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viking-raider · 4 years

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The Crimson Moon *MATURE*

Summary: Your friend drags you out to a strip club for your birthday. But, you end up with more than just a lap dance from one mustached, blue-eyed stripper.

Pairing: August Walker/You

Word Count: 8,716

Rating: MATURE - Smut, Language, Lap Dances, Strippers, Stalking (if you squint hard enough) Oral - F Receiving, Light Dom!August, Light Bondage, Expeditionism, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Cream Pie, Double life

Inspiration: This Anon @littlefreya received (x)

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @sauvage-et-libre, @mis-lil-red, @angreav, @crazyandanonymous4u, @the-mighty-jellybean @henrycavell, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @iam-laiya, @worshipping-skarsgard, @thetruthandotherstories, @ruthoakenshield, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @theonetheycallhannah, @nina-skyee, @thatgirly81, @inanna999, @suueeeeeee, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @beckster07890, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @magic-and-the-macabre, @stxphmxlls, @radaofrivia, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @starstruckkittyangel, @heartfelt-pen, @stuckupstucky, @dummiesshort, @la-cey, @singeramg, @queenoftheworldisdead, @brooklymw, @raspberrydreamclouds

The Crimson Moon

Flashed the sign on the front of the building your friend was dragging you into.

The building, as the sign indicated, was a Crimson-Red color, accented with Charcoal-Black, the parking lot was dimly lit, giving the whole place a secretive and hushed vibe about it. You didn't want to go into it even more, the closer you got to it, even though you knew it wasn't like the seedy, Club O on 12th street, downtown. The Crimson Moon was a high-end and classy establishment, you needed a membership to enter this strip club, or you knew someone that one.

Enter your best friend, Baeli.

Baeli had an unapologetic obsession with men, typically, Chippendales, Firefighters or Cop type males. She had a reputation for going to the Crimson Moon and tipping the strippers so well, her membership was upgraded to Gold, which was how she was allowed to kidnap you and force you into going with her.

“Bae, I don't want to spend my birthday in a strip club.” You complained, sighing as you both stopped at the door leading inside.

“Oh, come on!” Baeli huffed, flipping her blond hair at you, the powerful wall of her perfume hitting you square in the nose. “Let's see one show, then we'll go somewhere you wanna spend your birthday.”

You gave her a dubious look, you had been friends with her since Grade One, and knew when she was talking out of her bleached ass.

“Pinkie swear.” She sighed, rolling her eyes and stuck her powdered-pink, French manicure pinkie finger out towards you.

Growling and rolling your eyes back, neither of you ever broke a pinkie swear. “Fine.” You groaned, hooking your plain pinkie finger with hers. “Pinkie swear, then we're going to Nathan's pub and getting shots.”

“Fine.” Baeli groaned, she hated going to Nathan's, but like how you sucked up going to the club with her, she'll suck up going to the pub with you.

“Card.” A beefy doorman growled, thrusting out his hand towards Baeli.

Baeli opened the clutch that hung from her forearm, revealing a huge wad of cash, there wasn't a bill lower than a ten amongst them. Fishing around the thick bundle of money, Baeli removed a glittering gold card, the name Crimson Moon written on it, over the image of red thumbnail moon, with her name and membership number.

��A pleasure to have you again, Ms. Evans.” The doorman said, swiping her card in a reader and handing it back to her, his almost mafia bodyguard demeanor washing away into a surprisingly polite and gentlemanly attitude.

“This is my guest.” Baeli said, smiling at you over her shoulder. “It's her birthday.” She added, with a sly smirk.

The doorman looked you over, lifting a brow at your black, knee length and sleeveless halter top dress, hugging your body just right with your black flats. You saw the corner of his lip twitch, and knew that you passed the club's strict dress code, it worked out with Baeli helping you decide what to wear on your birthday. You didn't care, if you were going to stay home and nurse a bottle of wine on your own, while watching ridiculous tv shows, you just wanted to feel gorgeous on your big day.

“Enjoy yourselves, ladies.” The doorman said, opening the blacked out door for you both, with a slight bow of his head. “Happy birthday.” He added quietly, as you walked by him and into the club.

“Thank you.” You whispered back as the door closed behind you.

Looking around, you felt the illusion of the club, it was larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The carpeting was dark red and black abstract, with spots of steel-gray. There were in-laid, circle lights in the floor, showing the way to the bar and to the seated section, right in front of the stage and a hallway off the side. The whole place was dimly lit, with the runner lights and turned down low sconces, as well as the various lights on the stage, to light the performance of the strippers.

Baeli grabbed your hand and guided you to the bar. “One rum and coke.” She told the single bartender. “And a mojito, please.”

The bartender nodded his head at her, silently, and started moving about, grabbing the two different glasses for the drinks and started building them, impressively, at the same time, using one hand for the mojito and the other for the rum and coke.

“That's pretty cool.” You commented, nodding your hand at him as he set a napkin on the bar top, then your rum and coke on it, setting it in front of you.

“Thanks.” He whispered, quietly, then moved on to another customer.

“Come.” Baeli said, taking a sip of her mojito through the teeny black straw, then turned towards the stage. “The next show is starting.” She informed you.

A smooth and deep voice came over an intercom system wired throughout the immaculate building, it smelled like sandalwood, money and unfulfilled fantasies. You followed Baeli to the front row, shocker, you thought. It wasn't that your best friend was a slut or anything, she just had a really strong fetish for men, even though, nine and a half times out of ten, they were complete losers, that treated her badly, had a criminal history or were married.

Didn't stop Baeli though.

“Welcome to the Crimson Moon, where you'll always be driven mad by our full moons.” the silky voice said, smoothly.

“Christ, that's cliché.” You snorted, sipping your drink and sitting down at the table with Baeli.

“Ssshh.” Baeli hushed you, annoyed.

“Tonight, we have just what every woman needs in her life, The Hammer.” The voice continued, dropping his tone to a low timber at the end of his sentence.

You looked over at Baeli, rolling your eyes at how stupid that sounded, a stripper named, 'the Hammer', did they have a Screwdriver and Power Saw, as well? But, Baeli was losing her mind, grinning like mad and bouncing in her seat, if her face got any redder with her excitement, you'd mistake her for a Crimson Moon.

“Oh, we're in so much luck!” She bubbled at you, with a full and toothy grin. “He is so handsome, a total hunk of man. He could fuck me through the floor and all I'd be able to do, is thank him and ask for more.”

“You say that about every man you encounter, Bae.” You replied, shaking your head at her, not at all impressed or excited, you looked forward to him doing his routine and getting out of here to get to Nathan's.

“I mean it with this one.” Baeli replied, unstoppable. “The Hammer is a total package, just you wait! By the time he finishes his routine, your panties will be soaked.” She beamed, then got a wolfish look on her face.

“That is, if you're wearing any.”

You narrowed your eyes at her in disgust. “I'm wearing underwear, you weirdo.” You huffed at her, shifting and feeling the elegant, lace panties you had on.

The lights lining the edge of the stage turned on and moved low against the stage, illuminating the floor and the simple black curtain backdrop. A low hum of music pumped through hidden speakers, you could feel the bass in your chest and the soles of your flats, it was a pleasant beat. Baeli fidgeted with excitement as the black satin curtain opened and you saw the biggest guy you had ever seen in your life. He was well over six foot, two hundred pounds of well packaged muscle, broad shoulders and chest. You were sure he was the reason the phrase, 'thick thighs save lives' was coined, they were as big around as tree trunks, held snug in the black slacks he wore. Your eyes trailed up his long legs, licking your lips as your eyes moved over his torso, he was moving slowly, rolling his hips as his big hands moved to the button of his shirt, nimble fingers gently pushing the clear button through the hole. You didn't know how the hell he managed it, but he somehow made unbuttoning a shirt sexy; you bit your lip as his chest slowly came into view as more buttons came undone.

Half of his buttons were free by the time your eye finally met his, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 'Fuck, he's gorgeous'. His hooded Cerulean-Blue eyes met yours and a smirk tugged up the corner of his lip, a light scruff on his cheeks and sharp jawline with a well taken care of mustache. 'Damn it, Baeli.' you thought, feeling the slick warmth start to pool in your black lace panties. The smirk on his face grew, his attentive and observant eyes noticing the slight movements of your knees as you tried to ignore the tingling feeling there and the slightly embarrassed look in your eyes.

He let his now unbuttoned shirt slip off his arms, revealing thick and strong arms underneath. Your eyes flared as he smoothed his palms over his chest, the bump of his defined abs, and to the buckle of his belt.

“Oh god.” You whimpered into your drink, eyes glued to his hands as they tugged open the buckle of his belt, then slowly pulled the clearly expensive leather from the loops of his pants. “Oh Jesus.” You whined, chewing on your lip and unable to look away.

“I told you.” Baeli chuckled into your ear. “He must like you, his eyes haven't left yours, since he came on.”

“He's just doing his job.” You mumbled into your glass, your own eyes still locked on his.

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his slacks and shoved them down, kicking them off the stage, and making some girl on the other side of the stage squeal, scrambling to grab them off the floor, but he was still focused on you, still gently moving as he stood there in a silk thong, that just barely contained his overflowing package.

“Oh good god.” You gasped, mouth falling open.

“That's right, honey!” Baeli yelled out, pulling out several large bills from the wad of cash in her clutch and stuffed them in the tip jar at the end of the stage, since you weren't allowed to touch the performers.

“I need another drink.” You squeaked, as you met his eyes again, then got up and rushed over to the bar, feeling his blue orbs follow you. “Rum and coke, extra rum.” You told the bartender as he approached you, throat tight.

When the bartender set your refilled glass down in front of you, you shamelessly chugged it down, trying to get the burning feeling your mind, and pussy, to go away with the strong and chilled beverage, but it didn't seem to work, the alcohol only heated your skin up even more. There was a room full of claps and whistles behind you, signaling the end of the man's dance, and relaxed as the sizzling feeling of his eyes on you vanished as he returned to the backstage.

“I think you might have hurt his feelings.” Baeli said, coming up behind you. “Rushing off like that.”

“I'm sure all the cash you practically threw at him will buffer that burn.” You told her, dabbing at your mouth with the napkin from under your glass. “Let's go.” You told her, setting your empty glass on the bar top, and turned towards her.

“We can't.” She frowned at you, shaking her head.

“Why the hell not?” You snapped at her, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Because, I set up a private lap dance for you.” She replied with an excited grin.

“Oh no.” You shook your head at her, licking your lip. “Absolutely not!”

“Absolutely yes.” She nodded back, getting annoyed with you. “That is an expensive dance, so you have to take it.”

“No, I don't. You do it and I'll wait in the car.”

“I can't, I'm not the birthday girl, you are.” Baeli shook her head at you and held out a key to you, dangling from a black and red moon shaped key tagged. “Off you go, or I'll drag you there by your hair.”

“Christ.” You huffed at her, snagging the key from her. “You and the hair pulling.” You chided her.

“The room number is on the tag.” She told you, grinning like she was sending you off to the wolves.

You looked down at the tag as you walked towards the hallway off the side of the stage where all of the private rooms were, and found Room Six. Biting your lip and taking a deep breath, you slotted the key into the door and stepped inside, closing it behind you. The room was decorated much like the rest of the club, but with a single comfortable chair and a closed circuit camera in one of the top corners of the room, and one other door across from you. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, you had never gotten a lap dance before, this was only your second time in a strip club, so you were uncomfortable. The door across from you opened and your heart started to beat even harder, seeing the blue eyed, mustached man from the stage step into the room with you.

“You.” He smirked at you, licking his upper lip as he closed his door.

“Yeah.” You squeaked, trembling, he was so much bigger up close.

He chuckled, seeing your nervousness and motioned to the chair. “Sit.”

Hesitating for a moment, you slipped into the chair, feeling even smaller compared to him now, melting into the chair as he stepped closer to you. He planted a hand on each of the arm rests and leaned down over you, bringing his face so close to yours, you saw the brown fleck in the upper corner of his blue eyes. He smelled so good, like dark vanilla, leather bound books and sandalwood from his beard and mustache oil; you were unconscious of slightly leaning towards him and taking in a stronger breath, wanting to be immersed in his scent. He smirked at you and leaned down closer, your nose deliciously close to the hollow of his neck and collarbone.

“I hear, it's your birthday.” He whispered softly into your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, enchanted and almost drugged by his scent and presence.

“Well, then.” He purred, his lips brushing your ear, the soft hairs of his mustache tickling the rim of your lobe. “I'll have to give you an extra bit of attention.” He cooed at you, fingertips meeting the sensitive spot behind your opposite ear and smoothed down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Birthday girl.” His voice was husky, his hot breath warming your chilled skin and making you shiver.

“Sweet Jesus.” You whimpered, feeling the heat of his breath rippling through your body and to your pussy, drenching your panties even more, and you were sure, as you watched his eyes darken, that he could smell it.

“Not Jesus, birthday girl.” He chucked, moving back some, his hands moving to the collar of his shirt, he had clothed himself since his performance, you couldn't remember how long ago. “Just the Hammer.” He murmured, his voice smooth like chocolate.

“Do you usually go to strip clubs on your birthday?” He asked, undoing another button.

“No.” You whispered, out of breath and hyper-focused on his rapidly appearing chest, that your hands tingled to be able to touch. “I usually stay home or go to Nathan's pub.” You mumbled, brain going on autopilot.

“Doesn't sound very fun.” He rasped, tugging one side of his now unbuttoned shirt from where it was tucked into his ridiculously tight waistband.

“I don't like celebrating.” You goggled at his exposed torso.

“Hm.” He hummed with a sly smirk, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and pulled up your hand so you pressed your palm flat against his chest.

Despite the heat in the room,—was the room hot or was it you—his skin was cool to the touch, like he has been sitting under a pleasant air conditioner before coming into the room. You whimpered softly, pressing your hand firmer to his groomed, but hairy, chest and slid down, feeling the nub on his nipple harden under the heat of your palm, before rubbing your thumb over each bump of his six-pack. Smirking, he tugged the other side of his shirt free, gently grinding against you and tossing his shirt over the back of your chair.

“Go on.” He purred, lips brushing your warm cheek. “I know you want to touch me more than that.” He whispered into your ear, before taking it between his pearly-whites.

“Is that even allowed?” You found yourself asking, without meaning too.

“It's private, we can do damn near anything in here,” he hummed low in his throat. “As long as we're both consenting.” He added, softer, sending a shiver down your back.

Your other hand reached up and gripped that etched hip peeking out from the top of his slacks and dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss and bite your neck, all the while, pressing closer to you, one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other cupping your neck. You felt the firm and long rub of something, then noticed the very visible bulge straining his slacks, inches from you, and panicked. You planted both hands on his chest and pushed him away, jumping up from the chair, all flustered and embarrassed.

“I'm sorry.” You squeaked, making for the door.

Sighing heavily, but smiling at your shy and hasty departure, he plucked his shirt from the back of the chair and exited out of the door he came in through.

“So, how was it?” Baeli asked, sitting at the bar, while she waited for you. “It wasn't very long.”

“It was long enough.” You told her, muddled. “Can we go to Nathan's now?” You asked her, almost begging, you wanted to get out of the Crimson Moon in case, the Hammer, decided to follow after you.

Baeli rolled her eyes, but nodded her head. “All right, fine.” She sighed, slapping a fifty on the bar top and headed for the door.

