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Open Jaws and Closed Hearts

Chapter 16

Summary:

As always, you guys are incredible. I wouldn't be writing still if not for your amazing comments, thank you so much <3
Warnings this chapter: some blood and sex. Aw yiss.

Chapter Text


 

“Arthur?”

He wasn’t looking at her. Old paranoia made her stomach sour, her heart thudding as all she had worried came true. The insects chirping in the dark laughed at her.

He’ll leave you now. They always do.

Elena growled irritably at her own insecurity. Arthur wouldn’t do that. She knew that, in her heart. His scent was worried, verging on panicked. She tried reaching for him, but he stood abruptly, avoiding her touch.

“I uh…we should go,” he said, smoothing his hands down the thighs of his jeans, but he still wasn’t looking at her, gazing out towards the house, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Some invisible wall was going up faster than she could figure it out, leaving her in the cold.

It was like her own behavior mirrored back at her, and it stung.

“No,” Elena proclaimed, crossing her arms. She sounded petulant, but she didn’t care. He had promised her they’d talk, he didn’t get to just turn around and change his mind. “What is it? You’ve shut down on me. Was it something I said?”

Pinkertons maybe. Probably reminded him too much of the ones that were after the gang. He’d mentioned them, when she’d first met him. They’d probably faced similar dangers, perhaps not the same cruelties, but close enough.

He was quiet, stony. She studied his profile in the dim light, the crooked nose that had been broken too many times. Please don’t go.

She tried to reach for his arm again. “Arthur I-“

The world tilted in an eruption of sound. A wave of water sloshed over the small pier, dousing her in algae thick water, and wood creaked and splinted as something heavy crashed into it. Sharp pain in her arm, like a vice clamping down hard, and the smell of blood burst thickly in the night air.

Her blood.

Elena gurgled, barely able to suck in a breath before the pressure dragged her into the river, down into the murky depths. She thought she felt Arthur’s fingers slipping against her shoulder for a moment, but the pull was too strong, her body contorting as she was dragged bodily through the dark. Her lungs burned, her free arm flailing and slapping uselessly at whatever had her, water rushing in her ears. Her hair swirled around her face, covering her like a veil, and she couldn’t see anything, the water too murky. The water wormed it’s way between her lips, slimy and foul as she writhed in the cold dark, unseeing.

Her fingertips dug into hard scale, a wide snout and rows of teeth that only clamped harder as she tried to pry them out of her arm. A gator then. And a big bastard at that.

She thought about changing, but a wolf was an even poorer swimmer than a human.

I’m going to drown in this stupid swamp she thought angrily, lightheaded and dizzy. Of all the ridiculous-

The gator suddenly angled up, and Elena could feel the pressure of the water pressing down on her as it shot towards the surface. Then, blissful air, water running down her gasping face and stinging her eyes.  

She hacked and coughed, and the gator rumbled, vibrating around her, holding her like a dangling doll in it’s jaws.

Elena kicked weakly at it, but the gator was unaffected, dragging her bodily towards shallower waters, powerful tail slicing through the still water. Her boots dragged in mud, and finally, she felt the gator let go, dropping her unceremoniously. She winced, cradling her bitten arm against her chest as she got to her knees, spitting to try and empty her mouth of the rotten taste of the water.

“Wolf,” a voice barked. “Here.”

Elena blinked the water out of her eyes, pushing her wet hair out of her face. A man stood on the shore, hands on his hips and glaring like she was the unwelcome intruder. He was only clad in torn britches, his narrow chest bare and painted with patchy white paste. Black was smudged around his eyes and cheeks, giving him a skeletal look.

Ah.

Elena coughed again, side-eyeing the huge gator that floated beside her. It’s head and back were pitted with scars, the signs of a reptile long lived, and stubborn about it.

“There are better ways to get my attention,” she said, and she tried to be polite, but she was shaking, her voice weak and shocked. The teeth had torn muscle and sinew in her arm, and when she tried to flex it, the pain made her cry out. She gritted her teeth, trying to muster her nerve. “I’ve always been a friend to the Night Folk. You don’t have to gator-nap me.”

The man waved his hand impatiently. “No talk. You have. You give.”

Elena dragged herself a little further onto the land, knees squelching in the mud. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

The gator had dragged her further than she realized- the house was no-where to be seen, and the small island they were on was on the edge of the larger river that surrounded Saint Denis, she could see the lights in the distance.

The man growled. “You give.”

She could play dumb, but she knew better than to test the Night Folk. They were wargs, humans who could join their consciousness with an animal, though over time they were more likely to lose themselves to it than remain human.

