Page 11 of A Kiss From a Revenant
“Tell me who's next. I’ll kill them all for you, I swear it.”
Nory’s pink lips transform into a wide smile—a real one this time, where no unease pinches the sides.
“One is more than enough for tonight,” she says. “I’ll need to choose our next target wisely.”
Her hand leaves my cheek to slide behind my neck. I groan as the supple curves of her body press into me. Her soft laugh is the sweetest music I have ever heard. Tucking herself firmly against me, her smile widens.
“Until then, take me home, Eryx.” Her lips press close to my ear. “It’s time for me to hold up my end of the bargain.”
5
NORY
It doesn’t take long for us to arrive back at the cottage.
Eryx's footsteps creak on the old wooden porch. The cold wind whips at my unbound hair and stings my cheeks. Sliding out of his arms, I immediately miss the warmth of his body. Part of me still feels a little off-kilter.
My plan tonight had gone off without a hitch.
Butch was a more than eager participant, as I knew he would be. It took barely a few minutes of conversation before I had him agreeing to meet me in the alley. I can still feel his hands on my body—smell the stench of whiskey on his breath as his seeking mouth found purchase on my flesh. A shiver rocks me, and I push the unsavory memories aside.
He’ll be discovered soon enough, and Isabelle and her children will finally be free. I don’t regret my actions. Nor do I care that I brought forth his demise. In fact, I like the hand I played in all of it—far more than I should. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief watching Eryx drain the life from him.
One less evil man is prowling the streets thanks to us.
Finding my keys tucked into the pocket of my cloak, I turn the lock and relish in the familiar click—the old door swings open on groaning hinges, revealing the front room of my house. I can’t help the burning on my cheeks as I take in the disastrous sight.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess.” I step over the worn threshold and deftly kick a stack of fraying trousers out of the walkway. “There’s been no shortage of mendings lately.”
In this moment, I’m acutely aware of the fact that in my twenty-four years of life, I’ve never had a visitor over. The only people ever in this room besides my mother and me were customers. Now, I see it through the eyes of a stranger. The workroom is a riot of different fabrics. The long wooden work table is weighed down with piles of half-fixed garments.
My needles with their string tails lay strewn across the scuffed mahogany. Five wardrobes line the walls with their doors removed, showcasing the overflowing dresses hanging inside. Shifts and stockings lay across the back of an old velvet loveseat. I’m overwhelmed by the chaos—at the notion that I’ve been living like this for so long, I hadn’t even taken notice.
The only kept area is the small, tidy area along the far wall near the hearth. There lies a sparse bookshelf and an untouched set of chairs arranged around a small circular table. It was meant for meals, but Mother and I always took ours at the work table or ate right in the kitchen.
“I’ll start a fire. The chill may not be bad yet, but it’ll get worse throughout the night.” For some reason, I can’t bear to face him, so I busy myself with other tasks. “There is a small kitchen in the back. A staircase, too, that leads to the bedrooms on the second floor.”
I’m not surprised by the silence that greets me. He’s probably appalled at the mess, which seems ridiculous—he’s a revenant after all—but perhaps they’re neat creatures. The state of his armour and cloak says other ways, but you never know. Speaking of cloaks, I’m itching to take mine off.
Once the fire is roaring and warmth washes over me, Iquickly shed my cloak and hang it beside the hearth to dry. The brilliant scarlet fabric of the dress blazes in the firelight. I would never usually wear such a garment—the only reason I have it is because a farmer’s wife paid my mother to take it off her hands a few years ago. The woman’s husband had said it was a sin to wear such a color.
It had been just what I needed tonight, though.
Usually, I stick to drab colors—not only because the fabric is cheaper, but also because attracting too much attention in the Snowlands can be dangerous. There is safety in remaining unseen, especially as a single woman. I had attracted Lord Gunnar’s attention, and look how that nearly panned out.
However, I am not alone now. No, I have given myself to a creature—a monster I’ve watched kill two men right in front of me.Not a monster,I silently correct myself,Eryx—his name is Eryx.
The only living being besides my mother who’s ever looked out for me. And who’s been suspiciously quiet since we’ve arrived.
Turning from the fire, my eyes land on the figure standing just beyond the door. His pale hand is braced on the doorframe. The glow in his eyes has dimmed, and he remains fixed on me. Why has he not come in? If the mess in the room is off-putting to him, he hardly seems to notice.
The intensity of his gaze causes my heart to pound as we continue to stare at each other. After a moment, he shakes himself. The tattered ends of his cloak kiss the door jam.
“You must invite me in,” he rasps, answering my unspoken question. “My magic is fickle and comes with many cumbersome rules.”
“Oh,” I say, blushing once more. “Of course—come in, please.”
His hulking frame prowls through the open door. He has to stoop down in order not to hit his head on the top of the door.Each decisive step makes his armor rattle softly. The ends of his cloak drag across the wooden floors in a whisper of rustling fabric.