Relieved, you followed Baeli back out to her car and slipped into the passenger seat, you watched the Crimson Moon sink into the distance as Baeli drove you both to the pub, twenty minutes away. With a sigh, you slipped into a booth seat at Nathan's Pub, which had been your watering hole since college, the alcohol was decent, the staff was incredible and the food was spot on, what else would you want out of an establishment?

Importantly, no hot men grinding on you and making you question your morals.

You and Baeli shared a drink and the waitress, who knew you quite well, showed up at your table with a slice of cake, a single candle burning on it, then several other staff, a couple patrons and Baeli sang you a round of happy birthday, before clapping and giving you hugs after blowing the candle out. You chuckled, digging into the overly sweet cake, sharing it with Baeli, and forgetting all about the strip club.

“All right, birthday girl.” Baeli yawned, finishing off her plain, diet coke. “I'm ready to go, how about you?” She asked, making sure she had her car keys.

“You go on home, I'm going to stay a little bit longer, I'll Uber home.” You told her, still nursing the Daiquiri you ordered.

“You sure?” She frowned, she hated to leave you alone like this on your birthday.

“I'm positive.” You nodded, giving her a reassuring smile.

“All right, I'll call you in the morning.” She nodded back, giving you a quick hug and headed out.

You finished your drink, and left a tip for the staff, since Baeli paid the bill, then headed outside to find a good spot to have an Uber pick you up and take you home.

“You know, I was quite surprised by you.” A silky voice said behind you. “I wouldn't have taken you as the rude type, not allowing me to finish my work, twice.”

You yelped in surprise and dropped your phone on the asphalt, spinning around to see the tall stripper behind you, the Hammer. “Are you following me?” You squeaked, slowly bending down to pick up your phone, never taking your eyes off of him.

“I really don't like unfinished business.” He replied, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the brick wall at the side of Nathan's.

“Too bad.” You replied, gulping and looking around, hoping someone would come out of the pub and into the parking lot.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” He told you, lifting a brow as your uneasiness.

“Yeah, sure.” You huffed at him, trying to fake confidence. “You only follow me twenty minutes from your work and wait for me to come out, to confront me, alone, in a parking lot, in the middle of the night.

He chuckled at you. “When you put it that way.” He smirked, licking his lips in a way that had you feeling that heat again. “But, if I wanted to kidnap or harm you, you would already be in my car.” He told you, with such a steely confidence and an amused blankness to his face and eyes, you felt a chill join the growing heat of your body.

“W-what do you want?” You mumbled, biting your lip.

“To finish what I started.” He smirked at you, his eyes racking over you. “It is still your birthday, for another-” He looked at his watch. “Two hours.” He smirked and crossed his arms again. “Come on, I promised to give you extra attention, and intend too. Promise, I won't disappoint or do anything you don't want.”

You stared at this man and felt your morals slip, it was your birthday after all, why the hell shouldn't you make the most of it with a hot guy. “Where?” You asked him, taking a deep breath.

“I have a good neutral place.” He told you, pushing off the wall and motion to a stupidly nice car.

“Um,” You frowned at him, then activated the screen of your phone, texting Baeli.

» Met a guy at Nathan's, sharing my location.

» Is he cute?

Rolling your eyes, you shoved your phone into the little pocket in your dress and looked back at him, he had opened the passenger door for you, which surprised you, a guy had never done that for you before.

“Thanks.” You muttered, slipping into the seat.

“Of course.” He chuckled, then closed your door and went around to the driver's side.

“What's your name?” You asked, looking over at him.

“Why?” He frowned at the road.

“I don't want to call you 'the Hammer' for the next two hours.” You retorted, lifting a brow at him.

“Hm.” He huffed, amused. “Most people call me, Walker.” He replied.

“What do your friends call you?”

“Walker.” He answered, his tone plain and guarded.

“What did your mother call you?”

Walker looked over at you as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. “Nothing that a child should be called.” He replied, tightly.

“Walker, it is then.” You gulped, after a momentary pause.

“And yours?” Walker asked, turning a corner as the light changed back to green.

You told him your name.

“It's a lovely name.” He complimented you.

“Thanks.” You smiled, shyly brushing your hair behind your ear. “That's your neutral ground?” You asked, seeing the highest end hotel the city had come into view.

“It is.” Walker nodded with a sly smirk.

“How does a stripper afford a super expensive car and an even more expensive hotel?” You asked him, following him into the lobby.

Walker smiled at you, stopping at the reception counter. “Pent suite.” He told the clerk, holding out a gold American Express card to him.

“Of course, Mr. Walker.” the Clerk replied, setting it up.

Your mouth was hanging open as you watched him swipe the card and hand it back to Walker, surprised that the man knew his name and the price on the screen for the room. But, Walker was unphased by all of it, taking back his card and motioning you in front of him, towards the lifts.

“That's a lot of money for two hours.” You choked, stepping into the lift with him.

“Not for the Birthday girl.” Walker replied, smiling smugly at you, and hit the top floor button.

“Are you always like this, when someone doesn't let you finish?” You asked, following him down the hall at the very top floor and to a set of double doors.

“No, you're the first woman that's never let me finish a performance.” He replied, swiping the room key in the door reader and pushed it open, politely letting you enter the elegant suite first.

“First for everything, I suppose.” You answered, looking around the room, mouth hanging open.

“True.” Walker nodded, looking you over as you walked around, licking his lips, like he was thirsty and you were a refreshing drink. “Here, sit down.” He said softly, grabbing a chair and setting in the middle of the room.

Sighing, you did as he said and sat down in the chair, then watched him loosen the clearly expensive silk tie he was wearing, and stepped around behind you, pulling your arms back and using the tie to bind your wrists together. You started to panic and breathe hard, feeling the soft fabric tighten, securely.

“Calm down.” Walker purred at you, soothingly. “I can't have you running off for a third time, can I?” He asked, coming around the chair to face you. “That's just so incredibly rude.” He told you, shaking his head at you.

“Is it too tight?” He asked, watching you try and calm yourself with deep breaths.

“No.” You gasped, biting your lip.

“Good.” He nodded, with a sweet smile. “All settled?” He asked, stroking your cheek in an oddly soothing way.

“Ye-yeah.” You nodded, finally getting your heart rate under control.

“Very good.” He smiled a bit more, the back of his fingers trailing from your cheek to your neck, then down the swell of your breasts, liking the way your bra pushed them up. “Hm.” He hummed, watching the rise and fall of your chest quicken again, but for a completely different reason.

“If I do anything you don't like, or if you want to stop,” He explained, rubbing his thumb over your lips. “All I want you to say is one word.”

“What word?” You asked, pressing your thighs together to stop the slick heat from raising again, and failing.

“Cake.”

“Okay.” You nodded, feeling that cliché.

“Say it.” Walker pressed you, sternly.

“Cake.” You repeated the word with a gulp.

“Very good.” He smiled and gently pat you on the head with, what you supposed was his attempt at, a wink. “Now, where was I before you interrupted me?” He hummed, pressing his lips together and tapping his middle finger against his stubbly chin.

“That's right.”

Turning on his heels, August pulled his phone out of his pocket and over to a Bluetooth speaker that came with the room. Pairing the two up, he scrolled through his vast and diverse music playlists, until he found a song he wanted and pressed play, setting his phone down next to the speaker, he turned back to you. Smiling, he rested his foot on the seat of a chair that was identical to the one he had you tied to, removed the laces of his dress shoes and neatly tucked them under the foot of the huge bed in the room, then took off his socks and rolled them up, neatly stuffing them into his shoes. Satisfied with that, Walker moved closer to you, your knees brushing his shins.

“You're quite beautiful, you know that.” He complimented you, resting his hand on the back of your chair, his lips brushing your ear, cheek and then your lips.

“Thank you.” You sighed, eyes rolling shut at the soft feel of his supple lips and the intoxicating scent of his body.

“You're welcome.” He purred, before giving you a chasten kiss on the lips.

You moaned against his mouth, he tasted sweet and minty. Chuckling, Walker moved slightly away, his hands unbutton his shirt before your eyes, for the third time that night. You almost pouted at the fact your arms were tied behind you, wanting to touch his body again, and Walker saw that look in your eyes.

“Patience, love.” He cooed at you, letting his shirt slip off his arms and to the floor. “If you behave, I'll untie you, and you can touch me all you want.” He promised, cupping your cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing your lips, before pressing inside your mouth for a moment, letting you suck on the tip of his digit for a second, before pulling his hand away, teasing you.

His movements were slow, fluid and calculated. You were learning that was the kind of person Walker was, he took his time, and he managed that time well, like a General in the military would. He touched your face, arms and upper body as he moved around you, only occasionally brushing your thighs and knees, pushing up the edge of your dress with each touch, until he could just see the hint of your soaked panties. His hands left you, with a whine of protest, he chuckled and dropped his hands to his pants, he wasn't wearing a belt this go around, so popping open the button of his slacks was simple, but he made a painfully slow show out of unzipping them and pushing them down his tree trunk thighs.

You expected the thong he had been wearing for his on stage routine, but, unfortunately, he was wearing boxer briefs. But even that much material wasn't enough to hold back the creature Walker had living inside of them, he was large and incredibly hard inside of them, a small damp spot on them from where the tip of his cock rested.

“You see what you've done.” He asked you, following your eyes to the wet spot. “You've teased me twice tonight, leaving me hard as a block of marble.”

“I'm sorry.” You found yourself blurting out, without conscious thought, eyes glued to his confined dick, it had been months since you had sex, and that was underwhelming, at best.

“Not yet, you're not.” Walker laughed, slipping the tips of his fingers into his boxers and stroking his shaft, the wet spot growing. “You want me to take them off?” He asked, fisting himself, unashamed.

“Please.” You nodded, licking your lips, dying for the sight of it.

“Hm.” He hummed, squatting in front of you, hands resting on your knees. “Let's see just how much you want to see me naked, shall we?” He asked, lifting a brow at you and slipped a hand between your legs, sliding it home to palm the drenched fabric of your panties.

“Shit.” You gasped, hips shamefully rubbing against his palm, a mind of their own.

“Oh, how wet the Birthday Girl is.” He teased you, ghosting the pad of his middle finger against your clothed clit. “You must really want to see me naked.” He chuckled, licking his lips and rubbing harder.

“Oh god, Walker.” You begged him, squeezing your legs together to keep his hand against your pussy. “Please.”

“You want me this bad, and yet, you ran away, twice.” He tutted at you, pulling his hand free, and stood.

“I'm sorry.” You croaked, eyes wide and desperate. “I was just frightened and overwhelmed, I didn't expect this.” You explained, you still didn't expect it, and part of you was berating yourself for getting into this situation, but there was nothing for it now, you were hot, wet and horny, and you wanted Walker to finish his lap dance, and give you whatever else he had in mind.

Or, in his boxers, for that matter.

“I'm sure you didn't.” He answered, his voice rough and dripping with arousal.

The tempo of the song picked up and Walker started slowly dancing and moving, surprising you with how agile his tall and muscular body was, he was in such complete control of himself and every teeny little thing he did, you couldn't help the enthralled and turned on expression on your face and in your eyes. As the song and his dance came to a close, Walker knelt before you, resting his hands on your shaky knees, pushing your dress up and spread your legs wide, the cool air of the room wafted against the wet fabric, making you shiver in response. Walker smirked, petting your folds through your panties and you shivered even more, moaning.

“So impatient.” He cooed at you, slipping a finger into the side of your undies and caressing your slick and dripping folds.

“Fuck.” You moaned, bucking against his finger, choking down a gulp.

“Push on your toes and lift your hips.” Walker instructed you, removing his hand from between your legs.

You did as he told you and felt his strong fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and slip them off of you, then carefully removed your flats, tucking them in beside his own. You gasped, feeling his warm lips on the cool skin at the inside of your thigh, the tickle of his mustache and stubble had you letting out a breathy giggle, only to melt into a deep moan, from Walker placing wet kisses, nibbles and love bites all over your thighs. You were starting to get impatient again, wanting his mouth on your pussy all ready, straining against the tie wrapped around your wrists, you were surprised by how well he bound and tied you.

“Ow!” You let out in a breathy yelp.

“Stop doing that.” He scolded you, feeling you fidget. “You'll cut off the circulation in your hands.”

“Well, if you stop fucking teasing me.” You retorted back.

“I'll tease you all I want.” Walker remarked with a sly smirk. “You're the one tied to the chair.” He reminded you, like you had forgotten.

You grinned back at him, cheeks warm and shaking your head.

Chuckling, Walker started all over again, and took even longer this time to reach your folds, leaving bite marks, hickies and beard burn behind. You opened your legs even wider, panting, as his warm breath tickled your wet folds, your head fell back as he gave your clit a sharp flick of his tongue, toes curling intp the short carpet under your feet. Walker pressed a lewd kiss to your pussy, suckling your clit with maddening expertise and leisure, his hands gripped your hips and pinned you to the chair, stopping your desperate wiggles to fuck his face. His licks grew more and more, until he was licking the full length of your pussy with his long and broad tongue, swirling it around your clit and delving into the weeping entrance of your core, collecting your juices on his tongue and swallowing with deep rumbles of satisfaction of how good you tasted.

“You definitely taste better than Birthday Cake.” He moaned, lapping at your pussy.

You laughed, nervously. “Th-thanks.” You whimpered, a complete mess under his skilled mouth.

“I'm still shocked.” He purred between licks. “You're so polite, yet, you're so willing to ditch someone just trying to do their job.” He laughed, then gave your pussy several long and firm lips, sending you skating over the edge.

“Fuck, Walker!” You cried out, twitching and straining against your bonds, leaving a sticky mess between your legs, his mouth and mustache, and all over the seat beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“That is the best damn orgasm I have ever had.” You commented, after semi recovering yourself.

Walker chuckled, smugly proud of himself as he moved around you and tugged the knot of the tie free, your numb arms falling heavily to your sides, releasing the strain on your shoulders. Walker's broad hands rested on your shoulders and started massaging your tense muscles, working his thumbs up and down your neck and between your shoulder blades, kneading and making you feel even more like puddy under his attention. His hands moved away from you and you heard the rustle of clothing behind you and every hair on your body stood on end, seeing his boxers come flying over your head and land on the floor with his discard pants and shirt.

“Stand up.” He rasped directly into your ear.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could stand up, your legs felt like weak water balloons, but you slowly rose to your feet and your chair was pulled farther back. You didn't turn around to face Walker, the last remnants of your shyness holding you back from seeing him fully naked. His hands suddenly appeared on your back again, grabbing the zipper to the back of your dress and pulling it down, then pushed the straps off your shoulders, the black material of your dress pooled at your feet, like a black hole; followed by your matching push up bra. You hugged your arms to your bare chest and gulped, Walker wrapped his arms around you and pressed an open mouthed kiss to your neck, hugging you back against him, allowing you to feel every square inch of his chiseled and naked body.