Elena shuddered. “You want the Wendigo head.”

The gator rumbled again beside her, the water vibrating with the sound. The man nodded.

“Yes. You give.”

Exasperated Elena gestured to herself. “I don’t have it on me! I was in the middle of something. You could have just come and asked!”

“I ask. You give.”

Elena groaned. She didn’t have the patience for this. “What do you offer in return?”

The gator was eyeing her, drifting closer. She was sorely tempted to kick it. But more gators were moving in the water beyond the island, reminding her that likely, there were more Night Folk and their companions watching them.

Her water-logged clothes were sticking to her, clammy and uncomfortable. She wanted nothing more than to get back to the house and Arthur’s arms.

Arthur!

Elena tried to see back the way they had come, to gage how far they might be. If she concentrated, she could pick up distant voices, could be Arthur had gotten the others to search for her.

The man clucked his tongue. “We no kill.”

Movement in the tall grass, and a woman seemed to unfurl from the air itself, her long black hair wild and adorned with small bones. She too was dabbed with white paint, patterns swirled down her shoulders and arms, animal skins stitched together in an outfit that showed enough skin to make a whore blush. The man bowed before the woman, retreating to the water’s edge, and the woman fixed Elena in her steely gaze.

“We have met before, wolf.” She said, much more fluent. Elena winced.

“Have we? Apologies. The journey through the water must have addled my memory.”

The woman didn’t smile. “We need the Wendigo head you have in your possession. We are willing to barter your survival for it.”

“My survival?” Elena asked. “I told you, I don’t have the head on me. Killing me here isn’t going to get you it.”

The woman clasped her hands together, so much like Celine when she was running out patience. Elena bit her cheek to stop from laughing. She must have swallowed more swamp water than she thought.

“There are men in our territory. They bring guns and destruction. We would cleanse these wilds of their stink.”

“And you need the head for that?” Elena got to her feet slowly, trying to ignore how she wobbled. He boots slid in the slick mud, but she managed to keep her balance. Her arm throbbed.

“Dark magic. The swamp keeps its own, and it’s own will defend it.”

Cryptic. But the Night Folk always did like to speak in their riddles.

Elena nodded. “And if I don’t give it to you?”

“If you give us the head, then the magic will not be used on you.”  The woman shrugged. “If you do not, then we kill you now, and your loud mate.”

Loud mate. She could hear him now, Arthur’s throaty bellows from the swamp and other raised voices.

Lord but she wanted to just lie down and rest.

Elena sighed. “Fine. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Let me go. I’ll bring the head to the river and you can do whatever it is your little dark magic hearts’ desire. Just leave us out of it.”

“You will be spared,” the woman said solemnly. “But heed a warning wolf, the humans you are with are not. If you wish to save them, you must convince them to leave. The bargain is struck.”

The gator moved towards her. Elena warned it away with a snarl.

“No thank you, I’ll make my own way back.”

The Night Folk watched her with their unblinking eyes as she splashed away, through the knee high water to the next island. The mud was hard to slog through, but she stubbornly kept on, until Elena left the Night Folk behind, the swamp swallowing her in shadow. She plodded towards Arthur’s voice, the lanterns she could see bobbing in the distance. She could hear splashes behind her, no doubt other gators trailing her, she’d be watched to ensure she kept her end of the bargain. She clutched her injured arm against herself and pushed on.

Elena!” Arthur shouted. “Goddammit answer me!”

Elena stopped, sinking deeper into the mud. Around her the shadows stretched and distorted.

“I’m here!” she tried to shout, but her voice came out like a croak.  “Arthur! I’m here!”

A light swung around the bend- a boat in the water. Elena squinted into it, raised her good arm in greeting.

“Here!” she managed, stronger. There was a loud splash, a body hitting water, and a shape blotted out the light, pushing towards her through the water.

“Elena!”

Elena sagged with relief as she watched Arthur struggle through the water towards her. His eyes were blown wide with panic, his breath coming in short bursts. His scent was maddening, so bitter with worry it burned her nose and made her stomach churn.

“I’m ok,” she said meekly, though her blood was sitting headily in the air. “I’m alright.”

His hands cupped her face, touched her shoulders, her arms, anywhere he could reach. She fell into him wearily, drained and eyes heavy.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed, and he hoisted her up into his arms like it was nothing, like she was a swooning lady in need of a gentleman. This time, Elena didn’t mind, felt too tired to try and protest her independence. Arthur cut back through the water towards the boat, where concerned hands reached to pull them both back onboard. Elena huffed a breath, recognizing Charles and John.

