From the moment she let her shift fall to the ground, I have heard nothing but the thundering of my own heartbeat in my ears, a driving pulse of need that pounds through my entire body. And now that she is in my arms, her lips upon mine, I am in the eye of the storm. The entire universe is a blur around me, but she—she is the center of my focus, the calm peace at the core, the perfect pinpoint of light my entire body is drawn to.
My hands, slick with water from the pool, draw up her bare back, fingers gliding along her spine, and she arches into me, and that alone nearly has me undone. I let out a shuddering breath.
“Nervous, jäger?” Fritzi asks, and there’s an undercurrent of emotion in her voice that I recognize.
“I am certain of what I want,” I say. “I want you.”
“And I want you.” Her words are a whisper, a promise.
“I need you to know, this is not some illicit tryst I ask of you,” I say, searching her eyes. “When I say I want you, I mean all of you, for all of time. I do not want your body alone, Friederike; I want you, and I give myself to you, all of me that you desire.”
Her eyes light up. “There is quite a bit I desire.”
My grip at her back tightens, drawing her closer, in a way I know makes her feel what I too desire. Her head tilts up, and I claim her mouth in a deep kiss. The warm water lapping at our waists beckons us deeper. I pull us both back into the darker water as I worship at the altar of her lips.
At its deepest, the water comes just to the top of Fritzi’s chest. I turn us, ripples flowing around our bodies, and pin her against the smooth rock wall. Under the water, my fingers tense on her hips, and she leans back, spine curving over the supple edge of the pool.
“Please,” she whimpers.
I have spent too long hiding under false personae, checking my emotions, schooling my face. I know that when she gazes up at me now, she sees the full extent of my soul bared before her, the longing desire I cannot—will not—hide.
I will never hide who I am from her.
I let one hand drift out of the water, diamond droplets falling over her body. I trace her skin with my touch, finger lightly caressing her pale neck, down, between her breasts, lower, back under the water, lower.
I have wanted this—her—for too long not to savor every moment, every taste. I bend over her body, my tongue tracing the shell of her ear. I relish the way she writhes at my touch, the pleading moans that I pull from her pink lips. It is torture for me to resist, to wait, to draw this out, but it’s the sweetest torture I have ever known.
“Otto,” Fritzi groans, and I hear the command in her voice, the impatience as she bucks against my hand, her body demanding more from me. I cannot bite back the chuckle rising in my throat. A part of me loves the way she wants me as much as I want her. The much larger part of me is just as insatiably starving.
I float back in the water, just a little. She tries to hold me closer with her legs, but I let the water work for me, disentangling myself and letting her body float before me.
A feast I intend to savor.
Her hips lift from the water as I draw her core to my tongue, warm and sweet. The water rocks with the movement we create, gentle waves lapping up and darkening her hair. She sinks down, her shoulders kissing the surface of the pool as she lets herself fully unwind under the ministrations of my lips.
My hands slick over her wet body, floating along her curves, pressing against the muscles that tighten as she begs for more, more.
And more is exactly what I intend to give her.
I surge forward in the water, framing her body with my hands as I claim her mouth, my kiss probing. She meets me stroke for stroke, her arms gliding around my neck so that she can pull her body up through the water, tight against mine. Fritzi dips her head down, licking my jaw, nibbling my skin, and now I’m the one groaning, begging for more.
“You want more, jäger?” she whispers. “Then take it.”
Under the water, my hands clench around her waist, my body finding hers, driving home. The coil of desire that wraps around us both tightens, tightens, and I can say only her name, over and over, a prayer I will never stop reciting.
After, we find big, fluffy blankets, folded up and warm by the entrance to the bathing pool, as well as clothing—a serviceable but basic tunic for me, and a new shift with a green split-hem gown for Fritzi, trimmed in gold embroidery. We make a little nest along the smooth, shaded stones on the far end of the pool, steam wafting over the warm waters.
“At least now you have something interesting to talk about in your next confession,” Fritzi murmurs, giggling.
“Confession is for sins,” I say, winding my fingers through her wet hair.
“That felt pretty sinful to me,” Fritzi says in a teasing voice.
“No,” I say firmly. “Love is never a sin.”
Fritzi leans on her elbows, looking up at me. “You really believe that,” she says wonderingly.
“Of course.”
“But—”
“No buts. No corollaries or exceptions. Love is not a sin. It never has been, and it never will be. Anyone who tries to twist that simple truth is the one who sins.”
She settles back down, tucking her head into my chest, idly running her fingers over the hem of my tunic in a way that makes me contemplate just how many more alleged sins I’d like to follow through with tonight.
“The thing I keep thinking about—” she starts, her voice slow, musing.
“Is the way we should take off these clothes and have another bath together?”
She bats at me playfully, but when she looks up at me, I see true concern in her eyes. I regret the way I tried to distract her. “What is it?” I ask.
“There’s something here that’s not right. In the Well, I mean, with the forest folk.” Her voice drops, as if she’s afraid we’ll be overheard. “They said that witches were once bonded. Not just that they worked together, but that they were united.”
I run my fingers through her hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. I remember then the way she spoke of such a magical bonding potion when we were still unsure of each other, a lifetime ago. It was a powerful potion, one that would act as a channel between the witch and the person bonded to her.
“When you say, ‘Bonded,’” I start.
“Using the potion I told you about,” Fritzi says, answering my question before I can finish it. “They want either Liesel or me to bond with one of them, and then use our powers combined to sever the Well’s magic from this world.”
She had mentioned that before, although not the method. A protectiveness dangerously close to possessiveness surges inside me at the thought of Fritzi bonding with anyone else, but I push it away. One of the first things she told me about that potion was that it had to be taken willingly or it would not work, and I will never step in front of any choice Fritzi wants to make about her body or her power.
But I can tell she does not choose such a path.
“There seem to be some here who would rather fight than flee,” I say. “Who want to see magic regulated but not eviscerated from the world beyond the barrier.”
Hope flashes in Fritzi’s eyes. “The world has sacrificed enough because of Dieter. Magic isn’t the corrupting force. It’s just the tool, one that can be used in different ways…”
I try to smooth the lines between Fritzi’s brows, pinched together in worry, but there’s no use. I don’t fully understand magic the way she does, and I do not know the right questions to ask to help her find the answers she seeks. So I hold her, and I hope that will be enough.
After several long minutes, she relaxes into my body. Her breathing evens, and I almost think she’s fallen asleep when suddenly she shoots up with a startled cry.
“Fritzi?” I ask.
Her eyes unfocus, looking at something in the distance, something I cannot see even when I crane my head around. Her face drains of color, her mouth going slack in horror as she stands.
“Fritzi?” I ask again, reaching for her.
“Dieter,” she gasps, the word a strangled whisper of true terror.
I leap up, my hand going to my waist—useless; I’m not wearing my sword. I spin around, searching the shadows, but I don’t see whatever she does. Fritzi walks forward, as if entranced, her hands extended, reaching for something I cannot see—
“Fritzi!” I yell, but it’s as if she cannot hear me.