“You're even more beautiful naked.” He hummed against the skin of your neck and shoulder, then turned you to face him. “Don't be shy.” He chuckled, grabbing your wrists and gently pulled your arms away from your chest. “Nothing I haven't seen before.” He assured you, bending his head forward to press a kiss to each other of your breasts, reaffirming his words.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and resting his hands on your hips, Walker picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carefully turned, pressing your back against the wall beside you. Your ass rested right on top of his rock hard cock as he braced his knees against the wall and your eyes widened, 'fuck, he's huge'. You gulped, blinking at him. Walker smirked and wiggled his brows at you, his confidence was as palpable as the rest of his body, he reached beneath you and grasped his shaft and rubbed the tip against your sticky and still wet pussy, both of you moaning in unison. Chests heaving against each other, Walker slowly guided his uncut cock inside of your core, then let your body weight sink you the rest of the way on its own, wanting you to feel that slow stretch as his thick shaft opened you even wider, every long inch being molded to your core.

“You are perfectly snug around my cock.” He purred, biting into your neck and sucking hard. “Your sweet little pussy doesn't wanna let me go, does it.” He growled against your jugular, biting you even harder, you were shocked he didn't draw blood.

“No.” You moaned, shaking your head and hugging your arms tighter around his neck; you didn't want to let him go.

Walker bucked up into you, spearing into your cervix like a hot knife and had you calling out his name, not caring how loud you were and if any of the other suites on the floor heard. His thrusts were measured and rough, pulling you down as he drove himself up, the dresser along the table next to you rattled and the objects on top of it jumped with each thrust and clattered to the floor. The whole room was filled with sounds spilling out from you and Walker, slapping skin, shaking furniture and knocking over objects.

“Yes, yes.” You panted and cried, holding onto Walker and understanding why he was called the Hammer. “Fuck, Walker. Fill me, please, for fuck sake, fill me.” You begged him, racking your nails down his shoulders and sweaty back, drawing spots of blood.

Grunting and hammering you harder, Walker obliged your request and sent both of you spiraling into a tandem orgasm and miraculously not through the wall. His flushed face and sweaty forehead fell heavily to your shoulder, his huffing breath washing over the skin of your collarbone and breast. You rested your head back against the wall, trying to catch your own breath and settling your pounding and screaming heart rate, with a throb between your legs from Walker's furious thrusting. Breath caught, Walker pulled both of you off the wall and carried you, like a limp koala, into the huge bathroom suite, setting you down on the heated toilet seat, then turned to the deep soaking tub and spinning on the hot tap.

“If this is how you treat women that run out on your performances, then I might turn into a regular dance and dash customer of yours.” You chuckled, sinking into the warm and soapy water, feeling the jets massage your exhausted and drained body.

Walker chuckled, shaking his head at you and stepped out of the bathroom, picking up his discarded clothes, carefully folding them, and cleaned up the mess on the floor. He picked your dress up off the floor and felt the pocket vibrate. Frowning, he pulled the device out and the screen lit up, showing off a text from someone called Baeli and the notification of your location share.

“Smart girl.”

He chuckled, smirking, then turned the share off, before folding your dress and set it on the dresser with your ruined panties and bra, your phone on top of them. “Are you hungry?” Walker called out to you, opening the double doors of the private balcony the room had; but you didn't answer him.

Frowning, Walker stepped back into the bathroom and chuckled, shaking his head, seeing you had dozed off, while enjoying your nice, hot bath.

You hadn't realized you fell asleep, until you woke up an hour later, under a layer of blankets. But, that wasn't what had woken you, what woke you was the low murmur of a voice that sounded very angry. Walker's voice, with someone he was clearly on the phone with.

“I don't care.” Walker hissed between clenched teeth, as he stood on the balcony. “I fucking told you, Royce. I want the rest of the Apostles on this. If any, and I mean, any, of them fuck this up for me, I will kill them.” He growled, gripping the balcony railing to try and keep his voice and temper under control.

“Do you understand? I would do it myself, if the CIA didn't have me undercover.”

It seemed like the person Walker was talking to had promised to do what he expected of them, because he visibly relaxed.

“Good. Call me in the morning and tell me how it went.” Walker sighed, running a hand through his disheveled and wind swept curls.

You closed your eyes as he hung up and leaned against the railing, not wanting him to feel your eyes on him or to know you had woken up at an apparently important section of his phone call. Your stomach was in knots, who were the Apostles? Was he really an undercover CIA? Was being a stripper part of that cover, or just a side job he got a kick out of? That must have been why he had so much money. Your brain screamed for you to jump up right there, yank on your clothing and run like hell from this apparently more dangerous man than you thought he was, but your body was still heavy as a rock from all the drinks you consumed over the night of your birthday and the mind blowing sex, so you only ended up falling back to sleep, as Walker turned around and entered the room again, unaware of your being awake or knowing what you now knew.

Waking again a few hours later, it was early morning, but still dark outside, an arm slung over your waist, hugging you against the solid, breathing wall of Walker's chest. Biting your lip, you carefully wiggled out of Walker's arms and to the edge of the bed, before you risked sitting up and stood, turning around to face him. He was relaxed and softly snoring on his side, his handsome face so soft you finally noticed the dark circles under his long lashes, the thick muscles of his arms and chest slack, he didn't seem as dangerous as you thought as you fell back to sleep after his phone call on the balcony.

Maybe, you had just dreamt it.

He gave you no indication of wanting to hurt you, and he had plenty of opportunities to do so throughout the night. Walker had done quite the opposite, he had been gentle, careful and mindful of you. He could have forced himself on you in the private room at the Crimson Moon, he could have done anything to you when he showed up at Nathan's, obviously annoyed by you running off before your lap dance was done, and he could have seriously hurt you once he got you into this hotel room, but again did nothing you didn't want and was quite sweet by drawing you a bath and putting you to bed after you fell asleep.

Sighing, you moved to the dresser, where he had folded your clothes and slipped your bra and panties on, then stepped out onto the balcony, the doors still open and letting in the cool night air. Resting your forearms against the railing and leaning forward, you looked down the dizzying thirty floors to the street below, a trickle of cars slowly thickening as people got up and started their days, rushing off to work or wherever else, which reminded you, you had to get home and get ready for your shift in four hours. Huffing, you shook your head, 'fuck that', you'd just call in sick and take the day off.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Walker's voice rasped behind you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, finding him standing, butt naked, at the threshold of the balcony. “Just thinking that I have work in four hours, and how I want to call in sick.” You replied, looking back over the skyline.

“Perhaps you should.” He commented, stepping out onto the balcony with you, his hands resting on your hips and kneading them. “You deserve it.” He whispered, rubbing his soft cock against your ass.

“Do I?” You snorted, shaking your head and pushing back against him.

“I think so.” He rasped, touching the side of his foot to the inside of yours and pushed your leg out, until your chest was pressed to the railing and you leaned over it, slightly.

“Walker.” You gasped, eyes wide as you got even more dizzy from the height.

“Hush.” He cooed, then promptly ripped your underwear off of you.

“Walker!” You barked, surprised and annoyed, you were starting to rethink his threat level, when he filled you up with his cock again.

“I'll replace them.” Walker laughed, wrapping your hair around one hand and pulled your head back. “I can afford something better for you to wear, anyway.” He whispered into your ear, and started thrusting into you, your hips rubbing harshly against the railing, and his strong fingers rubbing your still sore clit.

Afterwards, You let Walker carry you back to bed and melted into his big arms and broad chest. “Is your cover really going to be blown, August?” You asked, coming off the high that had started the afternoon before.

“So, you were awake.” August laughed, brushing his fingers through your hair. “But, no, love. My cover is just fine, like it always is. Some of the Apostles are just being idiots, but I've put them back in their rightful places.”

“Under your size eleven boot.” You laughed, tilting your head back to look up at your beloved boyfriend.

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He chuckled back, kissing the tip and bridge of your nose. “Did you have a good birthday?” He asked, stroking the side of your face.”

“Mission: Crimson Moon, was bloody fantastic.” You assured him, kissing his stubbly jawline. “You make a damn good stripper, by the way.” You added, trailing your fingertips up and down his torso.

“It's no wonder why Sloane put you undercover there.”

You and August had met, while both of you were on separate missions, three years before, that ended up colliding together and you and August became nearly inseparable. Where one of you was, the other wasn't long off or far from. August worked as the CIA's best assassin. You worked a bit more free lance, bouncing between the CIA and MI-6, or sometimes for a private sector or person, if the money paid well enough. After your first year of dating August, when he finally trusted you without condition, he let you in on his 'John Lark' secret, how he was moonlighting as the top leader to the Apostles, the group that formed after the fall of the Syndicate, with Solomon Lane.

You were shocked at first, but the more you thought about it, the more it really made sense, August was calculated in everything he did, from work life to private life, he was distant and cold, almost cruel, if you didn't have the pleasure of being in his trusted inner circle. He had feared, an extremely rare trait in August Walker's vocabulary, that once you found out about his true dealings, you would leave him, he didn't worry about you outing him and blowing his cover, he knew you wouldn't, no matter how hurt and shocked you were, you had your own secrets and knew the value of keeping them that way.

A secret.

But, you didn't leave him, you loved him; even his faults.

You made him promise to never talk about the Apostles' business around you, unless you asked him about it, the less you knew about his works as the Head Apostle, the less of it could be pulled out of you and used to harm him, should anyone decide to use you as a pawn against August. Which, you weren't worried about either, people, from high governments to the cockroaches knew better than to fuck with you, even more so knowing that if they did do something to hurt or compromise you, August would be at their doorstep a moment later.

“Well, the job there is almost done, then only you will be getting a lifetime membership to my lap dances.” He told you with a smug grin, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him.

“I better be, August Walker.” You told him, pushing yourself up to straddle his waist, hands braced on his chest. “I'm the only one, this Hammer gets to nail.” You laughed, rubbing against his flaccid cock, waking it up for another round.

#The Crimson Moon *Fic*#The Crimson Moon #August Walker/You #August Walker #August Walker/Reader #Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Viking-Raider Fics #Henry Cavill Requests #Mature #Rating: Mature #Not Smut #Language #Dom!August #Stripper!August #Birthday Girl #John Lark

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

HILL MANOR - Part V + Epilogue

Summary: You attend your first real ball. Henry and you share a common vision that ends up helping break the curse that could result in his death. You finally find out who murdered your father.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 14,702

Part: I II III IV

Rating: M - Language, Blood, Light Smut, Angst, Fluff, Cotton Candy Goodness, Nightmares, Happy Ending, Outlander and Sherlock Holmes Quotes

Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.

Author’s Note: Thanks to the lovely @wondersofdreaming for being an excellent ear and genius to brainstorm with and beta this. You’re amazing! Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @elixasays, @magdelen69, @a-wxnderless-mind, @cosmoeticss, @inanna999, @coloraturadiva, @alexakeyloveloki @henry-owns-these-tatas, @kinbhot4henners, @escalatorpeep

The carriage pulled up out front of the Manor and you smiled seeing the Cavill family crest on the door, the well-dressed and immaculate driver in his seat at the front and the groom, who stepped off the back of the carriage to open the door for you and Henry. Henry appeared beside you, dressed sharply, and smiled at you, seeing your giddiness to attend your first proper ball. He kissed your cheek and stepped into the carriage with you and the driver got the horses going.

“Are you ready, my dove?” Henry asked, stepping out of the carriage and offering his hand to you.

“I am.” You replied, taking his hand and stepped out of the carriage, looking up at the grand house of architect, John Douglas, who had just finished moving into the house after two years of building it in his signature and popular fashion.

“Wow, it's really gorgeous.” You commented on it.

“That it is.” Henry agreed, looping his arm with yours, your hand resting on his forearm as you walked up, the sound of music and people flowing out of the open double doors.

You couldn't help the wonder in your big and bright eyes, it was like nothing you had seen before. The house was so grand, it was big and spacious, the endless sea of candles made the marble floors glitter with the Douglas family crest in tile on the floor, huge crystal and gold, twenty-eight candle chandeliers were in nearly every room, the rugs and tapestry were the finest Turkish and Persian that could be found and bought, gold sconces lining the walls at appropriate distances, two dual spiral staircases of highly polished ash wood with wrought iron banisters gave the foyer and cavernous feel in all its splendor. Henry grinned at your almost child-like wonder and excitement over the house, like you opened the best present under the Christmas tree.

“Ah!” A voice called, startling you out of your amazement and your eyes found Elizabeth Edmunds-Douglas, John's wife, the pair who had been married shortly before you and Henry married, after a three year courtship. “Mr. and Mrs. Cavill, how lovely of you to make it.” She cooed at you both, kissing cheeks with you, in greetings.

“It was very nice of you to invite us, Mrs. Douglas.” You replied, returning her greeting.

“Oh, by all means, please call me Effie.” She laughed, playfully slapping you on the arm.

“I'm going to see if one of my brothers are here.” Henry said, bringing his mouth close to your ear. “Will you be all right?” He whispered, glancing at your eyes.

“I'll be fine.” You assured him, kissing his cheek.

“Madam.” He smiled at Effie, bowing his head politely, before vanishing into the crowd.

“I absolutely love your dress.” Effie exclaimed, looking you over.

You were wearing a blue-gray, sleeveless, off the shoulder and patterned ball gown, matching ribbons in your hair and tied in a bow around your wrists, the turquoise and cooper dangling earrings Henry had bought you hung from your earlobes, with the newest addition to your jewelry box; an oval Ceylon and white sapphire pendant necklace, tying in the rest of your outfit with silvery-gray flats. You and Heather had scoured catalogs and dressmaker shops for the latest fashions for dresses, then had the dress you were wearing made in time for the ball at the Douglas's.

“Thank you so much.” You blushed, nodding your head to her, graciously.

“So, tell me.” Effie lowered her voice and leaned in closer to you. “Is it true, your father was murdered?” She asked, eyes panning around as if she was going to find the killer in the crowd.

“I-”

“Y/n!” Heather's voice chimed behind you. “You look amazing” She complimented you, giving you a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Oh, hello, Effie.” She smiled at the hostess, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “It's such a lovely party you have going tonight, and the house is so marvelous.”

You let out a soft breath of relief, grateful that Heather saved you from an awkward and painful conversation, that Effie would no doubt go and recount to the rest of the ladies at the party. Heather's stealthy glance at you, tells you that she knew where Effie was going, and you gave her a soft and thankful smile. Heather stayed by your side as Effie showed you both where the ladies were congregating, you took a glass of wine from the platter a waiter was carrying around the various occupied rooms and sat down in a comfortable chair in the circle of ladies, listening to them talk about household issues, fashion ideas, books they had read, their children and whatever else came up. You were really enjoying yourself, the camaraderie in the group of ladies, they were warm and welcoming to you, not like the parties your parents threw at Long Haven where everyone ignored you like the plague or did their best to be rude and impolite.

“Y/n, you and Mr. Cavill are just recently married, were you not?” one of the ladies, Mona, asked, turning her attention to you.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a fortifying sip of your wine. “We've been married two months this week.” You informed her, nervously licking your lips.

“How are you finding it?” She asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Marriage?” You frowned at her. “I am finding it quite well. I rather enjoy being married, especially to Henry. He's very loving and attentive of me.”

“So, you suggest it?” Mona continued, and you felt like she was trying to trap you into something.

“I do, if you find the right man.” You replied, standing your ground and giving her a look that told her you weren't going to play a childish game with her.

Mona dropped whatever it was she was trying to pull out of you and the conversation turned back to something more lively and appropriate. It wasn't long afterwards, though, the dancing started and the husbands appeared to whisk their wives away to the dance floor. You smiled at Henry as you took your place on the dance floor with him, glad to be in his presence again.

“How are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, taking the lead as you danced.