“Thanks for coming to get me boys,” Elena stuttered, her teeth beginning to clack together. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, trying to rub heat back into her. It hurt her arm, but Elena didn’t care, just relished being safe again. The thought of being back in the dark, under the surface, it made her shudder.

Arthur pulled her close, held her as they struck out towards the house. She wanted to tell him about the Night Folk, the head, but she was so tired, her eyes drooping without her consent. She’d tell him tomorrow, in the light of day, and get the blasted head from the room. For now she’d just…just rest her eyes. Just…a moment…

 


 

“Dutch wants to see you.”

Arthur frowned, startled out of his thoughts. He looked up from his vigil at the bedside, Elena’s body practically buried under blankets. She’d passed out in the boat, hadn’t stirred as he’d carried her into the house, the others milling around worriedly. Hosea had checked her arm, cleaned it up some and Abigail had bandaged it, all of them agreeing she had been lucky to escape. By the marks on her arm, it had been a big gator, and all the gang had been banned from approaching the river alone.

He'd nearly lost her. Just like that, quicker than he could’ve blinked, and she could have been gone. No Pinkertons, just a big ass gator looking for a quick meal.

His head was a mess. Didn’t know what to do.

Hosea hovered in the doorway. “Hell, Arthur. You look like shit.”

Arthur winced, standing. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Dawn’s grey light was filtering through the window, smudging everything into soft shades and most of the camp was still asleep. Hosea sighed, shaking his head.

“Can’t believe it. Glad she’s alright though.”

“Yeah.”

Hosea led the way back towards Dutch’s room. Arthur weren’t surprised to see no Molly in sight, the woman had been sleeping with the other women more often as of late. Dutch was on the balcony, staring out over the camp towards the forest beyond. Hosea settled down onto a chair, lighting a cigarette and Arthur hovered in the open doorway, feeling like a stranger.

“How’s your woman?” Dutch asked, not turning around.

“Alive. Sleepin’.”

“Well some luck at least.” Dutch leaned on the railing. “She’s…an interesting sort.”

Arthur was immediately on edge. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Easy son,” Hosea murmured, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air. “We mean no disrespect. But we don’t know much about her. We’re curious.”

 Both men smelled…strange. Not upset, but something not quite right, and Arthur were uneasy. Dutch turned around, crossing his arms.

“That contact of hers. That got Jack back. They got some sorta…relationship, with Bronte?”

Arthur shifted. “Business, I guess. I dunno. It were a favor, and in return Elena can’t go back to Saint Denis. She came through for us, Dutch.”

Dutch showed his palms in a placating gesture. “Oh, ‘aint no-one doubtin’ her, son. It’s Bronte I’m interested in.”

“Bronte?”

“Dutch wants to settle the bad blood,” Hosea muttered, and Arthur didn’t need his nose to tell him the man wasn’t pleased with the idea. “And I say we leave well enough alone. With the Pinkertons so close I’d feel better if we moved on.”

“Gentlemen, you have so little faith!” Dutch cried. “All we need is one more take. Money enough for all of us to get a ship to warmer shores.”

Hosea snorted. “And where does this 'one more take' have to do with Bronte?”

“He’s a powerful man. He wouldn’t stand for us stealin’ money out from under his nose. And there's Jack to answer for.”

Arthur was starting to see where this was going. “Dutch, it’s too dangerous. Not only we got Pinkertons close, but they’re in the city! Be crazy to try and rob some place.”

Dutch fished a cigar out from his vest pocket, setting it in the corner of his mouth with flourish. “You’ve changed, Arthur.”

An uncomfortable silence then, Hosea glancing at Dutch as if in warning. Dutch ignored him, patting his pockets for a match. Arthur curled his lip.

“The hell that mean?”

“It means-“ Dutch found a light, striking the match and pausing as he got the cigar lit. He shook the match out, flicking it over the balcony towards the ground below. “You ‘aint the same Arthur. I saw what you did to them O’Driscolls. To Colm.”

Arthur’s heart was pounding, beating so hard against his ribs he was sure the two men could hear it. “I killed 'em. So what.”

Dutch smiled, cruel. “You didn’t kill them, son. You massacred them.”

“Dutch,” Hosea sighed. “This ‘aint-“

“And we need that,” Dutch barreled on. “We need that anger, and that ferocity, and we need you,  Arthur. I can’t have you doubtin’ me now. You owe this family-”

Artur laughed. It forced its way out of him before he could stop it, harsh and grating. Dutch’s eyes darkened through the wisps of cigar smoke.

