“Malice—”
“I mean, far be it from me to deny a voluptuous goddess her ménage à trois. It’ll be like doing the nasty with twins,” he improvises. “Or we can split our schedules. You can have me on the weekends, and then you can live it up with my deceased doppelgänger during the week. Of course, touching him will be a problem.”
“Malice—”
“Fucking him, an even bigger problem, in addition to the reek. I’ve heard corpses smell funky, and who knows what condition my former cock is in. But huh, maybe we’ll find a legend to rectify that, something that resurrects dead bodies and repairs erectile decay. Or we can try a seance.”
“Malice—”
“Unless you want to go really crazy and add former lovers to the mix. I’m sure Merry won’t mind if Anger answers your siren call. What’s a little reverse harem between friends?”
“Malice!”
“Wonder?”
She gasps at shape of her name on his lips. Despite his artless eyes and sarcastic tone, he’s only acknowledged her thusly once before. How she longs to hear that sound again, and again, and again.
And just like that, Wonder knows. She’s been misinterpreting her heart for two centuries, all because she comes from a world that doesn’t know better, has grown up with people who have never identified with it, much less valued it. Even while witnessing the bonds between her friends, Wonder hadn’t learned.
She understands now. There had been affection, admiration, and atonement on her part.
But it hadn’t been the grandest of emotions, after all. Not back then.
She smiles at Malice. “I love you.”
All signs of mockery drop from Malice’s face. His features crumble, and his brows knit.
Is the declaration too much for him?
“I’m sorry,” she rushes out. “I thought…in my room, you asked me…I thought you wanted to know.”
Because he makes no reply, she begins to twist her head away, until his voice reaches her. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
The plea is faint but haggard. Wonder’s pulse stutters as she traces the contours of him, all the shadows and highlights. All of him.
She says it again. “I love you, Malice.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
Doubt lingers in his tenor. Yet he glances down, and his lips twitch, the hint of a dimple imprinting in his cheek.
Oh, to hell with captivity. In defiance of their bindings, this bleak fate, and a spike of foreboding, she likes this moment so very much. Matter of fact, it’s probably her favorite of all time.
When did he first feel the stirrings? And how? And why?
“You have some explaining to do,” Wonder says, elation tangling with apprehension.
Malice peeks at her from beneath his curls. “First, we have some escaping to do.”
“Need I remind you, we’re weaponless and shackled.”
“Hmm, there is that. But guess what? Rumor has it that I got my memory back. You know what that means? It means I can do this.” He gives a serpentine tug, and the bindings come loose, his arms flopping freely at his sides.
The tethers are not broken, since that’s impossible for any deity. Rather, they’re untangled.
Standing and swiping his hands, Malice says, “Apparently, I’ve got experience with restraints, and asylums, and escape attempts. Call me an industrious patient when I wasn’t otherwise sedated.” He wiggles his taloned fingers. “Also, these help. They’re good for undoing knots.”
Wonder gawks. An astounded—and appalled—chuckle stumbles out of her. Of course! The straps used on them may be immune to a deity’s strength, but not to a deity’s logic. In another life, Malice had learned how to maneuver out of such restraints; not that it had rescued him in the end, but perhaps it shall today.
He kneels before her. “Say pretty please.”
“Untie me,” she commands. “Now.”
“So much for kink.”
Wonder laughs as he releases her, and together, they rise. The ascent happens so swiftly that they bump into one another. Grabbing each other’s forearms and steadying themselves, they fall into a staring contest. Wonder cranes her head up, and he angles his head down, and it’s a different kind of gaze, stripped to the core, with no layers left. She explores his features, as he embarks on his own quest. Tattered and bleeding, they abandon rivalry. Moreover, they dispense with animosity, guilt, and blame.
Eyes stinging, she gives a quick chuckle, which he matches.
This is what it feels like to look at someone you love.
This is what it feels like to be loved back.
They never uncovered a loophole or secret to aid their campaign for free will, but at least they found this. And perhaps that, in and of itself, is a strength. Like Love and Andrew, and Anger and Merry, this bond might supply Wonder and Malice with power.
If they’re fortunate, and if the stars support them, and if they work together, they might live through this. They might survive long enough to research more. And from that, they’ll put up an even greater fight.
Searching her expression, Malice plucks a few tiny shards of glass from her locks. In return, Wonder untucks her blouse and tears the length of its hem, then winds it around his chest, feeling his gaze caress her bent head.
His body flinches when it hurts, so Wonder’s careful. And when she glances at him, she recognizes the enraptured expression, having been trained to recognize it.
“No one’s ever done that,” he says.
She swallows the bulb in her throat. “Now someone has.”
The experience is mutual for her. With any hope, they’ll flee. And then they’ll have plenty of future chances to dress each other’s wounds, introducing each other to tenderness, learning what it’s like to be cared for and how to return the gesture.
Malice seizes her around the waist. Hauling her against him, he crushes her lips with his, kissing her hastily before letting go. Thinking twice, he surges in for another kiss, but Wonder leans back. As much as she wants to taste him thoroughly, they’ll have to wait.
Later. Soon.
The way they’d entered this gallery will dump them into the Court’s lap. Possibly, others have joined the rulers, keepers and archers having scattered throughout the Archives when the hunt began.
She collects spears of glass, snatches his hand, and barrels through second exit, across the door’s threshold. It leads into a tunnel of lanterns, which they sprint across, then race up a stairwell. Ahead, another door waits at the landing, so they bolt—then slam into the partition, staggering from the impact.
Malice jostles the knob, using brute force to try and pop it from the socket. When that fails, he slams a hand against the edifice. “What the fuck?”
“They must have taken precautions,” Wonder surmises.
Above, rosemary pours from the lanterns. Malice slumps against the corridor wall and bows his head, grasping his curls and yanking them from the roots—not exactly one of his default responses during moments of severe calculation. He must be at a loss.
Wonder paces the narrow landing. Think, think, think.
She pauses, snapping her fingers. “What if we—”
“—back up,” Malice says, tackling her to the opposite wall as the door groans.