“Very much.” You assured him, relaxing under his hands and guidance. “Are you?” You asked back.

“Not as much.” He replied with a smirk.

“And why is that?” You asked, lifting a brow.

“Because, I'd rather enjoy the night with you.” He confessed, an impish glint in his eyes.

“Then, why don't you?” You giggled up at him.

“I think I will.” He purred, bending his head to kiss you lightly on the lips. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” He asked, when the song ended.

“I would, thank you.” You nodded, moving off the dance floor with him.

“I'll be right back, then.” He smiled, kissing your cheek and going off to fetch some.

You shivered as a cold chill streaked down your back and turned around, expecting an open window, but instead found, with a startled gasp, the milky whiteness of an apparition. You could see your reflection in the tall, gilded wood mirror behind him, he was mostly solid from the head to the very top of his thin shoulders, then slowly became less so, until his mid-waist, where his hips and legs vanished completely. The only color on him was his black eyes and the floating wisps of blood from the gaping wound from a slit in his throat; his obvious cause of death.

He opened his contorted mouth and made a god awful sound that made your skin heat up and crawl, taking a deep breath you turned on your heels and headed straight out the open veranda doors and into the backyard of the Douglas estate, the white gravel crunching under the thin leather soles of your flats. Henry returned, holding the two glasses of champagne he promised, but found you not where he had left you. Setting the glasses down on a nearby table, he panned the room for you and just caught a split glimpse of you quickly retreating along the walkway looping the back garden.

Frowning, Henry made his way out there, using the advantage of his long legs to catch up with you. “Y/n?” He called out, when he was close enough, not wanting to startle you.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to look back at him and allowing Henry to see the frustrated expression on your face and the glassy darkness of your eyes. “I just needed some air. I didn't mean to abandon you.” You told him, your voice weak with unshed tears.

Henry shook his head at the silly notion. “Nonsense.” He assured you, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “What is it?” He asked, concerned.

“Just one night.” You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Just one bloody night, that's all I ask. One night without them bothering my peace and happiness.”

“Hm.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, understanding immediately. “I must admit, I didn't think there would be one, in such a new house.” He commented, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and continued walking with you.

“I'm not sure it is the house, more the grounds.” You elaborated, catching the sight of a small child, standing at the edge of the treeline surrounding the house and grounds. “Was there a house here, before Mr. Douglas owned the land?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes, I believe so.” Henry replied, his brow creasing as he thought it over. “It was smaller and didn't contain as much land, as it does now. If I remember correctly, a widow lived here by himself after his wife died and his children moved away, but that was some years back.” He explained to you, the crease melting away as he looked down at you.

“Makes sense.” You answered, resting your shoulder against his.

“How about one more dance, then we'll return home.” Henry suggested, looking up at the darkening sky and bright thumbnail moon.

“I don't want to ruin your fun.” You replied, looking up at him, troubled.

“My love, my fun and happiness is wherever you are.” He smiled at you, pulling you to a stop and cradling your head in his hands. “I love you.” He whispered, kissing you softly on the lips. “So very much.”

“I love you, just as much.” You whispered back, returning his kiss.

You hummed happily, as you lay naked on top an equally naked Henry, back at home in the perfect bliss of your bed chambers. Fingertips tracing circles and swirls over his chest and collarbone, ear pressed to the space above his heart, the steady and strong beat so reassuring and soothing.

“You are so beautiful.” Henry whispered, breaking the peaceful silence between you, brushing his fingers through your loose hair and chuckled as you blushed. “What? It's true.”

“Oh, I believe you.” You giggled, resting your chin on his chest, to look up at him.

“Then, why are you blushing?” He laughed, touching his fingertips to your warmed cheek.

“I don't know.” You replied, blushing even harder.

Laughing again, Henry rolled over and wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing at your neck and chest. You sighed softly, melting beneath him, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp curls and over his back, gripping his thrusting hips. Spent between attending the ball and staying up to the wee hours of the morning, you and Henry fell soundly asleep in each other's arms, content and satisfied.

You gasped, eyes shooting open and gulped down the thick wad of anxiety that had formed in your throat, then relaxed back against your pillow, the nightmare you were having still all too real and fresh in your mind. Sighing and glancing at Henry from the corner of your eye, he laid on his stomach beside you, arms folded under his head. You threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, not bothering to wake Abby, as you made yourself a glass of warm milk and started back upstairs with it. A bang somewhere, either outside or in, startled you, causing you to drop the full glass.

“Christ.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your own silliness, you knelt down to start picking up the pieces of broken glass.

“Niece.”

“Good God.” You jerked and accidentally cut your finger with a piece of glass, blood dripping into the spilled milk. “Helena.” You sighed, glaring up at her as she stood in the doorway of the sitting room. “How are you even here?” You asked, annoyed with her persistence in troubling your life and marriage.

“Ruby Red.” Helena hissed back at you, then vanished as Abby's footsteps came into the room.

“Milady, are you well?” She asked, standing behind you.

“Yes.” You nodded, dropping your eyes back to the floor. “I just came down for some warm milk, and accidentally dropped the glass.” You told her, standing up.

“You've cut yourself.” Abby gasped, taking your bloody hand in hers.

“Very clumsy of me, I know.” You frowned back.

“Come, allow me to bandage it for you.” She begged you, pressing a handkerchief from her pocket around it. “I'll clean this mess up afterwards.”

“Very well.” You nodded, giving into her well meaning gesture.

Abby guided you back into the kitchen and had you sit down on a stool, at the long table there and disappeared for a moment, coming back with a small roll of bandages and a small vial of antiseptic. “It will sting for a moment.” She warned you, uncorking the vial and pouring a bit of it on your cut, making you hiss and tense up in response.

“My apologies, milady.”

“It's not your fault, Abby.” You assured her, watching her carefully bandage your finger.

“Are you all right, milady?” Abby asked again, moving about the kitchen and pulling out a teapot, filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. “You seem very troubled, if I may be so frank.”

“You may.” You nodded, picking at the edge of your bandage.

“Is it with my Lord?” She dared to ask, brewing you both a cup of tea.

“Gods no.” You shook your head at her. “Henry's incredible. He's very doting, loving, attentive and supportive of me, in all things. I have only ever felt love and devotion from him.” You assured her, gratefully taking the steaming cup from her and nodding your head to the stool beside you.

“Then, what troubles you so?”

You chuckled, sipping your tea, if only this woman knew and understood the things you toiled with, you thought, glancing out the open kitchen door to the spilled milk and blood on the foyer floor. No matter where you went or were going, there was always a ghost stalking you, lurking over your shoulder; whether they said anything to you or not, and most of the time they didn't need to, you just felt it, as if it was your own.

“By my father's death, mostly.” You finally admitted, you had been so consumed in trying to find out the cause and resolution of the Curse, that your father's death and his murderer, still at large, had been pushed to the back of your mind, but it still nagged you in every way possible. “I fear that his killer will never be found and put to justice. That his poor soul will forever be restless.”

Abby frowned down at her cup, pressing her lips together. “I can not say I understand your pain, though I understand the loss of a father. My own father died, when I was just a wee lass of eight.”

“How did he die?” You inquired, lifting a brow at her.

“Consumption.” She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “Took him quickly, but painfully.”

“I am so sorry.” You frowned, resting your hand on hers. “It isn't easy losing a loved one.”

“That it is not, milady.” Abby nodded, warmed by your kind affection. “I will pray, before returning to bed, that your father's spirit will find his just rest.”

You smiled gently at her, squeezing her hand. “I thank you, and will do the same for yours.” You promised.

After finishing your tea and thanking Abby for her kindness, you went back upstairs to bed, but frowned finding Henry laying on his back and blankets kicked off his naked body in agitation, throwing his head side to side with an expression pinched in anguish and distress, a heavy sweat pouring from his forehead. You quickly crawled into bed with him, wiping his face with the sleeve of your robe and rubbed his heaving chest.

“Ssshh, my love.” You cooed at him, affectionately, brushing his damp curls off his forehead as more droplets of sweat collected there. “It's all right, my sweet puppy.” You stroked the side of his face, trying to soothe and calm him. “It's only a dream.” You murmured, kissing his cheeks.

“No!” Henry suddenly screamed, bolting up right.

“It's all right, Henry.” You called to him, hugging him with one arm and rubbing his back with the other, feeling him shiver against you, the cool air of the room wafting over his sweaty body. “Ssshhh, you're all right now, Puppy.” You cooed at him, kissing his hair and temple, gently.

Henry panted and gasped for air.

“Come, lay your head, man.” You whispered to him.

Turning in your arms, Henry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down on the bed and laid half over you, his face pressed to your chest, taking slow deep breaths, calming himself with the warmth of your body and the scent of your skin. You relaxed, cuddling and cradling his muscular body against your dainty one, rubbing the back of his tousled hair with the palm of your hand and humming a soft tune that Grace would hum to you, when you had a nightmare.

“I'm sorry.” Henry whimpered against the skin of your breast, nuzzling his head between them. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

You chuckled softly, running your fingers from his forehead to the nape of his neck. “I was already awake, love.” You assured him, soothingly. “What were you dreaming of?”

“Blood.” He sighed, pressing his ear to your ribcage, to the beating of your heart. “Blood, that was everywhere,--”

“Leaking from the walls and dripping from the ceilings, filling the room like a pond.” You added in, your eyes losing focus as you remembered the nightmare that had woken you, an hour before.

Henry tilted his head back to look up at you. “You had the same dream?” He asked, surprised.

“I did.” You nodded, licking your lips. “But,” You sighed and shook your head. “It's just a dream, Puppy. None of it is real, don't let it bother you now.” You whispered to him.

“And you?” Henry purred back, squeezing his arms around your waist.

“I'm used to such things, love. You know that.”

“Doesn't make it any better, Nugget.” He replied, a teasing smile on his full lips.

“No, but it'll do.” You chuckled, kissing his forehead and thinking about what Helena said to you downstairs.

Ruby Red.

Whatever was she hinting at?

“You'll be back as soon as I can!” Henry called out to you as he got ready to head out the door.

“That's fine!” You called back to him, getting dressed for the day.

“What do you have planned today?” He asked, popping into the room and searching for something.

“I'm going over to Manchester.” You replied, adjusting your skirts.

“What for?” Henry frowned, pausing for a second to look at you.

“To visit a library.” You elaborated, satisfied with your skirts and turned to look back at him.

“We have a library here in Chester, Manchester is an hour away, both ways.” He pointed out, shaking his head as he continued his search for whatever he wanted.

“I know, but Chetham's Library has something specific I want and being the oldest library in Britain, it's libel to have it. I'm sure they have it, I sent a telegram to them a few days ago inquiring about it and they sent me a reply yesterday afternoon to express they had it in stock and would hold it for me.” You explained to him, watching him move about the room.

“What are you looking for?”

“My cuff-links.” He huffed, frustrated.

“They're where you left them, you silly boy.” You chuckled, going to the drawer of his desk and pulled out the silver links with his initials. “You put them there after the Morris' party last week.”

“What would I do without you?” Henry smirked as you secured his cuff-links.

“Probably be half naked and disheveled.” You giggled.

“I love you.” He smiled, cupping your face in his hands and kissed you, holding you close for a long moment.

You rested your hands on Henry's waist and stood there with him, feeling the warm and safe bubble that always formed around you both, when you were in close proximity. “I love you too.” You whispered back. “And might I add, you look absolutely dashing in a three-piece suit?” You said, looking him over in the navy blue three-piece suit with a charcoal gray dress shirt.

“So handsome.” You hummed, biting your lip.

“As long as you think so.” Henry chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Be careful on your way to Chetham's.” He added, stepping away from you to take his jacket back up off the end of the bed.

“I will.” You assured him, taking up your hat, pinning it in your hair and headed out to the carriage waiting to take you to Manchester. “Morning, Brandon.” You smiled at the driver as he handed you inside.

“Morning, Mrs. Cavill.” Brandon smiled back, closing the carriage door after you and hopped up into the driver's spot.

The hour's drive to the library in Manchester wasn't altogether unpleasant, you had never seen this part of England before and it was nice to see the rolling hills and small towns you went through on your way there, you felt the small world you were locked in for so long start to expand around you. You didn't think it was possible to feel any freer than you had already in marrying Henry, but found it pleasant to be proven wrong.

“I shouldn't be too long, Brandon.” You said, stepping out of the carriage and into the library, the pleasant smell of books greeting your nose, as you made your way to the front desk.

“Hello, Ms.” the Librarian smiled at you. “How can I help you?” She asked.

“I'm Mrs. Cavill, I sent a telegram the other day inquiring after a book that I was told was in and waiting for me to pick up.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded, standing up from her stool behind the counter and bustled into a backroom for a few moments before coming back with a two-hundred page book in her hand. “Here you are, Mrs. Cavill. The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches.” She said, reading off the spine. “An interesting subject.” She commented, getting you set to take the book with you.

“It is.” You agreed, nodding. “Just doing some research on family.”

“Was your family witches?” She asked, lifting a startled brow at you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, quite the opposite.” You told her, amused.

“Witch hunters, then?”

“That's the rumor, I'm hoping to discover.” You replied, taking the book from her. “Thank you.” You smiled at her.

“Of course, have a good day, Mrs. Cavill.” She bid you, going back to her work.

Getting back to the house and getting Abby to brew you a pot of tea, you went up to your library and settled in with the book, flipping open to the index page, running your finger down the chapters and the witches they were named after, until you found Helena's, then went to that chapter. You started by skimming through the twenty page chapter, seeing if anything jumped out at you, and froze at the last page of the chapter, noting her burial.

'With justice brought to the head witch and murderess, Helena Shaw, her remains were interred in her family plot, in East Park Cemetery, London.'

You frowned, blinking at the yellowed page, why would Helena be buried in the family plot, when her brother, Walter, was the one that gave her up to the mob, who would then burn her at the stake on the family property; it didn't make sense at all. Confused, you flipped back to the start of the chapter and started reading it completely. By the time you finished the chapter, you didn't learn much of anything you didn't already know and only gave you more questions than you already had. You had just opened the front cover of the book, to start from the beginning, when rushed footsteps came down the hall and Maggie appeared in the doorway of your library, all out of breath, flushed and looking wild eyed.

“What is it, Maggie?” You asked, setting your book on the small table by the arm of your chair.

“It's Mr. Cavill.” She gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“What of him?” You gulped, feeling her anxiety start to infect you.

“There's been an accident at the mine.” She told you, all rushed out in one weak breath.

“Oh god!” You gasped, jumping up from your chair, gathered up your skirts and rushed down the hall with her, heading for the door. “Henry!” You cried, seeing him coming up the front steps with Charlie and Simon, a bleeding cut on his forehead.

“I'm all right, love.” He smiled at you, still his happy-go-lucky self. “I'm fine, y/n. I promise, it's nothing serious.” He assured you, catching you up in his arms and hugging you tight. “It was just a minor rock fall, nothing serious or dangerous.”

“It doesn't take much to kill someone, Henry. Especially with a head wound.” You fretted, gently holding his head in your hands and checking the cut at the edge of his hairline. “You'll need stitches, no doubt.” You sighed, relieved he was all right.

“I can have Abby do it.” He told you, kissing your forehead. “Did you get the book you wanted from Manchester?” He asked, as he sat in the sitting room with a glass of brandy after Abby stitched up his wound.

“I did.” You nodded, sitting close to him.