“You need me? ‘Aint that fuckin’ rich,” Arthur snapped, and there was no stopping it now, the words scraping out of his throat. “You all left me to rot. You don’t know what I’ve been through. What they did. Death was a mercy I gave ‘em, and I still had to find my way home ‘cause ‘aint nobody bothered to come for me. And you wanna stand there and talk about owin’?”

Arthur took a step forward, and he could feel himself puffing up, his shoulders rigid, his bulk seeming to fill the space between them. “You wanna start tallyin’ up who owes what, Dutch?”

Fear. It slapped him up the side of the face so hard Arthur paused, confused. Dutch hadn’t moved, not a muscle had twitched on his face, but he reeked with it, panicked and uneasy.

Afraid of Arthur.

“We shoulda done more,” Hosea agreed, ever the peacemaker. “We failed you, Arthur. You got every right to be angry ‘bout it.”

Arthur took a step back. “Oh I ‘aint angry ‘bout it. I’m done. I ‘aint your fuckin’ muscle, your mad dog to bark and bite on command. I gave everythin’ to this gang. To you.”

Arthur glared at Dutch, the man he had followed without question for so long. “And you left me to die. I don’t owe you shit.”

Hosea didn’t know what to say, just looked between them both, realizing this was a chasm he couldn’t mend.

Dutch was shaking, the cigar tumbling out of his mouth, forgotten. “I ‘aint keeping you here. If you wanna go, go. Abandon us, go ahead. You ‘aint got a goddamn ounce of loyalty in you, boy.”

“I have changed, Dutch,” Arthur said lowly, and the anger swirled hot and dark inside him, flaring to life. “I’ve fuckin’ changed enough to see what you really are. A goddamn coward and a fool, who’ll sacrifice anyone he has to. ‘Aint that what happened in Blackwater? You were the one who brought this whole sorry mess on us at all!”

Dutch was going red, his eyes murderous. Was a time Arthur had been afraid of it, had always been glad it had never been directed at him. Hosea was alarmed now, had risen out of his chair, worried.

“Get. Out.” Dutch hissed. “Get out ‘fore I do somethin’. Take your whore and get out.

Arthur didn’t move. “Call her that again, and I’ll show you what I did to Colm.”

Hosea got to his feet, and he smelled afraid now as well. “Gentlemen. It’s…been a hard few days. Tempers are runnin’ hot. We should just…talk later. Cool off.”

Arthur half expected Dutch to just pull a gun on him. He wanted him to. Let him try, see what happened. Hosea hands were shaking as he pushed on Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on. Elena needs checkin’ on.”

Her name was enough to get him moving, and Arthur nodded, eyes still on Dutch. “Alright. Fine.”

He let Hosea push him back into the room, but didn’t relax until Dutch was well out of sight. Hosea breathed out shakily.

“The hell was that? What’s gotten into you!?” Hosea demanded. “You practically challenged him, Arthur!”

“Good,” he grunted. The anger was draining out of him, leaving him sheepish, but he didn’t regret nothing. “I meant it.”

“Arthur,” Hosea snagged his arm, brought him to a halt outside his door. “I don’t…I am sorry. And there’s some truth to what you’re saying. Dutch ‘aint himself. But something is gonna happen, I can feel it in my bones. You need to be careful.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Hosea.”

Hosea sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Sometimes I don’t recognize us anymore. Makes me sad. Miss what we were.”

Arthur didn’t. Not anymore.

 


 

The whole camp felt strange. Everyone seemed nervous, stepping around each other as if the slightest word or action would spark something terrible.

Elena watched them curiously, her arm bandaged up tightly. Dutch had ridden out around midday, saying nothing to no-one. He’d taken Micah, Bill, Javier and Lenny. Arthur had been in a terrible mood, had gone off to chop wood angrily, and Elena knew they’d quarreled about something.

She’d woken in the late morning, had her arm seen to by Abigail, with little Jack on her skirts. His eyes had been huge as he’d looked at the healing holes on her arm, asked a barrage of questions about gators. She’d laughed, and indulged him as much as she could, until his mother shooed him away to let her rest. Already Elena was healing, she’d be alright in a day or two. It barely hurt now, just a twinge of pain if she moved it too fast.

She’d taken the Wendigo head, still wrapped in the oilcloths, and taken it down to the river, dropping it beside the now destroyed pier. She hadn’t seen any Night Folk, but the head hadn’t bobbed back to the surface, and there had been shapes in the water, disappearing when she tried to focus on them.

