Page 79 of The Unweaver

Cora stared at the streets blurring past as her thoughts retreated inwards. Violating her lifelong secrecy had inflicted a deep wound that would be slow to heal, if it did at all. Whatever tentative trust she’d placed in Bane had been revoked. He was irredeemable in her eyes.

Until she was dreaming. The hurt and anger melted into feverish longing while she slept. Last night’s dream had been particularly… vivid. She tried not to dwell on the reasons why.

But the sight of him between her thighs, gazing up with blue eyes that existed only in dreams, had taken residence in her mind.

It was unusual for her not to dream of memories, her own or the dead’s. This dream’s climax, as it were, had been woven not from remembered experience, but from unknown inspiration.

No, a very known inspiration. The bastard.

Temptation grew, and so did the certainty of regret. Indulging the temptation would be like sinking her teeth into forbidden fruit, pleasurable in its poison.

There was no room for question. Fucking Bane would only ever be that: fucking. Mind-numbingly good, most likely, but he’d satisfy her body and leave her heart wanting. The Malachy in her dreams was not the Malachy in reality. A shame, as dream Malachy was infinitely preferable.

If she followed Anita’s advice, which was questionable, and listened to Bane’s actions instead of his blunt words, Cora had to admit he’d demonstrated he cared for her. To a certain extent. He’d never made her feel ashamed for what she was. Directly.

He’d even tried to unchain her from it, although she thoroughly disapproved of his heavy-handed methods. He had gone to lengths to keep her safe, including traversing her out of a burning room and taking a bullet for her. But it was no less than he’d do for any of his gang.

And with more than one gorgeous woman in that gang, Cora wondered what lengths he’d gone to—orgiven to—the other females. Yvonne’s familiar intimacy. Sloane’s spritely charm. Anita, the walking seduction.

The former courtesan had said she’d met Bane at the Gilded Lily, though she hadn’t clarified in what capacity and Cora wasn’t going to ask. She wouldn’t put it past Bane to pay for sex. Not from necessity, but for efficiency. Had he paid Anita? Or had—

Nope. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.

A moment later Cora asked, “Have you ever slept with Bane?”

“Mal?” Anita burst out laughing. “No. Though… I would, if you know what I mean. Yvonne says he’smiraculous. I bet he fucks with his eyes open, staring into your very spirit with thoseblack eyes of his while he fucks you into another Realm. Not that I’ve, ah, thought about it. Of course.”

“Of course.” She offered a brief, unfelt smile to Anita’s lascivious grin. Unpleasantness slithered in her belly at the confirmation of her suspicions.Miraculous, indeed.“Are Bane and Yvonne still together?”

“Curious, ain’t you?” Anita’s sly side-eye made Cora regret asking. “Mal’s a real private gent, but I’ve never seen him with the same dame twice. Not even Yvonne and her love potions could tie him down. He’s different with you, though.”

“Even more of an arsehole, you mean?”

Anita tossed her head back and laughed. “Love, you should’ve heard the tongue-lashing Mal gave us after you left the club yesterday.” In a near perfect imitation of Bane’s lilting voice, she said, “You should all be fuckin’ ashamed of yourselves, welcoming Cora to the gang like that.”

Cora blinked. “Bane has reached the bottom floor of common decency. Celebrations are in order.” The memory of the meeting she’d tried to blot out made her stiffen. “Thank you, by the way. For yesterday. It meant a lot to me.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Blood and death oughta stick together, eh?” Anita grinned. “Y’know, Mal’s bloodsingswhen you’re around. It’s been a long time since anyone talked to him the way you do and kept living. You know what I think? I think he hates how much he bloody loves it.”

It wasn’t the Sanguimancer’s observation Cora doubted, but her interpretation. The only intimacy she’d shared with Bane had been in her dreams. In the waking world, he only touched her when it was necessary. For traversing. And bathtub disentanglements.

She cleared her throat, eager to discuss any topic other than Malachy Bane. “Say, Anita. Have you ever heard of somethingcalled Coshoy’s Egg?” Scouring Bane’s vast library hadn’t provided results.

“Co what? Never heard of it. Oi, here’s a parking spot.” She flicked the cigarette butt out the window and parked, tires screeching, at an acute angle with one wheel on the curb and a tree branch stuck to the roof.

High-end boutiques lined the cobblestone street, brimming with unimaginable luxuries.

Cora banged the door open into a stack of crates whose owner was, unfortunately, present to witness their upending. Shouts and footsteps grew louder as he rushed over.

Head down, she hurried towards the nearest store, winding through the throng of shoppers weighed down with their heavy coats and purchases. She feigned absorption in the window display. Her gaze caught on a pair of elbow-length gloves, and she paused to admire them. The satin would feel like a secret on her skin.

“Let’s go in,” Anita said.

Cora would stand out like shit on lace in this boutique. The last time she’d braved a ritzy shop like this had been to nick Teddy’s Christmas gift. Sorrow settled in her heart, along with a heavy drag of guilt.

“C’mon, I always wanted to shop here. You can get into these digs, but… Listen.” Anita’s expression grew pained. “These human shops will only let me in if they think I’m your maid. Savvy?”

The words sunk through the haze of cannabis smoke. Her head, floating in a liminal space, crashed back down. Mages were prejudiced in many ways, but race often wasn’t one of them. The shared burden of secrecy necessitated a certain open-mindedness.

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