“What book did you get?” He asked, sipping his drink with groan as his head throbbed.

“The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches, circa. 1680.” You replied, wincing as you heard him groan.

“There's a book on Helena and the Witches?” Henry frowned at you, surprised, then hissed as it pulled on his stitches.

“There is, they were the most public English Witch Trials the country has ever seen.” You explained to him. “But, this was the only copy of the book not in a private collection.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Um, nothing we didn't already know about them.” You sighed, staring down at your glass of wine. “But, there is one thing.” You whispered, ringing your finger around the rim of the glass.

“What is it?” He asked, scooting to the edge of his seat.

“I don't know who, or if it was misinformation, but according to the book, Helena was buried in my family's plot, in East Park Cemetery.”

“Your family, no offense, allowed her to be burned at the stake for being a witch and murderer, then turned around and buried her in the sacred family cemetery?” He tried to grasp what you were telling him.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a gulp of your wine.

“Have you ever noticed the other plots there?” He asked. “Seen, if it's true?”

You let out a deep breath and lifted your eyes at Henry, giving him a look that he instantly understood; you had hardly left Long Haven property long enough to visit the summer house in Suffolk, you had only seen the area of the cemetery your family was buried in long enough to bury your father, and then you weren't looking anywhere else.

“I have to go into London, next week, on business at the Port. Why don't you come with me, and we'll visit the cemetery to see her plot for ourselves?” He suggested, finishing off his brandy. “Be our own little detectives.” He smirked, trying to lighten your mood.

“I can go for a distraction.” You smiled softly at him.

“Good.” He smiled back, gently patting your knee.

The cool sea air felt good as it whipped your skirts around your feet, you always got a faint whiff of it back at Long Haven, but you were too far for the full experience of it, and now that you did, you were smitten with the sea. Henry smiled over at you as he spoke to the captain and first mate to one of the many ships the Munro Shipping Company had in its employment. You stood on the pier, gripping the railing as you looked out over the water and waves, watching the seagulls dive at the water and the tangles of kelp floating by.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Henry asked, stepping up beside you at the railing, and took a deep breath of sea air.

“Completely.” You nodded, smiling up at him.

Henry rested his arm around your waist, his hand cupping your hip. “I would love to take you to St. Helier one day.” He said, softly. “Show you where I was born, take you to my favorite beaches there.”

“I would be delighted to see it.” You replied, gently smiling at the thought of it.

Henry smiled down at you, touched. “Shall we go see Helena?” He asked, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes.

“I am.” You chuckled, nodding at him.

It was a short fifteen minute carriage ride to the cemetery, then four or five minutes to reach the part of the forest of tombstones and mausoleums the McFayden section of the East Park Cemetery. It was beautiful, it was shaded by three large willow trees, it was cool beneath them, their canopies shielding the area from the cloudless sun.

One side of the section was reserved for the members of your family that wished to be buried in the ground and the other half held a large mausoleum. Your, however many, great-grandparents were the first to be buried in the mausoleum and held the prime and honored tomb in the center of it, both buried in a large marble coffin with their likenesses carved on top of the lid, their names, dates of birth and deaths stamped on a polished brass plate on the foot of the coffin.

Henry pushed open the wrought iron gate leading into the mausoleum and stepped aside, allowing you to go inside first. You paused, looking up at the McFayden name chiseled into the marble header above the doorway, gulped thickly and steeling yourself, you stepped inside the dank and musty air of the enclosed space, almost three hundred years of decaying flesh and dusty bones, even with the scent the mausoleum was still immaculate, the upkeep your family paid handsomely for. Sighing, you walked around the circular room, looking up and down the curving wall, five coffins high, several where still empty and open, the front panel waiting to seal in its new occupant the day of their funeral.

“I don't see her name in here.” Henry said, his voice echoing from the other side of the mausoleum.

“Or here.” You replied, meeting him in the middle. “I suppose she's outside.” You added, touching your fingertips to the chiseled name of your father on the panel that housed his coffin and body. “It's incredible to think it's been almost seven months since he died.” You whispered, a shiver running down your back; seven months for his death and six months, since you and Henry married.

“It's a wonder, where the time goes.” He agreed, staring at your father's name.

“It stops for the dead and keeps going for the living.” You whispered, turning and stepping back out into the fresh air and shade.

You stood there for several moments, eyes closed and breathing in the cool air, clearing out the musty smell inside the mausoleum out of your nostrils, before moving to the tombstones of the opposite side of the area; walking up and down the eight or nine rows. You were starting to think the book had it wrong, when you noticed a much neglected head stone against the brick wall that defined the borderline of the cemetery. A very cold chill raced down your spine as you neared it, your twisting gut telling you what it was before you ever reached it. The front of the stone was faded and very worn, but you could still just make out the letters of Helena's name.

Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw Born 30th of October 1588 Died 23rd of August 1613

“She ain't there there, you know.” A voice startled you. “Sorry, Miss.” An elderly gentleman apologized, tipping his dusty and tattered bowler hat at you.

You blinked at him, hand pressed to your pounding heart. “What do you mean not there?” You asked, finding your voice. “Her headstone is, why wouldn't she?”

“Her brother felt bad about giving her up to those witch hunters, and out of his grief, he had her headstone put up. But, no one's brave enough to tend to the grave of a witch, in the ground below or no.”

“How do you know this?” Henry asked, stepping out of the mausoleum.

“My family's tended this cemetery for generations.” He replied, leaning on the broom he was carrying. “I know just about every story and rumor about every grave in this place.” He explained, scratching his grizzled beard.

“Then, where is she buried?” You asked him, lifting a brow and tilting your head at him.

“Well,” He scratched at his temple, pushing his hat up off his sloped forehead. “Rumor I heard was she was buried by her old man.”

Your eyes shot to Henry, who's eyes shot to you.

“Her old man?” Henry frowned, looking the groundskeeper over. “You mean her husband, Evan?” He asked, trying to get him to give more information.

“Could be.” He nodded, still scratching his temple. “That's all I heard said on the matter.”

“Thank you.” You said, licking your lips.

He tipped his hat to you and Henry and went on his way.

“I doubt Evan's family would bury Helena with him, especially after she killed him.” You said to Henry, as you left the cemetery. “Even if it was his last dying wish or in his will.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you.” Henry replied, handing you into the carriage and following after you. “So, that only leaves one other person.” He sighed, rubbing the side of his face.

“William.” You both said at the same time.

“Well, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?” Henry said, resting back in his seat as the carriage took you both back to the train station.

“Do you know where he's buried?” You asked him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I do not.” Henry shook his head. “But, I'm sure either my father, or my mother, do.”

You and Henry went to go see his parents as soon as you left the train, which was a surprise to Marianne and Colin, but still incredibly welcome. Showing you to the tea room and chatted for a little while, before finding the nerves and bravery to ask what was on your mind.

“Do you know where Uncle William is buried?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down on its saucer.

“Of course, he's buried next to your grandmother, Gladys.” Colin nodded, refilling his own cup.

“No, I meant great-uncle William.” He elaborated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“You mean, William Richard Cavill?” Colin frowned, shaking his head at his son. “Born 1586 and died 1620. That Uncle William?”

“Yes.” Henry nodded, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and took a bite of his pound cake.

“Why?” Marianne frowned, recalling the conversation the three of you had several months back. “Why do you keep bringing William up?” She asked, shifting in her seat to cross her ankles and fixed Henry with a purely maternal look that dared him to lie to her, making Henry gulp and clear his throat.

You looked between the three of them and felt the palms of your hand start to sweat with anxiety, but you summoned the composed genes your mother instilled in you and used them for some good, keeping your face calm and neutral and pressed your palms together in your lap. “Henry's been working on his own little family history project and wants to learn more about the men he's named after. He already knows a good deal about his great-grandfather, Henry, but not much about the great-uncle William he received his middle name from.” You chimed in, saving Henry as he started to break under his mother's gaze.

“Exactly.”

Henry added in, taking your hint and lead. “I know where great-grandfather Henry is buried and all about him. But, I don't know much about great-uncle William or where he's buried.” He explained, relaxing as his mother's gaze returned to normal and reached out to squeeze your hand.

“Well,” Colin sighed, rubbing the side of his jaw. “He was the only Cavill, before us, of any distinguished station, being the Chief Justice of Pendle at the time. So, he would be buried in St. Leonard’s Graveyard in Downham, Lancashire. I don't know the exact location of his grave site in the cemetery, but I'm sure there are records of that at the cemetery itself.”

“That's only about an hour away.” Henry said, looking at you.

“Yes.” Colin nodded. “I'm sure one of your cousins still lives there.” He added.

“Cousins?” Henry frowned. “He married?”

“Yes, he married in 1615 and had two children before his death.” He explained to his shocked son. “His poor wife died giving birth to their third child in 1618, as did the child.”

The next day, you and Henry made the hour's trip to the St. Leonard's graveyard in Lancashire. Inquiring with the groundskeeper about where William's grave could be in the vast area, and after going through several log books, the son of the groundskeeper showed you where it was. Both you and Henry were shocked to find, not only William's grave, but the grave of his wife, Agatha, to the right of his grave, but a flat marker with Helena's name to the left.

“Dear God, he did have her buried beside him.” You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “He forsaked her love, hunted her down and burned her at the stake, only to have her later buried next to his future plot and one over from his legal wife's.” You shook your head, completely baffled. “He even named his surviving daughter after her.” You pointed to the plot on the other side of Agatha's grave. “And his son, Fredrick, next to her.”

“Maybe, he never did stop loving her. He was just trying to save face, so he wasn't considered an accomplice.”

You kept shaking your head at the markers, your brain struggling to wrap around the reality of the situations. “The castle where the witches were held is only a few minutes away from here, why don't we find out if we can check out the dungeon they were held in?” You suggested, looking over at him.

“All right.” Henry nodded, figuring it couldn't hurt.

“Can you help you, sir and ms.?” The man at the castle asked as you and Henry approached.

“We wanted to see the dungeon the Pendle Witches were held in.” Henry replied to him.

“I'm sorry, I can't allow that just now.” He replied.

Henry glanced at you and smirked, before pulling out a few notes out of his pocket. “Not even for a hundred pounds?” He asked, lifting a nonchalant brow at the other man, holding the roll of notes out to him.

The man's eyes panned around and took the money from Henry's hand. “Right this way.” He said, stepping aside and motioning to his left. You chuckled at Henry, shaking your head as the man showed the pair of you down to the dungeons, he smirked back at you, ducking his head to enter the hallway leading to the dungeons.

“I can give you twenty minutes, sir. Nothing more, before someone will notice.” He explained, taking a post at the door.

“That's more than enough time.” Henry assured him.

“It's the last door.” He pointed out, then ducked back outside to keep watch.

“There's almost nothing a bit of money can't buy.” Henry quipped as you walked down the dim hallway to the last cell.

“It does make many things in life a lot easier.” You agreed, hugging your shawl tighter around you as the cold and dank air chilled your skin.

“Well, this is it.” Henry sighed, grabbing the loop in the warped wood door and used a good amount of his strength to yank it open. “What?” He frowned at your slack jawed look.

“We're in the right place.” You mumbled, blindly stepping into the cell and looked up at Helena.

Helena hovered, as always, above the floor of the dungeon she last shared with her fellow witch-sisters. But, she was no longer the apparition you grew up knowing, she looked almost real and human now, but her eyes were still a pure black. You stepped closer to her, Henry standing in the doorway as he watched you stare up at what he couldn't see, but knew was there.

“She's here?” He asked for confirmation.

“Yes.” You nodded, licking your lips, studying her. “You've been trying to lead me here all along, haven't you?” You asked, blinking up at her.

“Yes.” She replied in an almost normal voice.

“Well, we're here.” You said, lifting a brow at her. “What now?”

Helena raised her arm and pointed to the stone bench built into the wall to your right. “Sit.” She whispered with a soft moan.

Frowning and shaking your head, you did as she said and sat down on the bench and Helena moved closer to you, reaching a hand to touch you and cup your cheek in her palm, making you gasp at the frigid feel of her touch and a white flash in your eyes.

“Y/n?” Henry frowned, stepping closer to you, but found himself physically incapable of going any farther. “Helena.” He hissed, knowing she was trying to prevent him from reaching you.

When the white flash faded from your vision, you could still see the cell you were in, but it was no longer the cell you entered with Henry, you didn't even see Henry any more. You saw the flesh and blood of Helena, like you were a spectator in the ceiling, watching her below as she sat on the bench you, in reality, occupied. She was alone in the cell, all the other witches had already met their fates and deaths at the stake, noose or the bottom of a lake. They were saving Helena for last, killing her sisters and dearest friends one by one, to torment her, teasing her with her eventual fate at their hands.

Her legs were drawn up to her chest inside her filthy skirt, gently rocking back and forth, her raven black hair filthy and matted; she looked so pitiful and pathetic, nothing like her normal self-assured and confident self before. She was twisting something around her dirty finger as she hummed softly to herself, you caught a glimpse of what it was as she twisted back to the top of her finger, it was a ring. A silver ring with silver roses on the band and in the setting on top of it was a red gem, a ruby.

It clicked in your mind, what she had said to you that night after your nightmare about the blood; Ruby Red. A Red Ruby, and it all made sense. William had affectionately called Helena his rose, he had given her the ring, its design like a rose.

Your vision changed again, farther back in time. Helena and William sitting on a blanket under a tree, enjoying the beautiful summer day in the shade, William's head cradled in Helena's lap. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box and opened it, level at Helena's eyes, presenting her with the very same ring.

“What's this for, Will?” She asked, as he sat up and took her hand delicately in his.

“It's my promise.” William replied, carefully slipping the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. “To always love you and to one day marry you, to have you by my side in this life and the next.” He smiled, kissing her affectionately.

But, sadly a month later, Walter had married Helena off to Evan Shaw, killing William and Helena's dreams of marrying each other. It didn't completely stop them from being together though, even with Helena doing her best to make do with being married to Evan, it wasn't a year, when he stopped coming to her bed, seeking the company of ladies of the night. So, She and William began seeing each other every chance they got and could, his love was Helena's only solace and sanity in a loveless marriage.

The vision changed again, to Helena pulling the ring over her finger and kissing the ruby, mumbling something under her breath before hiding it away. She dropped onto the middle of the floor, pressing her palms flat to the damp stone and threw her head back. Her eyes rolled back into her head, only showing the whites and red veins of her eyes showing as she chanted in Latin. Dark shadows formed a ring around her as she did, hurried footsteps coming down the hallway outside her cell echoing back to her, with raised voices. But, when they reached Helena's cell...

She was gone.

You gasped as Helena removed her hand from your cheek, red from the chill of her hand against your skin. Panting and trying to catch your breath, you waved Henry off. “I'm fine.” You gulped, rubbing the chill from your cheek. “I'm fine, Henry.” You sighed, looking up at Helena, who was pointing to a brick in the wall by your head. “What?” You snapped at her, drained.

“Ruby Red.” She hissed back, narrowing her eyes at you.

Standing up, you turned towards the wall and touched the brick, feeling how loose it was, and wedged your fingertips in the broken mortar, using your nails to grasp it and wiggled it free. “It's a false brick.” You said, shocked to turn the brick around and find a hollow opening. “Oh my god.” You huffed, a dirty and tarnished ruby ring slipped out; Henry's quick reflects catching it in his palm.