Arthur had chopped a sizeable pile of wood, and showed no signs of stopping. His blue shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the back of his shirt wet with sweat and in any other situation Elena would have been interested, the sight of her mate working himself into a sweat a siren call to her hormones. But Elena let him be, recognized he needed to be with his thoughts, angry as they were. There’d be time plenty to talk, once he’d calmed down. So Elena settled herself at the table in the center of camp and enjoyed the sun on her face.

“Elena, isn’t it?” a voice asked. Elena cracked an eye open. One of the women hovered, her curly hair pulled back and young face smiling. Mary-Beth, Elena remembered.

“That’s me.” Elena offered a smile in return, and the woman settled down at the table with her.

“I’m Mary-Beth. It’s nice to speak to you, properly I mean. We’re all very glad you’re alright.”

The girl was sincere. Elena chuckled, patting her bandaged arm. “It’ll take more than one rogue gator to put me down.”

Mary-Beth whistled. “I still can’t believe it. We’ve been washing in that there river! Could have taken any one of us.”

Karen appeared, plopping herself down opposite. “It’d swallow you in one gulp, Mary-Beth, skinny cow.”

“Karen!” Mary-Beth laughed. “What a terrible thing to say.”

It wasn’t long before most of the women had gathered around her, all eager to greet her properly. Even Abigail joined them, Jack only a short distance away playing with something in the dirt. Miss Grimshaw sniffed, muttered about laziness, but even she didn’t go too far, loitered around Pearson’s wagon as the women chatted and laughed together. Molly was no-where to be seen.

“I can’t believe it,” Tilly said, and Elena zoned back into the conversation. “Seein’ you come into camp like that, with Arthur. Never thought I’d see the day.”

The women all tittered. Elena glanced between them curiously.

“Is it so curious? He’s a good man, and handsome. I’m surprised I wasn’t fighting off all of you.”

The woman all craned to look towards Arthur who was still chopping wood, though slowing.

“Arthur? Handsome?” Karen frowned, and Tilly cocked her head as if considering it from different angles. “I ‘spose he is, in his own gruff way. Always seen him more like…a bear. Angry and dangerous if you poke ‘im.”

“And he were always mopin’ over that Mary,” Abigail interjected. “Stuck up bitch. Broke his heart clean in two.”

Agreement from the others. Mary-Beth leaned in closer to Elena. “So are you like us?”

“Like you?” Elena echoed, confused. “What do you-“

“Outlaws,” Tilly said, grinning as Karen cocked her finger back like a pistol, brandishing it. “On the run.”

Elena chuckled. “I guess so, yes. My pa-, my gang has been moving ever since I can remember. Lost a lot of good people on the way.”

Sympathetic murmurs. Mary-Beth rested her chin in her palm, elbow on the table. “How did you and Arthur meet?”

All the women pressed in close, interested. Elena shrugged.

“I was hunting. Followed the beast up into the mountains, and I came across Arthur who had seen it. We hunted it down together. We just…got on, I suppose.”

Mary-Beth looked disappointed. Karen elbowed her with a wicked laugh.

“Fucking in the woods ‘aint romantic enough for you, Mary-Beth?”

Mary-Beth blushed bright red. “Karen!”

Karen ignored her, arching an eyebrow at Elena. “So, spill. Is Arthur as much a beast in bed as he fights?”

All leaned in towards her. Elena shifted on the seat, nervously tapping her fingers against the bandage, unused to so many eyes on her.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” she managed. “That’s between me and him.”

Karen whooped, pounding a fist on the table. “I fuckin’ knew it! Pay up Tilly.”

Tilly groaned, rolling her eyes. “Goddammit.”

Elena watched the two, baffled. Abigail chuckled, reaching over to pat her hand nicely.

“They had a bet. Karen said you weren’t a whore and you two were in love for real.”

“How was I to know?” Tilly complained, and coin was exchanged. “Thought she were too pretty to be anything but. Sorry.”

Mary-Beth looked pleased. “Good. Arthur he…he deserves someone good. You seem good, Elena.”

The women murmured their agreement. Karen winked at her. “Good at gettin’ into trouble at least. Which is what the Van Der Linde gang is best at.”

The mood shifted then, the women glancing at each other with worried eyes. Elena hadn’t been the only one to notice the mood in camp, the shift between Arthur and Dutch.

“You might as well know,” Abigail said quietly, shoulders hunched. “Molly’s left.”

Explained why she was absent. “Left?”

Abigail nodded. “Can’t say I blame her, Dutch ‘aint been the lovin’ sort lately. But I think there’s more happenin’ than just that.”

Mary-Beth glanced towards Grimshaw, but her attention had been grabbed by Uncle, and she’d hurried away to shout at him.

