to get the mud off.
Pryor stood in the shower with his hands braced on the wall, eyes closed as the hottest water he could stand pounded over his head. It burned as it poured over his face and down his body, but he stayed still, letting the heat seep into skin and muscles that always grew too cold in the swamp at night.
That first moment of wakefulness was always followed by a sigh of relief, the realization that he had indeed awakened again when the night before he’d been sure he wouldn’t face the morning. He’d cheated death one too many times and occasionally, death’s grip held on to him for hours after he dragged himself from the water, the cold moving into his bones with a stubbornness that felt permanent.
He placed his hand over his heart, reassured that it still beat.
The image of Elita, covered in dried mud and tucked into the arms of the giant cypress, filled his mind. He rubbed his palm over the weirdling tattoo, half expecting it to move because the woman touched something so deep inside him, she made every part of him feel truly alive for the first time in his life.
But she terrified him.
That woman could so easily steal his heart.
And he’d told Mercer the truth. The head wash hadn’t been enough. Her smudge man had been there, in the woods, its oily, noxious form crouched over her on that limb. His heart stopped beating when he remembered what it had looked like.
The thing was cognizant. Getting more powerful.
Because it had turned its head to watch him as he approached.
After a childhood spent sleeping at Ma’man Raisonne’s, the heat didn’t keep Elita awake. Though her time up north had made her transition back kind of rough the first couple of days, she found that she slipped right back into old habits. She felt safer out here in this guest room. Couldn’t hear the voices that whispered to her every single time she stepped foot in Pryor’s home.
The small shower in the guest room really was terrible. The water shut off a couple of times, came out in a ridiculous stream at one point, then blasted her into the tile. She ended up turning it off to soap everything, even using regular soap in her hair—which she’d regret once it dried—then jumping around in trickling water to rinse.
So yeah, she’d sleep out here, but maybe shower in there next time.
Of course, she planned to go home as soon as his brothers arrived and they could do their spell together. She couldn’t help but wonder what that would be. The thought of lying in that chair helpless while three different gorgeous men washed her hair made her feel weird and squirmy.
Grinning, she shook her head as she tried to open the window higher than she’d left it the night before, but it wouldn’t budge. She moved the curtains aside so possible stray breezes could find their way into the room better. She only put on the T-shirt Pryor left her the night before and her underwear, grimacing at the damp material she’d washed before her shower.
Elita did pull down the covers to sleep on the dust-free sheet, but didn’t cover herself. She trusted Pryor not to come in here while she was sleeping. She wasn’t sure why, but she did. Maybe there was something faintly creepy about him, but she had a feeling that was due to his magic. The man himself seemed to be made of integrity. On top of a lot of other really good, manly things. Chuckling over her sleepy-stupid thoughts, she snuggled down into the soft mattress.
Elita had expected to have trouble sleeping in the strange room, but she dropped off fast.
When she woke, she was shocked to find it already dark. Embarrassment sent her limbs into motion—or it should have. Every muscle was frozen. Elita tried to move, terror quickly chasing away any other emotion as she strained to get control over her body.
That was when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Shadowy figures stood around the bed. None had faces, but she could feel their stares like they physically held her down with