“It's the ring he gave her.” You blinked. “It's still here, after all this time.” You smiled at Henry.

“William gave this to her?” He asked, looking down at it.

“Yes, it was a promise ring.” You explained to him. “They wanted to marry, but my great-grandfather, Walter, arranged her to marry Evan. So, it never happened.”

“They really wanted to be together.” Henry sighed, rubbing his thumb over the loop of the ring.

“They did.” You nodded, glancing at Helena. “And, in a way, they did get to be together, in more than one way.” You said, looking back at Henry. “Almost two-hundred and fifty years and countless generations, later our families finally found the link to each other they had been looking for.”

Henry grinned at you, following your train of thought. “In us.” He blushed, brushing an escaped curl out of your face.

“Here.” You said, taking the ring from Henry's palm and holding it out to Helena. “He never stopped loving you, Helena. Let me prove it to you, touch it, and we'll take you to him.” You smiled back at Henry.

“How are we going to do that?” Henry asked, looking at you sheepishly.

“Ghosts can possess things.” You told him.

“Don't you dare let her possess you.” Henry snapped, exasperated.

You laughed and pat him on the cheek. “Relax, Puppy, I'm not. The ring works just as well.” You assured him, amused.

Henry looked at the ring and blinked several times, watching the Ruby glow, like the ember of a fire, for a moment, then dim. You closed your hand around it as footsteps came down the hallway, and quickly replaced the false brick in its place.

“I can not allow you to stay any longer.” The man from earlier said, appearing in the doorway.

“That's quite all right.” Henry smiled, composing himself and closing his hand around yours, leading you out of the cell. “Thank you so much, you were a tremendous help.”

“Happy to be of service.” He smiled back, even though he was utterly clueless on what he helped with.

Heading back to Helena's and William's graves at St. Leonard's, you knelt down between the plots and opened your hand holding the ring. “He buried you beside him, so you would always be at each other's sides in this life, and the next.” You said, pushing your thumb into the grass and soil between the graves and dropping the ring into the hole it left behind. “You can finally be together, like you always wanted to be.” You told her, covering it up and glancing at your own rings, the diamond of your wedding ring fit perfectly in the gap between the two heart-shaped diamonds of your engagement ring, interlinking your heart with Henry's.

You stood up beside Henry, taking his hand in yours and squeezed, overwhelmed by the moment. Helena hovering above her grave and watched as the ghost of William slowly solidified before you, over his own grave. The two spirits faced each other and smiled, reaching out to touch the tips of their fingers together. You smiled at them, then started, seeing the shadows of twelve others appear behind them and slowly became recognizable as the twelve witches of Pendle; Alice Nutter, Jane Bulcock, Katherine Hewitt, Anne Whittle, Ann Redfearn, Elizabeth Device, her daughter, Alison Device, Isobel Robey, Margaret Pearson, Alice Grey, Jennet Preston and Elizabeth Southerns.

Henry couldn't see them, but he felt the temperature around you and him change and grow cold against the warm day.

Helena looked away from William and to her sisters. “Rest now, sisters. Your time has come to do so.” She told them.

The twelve women looked at each other, then at you and Henry, at your linked hands, and wavered, their spirit forms losing definition as they started to lose their grip on the physical world, on their vengeance and reason for still being bound to the Earth around them. Henry's mouth dropped open seeing the twelve bright orbs of light appear suddenly.

“What--”

“They're finding their peace.” You explained to him, understanding what he was going to ask.

Helena floated over to Henry, one of her hands still clutching William's, and touched his cheek, making him shiver at the cold touch and see her ghostly face. “I free you.” She whispered to him.

“Thank you.” He gulped, blinked at her and felt a weight he never noticed was there before, lift from his shoulders and soul.

You sat in the sitting room, enjoying tea time, while Henry was out at the office. It had been a week since the pair of you figured out how to break the curse and other than the usual spirit, you hadn't seen a hint of Helena and neither you or Henry had nightmares any more, supposing she had crossed over with the others. You sipped your tea and nibbled at your slice of hazelnut tea cake with moscato pears, that Abby had made that morning, when you heard a god awful wail, making you jerk with surprise and spill some of your tea onto the skirt of your dress.

“Abby?”

You called, setting your teacup and copy of the Little Dorrit done on the table in front of you. “Albert?” You stood up, using your silk napkin to dab at your wet skirt; but didn't receive a reply from either of them. “Maggie?” You yelled out, becoming nervous, but still received no answer, and sighed. “Kal, I hope you didn't get into the pantry again!” You said, going into the foyer and heading for the kitchen; expecting to find the fluffy Akita trying to look innocent with sticky marmalade on his snout and flour dusting his fur, for the third time in two weeks.

“Kal?” You squeaked, frightened, finding the kitchen empty.

The wail issued again, you spun around to the open kitchen doorway, your heart launched into your throat and your stomach giving way. “Papa.” You choked and swallowed, seeing the ghost of your father floating in the foyer.

“What a cruel world death is, when life's riches can not pay your way into heaven or out of hell.” He moaned, looking greatly pained. “Or right one's living regrets.”

“Yes, I know, you've said this before, Papa. Tell me something new, tell me who your killer is.” You begged him, daring to move closer to him. “Please, let me help you find peace.” You pleaded with him, tears welling up in your eyes.

“What a world, not even compassion of those you love can not free your bonds of life and death.”

You mewled, at a loss, pressing your hands to your face and broke down. As you sobbed another sound filled the room with your father's laments and moans, pulling your hands from your dripping face you saw Helena, standing on the other side of you. “Why are you here, Helena? You should have crossed over.” You sniffled, even more confused.

“One last unfinished business.” She replied, still making the strange noise and your face grew wide with shock.

“Oh, good god.” You gasped and flew out of the house. “Brandon!” You screamed, running into the stables.

“Madam?” Brandon answered, coming out of one of the stalls. “What is it?”

“Get the carriage ready!” You told him, out of breath. “This instant, we must go to Henry, with all due haste.” You explained, frantic.

“Of course, Madam.” He nodded and got to it. “Are you well?” He asked, as he hitched the horses to the carriage, concerned for you.

“I don't know yet, Brandon.” You replied, pacing up and down the walk out front of the house. “I really don't. But, what I do know, I hope to all there is in the world, it's not true.”

Brandon readied the carriage as quickly as he could for you and rushed into town, heading straight for the Cavill Enterprises office building. You barely waited for Brandon to pull the horses to a stop or open the door for you, before you were bundling up your heavy skirts and rushing inside the building and up to the floor Henry's office was situated.

“Hello, Ms.” the Secretary greeted you with a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” You huffed, out of breath after rushing up four flights of stairs. “I'm Mr. Cavill's wife--”

“Oh, my dearest apologies, Madam, I didn't know.” The young man's face managed to somehow blush and blanch at the same time. “I am so sorry, I'm new here. I only started yester--”

“It's quite all right, I've only been to his office once before.” You assured the poor boy, feeling bad for scaring him so, you had only been to Henry's office one other time, and that was to attend a company event. “But, I need to see Hen—Mr. Cavill, right this minute, it can not wait.” You rushed out as he started to open his mouth. “Please.” You added softly.

“Uh..” the Secretary glanced between you and the door to Henry's office several times, his mouth hanging open. “Yes, of course. I think he's just doing some paperwork.” He said, standing up and moved around his desk, gently tapping on Henry's door, before opening a crack at Henry's bid for him to enter. “Um, Mr. Cavill, Sir.” He gulped, breaking out in a sweat, like he expected Henry to angrily fire him at that moment.

“It's, um, Mrs. Cavill to see you.”

“Y/n?” Henry's confused voice called back. “Let her in.”

He got up from his desk as the boy pushed the door open the rest of the way, and moved for you to go in. “Y/n, what is it? What's wrong?” He asked, closing the door behind you as he saw your flushed face and heard you still trying to catch your breath. “Come, sit down.” He gently took you by the elbow and guided you to a chair in front of his desk and fetched you a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.

“Calm down and catch your breath, then tell me what this is all about.” He told you, leaning back against the edge of his desk, watching over you with patient worry.

“We need to go back to London, as soon as possible.” You told him, finishing your glass of water and breathing again.

Henry shook his head, not understanding. “Why, love?” He inquired, licking his lips and tilting his head at you, his expression so soft.

You opened your mouth to tell him, but your throat closed tightly around a sharp and cold knot of restrained tears. You didn't want it to be true, it couldn't be true! How could they do this? Why! Why would they do this! The pent-up horror and agony at the thought broke free and you burst into hiccuping sobs, your shoulders shaking and rocking yourself back and forth. Henry's heart clinched and he dropped to his knees before you, reaching out to pull you to the edge of your seat and cradle your head against his shoulder and rubbed your back, shushing and rocking with you. The door opened and the secretary popped his head inside the room, but Henry gave him an angry look, in full protective mode of you, and pointed a hard finger at him, a hint to get lost, which the boy did in all haste.

“Come, love.” Henry cooed at you, taking out his pocket handkerchief and wiping at your flowing tears and nose, caressing your hair off your flushed face. “Take deep breaths with me, y/n.” He said, taking a slow and deep breath in, nodding his head as you did the same, and let it out again. “That's better.” He smiled, tenderly, at you and got up to pour you another glass of water.

“Now, tell me, what makes you so upset and frantic?” He asked, kneeling at your feet again. “Why is it so imperative we go to London so quickly?”

You took several deep breaths and gulped down more of your water. “I--” You sighed, trying hard to keep yourself together. “I know who killed my father.” You choked out, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip to stop the new stream of tears, threatening to fall, at bay.

Henry's mouth dropped open. “How?” He asked, eyes the size of serving plates.

“He came to me, at home.”

“He showed up at Lily Hill?” Henry coughed, shocked.

“As did Helena.”

“I thought she crossed over?” He blinked at you.

“As did I, but it seems not.” You mewled, twisting Henry's damp handkerchief in your trembling hands. “But, they, in no uncertain terms, revealed to me who did it.”

“Who was it?” He asked, he had been tormented over the mystery of your father's murder as you had been, Ulysses had become a second father to him.

You reached out and clutched Henry's hands and looked him in the eyes. “I don't want to say, until I am certain they're right. But, I doubt don't they are. It's purely wishful thinking on my part.” You sighed, chewing on your quivering lip. “Let us go to London and face them, and find out for truly certain.”

“All right.” Henry nodded, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “We'll go right away.” He said, standing up and strode over to his office door. “Mr. Solo.” He called out to his secretary.

“Sir.” The boy squeaked, stumbling up to his feet.

“Hold all my appointments for today and likely tomorrow as well.” He told him, calmly. “I have very urgent business in London, that can not be ignored.”

“Yes, sir!” Solo nodded, like a broken bobble-head. “Right away, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Henry nodded back and returned to you. “Come, my love.” He said, softly, taking your hands and pulling you up onto your feet, pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead. “We'll go straight to the station and set out for London on the earliest train.” He assured you, supporting you out of his office and back down the several sets of stairs.

“Mr. Brandon, the train station, please.” He told the driver, handing you into the carriage and followed after you, wrapping a comforting and protective arm around your still trembling shoulders.

The ride to the train station was quiet and traveling to London was even quieter, you just couldn't find your voice, overwhelmed and consumed by your grief and depression over the realization of who the murderer of your father was. Henry gave and offered all the support for you he could, the wish for the truth gnawing on him the whole time, but he didn't press you; knowing he would find out the truth soon enough.

Finding a carriage as soon as you were out of the station, you gave the driver the address and climbed inside with Henry, gripping his hand in both of yours, trying to use his touch and presence as your anchor and calm; he rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb and would occasionally kiss your cheek and temple.

It was a short ride to the residence of the killer, you took a few calming breaths as you stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door of the house, before you were able to muster the will to move up them, raising your trembling fist and knocking. The door opened and the servant glanced at Henry, then instantly beamed at you.

“Ms. Y/n!” They grinned, pleased to see you. “How good to see you! How are you?” They asked.

“To be determined.” You replied, gulping thickly.

“Please, come in.” They bid you both, stepping aside. “Come right this way, I'll have some tea brought in, while I announce your arrival.”

“Thank you.” Henry smiled at the servant, ushering you to a love seat and sat beside you. “Are you all right?” He asked, pointlessly.

“I will be, if it isn't true.” You replied, staring down at your hands, folded in your lap.

Another servant served you and Henry the tea and some raspberry scones, drizzled with honey. You barely sipped your tea and didn't touch the scones, your stomach far too upset to hold much of anything down. It was several minutes, before you and Henry heard the footsteps in the hallway outside the sitting room and the door opened again, two people stepping inside and smiled at you and Henry.

Henry's mouth dropped open, in shock.

“Y/n, Henry!” Grace smiled at you both and swept over to you, but stopped halfway, seeing the look in your face and the utter shock on Henry's, registering in her mind. “What is it?” She frowned, blinking between you both.

“Something, I pray with my entire soul, is wrong.” You whimpered at her, blinking several times as your eyes burned with fresh tears.

“What are you talking about, y/n?” She asked, blinking back at you.

“Is there a problem, y/n?” Joel asked, completely lost.

“Perhaps the both of you should sit down.” You suggested, licking your lips.

Grace's eyes never left yours as she moved to sit on the love seat opposite of you and Henry, Joel taking up the space beside her. “Would you like to tell me what's going on, y/n?” She asked you, as she shakily poured herself a cup of tea; feeling she was going to need it.

“I saw my father again.” You told her, quietly, eyes steeled and carefully watching her face.

“He still hasn't,” She gulped and licked her lips. “crossed over?” She asked.

“No, he's stuck here until he's murderer is caught.” You replied, carefully.

“Di-Did he tell you, who did it?” Grace asked, biting her lip.

“He's been trying too.” You answered. “But, Helena did, though.” You added, heart pounding in your throat.

“Do you know what they're talking about?” Henry asked Joel.

“About y/n's ability to see the dead?” Joel elaborated, bluntly, but politely.

“Yes.” Henry nodded.

“I do.” He nodded back.

“Both of them showed up in Lily Hill and my father was trying to tell me who did it, but only repeated himself. Helena helped him out by humming a very specific song, a song that you would sing to me, when I was upset. That's when, what my father told me, the night of his funeral, made sense. 'Death is such a far fall from Grace, no money can buy you into heaven, or out of hell.'” You explained to her.

“Tell me, I misunderstood them.” You begged her, eyes shining.

Grace was quiet and sipped her tea, her hands shaking as she held the teacup, when her tea was empty, she refilled it and looked across to you, her eyes shining back at yours. “They are not.” She said, very quietly.

Your eyes fell shut and silent tears slipped down your flushed cheeks, utterly crushed and devastated. Henry frowned at you, sympathetically squeezing your knee and wrapping an arm around you, just as heartbroken that the woman that was more a mother to you than Matilda ever was, and the sister you had always wished for, admitted to having a part in the death of your father.

“Why?” You choked, opening your red eyes at her. “Why, Grace?” You mewled, feeling lightheaded.

“We didn't do it, to hurt you, y/n.” Joel chimed in.

“You knew?” You hiccuped, frowning at him.

“I did, I had a hand in helping.” He nodded, biting the inside of his lip.

“Oh god.” You sighed, shaking your head and shrinking into your seat.