“Some of us are leavin’,” she said, her voice dropped low. “While Dutch is gone. ‘Aint no way to live, and we gotta move now, if we’re gonna at all. Pinkertons all over the place, Dutch actin’ strange. You and Arthur can come with us.”

Karen sighed. “I still don’t think you should, Mary-Beth. Dutch’ll get us outta it, he always does.”

“I’m goin’ too,” Tilly said. “You should come with us, Karen, Abigail. We’ll start over, somewhere new. Without Dutch, at least we won’t have Pinkertons on us.”

Abigail shook her head sadly, looking over towards Jack. “I can’t. I gotta stay with John, and he won’t leave, you know that.”

Arthur had finally worn himself out, dropping the axe beside the sizable pile of firewood. Grimshaw was coming back, and the moment had passed.

“Well offer stands.” Mary-Beth stood, smiling down at Elena. “I’m real glad you’re here, Elena. Even if you and Arthur stay. He needs someone like you.”

The women slowly filtered away, until it was just Elena. She met Arthur’s eyes across the camp, and he motioned towards her to follow, stepping out beyond the camp into the fields.

Elena got to her feet and followed.

 


 

The land around the crumbling Plantation house hadn’t been farmed for years, the vegetation growing wild and tall. It wasn’t long until Arthur and Elena were lost in the tall golden grass, and Arthur led her over to the tree line, where they could settle down in the shade. Clouds were gathering, but the day was still warm and sunny, crickets chirping in the grass and bees lazily buzzing by.

“How’s your arm?” Arthur asked, sitting down cross-legged, back against a tree. Elena settled down beside him, nudging his knee with hers.

“Healing. It’ll be gone tomorrow." She flexed her fingers. "I’ve been meaning to speak to you about it. It wasn’t some rogue gator, Arthur. It was the Night Folk.”

“The Night Folk?” he repeated, brow furrowing. “How?”

“They’re wargs. Not like us shapeshifters, but they can control animals. Essentially I was taken to negotiate.”

Arthur groaned. “The Wendigo head.”

“I gave it to them. Rotten thing.”

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Good. I’m just…I’m sorry. We were talkin’ last night and then…then you were gone.”

Elena curled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You shut me out. Why?”

Arthur blew out a gust of air. “You said Milton. Milton’s the one who’s after us.”

And there it was. It made a strange sort of sense. Of course it did. Life wouldn’t have led her to Arthur to merely live peacefully and unchallenged. That wasn’t the way of things.

“And you panicked.”

“You can’t stay with me, Elena,” Arthur said desperately. “That bastard will be back, and he’ll do the same thing to you. You stay, you die.”

Elena lifted her head to look at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

He growled at her, just a hint of the wolf that had her blood rising. “It’s not. I’ll be the death of you. Like you said.”

“I say a lot of things. Look, Arthur-”

She shuffled herself around to face him directly. She squeezed his hand, waited until he looked at her. The grass tickled her sides, her yellow blouse nearly blending in. Her white one was ruined, clogged with swamp mud and stained red with blood. She’d had to borrow one off Sadie.

“I can’t see the future. Neither can you. There’s no telling what will happen to us. But I want to be with you. That’s my decision, and mine alone. You don’t get to decide what I want for me.”

Arthur sighed. “But-“

“It’s simple. I love you, Arthur.”

He stared at her, shocked. All the talk of claiming and mates, and she hadn’t used the word love. It seemed childish even, but she knew it. Had never been so sure of anything else.

“I…love you too,” he croaked. “Goddamn it, I really do. I love you.”

“Well then!” Elena laughed, leaning in close to kiss him, his mouth open with shock. “That’s all we need. I’m staying with you, Arthur. I’ve claimed you, and you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he sighed, and she could feel his resistance melt away. He gathered her in his arms, pressing her tightly against him. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she smiled against his lips, and his hand splayed against her back, warm through the fabric. “Love me, Arthur. That’s all I ask. Everything else…we’ll deal with it.”

She kissed him until her lungs ached for breath, his beard rubbing her chin and cheeks raw. The grass rustled around them as he lay her down, covering her with his body, and she had never felt so light, surrounded by his warmth and touch.

She tugged his damp shirt over his head, and he let her, bared his scars to her eyes and lips, let her trace the faded lines with her fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered against the hollow of his throat, rolling them so he was on his back, breathing hard up into the sky. He pulled her hair free from its bun, threading his fingers into the long dark strands, pulling her back towards his lips.

