fluttering against the current of air.

 “There you are.”

Ais took another long drag from his cigarette before a smirk curled his mouth. “Missed me?”

“Not you.” You instead knelt next to the Soulless lounging at his hip, three tails writhing with what you’d come to recognize as happiness. “Hey, good girl. I brought you a little something.”

Reaching into your bag, you tugged out a parcel wrapped in butcher paper. Once the massive hunk of meat and bone was revealed, Princess leapt to her feet and whined, prancing on the pier. You checked to make sure all the paper had come away clean before lifting it with both hands and offering it.

Vicious jaws bit with savage glee into the middle, sending rivulets of blood falling to the ancient wood below. She spun to the left and leaned into Ais, as if to show him the gift proudly, before he gently guided her back with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Good for you, Princess,” he said with a smile, the hard lines around his eyes softening a bit. “Mind eating over there? You’re dripping.”

With a happy whine, she took her prize a few yards away and began tucking in with glee. You smiled but glanced away, ignoring the visceral wet sounds of hundreds of teeth gnashing into meat and scraping against bone. 

“Where’s mine?”

You dropped down across from him, crossing your legs and propping your back against the pillar. “Jealous?” you asked, an echo of before that had his mouth curling again. “Have you been a good boy?” 

“Doubt it.”

“Then,” you continued, “earn it.”

“Woof.”

Glowing red eyes watched you, their depths inscrutable, as he took another pull from the cigarette. The smoke curled from around his lips, slipping from the cracks in his teeth. The shadows under his eyes had darkened since you last saw him, the hollows in his cheeks deeper.

“You weren’t at the Wick the other day,” you said, careful to keep your voice level. “Skipping out on your tab?”

Smoke exuded from his nose as he sighed, head drifting back as his eyes closed. “Hm. Didn’t feel like company. Pissed I didn’t show?”

“No. Not like we’d agreed to meet,” you said easily. That was true - though over the past few months, it had become something of a regular thing: moseying into the Wick some time after dusk, having a drink with the other at the bar, sometimes lazing the night away in the booth in the corner, nursing pints and heckling Leander. “And now?” At his look, you added, “feel like company?”

“If I don’t?”

Witha short nod, you swept your bag over your shoulder and prepared to leave, when Ais’s eyes opened. “Stay.”

“Ass,” you murmured under your breath but slouched back to the ground. 

In silence, you watched the water, the blood red surface still as stained glass. Ais resettled, his head back, eyes closed, his expression almost meditative except for the furrow on his brow. Once in a while the cigarette was lifted, his frowning mouth wrapping around the end, before another ghost exhumed from his lips.

You sat back, content to wait, thoughts drifting hazily as though you were spread out on a sunny hillside rather than the threshold of hell. 

Ais could be mercurial at times - his moods swinging from playful smirks to grim contemplation, sharp with an icy rage or coddled by an almost drowsy boredom, with little warning. Some of that you knew was due to the Seaspring and the hivemind created amongst those who had drunk from the water, but it was difficult to tell how much. 

Every now and then, Ais would disappear for a while, locked somewhere deep in this temple, and resurface after a time, his countenance steadier, more controlled. You couldn’t be sure - you had only known him for a few months, after all - but you wondered if that was his time to center himself amidst the hundreds of others swimming through the hivemind’s pool.

Hours could have passed before you felt his gaze on your face. The cigarette was barely a nub between his fingers. He dropped it into an iron tray by the tea kettle with a flick of his wrist and watched you for a long moment before he lifted his hand. 

You lifted one brow in silent question, but Ais just curled his fingers, beckoning.

With narrowed eyes, you sighed before rising from your slouch and approaching him. Once in range, his hand whipped out and grabbed your arm, tugging you into his lap. Your knees hit the ground behind his hips, burning white hot for a moment before aching like a fresh bruise. 

Muffling a curse into the front of his kimono, you sat back on his thighs, pushing against the hand that had settled on the small of your back. “Here I thought you wanted to earn that ‘good boy’ title,” you griped, shooting a glare at the mouth just inches away.

But Ais wasn’t teasing as you’d expected. His mouth, rather than twisting into a smirk, had stiffened, a muscle flexing on his tight jaw. Red eyes bore into you, the color of wine, not bright with humor but full of a deep, bottomless darkness that hooked into you with a strange mixture of trepidation and desire.

“Far from it,” he said, his voice low and empty. Before you could react, his hips turned, both legs hanging over the pier, as he slowly leaned forward. 

Your arms, once draped loosely around his shoulders, now clenched around him as he held you over the Seaspring with an arm bracing your back. Your hands clutched fistfuls of the kimono, the fabric slippery between your sweaty fingers. 

Ais continued to bend until your back was near parallel to the surface of the water. Out of growing panic, your legs had wrapped around him, thighs gripping as tightly as you could hold. 