“There's several reasons it happened.” Grace told you, wishing so much to take your hands in hers and have you believe her. “The years of pent-up abuse they not only forced you to endure, but as well as myself. Knowing that your mother intended to try to change your father's mind about allowing that vile brute Elias to marry you, instead of Henry, and the ultimate reason why I stopped being your nanny.”

“And what reason is that?” You asked, trying to keep yourself together.

Grace sighed and reached for Joel's hand, squeezing it for reassurance. “Your father and I...” She gulped, the words sticking in her throat. “had relations.”

Your mouth dropped open. “My father had an affair with you?” You squeaked, gobsmacked.

“Yes.” She nodded, ashamed of herself. “It was in the last year of my employment as your nanny. Your father took a strong liking to me, and the foolish girl I was, took a fancy to him as well. We only shared a bed a handful of times in that year, but, because of one of those times, I became with child.”

Your mouth fell open even farther.

“Those months I was away from you, nursing a sick relative, I was really living in an apartment in London, your father had leased for me during my confinement and the birth of the baby.” She explained to you and Henry. “I had a little girl, your half-sister, Amelia.”

“Where is she?” You blurted out, shaking your head at her.

Grace sighed and sniffled. “Ulysses had her put up for adoption a week after her birth.” She told you, sadly. “It was a few months later that Joel and I met and started a courtship.”

“We decided on a short courtship and to marry as soon as possible, so Grace wouldn't have to deal with the abuse, especially since Matilda found out about the baby, and the pain she felt seeing Ulysses and be reminded of the child she didn't get to keep.” Joel added in, rubbing Grace's back.

“I didn't tell Joel about the baby until a month before your father died.”

“I told her it didn't matter to me that she had a child, out of wedlock or otherwise.” He explained. “That, if we could find the little girl, we could perhaps adopt her and raise her here, with us.”

“But, your father refused to tell me what adoption agency or family he gave her up too, and told me he never would. That if I, or Joel, or anyone for that matter, asked after her again, he would make their lives a living hell, that he had the money and influence to make them disappear. To make Amelia disappear.” She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “I never doubted his words. But, I returned to him, the week before his death, and begged him one last time to relent and tell me where she was. He laughed and asked me, how much money it would take to keep me silent. Out of anger and passions, I slapped him across the face and told him, 'there wasn't enough money to buy him into heaven, or out of hell'. In turn, he told me that I would pay for my slight against him and so would Joel's practice as a doctor.”

“Grace came back home, incredibly distraught over the situation.” Joel said, frowning at his wife. “She couldn't take it any longer and we came to the conclusion to--”

“Murder him.” Henry cut in.

“Yes.” Grace nodded, biting her quivering lip.

“Which one of you did it?” You asked, looking between them.

Joel swallowed, looking from you to Henry and his wife. “Neither of us.” He sighed.

“In my profession, I meet and tended to people of all walks of life, from the very dirt poor to even royalty. One of my patients, a Leon Marshall, was rather low on the social ladder and had quite the disreputable reputation, as a dishonorable discharge from the royal military and was spent to prison for a variety of offenses. He suffered from an old war wound that festered every so often, and I would tend to it. I know, because he never made any pains to keep to himself, that he would rough people up, if paid the right amount.”

“I sought him out for the deed and he agreed to do it. He also agreed that no amount of money could get a man into heaven or out of hell. But, the right amount could send a man on his death's journey to whichever he is destiny for. I paid him three thousand pounds, and he contacted your father's office to schedule a false meeting, for a fictional business, in his hotel room at Southampton, and that's where it took place.” He told you.

“We, honestly, didn't wish him dead, just to make a point, perhaps scare him into giving up the information on Amelia. But, when your father saw him for who he was and he wasn't afraid. He mocked Mr. Marshall on a number of things, and Marshall grew angered. Mr. Marshall drew a knife and stabbed him several times, mocking your father back, asking him, if he thought, he had enough money to buy his way into heaven or out of hell.”

“Then, ran.”

“Where is this man now?” Henry asked, moving to the edge of his seat.

“Currently, he is incarcerated for the murder of a prostitute, that tried robbing him.” Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“He needs to be tried for Ulysses's death.” Henry said, impassioned.

“But, if he's outed as the murderer of my father, the chances of him outing Grace and Joel, or at least ruining them, is very high.” You said, sounding and feeling like a zombie.

Henry turned his head to look at you, licking his lips and knowing you were right. But, they were as much to blame for it, as Marshall was, and to a degree, Ulysses was as well. He sighed and rested back against the couch and scrubbed both of his palms over his tired face. All four of you were between a rock and a hard place, and had no idea what to do.

The person you trusted your entire life and depended on for so long had helped in the killing of your father, no matter how vile and selfish he was. The war between going straight to the authorities to divulge everything you knew on the matter and just wanting to forget that you even knew and go back to life before you found out it was Grace and Joel, made you sickeningly exhausted and spent.

What were you going to do?

If you did go to the authorities, you would struggle to live with the thought of what they would do to Grace and Joel, as punishment.

If you didn't and tried living with it, you didn't know if you could live with that either. Especially, if it meant your father would never find peace and would continue to haunt you and Henry at Lily Hill Manor.

Your trust and faith in Grace was shaken and cracked, but you still loved her.

“We could just—give ourselves—up.” Grace gulped, glancing at Joel, she had struggled living with the knowledge and truth of the matter herself, especially seeing how it affected you.

“I can't do this.” You gasped, standing up and rushing out of the room.

“Y/n!” Henry called after you, standing up.

“Let her clear her head, Mr. Cavill.” Grace said, staring through the open doorway. “She'll be all right, after a bit of fresh air and a walk, she always is.”

Henry looked at the couple and lifted a brow at them. “If you wanted to find your Amelia, so badly, why didn't you just ask Thaddeus or hire a private investigator?” He asked, his hands flexing at his side.

“Crime is common. Logic is rare, Mr. Cavill.” Joel replied, ashamed of himself and his actions in the matter.

“Then, the devil’s due a soul, I’d say.” Henry replied.

You stormed out of the house, gasping for air, your lungs and chest tight with anxiety and heartbreak, eyes nearly blinded by fresh tears. You had no idea where you were going, or even where you were after Grace and Joel's home and grounds disappeared behind you, but you didn't even care. You needed to get away, far away, and get a hold of yourself again. The neighborhood of expensive homes and immaculate grounds melted away into the hustle and bustle of downtown London. You stopped and turned to stare at your reflection in a shop window, wiping at your eyes and taking deep breaths.

“Well, well, well.” A voice behind you chuckled, in sinister amusement. “Look who it is.”

You looked up at the reflection in the window, as he stood behind you, his arms crossed smugly over his chest. You groaned and rolled your eyes at him. “Hello, Elias.” You said, turning around.

“Trouble in paradise already, Mrs. Cavill?” He asked, smirking at you.

“Not at all.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him.

“Doesn't look that way to me.” He chuckled again.

“It is better to learn wisdom late, than never to learn it at all.” You answered him, with a cold stare. “But, in your case, you are incapable of either.”

“I see your husband hasn't curbed that harlot's tongue of yours, yet.” Elias hissed at you.

“My husband likes my tongue.” You smirked back, scornfully.

“My dearest Lias?” Another familiar voice called with the ding of a shop bell. “Oh, niece.” Bella huffed, sticking her nose up at you.

“Aunt Bella.” You nodded your head and rolled your eyes back at her.

“There you are, my love.” Henry's voice suddenly came, his arm wrapping around your waist. “Enjoying your window shopping?” He asked, eyeballing Bella and Elias.

“I was.” You replied, leaning against his strong body. “Then, I was interrupted.”

“Charming to see you again, Cavill.” Elias sneered, resting his hand on the small of Bella's back.

“And you, Wells.” Henry hissed, observing the pair of them. “Married, I see.”

“Yes.” Bella nodded, proudly, flashing the fat emerald ring at you and Henry. “Two months ago, we would have invited--”

“We wouldn't have cared to go.” You told her, your blood boiling. “Even, if you had actually thought about us, let alone the thought of sending an invitation.” You added, quite coldly. “How is Matilda?” You asked her.

“She's quite well, she's repaired to her Suffolk home, her physician believes the sea air would be beneficial for her health.” She told you, tightly.

“Good.” You nodded your head once, then looked up to Henry. “Let's go, love. My pleasure for window shopping has been greatly diminished.”

“That's a shame.” Henry tutted and turned away with you, leaving Bella and Elias staring after you both, shocked. “I'm so sorry, y/n.” He whispered, when you left the two behind. “I wish I knew what to say, to make it all go away.” He told you, leading you to a small bench. “I do--” He sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “I do hope that you won't be cross with me.”

“For what?” You frowned at him.

“I--” He sighed again, licking his lips and picking at his nails. “I, anonymously, sent a telegram to the authorities, on the matter of your father's death and Mr. Marshall's involvement in it. I re-framed from naming, or even hinting at, Joel and Grace's involvement in the matter.” He confessed to you. “Perhaps, Mr. Marshall will take his due for killing your father, and not bring them up in the ensuing investigation into the matter.”

“Henry.” You sighed, pressing your lips together, and sniffling hard.

“I know, you would have struggled, and do struggle, with what to do and how to act in the matter. You are far closer to Grace and Joel than I am, the same goes for your father.”

“He considered you a son.” You whispered softly.

“I know he did.” Henry replied, just as softly. “But, even still, you are far closer and more sensitive in the matter.” He ran his hand through his wind-blown curls, pushing them off his forehead. “As much as I care for your father's peace, your peace and well-being is by far more important and greater to me. So, if that means, I have to shoulder the heavier weight of whatever happens next, so you do not. Then, I will greatly shoulder it.” He told you, sincerely.

“I can bear pain myself.” Henry said softly, and took your hand in his. “But, I could not bear yours, y/n. That would take more strength than I have.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, wrapping your arm around his. “I know, Henry.” You whispered to him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my sweet.” He whispered back, kissing the top of your head and gently patting your leg.

“Can you believe Elias and Bella married.” You laughed, suddenly finding it hilarious.

“Two people could not be so fatefully meant for each other.” Henry laughed back, shaking his head at the thought. “Both of them are near evil incarnate. Lord have the mercy for any children they have.”

“The sole opposite of us.” You chuckled, turning your head to kiss his shoulder.

“Thank God for that.” Henry snorted.

You and Henry returned to Lily Hill Manor the next day, too exhausted for the return train home. So, you stayed in a hotel, the same one and very room, you shared on your wedding night. So much had changed between then and now, but the one thing that was still the same, if not stronger, was the love you and Henry shared for each other, the bond that connected you and the life you had created together.

A month after your return, Thaddeus came to visit you both; with news of the investigation.

The investigation was started after Henry's carefully sent anonymous note about Leon Marshall's hand in your father's death. Marshall had tried to implicate Joel and Grace in his murder, but the only connection found between them, was Grace's employment as your nanny and Joel's tending to the festering wound Marshall was prone to suffer in his left leg, from a bullet he sustained in war. It seemed that Joel was more careful about employing the ruffian to kill your father than any of you thought, and you all, all four of you, kept the secret.

You did however ask Thaddeus about the child Grace and your father bore together. His flush almost immediately at the mention of your little sister, giving away his knowledge of her, but confessed he had no idea where she would be, Ulysses had dealt with the matter on his own, not trusting anyone else with it; trusting no one to keep the secret. But, with Henry's help, Thaddeus promised to help you and Grace in finding her, anyway they could.

It took almost a year of private investigators, sleepless nights, paper trails, combing all the papers your father had in his office and possession. But, Thaddeus finally found the family your father had given your half-sister too.

It was a well-off family, at least he had done her that justice and not suffered her to some poor station because of the unfortunate circumstance of her birth. She had just celebrated her twelfth birthday, now a year older than you were, when she was born into this world. The family granted you and Grace permission to meet her and it was a good day. Grace never once stopped crying for finally seeing the daughter she never stopped loving or wanting, and you found another precious and good link in the world.

It was agreed on, that Amelia wouldn't be told about Grace being her mother and you, her sister, until at least her sixteenth birthday, when she would hopefully be old enough to understand. But, You and Grace would always be more than welcome in seeing her, whenever you wished it.

– A Year Later –

“All right, Kal.” Henry called, coming into the bedroom, finding Kal in bed with you. “You're in my spot, move.” He said, patting the Akita on the back to make his point.

Kal huffed and moved to the foot of the bed, resting his head on your shin. You laughed as Henry crawled into bed with you, kissing your cheek and lips before laying down on his stomach and gently rested his ear on your stomach.

“Hello, Little one.” He whispered softly to the swell of your belly and chuckled, feeling the teeny life inside it kick against his cheek. “Oh. you're growing so strong in your mummy's tummy.” He grinned, like a smitten schoolboy, rubbing the bottom curve of your stomach with his palm; pressing it where he felt the baby kick actively.

“Just a few more weeks, and they'll be out here with us, Puppy.” You cooed at Henry, rubbing his curls with your palm and fingers, part of your mind imagining those precious and beautiful chocolate curls on the head of your and Henry's babe.

Henry turned his head, kissing your belly just above your popped out belly button. “And you'll look just like your mum.” He whispered, his supple lips tickling your bare skin.

“Or your father.” You chuckled at him, ghosting the tips of your fingers over the nap of his neck.

He looked up at you and grinned, he was happy either way. He was finally getting all of the things he had dreamed of for so long. A beautiful, loving and intelligent wife and a child he created with you, there was nothing more in life he could ever want. Well, maybe a few more feet pitter pattering up and down the halls.

But, that would all come in due time, and he was in no rush, neither were you.

Two weeks later, on a beautiful and sunny day, you gave birth to your and Henry's daughter and amply named her, Lily Helena Cavill. Three years after Lily was born, you gave birth to your and Henry's second child, a son; Henry William Cavill Jr. You would also go on to have two more children with Henry, both of you wanting a large family, and you not wanting your children to know the loneliness of what being an only child was like. You had another boy, Eric Ulysses; it was your father that brought you and Henry together after all, and another girl, Daisy Grace.

Lily Hill Manor was no longer filled with the wails and sadness of ghosts, but the laughter and happiness of four happy, healthy, strong, completely loved and well-rounded children, and Kal's barks as he played with his two-legged siblings. You still saw the occasional spirit and sent them on their way, but you and Henry reveled at the joy of how everything finally came together, in peace and harmony at Cavill Manor.

-- FIN --

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

Silver and Magic - Chapter 15

Summary: You make it to the Obsidian Fjord in the Dragon Mountains, looking for your Grandfather and a solution to your dire situation, before its too late. You meet more than just your Grandfather, and when you are no longer able to make decisions for yourself, it’s up to Geralt to make the right one. Not for just you and your life, but his as well.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3,276

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Rating: M - Cursing, Mention of violence, blood

Inspiration: The Dragon Language the reader uses is Thu’um and Dragon Shouts, from Elder Scrolls. You can find a translator here! What the dragon’s head necklace looks like (x) This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: I’m pulling shit out of my muse’s ass, and probably future ones. Tell me what you think!

A great Purple Dragon rose from the treeline, at the south end of the lake, and you felt an awe and kinship with it as it hovered above the treetops, like it was waiting for you to do something; but you had no idea what. After several moments the Dragon came to you, landing on the edge of the shelf before you and regarded you for several long minutes.

“Hello, Dov Kiir. I am Zoe, wife of Orzac.” The Dragon spoke to you. “You're grandmother.”

