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23
Meira
When Remis was forced to breathe through his mouth he was a lot quieter on their travels. Meira wondered why she hadn’t thought to break his nose sooner. Eventually though, she’d found some small ounce of pity for him. They’d stopped by the river long enough to clean the blood from his face and she’d reset his nose with an ear-splitting crack. He’d paled and for a while, she thought he might vomit or pass out. Lucky enough for her, he did neither.
By the time they’d reached the next city, he was talking again. Though she continued to ignore him, only offering him silence in exchange for his thousands of questions, he treated it like some sort of game. The questions getting more personal and the answers he’d theorize and muse on his own more wild.
They passed through the village gates of Yordway, the guards who watched for dragonis as night fell waved at them curiously. Meira strolled forward, her face pink from the last crude thing Remis had said. For the last five minutes, he’d told her, in great detail, about the loss of his virginity. Of all the memories that could be forgotten she wished that story was one of them. She hadn’t liked hearing how some other woman had gotten to undress him, touch him, and make him feel any sort of way. More so, she hated that she cared enough not to like it.
Yordway was known to constantly be rumored for witches. Most travelers made a point to avoid the village altogether. Meira, however, had come in search of a witch. She’d remembered coming here a couple of times with her mother who had a friend here, but Meira had long given up hope that anyone she remembered had survived the emperor's wrath. Still, Meira was quite rusty with her magic and she’d lost her teacher when she’d lost her parents. If she could find another witch, someone who knew more than her, they could get her memories back. Hopefully.
With Remis at her side, she assumed they would catch up with her faster or that his presence would jog her memory. Only it didn’t. When she’d slept those few hours, she hadn’t dreamed of anything. This curse that bound them was still as real and agonizing as it had been on the first day she’d woken.
Dusk was setting in on the village but lanterns were strung across the streets warding off the darkness. Evergreen foliage shaped into thick bushy wreaths hung on storefronts. Vibrant splotches of color came and went in a flurry of skirts as men and women made their way down the street arm in arm, slowing to entertain the vendors who’d begun to pull their carts onto the sidewalks.
“For the lovely lady?” With a gray beard grown long enough to touch his chest, an old man with grease-slicked hair stepped into their path. He held a single red rose in his wrinkled grasp and offered it to Remis looking between the two.
Fresh heat danced over Meira’s cheeks. “We are not a couple.” She glanced at Remis, certain he’d be as appalled by the idea as she was.
Instead, of blanching at the mention of them being something more, Remis smirked.
“But you could be,” the old man crooned.
“We could be,” Remis sang the words back, already digging in his pocket. There was a jingle of coins and then he held one out in his palm. She’d hardly blinked before the vendor had snatched the coin up and placed the flower in his hand. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Meira stomped forward, Remis strolling behind her with easy long strides. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at that flower. She was supposed to hate him, want him dead…and she did…mostly, but her curiosity won her over every time she got close enough to work up the courage to run him through with her sword. The memories she knew consisted of heated glances, teeth, and tongue. He wasn’t entirely terrible to look at.
She dared a sideways glance in his direction. Remis twirled the rose gently in his hand, brought it to his nose, and breathed it in.
“For you.” He held the rose out to her, keeping her pace.
No one had ever given her flowers before. Bram didn’t give her gifts of affection and she’d not had parents or parental figures in several years to think of lavishing her with anything special.
Staring at the damn rose turned her annoyance into a hive of bees flying about in the pits of her stomach. Her heart did something weird in her chest. She hated it.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Meira snatched the flower from his hand only to crumple the petals inside her palm before letting the entire thing drop to the ground. For good measure, she crushed it under the ball of her foot as she passed.
“That,” Remis pointed at her, “was rude.”
She wanted to snarl, shake him, and scream at him to show himself as the monster he was supposed to be. She didn’t want to hate this man who listened to her sob story of the past and bought her flowers.
Meira needed to find another witch, someone with more experience, who could help her recover her memories. That’s why they'd come to Yordway in the first place. Though, with the decorations and the eager vendors, it would appear as if the citizens of this little village were setting up for something.
“You cannot flirt your way out of me killing you,” Meira snapped.
“That’s quite bold of you to say when you’ve not experienced the extent of my talents.” He was watching her with those night encapsulated eyes and a lazy smirk. The way the word talents hung between them suggested so much more.
She’d experienced his talents in another timeline. She’d had a taste of him.
“I am quite charming,” he added, leaning in just enough for her to scent the river on his clothes, the salt of his sweat, and a natural musk that was entirely him.
“I am not so easily swayed,” Meira managed to say, her tone the bored drone of apathy she’d intended even though her pulse began to thrum at his nearness.
Remis stared at her, a glitter of amusement in his gaze. “Give me ten minutes alone with you and I’m certain I can change your mind.”
By the Dragons. Her body tingled all over. “Ten minutes? Is that all?”
He barked a laugh and the sensation prickling her skin shot straight between her legs. “That’s all I’d need to sway you, but for you, my wolfish friend, I could go all night.”