“That gator must’a hit your head,” he chuckled. “Only one o’ us is beautiful darlin’, and it certainly ‘aint me.”

“No,” Elena said. “You are. Beautiful. Every bit of you.”

She kissed down his chest, made him squirm and laugh, hands grasping at her, the grass beneath them. She watched for any stutter, any discomfort, but Arthur was loose and happy, limbs sprawled. They pawed at each other like a pair of pups, kissing and laughing, and touching comfortably in the afternoon heat, safely hidden in the grass. Her arm didn't hurt, the bandage unraveled and lost somewhere, baring the pink tinged scabs to the sunlight.

It was a slow build, a rising tension that she hadn’t even noticed until she was gasping with it, Arthur’s firm thigh nudged up tightly between her legs, and she was grinding down on it with wanton abandon, their kissing changed from soft exploration to something needy and desperate. He was above her, had her pinned to the ground, the mix of their sweat, dirt and arousal heavy in her nose.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, their noses nudging as they panted together. She couldn’t get enough of him, dropped kisses against his sun-weathered skin. His skin was salty with sweat. “Please, Arthur. I need you.”

His eyes were bright with want and the hand he shoved between them to unbutton his jeans brushed against her, set her off again, incoherent demands spilling from her lips. It was highly undignified, both of them rolling and wiggling to get various clothing off, Arthur biting out a savage curse when his jeans got stuck on his boots that sent her off into a fit of giggling.

But they shed them in the end, and as he settled back on top of her, she welcomed him eagerly into the v of her hips, skin warm against skin and he seemed to fit so nicely against her. She sighed happily, twining her arms around his shoulders, uncaring of her very unlady-like moans and grunts as his erection slid against her slickness, teasing. The scabbing on her healing arm was rough against his skin, and he came to, kissing her temple softly.

“You alright?” he asked her, lips against her ear. She grunted, trying to tilt her hips better against the torturous slide of him against her.

“I’ll be better once you’re inside me,” she hissed, his hips stuttering hard against her. “Arthur, please, goddammit!”

He chuckled, chest pressed up against hers, the hair there tickling her breasts and making her squirm. “I got you. Easy. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you won’t.”

And he didn’t. Her body opened to him easily, the steel slide of him into her an exquisite feeling she wanted to hold onto and covet forever. She gasped, her head thudding against the ground beneath them, baring her throat. Arthur was quick to fall on it, his tongue chasing her shuddering pulse just beneath the skin, teeth just shy of biting. His hips drove into her at a punishing pace, barely gave her a chance to suck in a humid breath and she didn’t care, just wanted him to never stop.

His hips slapped against hers loudly, slick and primal. Mating like this, under an open sky was how it was done in the old days, and she stared up at the fading light, pleasure bursting behind her eyes and smudging the sky. How many others had loved their mate under a sky like this, the stars of ancients bearing witness.

“Mine,” Arthur growled against her, driving himself deeper and deeper inside her. “Mine.”

She gave herself up to it, to him, shoved her hips down just as savagely. She could feel him changing, his vocal chords twanging as the wolf demanded some control. Elena clenched around him, baring her throat further.

Mine,” he snarled above her, his blue eyes pale and glowing in the dying light.

“Yours,” she panted back, and he fell on her, teeth sharpening and clamping down on the right side of her neck.

Elena cried out, couldn’t hold back the rush of pleasure as she peaked, his hips driven up hard against her, into her, until she couldn’t remember what it was like to not have him a part of her. His teeth in her neck, marking her, claiming her as his, and his alone.

Arthur pulled back the wolf melting back within, horrified as he realized what he had done, and he was pulling away, starting to pull out of her.

“Oh god, what I...Elena, I’m sor-“

Elena snarled, thrust her hips up and sheathing him back inside her, her own fangs sliding easily forward and she lunged, biting hard into the meat of Arthur’s neck in the spot that mirrored where he had bitten her. She locked her legs around his hips, kept him tight inside her, and he was convulsing with it, the same pleasure swelling inside him, eyes rolling.

Mine,” she growled, sliding her teeth free and licking the torn skin.  

“Yours,” he replied automatically, voice hoarse, and she could feel him, the spasm of his muscles under her crossed calves, the throbbing inside her body as he climaxed.

She held him there, cradled him against her as he slumped, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. Eventually her legs cramped and she let them splay wantonly against the grass, Arthur’s face pressed tightly against her neck where he’d bitten her.

They lay together, unmoving, just the rise and fall of their breathing, the sweat of their lovemaking slowly cooling. Eventually he softened enough that he slipped out of her, and she sighed at the emptiness that followed.