You felt a giddiness bubble up inside of you. “I am so pleased to meet you, finally.” You replied, moving closer to her.

“And I you, Mal Gein.” She whispered back, touching noses with you and closing her eyes. She opened her eyes again, and looked at Geralt. “Who is this Joor, Kiir?”

“This is Geralt of Rivia, he's a Witcher.” You told her, turning your neck to look at him. “He is my lover, my...Sil Fahdon.” You tried to explain to her, the best you could.

“A Jul?” Zoe replied, looking back to you. “A man?”

“A Witcher.” You corrected her. “A good mortal. I love him.”

Geralt looked between the two of you mighty Dragons, totally out of the conversation, but trusted, whatever was going on, you would keep him safe.

“Then, why have you come home, Kiir?” She asked, her attention back on you.

“I have a problem, grandmother.” You told her, remembering how tired and on the sharp edge of death you are.

“Tell me, child.” Zoe replied, concerned.

You groaned, letting out a hard breath as your scales shivered and you returned to human form, looking so small beside Zoe, and looked up at her, your knees wobbly. Your pale skin glowed with the red and gold spots and veins, now in the corner of your eyes. Zoe huffed at you through her nose, ruffling a cool breeze over your body, stirring your hair, and relieving some of the heat in your body, like a forge. Zoe's large body walked around you, gently touching parts of your lava-like skin.

“Oh, Child.” She sighed, facing you again, her large mint-green eyes regarding you, sadly. “You're heart-” She whispered, touching the center of your chest, where it was the hottest. “You are losing your human life—soon, your Dragon life, will soon take you over.”

“How do I stop it?” You asked, tears welling up in your eyes, but they quickly dried up, with the heat of your skin.

“We must see your Grandfather.” She said, looking troubled.

“Of course.” You nodded, feeling hopeless.

“This is a trail, there-” She pointed her tail at a worn path. “that you and the...Witcher...may take. Go as far as it will take you, and you will find your Grandfather and I.”

“Thank you.” You told her, nodding your head to her.

“Welcome home, y/n Dilos, daughter of Ronar and Izzi.” She bid you, taking flight and returning back to where she'd emerged.

“She said, we take this trail, and it'll lead us to my grandfather.” You told Geralt, turning towards it; thankfully it was down hill.

“Who is she?” Geralt asked, wrapping his arm around your waist in case you needed support, and followed you down the trail.

“My grandmother, Zoe.” You answered, leaning your shoulder against his side.

Geralt had to carry you the last two miles of the trail, before you came to a house butted up against a huge slab of obsidian. There was a beautiful older woman, with mint-green eyes, standing in the open doorway.

“Bring her in, Joor.” She said, moving out of Geralt's way and motioning inside.

Nodding, Geralt did so and followed her instructions to take you into an upstairs room and laid you down on the bed. “Are you her Grandmother?” Geralt asked, as she bent over you.

“Yes.” Zoe replied, fussing over you.

“You can transform into a human as well?” You asked, looking up at her.

“Of course, Kiir.” She replied, brushing her fingers through your hair, with such affection. “It was the only way your grandfather and I could visit your parents.” She explained to you. “Orzac banished your father from the Fjord, but he never stopped love his children.” She told you, smiling softly at you. “We visited them often, we tried to be with your uncle Orsa, but-” Zoe frowned, shaking her head. “He is still angry.”

“He's still alive?” Geralt frowned, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yes, he and his wife live in, what we call, the East Gate Cliffs.” Zoe explained to him, placing her hand on your forehead and closing her eyes. “Krah.” She whispered, and her hand became frigid against your skin, cooling your face. “They went there, when they were sent away, and will have nothing to do with us, that isn't hostile.”

“Can you save her?” Geralt whispered, watching you.

“It will be hard.” Zoe answered, moving her cold hand to your chest. “She is so close to death..” She sighed.

“What do you mean?” Geralt demanded.

“Her Dovah Zii, is burning her human body from the inside out, the soul of a Dragon, is incredibly strong. But, hers is even more so, being y/n is a Ved Dovah-”

“A what?” He frowned, shaking his head at all the use of Dragarian.

“A Black Dragon.” She elaborated, glancing at him. “They are the strongest, other than Yuvon—Gold Dragons, like her grandfather. Their spirits are great, it's a surprise y/n was even born, especially, as she was.”

“Why?” You panted, getting delirious.

“Long ago,” Zoe said, sitting on your bed side, her cold hands moving over your body. “There were two gods, Aher and Oara, they loved each other with a fiery passion, that all were jealous and envious of. Before the Conjunction of the Spheres, there was a great battle, between the gods and goddesses about who would rule once the Conjunction happened. But, Aher and Oara, didn't want power, they just wanted to be one, to love each other, for the millennia. When the battle happened, Aher was trapped by an rival god, and was about to be killed, when Oara came from nowhere and stood between them, her skin turned to scale, protecting him from harm. But, it was for not, the god managed to wound her, and in his rage, its said that Aher breathed fire on the god, burning him to blackened bones.”

You surfaced in and out of consciousness, buoyed by her voice and cold of her hands.

“Crushed, as he held Oara as she died, they poured their magic and love together, creating the first two dragon eggs, that laid dormant until the Conjunction, when they hatched. The first, a white egg, for Oara had the most beautiful white hair, emerged first. Soon afterwards, the other egg hatched, a gold egg, for Aher had eyes of pure, molten gold. The powerful embodiment of the god and goddess.” She stroked your hair, watching with worry as your eyes rolled back. “But, even in the body of mighty Dragons, their love and power was too much for them to contain, so they had a child, Dilos; the first Black Dragon, who was strong enough to contain everything his parents could not. He went on to marry and have his own child, Orzac, and so the line of Dragons began. You, y/n, are a reincarnation of Dilos. Your great-grandfather.”

“What?” Geralt snapped, standing at the foot of the bed.

Zoe carefully turned your head and showed him your Dragon Mark, and traced it. “The lower case d.” She said, softly. “Dragons can be reincarnated, it's incredibly rare though. This is how we know she is.” She explained. “That and only Black Dragons are reincarnated, its extremely rare for any other color to be so.”

“Where is Orzac?” Geralt asked, watching you move fitfully.

“He had business to take care of.” Zoe answered, shushing you. “Life of a king.” She laughed, softly. “I am going to put her to sleep, it will help settle her and, hopefully, slow the damage, until Orzac arrives.” She said, looking back at Geralt, sensing his worry. “Praan Ahrk Hahnu, Dii Fron.” You took a deep breath, your eyes opening for a moment, before you let the breath out and relaxed, your eyes falling shut and body laying still. “I am sure, since she's made it this far, that you'll care for her, while I tend to other things.” Zoe said, rising. “There's nothing more I can do for her, now.”

“I'm not leaving her side.” Geralt told her, staunchly.

Zoe patted his arm. “I am sure of it, Witcher.”

Geralt sat down beside you after Zoe left, brushing his fingers through your hair and over your cheek. Your body was relaxed, but your face was still slightly pinched with pain and restlessness, the sheets and pillow beneath you growing damp. “You'll get better again, me minne. I'll do anything to have you better again.” He told you, brow creased as he watched you with worry, leaning in to kiss your chapped lips.

“Witcher.” Orzac greeted him as he returned, stepping into the room.

“Orzac.” Geralt greeted him back, standing up.

“I am sorry, we've met like this again.” The Dragon commented, folding his arms and regarding you in bed.

“Tell me, there's something you can do for her.” Geralt, all but, begged him.

Orzac moved closer to you, touching his first two fingers to your forehead and closing his eyes, sliding his fingers down the bridge of your nose, over your lips and chin, to your throat, and stopping in the center of your chest, a hum rumbling in his chest. He turned to Geralt, suddenly. “Do you love her, Witcher?” He asked, studying him.

“With all that I am.” He answered him, narrowing his eyes.

“Would you die for her?”

“A million deaths.” Geralt growled.

“Would you bind yourself to her?” Orzac asked, tilting his head.

“Like, marry her?” Geralt frowned, confused.

“Of the sort.” Orzac replied, glancing at you.

“Yes.” He whispered, softly.

“Then, this choice, of her life-” Orzac said, looking back at Geralt. “is in your hands. As her soulmate, you must choose how to save her.”

“What are my choices?” Geralt asked, without hesitation.

“There are four.” Orzac explained, seating himself in a chair beside your bed. “One, you allow her to die. Two, we remove her Dragon heart and start her human one. Three, I remove her Human heart and she will turn into her Dragon form, permanently.”

“Why can't you just restart her human heart again?” Geralt asked, feeling himself getting agitated.

“That is the fourth choice,” He answered with a sigh. “But, it's not as easy as you may think. It will change her.”

“Change her, how?” The Witcher got a sick feeling in his stomach.

“There is a very old ritual.” The Dragon began to explain to him. “The Passage of the Sacred. It will change her, it may enhance certain powers, enhancing her Dragon abilities, magic, senses, dragon form; which is already quite strong. It may enhance her human and Mage abilities. It may give her new ones. But,” He settled his eyes on Geralt. “It may take her powers, some or all of them. She may not return from it, either. Some get lost on their journey through the passage.”

“Why do I decide this?”

“She isn't capable of making them herself, you can see as much.” He waved his hand over you. “So, the choice resides with her one true mate, You, Geralt of Rivia.” He smiled between you and Geralt. “Your love for each other is the embodiment of Aher and Oara.”

“I'm not a Dragon, I'm a Witcher.” Geralt huffed.

Orzac laughed. “They didn't start out as Dragons, Witcher. They didn't even start out as Gods. They ascended, because of their love for one another.” He grinned. “I will give you time to decide.”

Geralt grabbed Orzac by the arm before he could leave the room. “I want y/n back.” He told the other male. “I will do anything, so, I want you to do the Passage.”

He blinked at Geralt, and a slow smile crossed his face. “Very well then. I'll prepare the ritual, when it's ready, I'll retrieve you both.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt picked you up, not allowing anyone else too, and carried you down a path that led into a cave system near the lake. He noticed several humans by shimmering pools and lifted his brow at Orzac.

“Dragon Menders.” Zoe explained. “Those we've entrusted our powers and secrets with.”

Nodding, Geralt carefully laid you down on a stone slab indicated by one of the Menders, and stepped away from you, but made sure he was near enough to step in, if he didn't like how they were treating you. A mender retrieved a bucket and dipped it into one of the pools, then slowly poured it over your body, steam rose as the heat of your body evaporated the water. They poured several buckets of water over you, cooling your body considerably. Another Mender entered, covered in strange tattoos and markings, and carrying a large stack of what looked like white gauze. She dipped the gauze into the waters, then slowly started wrapping it around your feet, working up your body.

“What is she doing?” Geralt whispered to Zoe.

“Wrapping her in the fabric of our people.” The Mender replied, her focus still solely on you. “My people have been serving, worshiping and mending Dragons of millennia, we have utilized the Dragons' powers and magic, mixed with ours to aid them, in all things.”

“Lena is our best Mender.” Zoe explained, smiling at her. “Y/n's mother was a Dragon Mender.”

“I thought she was a Dragon?” Geralt frowned.

“She was.” Lena replied, dipping more fabric in the waters and started wrapping your arms. “For her abilities as a Healer, Orzac, gifted her the form of a Dragon. All White Dragons were once a Dragon Mender, that has transcended through the Passage of the Scared, returned, and proven themselves worthy of the heart and soul of a Dragon.”

“Then, our son, Ronar, fell in love with her.” Zoe chimed in, watching. “and they married.”

Lena paused, holding your unwrapped arm and turning towards Orzac. Orzac nodded, stepping forward, pulling a titanium-oxide blade from his belt, taking your hand in his and slicing into your palm, making Geralt jerk with anger. But, Zoe rested her hand on his thick arm and smiled at him, then nudged him forward. Lena held your bloody hand as Orzac grabbed Geralt's and did the same to his palm, making him growl and hiss. The Dragon King pressed your and Geralt's bloody hands together and held them tight between his.

“Do you still mean, that you will bind yourself to her, Witcher?” Orzac asked him, panting. “To marry her, in the will of Dragons.”

“Yes.” Geralt snapped.

“As the might of Dragons,” Orzac said in a strong and powerful tone, his voice carrying through the stone rooms. “King and God of our people, I give my son's daughter to this mortal, to Geralt of Rivia, Witcher, to bind them as one; in love, life, blood and power.”

Geralt felt a burning tingle race up his arm, a white hot heat blooming between your and his palms, and felt strangeness surge through his body and mind, threading his bloody fingers between yours, and squeezing, his amber-gold eyes glowing.

“Gron Ahrk Kos Gein. Fah Nu, Ahrk Enook Bok.” Orzac growled and a gold halo glowed around your linked hands, his eyes changing to their Dragon form. “You are one of us now, Witcher.” He told Geralt, watching as Geralt's pupils changed from pinpoint circles, to narrow slits. “You are tied to each other, bound by all things, as husband and wife, and so much more.”

Geralt shook his head, seeing the change in his vision, even with his eyes being enhanced by the Witcher trials. Orzac let your hands go and Geralt looked at his palm, it was healed, the only trace was a thin and neat scar; you hand was the same. Lena wrapped your arm, then wrapped the rest of your torso, securing your arms to your chest as she did, then carefully wrapped your neck and head. With the help of another Dragon Mender, they picked up your body, carrying you to one of the pools, and gently lowered you in, allowing your body to sink to the bottom, and out of view. Lena took your Orzac necklace and turned to Geralt, motioning him to bend to her short level, and slipped the necklace over his head, settling it around his neck and against his chest, over his heart.

“This necklace has become attuned to y/n's powers.” She told him, touching her fingertips to the mystic crystal eyes in the pendant. “While, she is on her Passage, she will need a guide, a reason to return to us, and her life here. She will be drawn back by her power, but, if she doesn't have a true reason to return, then not even her power will bring her back.” Lena explained to him, meeting his eyes, that had returned to normal. “You, Geralt, as her Soulmate, and now her husband, must be that reason. You must call her back to life.”

“And, if I can't?” Geralt asked, feeling his heart pound.

“Then, she will not return, she will remain in the waters here, for all time. Lost.” Lena told him, sadly, glancing at the pool they submerged you in. “And the only Black Dragon of the Continent, since Dilos, will be gone.”

“How do I recall her, then?” He asked, his eyes trained on the pool and his throat tight.

“Stay here.” Lena said to him, resting her tattooed hand on his arm. “Think of her, talk to her, of your love for her. The life you want with her. What you love about her, and that you want her back.”

“How long will it take her to come back to me?” Geralt asked, he hadn't stopped thinking about those things, since he met you.

“All depends on her.” She answered him, sighing. “Depends on how much damage was caused to her, how much strength she had, and has, left. What life of her is left, and how much she wants to come back.”

“I won't leave until she comes back.” Geralt said, with deep conviction. “and if she never comes back, I still won't leave.” He added, pressing his lips together and fighting hard against showing the emotions so many people had accused him of not having, as a Witcher.

“You are the son of Dragons and Dilos now, Witcher.” Orzac told him, resting his hand on Geralt's shoulder. “Family. My grandchild's Soulmate, husband and love. You will always be welcomed here, for as long as you want, whenever you want.” He said, with his own honest conviction.

“I will ensure, that one of the Menders tends to your needs, while you are here, Witcher.” Lena told him, feeling for him. “However long that is.”

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