“Ais,” you started, but froze, the words caught in your throat.

His face turned toward you, burrowing deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. “Sometimes, the thought of you drinking from the Seaspring grows inside me.” His nose trailed against your cheek as until his mouth hovered against yours. “I dream of it. Taking a drink myself. Letting the blood pool in my mouth. Then…” A brush of hot, wet tongue teased against your lips, trying to coax you into opening for him.

A shudder ran down your back. Heat pooled and thrummed between your thighs, even as your stomach twisted at the idea. You’re caught between fear and desire, struggling to keep pace with him.

“Or like this,” he continued, his body pressed tightly to your front as he lowered you ever closer to the water. You realize with a thread of panic that the ends of your hair were now dipping beneath the surface. “Trapping you in my arms, and just… sliding in.” 

Something hard and unyielding pressed against your groin, rubbing against you.

You swallowed thickly, staring into his eyes. The simmering red had been completely subsumed within the black. An abyss peered back at you.

“He whispers it, in my head.” His arm loosened at your back, dropping you another inch closer to the water even as your legs and arms tightened desperately. 

The words sent icy fear flooding through your veins. He whispers it, in my head. That could only mean one thing, one being. A name you had only heard once before.

Ocudeus.

 “The thought of losing you, of someone taking you far from here,” Ais whispered, his voice rough. “He wants you to become one with the Seaspring. To bind your soul and body within this temple. To drown forever in these waters.”

His hand slid up your back and sunk into your hair. He crushed your mouth against his, more bite than kiss, his breath hot against your face. “Sometimes, sparrow,” he said softly, pressing the words into your lips, “I want that too.”

For a long moment, you hung there over the still water, holding him as tight as you could. You felt cold, your body paralyzed with fear.

Beneath you came the sound of faint, thin pops of air. Bubbles. One, two, a cluster breaching the surface. 

A scream was building in your throat. Instead of giving in to it, you stared into his eyes, searching. “You’d have to think of a new nickname for me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Sparrows can’t swim.” 

You licked your lips, your tongue just brushing against his, and - there. A flicker of that familiar red curling around his pupil. “‘Seagull’ doesn’t have - quite as nice a ring to it,” you gasped, heart pounding in your chest. 

The bubbles were emerging more frequently at your back, the water gurgling, near boiling.

A thin whine from nearby cut through the air.

Just as it seemed the Seaspring might reach up and wash you beneath its undertow, you’re jerked upward. As easily as he might a bag of flour, Ais rolled you both back onto the pier. Stars burst behind your eyes as your head knocked on the pier, your hair snagging on splinters and nail heads.

Blinking through the pain, you forced your eyes open.

Ais was braced over you, his hair drifting about his face, the white tips hovering along his jaw and his horns. He was stiff and pale, his jaw taut, his eyes clenched shut as he fought himself. 

When you twitched, his whole body tightened around you. His hand beneath your head which had once softened the blow, now slid down and gripped your nape, holding you in place. The silver pendant that rested on his chest now nestled against your collar, a cool kiss of metal against your clammy skin.

Panting, shaken, you laid there without complaint as your body slowly calmed. 

After a long moment, the tension seeped from him, a tidal wave easing back into the ocean. His eyes opened, and the familiar bright, brimming red finally set your heart at ease.

His lips parted but no words came forth. He seemed unsure what to say.

Gathering your courage, you sighed, “... good boy.”

Ais blinked. 

Stared, inscrutable, for a tense pause before his head hung between his shoulders. His forehead dropped against your collar bone, his face practically nestled in your chest, and just like that your heart was thundering again, knocking insistently at your rib cage. 

He tilted his face toward you, his cheek rubbing against your shirt like a cat. “Do I get my treat now?”

“Think you deserve it?” you shot back, still shaken, but fighting through it to smirk. “After that performance… maybe I should muzzle you.” 

Ais hummed, his hands idly stroking up your waist. “Would find a way to bite you regardless.”

“How about you bite my buns instead, if you’re so desperate for a nibble?”

His brows rose, but Ais smirked, his hands drifting lower, headed for your ass. “Read my mind, sparrow.” He managed to grab two, squeezing handfuls while you were reaching above your head and digging through your bag. 

Wiggling out from under him and sitting up, you pushed another parcel into his now empty hands, flushing hot beneath your clothes. “These buns, asshole.”

Bemused, Ais maneuvered himself back into his preferred seat, leaning against the pillar with one knee drawn up. He inspected the parcel before unwrapping the edges. Three golden balls of bread were crowded together, their skins glazed with butter and lightly roasted. Inside, he’d find braised meat and chopped root vegetables, all marinated in a spicy sweet sauce.

He looked up, that fanged smile spreading across his face. “Really did miss me, huh. Sap.”

