Wolf, Willow, Witch (The Gideon Testaments, #2)

by Freydís Moon

“Put a knife in me while we were in bed.” “Brutal.” “Yeah.” His voice softened. He ran his thumb along the gold band circling his ring finger. “Then they fucked an exorcist in the house we bought together and helped him put me in the wall.”

“You’re purging embalming fluid,” she hollered. “Congratulations, you’re officially alive.”

“What about you, Tehlor? You the bad guy in anyone’s story?” he asked, smoothly, laughing. “Most likely.”

They were perfect strangers, and she hoped he assumed the worst: that she was terrible, and wretched, and vicious.

“Your ancestors conquered the land and the sea,” she whispered, staring at her reflection. “You are a daughter of Freya, child of the north, descendent of shield-maidens.” She nodded at herself. “Take no shit, bitch.”

Tehlor met his gaze. He didn’t look particularly worried, but he was waiting for something. Confirmation. Assurance, maybe. She almost gave it to him. Almost leaned across the counter and snarled don’t worry, honey. You’re mine.

“Jesus Christ, man. Why are you like this?” Tehlor snorted, scouring the cupboards for a mug. Lincoln messily fixed their plates. He sat in one chair and knocked the other with his foot, gesturing for her to sit. “Marital trauma,”

“Go sit with the other wives and be quiet? Is that what—” “Welcome to church life, witch-bitch.”

“A sacrifice? In this economy?” He tapped his pint against her empty glass. “Good luck finding anyone worth a damn.”

“Well, call me Tucker Carlson, because I must be a fuckin’ idiot, but aren’t you gay?”

“We’ve come to an understanding, haven’t we? I could squeeze the life out of you. Crush your windpipe. Shatter your ribcage.” He traced the bird’s feathers, following its jagged shape to her shoulder. “You could put me back in the wall. Poison me. Stab me again. Send me straight to hell.”

“I bet you fuck like a porn star,” he added, voice low, hinting at reverence. Tehlor kept her expression neutral despite the heat roiling in her groin. She leaned closer, sighing softly. “I bet you’re into weird shit. Uwu and ara-ara while you’re balls deep, huh?”

Lincoln laughed again, that good, strong laugh. He swept his hand higher, pressing his thumb to her bottom lip. “I like you, witch-bitch. You’re brave.” Brave sounded like careless.

“What’d you do?” He slid closer, stepping in front of her again. “Break someone’s little heart? Steal something valuable?” She took the opportunity to use him for balance and set her hand on his shoulder, flexing her knees. “Both, yeah,”

she’d made a point to stay silent on the subject of her teenage-Tonya-Harding incident with everyone except her fucking lawyer.

“C’mon, my ex cut my heart in half and put my body in a wall. Can’t be that bad.”

“It was over for me after that. GPA? Shot. College applications? Useless. Got out of juvi when I was eighteen, packed my shit, and used my college fund to buy this place.” She gestured around the studio with a flick of her wrist. “I could’ve gone to Julliard. Could’ve moved to Paris, could’ve met someone nice, settled down, and opened my own studio. But I got mad instead.” She hung her head and grinned cruelly at the ceiling. “I was a foolish little girl,”

“I imagined you didn’t think of me much at all.” “Can’t lie to me, witchling.” He stroked the side of her throat with his thumb. “I’m part of you now, remember?”

“So, that’s your big, nasty secret, huh? Wanting something so badly it drove you to violence?”

I pulled you out of the wall and sewed the dog head between your shoulders because I wanted to be more powerful. I’m sorry, I know, bad move.

The radical, reckless part of her that’d bargained with a goddess to bring him back to life sat in direct opposition to the barbed, defensive part of her that couldn’t fathom what might happen if she lost him. Love was a word she refused to use. It was too soon, too fresh, and love was too unpredictable to trust.

But Tehlor was obsessed with him. Hyper-fixated on what he did to her, how he influenced her. She clung to the rich, heady desire boiling in her stomach. Chased the devotion they'd mutually ignored and exploited. She wanted to be his source. His point of contention. The thing that made him weak and selfish. Because Lincoln Stone had unburied something wicked and wrong inside her.

Blood gushed over Tehlor’s knuckles and dripped into the baptism trough, splattering her cheeks. She wrenched the weapon free. There, bitch. Go shake hands with Christ.