Page 101 of Thorns from the Fall

It won’t fix her—because she’s not broken.

But I think it’s helping.

Fuck, it’s probably helping me too. Everything she shares helps me frame Remy’s death in a new light. I’m still angry, but I don’t blame anyone anymore. Not me, not him, not Gwyn when I was feeling particularly sad. Remy had a tragic life, and it got too hard. That’s all it is.

“You know how people say ‘don’t have a cow’ when someone is upset?” I ask.

“Yes?” she says, grin widening.

“It’s a saying like that, so it doesn’t quite translate. Avoir le cafard—to have a cockroach—is a phrase my mother used. It’s like saying someone has the blues. When someone has a cockroach, they’re…sad.”

Gwyn’s smile softens, and she takes my hand in hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It’s really sweet.”

“Well, it worked both ways because you were also a cockroach that just wouldn’t die,” I say, unwilling to let her gloat over a nickname she thinks is cute.

“Shh, I can’t hear you,” she says, dragging me toward the doors. “That’s Queen Cockroach to you, by the way.”

I’m still laughing a few minutes later as we’re walking to the dais and Agnarr welcomes everyone in attendance. And I’m trying not to smile when I make my speech about her leadership skills. I sound an awful lot like I’m praising a dog’s newly learned tricks when I call her ‘quite clever when she wants to be,’ but it makes her laugh. And when she reaches into Agnarr’s chest andpulls out his heart, I’m in awe of the knowledge that this woman is my mate. Smart and strong and full of tenacity, I get to call her mine.

Full of audacity too, I decide, when she shoves a piece of Agnarr’s heart into my mouth. Sealing it with a kiss, I’m forced to chew and swallow it or vomit on stage in front of our newly combined coven. As Agnarr’s blood stains the front of her dress, and the man grows cold on the ballroom floor, I pull her close and whisper in her ear.

“You’re going to pay for that later.”

GWYN

“I can go stay in the greystone while it’s on the market. That way you don’t have to keep sleeping on Margot’s couch,” I say. “I know it’s crowded when Nico’s back.”

“Or, Gwyn, I could move into the fucking penthouse and sleep beside my mate where I belong. My patience is wearing thin,” he says as he shoves me against the wall in the foyer. Zuul huffs a sleepy bark from the spare bedroom, likely sprawled across the entire thing, but he doesn’t come greet us.

Definitely for the best.

Dipping low, Roman licks the blood off my chest. He bites at the flesh just above my collarbone, and I hiss. Tipping my head back against the wall, I close my eyes as he gently laves the blood from my skin before he pulls down the front of my dress. I groan, unable to think of my argument as his tongue swirls around my nipple.

When he bites just above it, I arch into his touch and cry out. The welcome pain sets me back on track.

“David says we’re mutually trauma bonded, Roman.”

He roughly jerks the poofy sleeves of my dress down, and I pull my arms out. Roman reaches behind me, tugging down thezipper, and the top half of it pools around my waist. He takes a half-step back to look at me, and he looks edible in that fitted suit. He brushes a lock of hair from his forehead. He’s got it up in that man bun that makes me feel like I’m ovulating, and I try to stand my ground.

“You know, like, we both abused each other and it’s like an addiction? David thinks?—”

“Don’t say another man’s name when I’m about to fuck you stupid,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he stares at my body. “Especially the name of a witch who won’t let me sleep next to my mate.”

“Roman, that’s not at all?—”

“Does he think that by us living apart but still seeing each other, still loving each other, still fucking each other’s brains out that we’ll somehow be less trauma bonded?”

I huff a laugh, biting my lip. In reality, David just wants me to be cautious, but I’m honestly afraid for Roman to live in my filth. With front row seats to the shit show, why would he want to stick around? Mate or not.

I am doing better though. It’s amazing what having no secrets or living enemies will do for a person.

“Take your dress off,” he says, and I’m grateful he doesn’t force the issue. He’s here nearly every day anyway—he’ll be fine if I push it off for a little longer.

Slowly, I shimmy the tulle fabric over my hips, letting it drop to the floor. It puddles around my feet, and I kick it aside.

“I want you to go lie on the bed and don’t even think about touching yourself,” he growls, stepping closer and running a single fingertip down my arm.

His eyes flicker as my hand moves to my center. With a devious grin, I use two fingers to part my pussy and gently rub my clit.

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