Huffing, you avoided his gaze and stared out over the water, drawn inevitably to the place where the Seaspring had begun to boil. The surface was once again calm, the depths impossible to distinguish. A shiver slipped down your spine, the hair on the back rising. 

“Here.” 

A bun hovered in front of your mouth. You stared him down over the top. 

“Sharing is caring. Can’t be known as that terrible of a host,” he said dryly, “Think of my reputation.”

“You just want your balls in my mouth,” you grumbled but bit into the bun to hide your smile as he grinned again. 

“Been told the taste is to die for.”

“Who told you that, Vere? I guess he would know.” 

“Ask him. Get a second opinion.”

“An expert opinion, I bet. I’ll do that.”

Debating the point amidst bites from the mean buns, you sank into the comfort of the familiar as that moment grew further and further away. Princess, evidently finished obliterating her cow shoulder, approached and curled up next to you for a post-dinner nap, her head resting on your thighs. She seemed a little unsettled but calmed after a couple scritches. 

As you stroked her head and fed her the last of your bun, all beneath the soft, dark veil of Ais’s gaze, you resolved to tuck that memory to the side for now, to examine later. 

The first true moment that the Seaspring’s maw attempted to swallow you whole.

__________________

“Cleaning the bones for a necklace, bottling marrow for potions,” he adds, his footsteps drawing closer until he appears at the edge of her counter. “Scrying prey with skin or eyeballs. The usual.” He leans over and braces his elbows on the stone, chin notched in his palm.

“Ha ha.”

“Just thought you’d be doing something a little more badass.”

The dough softens and pulls beneath your hands, wisps of flour puffing into the air with each roll. For a long time, you’d been afraid to touch not just anyone but any thing . When you were young, your teacher had eventually convinced you to work on more crafts and skills, to grow more comfortable with your bare hands - and despite all they’d put you through, those memories still held bittersweet solace even now. “There’s still time to add more ingredients. A cup of chopped, eldritch sea demon should add some spice.”

“I was just about to ask if that was a meat cleaver in your pocket, or if you’re just happy to see me.”

You roll your eyes and pause to spread the dough between your fingers, before balling it up and dropping it in a pot to mature in the shade for a while. “Guess Leander’s getting most of my loaf tonight. I know he’ll appreciate it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Most? Who else?”

“Vere will probably sneer, express his utmost disdain for such peasant fair, and then eat a fourth of it. He’s a slut for a honey glaze.” You sidle closer and prop your hip on the edge, looking him over. It’s a little unusual to see him out and about during the day. His hair windswept, the folds of his kimono draping around his belt and down his left arm, Ais looks as though he just rolled out of bed.

“Mhin seems like they’d have a sweet tooth too. Kuras… hmm.” You shrug and flick the tail of your hair over your shoulder. “Hard to know what the good doctor likes. Have you ever seen him eat?”

“No, despite Leander’s best attempts.” Red eyes trail lazily over the quiet kitchen: stacks of copper pots, a shelf full of knives and spokes, the massive iron cauldron warming in the hearth, before stopping on you. “He likes you, though.”

“Think he’d break bread with me?” You ask with a laugh in your voice. 

Ais only hums, but the faint smile evolves into something with a little more teeth. 

“It’s a shame my bread’s not badass enough for the Seaspring’s master,” you muse, biting on your tongue to keep from grinning. “Guess I’ll go and have a cry about it.”

“Always wanted to make you cry, sparrow,” he says, rising from his slouch and stepping toward you. His broad shoulders cage you up against the counter, his body looming over you. He’s not hot like most men and monsters - Ais seemed to exude the same chill that drifted in mists from the Seaspring, smelling of brine and brimstone. “Didn’t think I’d manage it like this.”

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, hooking your finger into the lip of the leather belt. You’re exceptionally careful of what you touch and where, without your bandages to shield him. “How did you imagine it?”

Ais leans into your space, his heavy-lidded gaze settling on your mouth with smoldering heat, like embers roasting on a bed of coals. His finger drew a line across the counter before lifting, a peak of flour sitting there like a snow cap. “No clothes. Less flour.” He blows it off, smirking as the cloud drifts into your face. 

“The counter’s unexpected, but… not bad.” He wraps his knuckles against the top. “It’ll probably hold up.” 

Heat curls within you. “ Probably .”

Ais shrugs. “Probably.”

You take a long, steady breath, feeling your stomach brush against him. “Better chances than that pier, I suppose.”

Something swam through his red eyes, the glow brightening for a heartbeat. “Now that’s a thought, sparrow.”

“You haven’t had it before? I’m offended.”

“Figured you’d want a bed, at least.”

“I’m not picky.” 

Ais chuckles, the sound so low and pleased that it hooks into you with electric warmth. He leans his body forward until his weight presses against you, pins you to the cold stone at your back, and cranes his neck. He presses a grinning mouth against yours. 

“Birds of a feather, sparrow.”

_____________________