She kissed his ear. “Arthur? Are you alright?”

He grunted, pressed a kiss to her already healing skin. “Yeah. I’m…I’m here. Pretty sure I died for a second there though.”

She laughed. “You and me both.”

Carefully he rolled off her, blinking up at the sky on his back. “That was…incredible.”

Elena got onto her side, propped her head on her good arm. “That was a mating. A claiming. You’re stuck with me now.”

Her thighs were slick with his release, and Elena rubbed her legs together curiously. She’d not let a man release inside her before. She could get pregnant. The thought didn’t scare her as much as it had once.

Arthur breathed out shakily, touching the side of his neck. “I don’t…it’s never been like that. Before.”

Elena tampered down the sudden flare of jealousy. She knew Arthur had been with others. She had too. But it still flickered in her chest, jealous and snapping that someone might have dared touch him that way.

“Me neither,” she said honestly. She had enjoyed sex with her nameless lovers in the past, but he was right. This was more.

This was love.

She rolled against him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you.”

He grinned, honest and vulnerable, and her heart ached. “I love you too.”

It made her head spin, made her feel like a giddy young woman again, naive and blushing. “We’ll be doing that. A lot. Against every piece of furniture in that horrible house.”

Arthur laughed, curled an arm around her. “Sure thing. Let’s start with Dutch’s bed.”

They lay together, content as the afternoon passed into evening, the sky starting to darken. The clear day had given way to a mistier night, fog was rolling in off the swamp. Finally the cooler air was enough to make them both shiver, and they retrieved their clothes, messily buttoning them back into place in between laughs and tender kisses. Hand in hand they picked their way back through the vegetation. 

“I’m gonna check on Hosea,” Arthur said as they neared the house. “See what the hell Dutch is gettin’ himself into.”

“Alright,” Elena said, kissed him again just because she could. “I’m going to just enjoy the evening a little longer.”

Arthur nodded, strode off to find the older man. Elena turned her back on the camp, sighed into the night air happily as she watched the fog roll in over the fields. Everything would be right. She was mated, claimed, and it settled warm behind her breastbone. She’d wear her claim mark proudly, unashamed. Maybe one day she could return to Saint Denis and do it all proper, according to Celine. A wedding maybe, with her pack, her family, her-

“Well, well. Elena Vasquez.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and Elena jumped, taken off guard. A man stood beside her, staring out across the same fields. He was dressed in finery that wouldn’t look amiss in Saint Denis, complete with top hat. A silver pocket watch snapped shut in his hand, and he tucked it carefully into a pocket on the suit.

Dread quickly replaced the joy in her heart.

“Who…who are-“

“You know very well who I am,” the stranger said. “So let’s not dance around it. I’m cross with you, Elena.”

Elena hardly dared to look at him directly. She had frozen, stared out into the fog as her breath came in short panicked bursts.

The stranger sighed, settled his feet more firmly into the dirt. “I had a plan, you see. A story I had all planned out. All the pieces were there. And you just flounced in and ruined it all.”

The night was very quiet, she realized. No birds, no insects, just a thick silence settled around the house.

No, not quite. There were voices in the air, distant dark words and darker intent.

The stranger huffed. “Chaos. I can’t abide it you know.”

Elena swallowed, her heart racing. “I…my lord, I…I don’t-“

“Oh enough of all that.” The stranger clucked his tongue. “You brought this on yourself. You should have let him be, Elena. He would have been miserable, and died, but that was the plan. Now you all have to suffer. It’ll end badly, mark my words.”

Anger then, overriding the fear in her breast. “Our lives aren’t things to be toyed with, Reaper.

The blatant disrespect had surprised him. He turned towards her, his dark eyes pensive and assessing. She wasn’t brave enough to look at him directly, but she stared out into the fog, at the shapes she was beginning to see, lurching and rotten.

“I shouldn't be surprised. Your mother was just as disrespectful.” He sniffed. Elena didn’t rise to the bait.

“Our lives are ours,” she muttered, hearing splashes in the river, the squelching of mud as things pulled themselves free- rotting bones and yearning jaws that had been long forgotten in the dark. “Not yours to plan.”

“Clearly.”

“Why are you here?” Elena snapped, and she knew time was short, the house would be surrounded soon enough. She needed to get the humans inside, get the guns loaded.

The stranger gestured to the field, and she could see them now, shapes pushing through the fog, skinless fingers grasping towards the warm siren-call of life.

“I was summoned. Can’t you hear them? The Night Folk are ever so grateful for your gift, by the way. They send their regards.”

With a curse, Elena turned and ran.