The past days had been the blackest the Siren Shoal had ever known. Grief sat on Elisha like a second skin—heavy, salt-scented, and inescapable. She mourned a thing she had never expected to bury: the love that had lived between her and Sheba. It had not simply been wounded; it had been extinguished the moment Lucifer's mark seared itself onto Sheba's flesh, and the worst cruelty of all was that Lucifer had made Elisha watch. She had stood helpless as the one she loved was claimed, and her world had collapsed into a ruin of ash and memory.
She retreated into the Salt Kiss Keep and let the days fold into one another. Time blurred; hours were measured only by the way the light slanted through the salt-sculpted windows. Wallowing became a ritual: cold water baths that numbed the skin, long silences broken by the hollow echo of her own breathing. She could not imagine a point at which the rawness would fade. Shame kept her from stepping into the world. She could not bear the idea of facing Sheba—had no right to see her, she thought, no right to look at the consequences of her failure. Disappointment sat heavy in her chest—disappointment in Sheba for being taken, yes, but more painfully, in herself for allowing it.
If only she could turn back time. If only she could unlearn the opening that Lucifer had found and never have been so susceptible to his tricks—then Sheba would be at her side and no one would be able to wedge themselves between them. It was an impossible, intoxicating thought, and it kept her awake some nights: a looping fantasy in which one different decision rewove everything.
A month had passed in this hollowed exile. Though she stayed cloistered in the shoal, Elisha did not live in ignorance. Her informants kept her apprised of life on the surface: Moist had sealed herself within the Holy Sanctum, trembling behind wards and worships of the humans because everyone knew Sheba would not let an affront to her go unanswered. Aliadam—powerful, implacable—was reputed to want Moist's end. Realistically, the reasons to hide multiplied. But shame was not the only lodestar; survival mattered. Moist, despite the alliance they had forged, had become useless in Elisha's estimation. She regretted the pact—had once hoped Moist's obsession with Lucifer might remove that very obstacle between her and Sheba. Yet Aliadam's arrival had ripped open new wounds before Elisha could even confront Lucifer himself. Perhaps if Aliadam had not come, events would have unfolded differently; perhaps not. The one thing Elisha was certain of now was that Moist had more reasons to fear retribution than to pursue Lucifer's quixotic reclaiming. Two formidable adversaries were after her, and securing her life had to come before anything grander.
For now, fate spared her the immediate danger of Sheba's wrath—the marked witch was occupied with burdens heavier than vengeance. Elisha's sources had reported the blow to Sheba's spirit: to find oneself claimed, bound by a force you loathed, was a cruelty Sheba could scarcely have anticipated. Her first priority had been to break the bond. Only after she had freed herself from that infernal tether would she turn her attention to the coven's enemies. Elisha had expected such a response. Nothing in Sheba's nature suggested she would calmly accept life as Lucifer's mate; existence under such a claim would be torture. Better, Sheba thought, to remain dormant in the amulet than to be reborn and live under his ownership. The coven would have to wait until Sheba could breathe without the weight of that mark. Luckily, Elisha reflected, the witches and warlocks were competent enough to tend the coven's restoration, with or without Sheba's full attention.
Because of all this, Elisha kept her face hidden. She had once promised Sheba she would make things right; she had failed. The shame of breaking that promise felt like salt poured into an open wound. Even when longing clawed at her throat, even when she imagined Sheba's laugh or the touch of her hand, Elisha refused to present herself until she had a plan to undo Lucifer's claim. She could not bear to see the hurt she had helped to cause.
She had been submerged in a cold bath for a long time when the first knock came. The chill wrapped around her like consolation. Her eyes were closed; her thoughts drifted, fracturing and rejoining in ragged patterns. The knock was soft, almost tentative—familiar, and at the same time it sent a jolt through her as if a current had traveled through the room.
She opened her blue eyes. For a moment she held her breath, listening.
The knock came again, firmer.
"Enter," she called, her voice steady though her pulse picked up speed.
The door eased open. A figure slipped through the space, and the light that fell on her shoulders made Elisha's heart lurch. Sheba stood there, as graceful and luminous as memory insisted she be, more devastating because she was real.
"Sheba?" The name bubbled from Elisha like a prayer.
"Is that really you?" Tears filled Elisha's eyes before she could stop them.
Sheba's smile was soft and knowing. "Really hard for you to tell?" she teased gently. "Have I been gone so long you do not recognize me?"
Of course it was Sheba. Only Sheba would dare to enter at such a time, unchallenged by maids or guards. Elisha had bestowed on her authority over the Siren Shoal; everyone received her as queen.
Elisha moved toward the bath without thinking, hand reaching, but Sheba stopped her with a light shake of her head.
"Let me join you," Sheba said, the words falling between them like a confession and a plea. She began to unlace her dress, letting the silk slip away until it pooled in a small, shimmering heap at her feet. The sight of Sheba, unclothed and unguarded, was like seeing a lighthouse in a storm—both a comfort and a lure.
"Hope you don't mind?" Sheba asked with rueful amusement.
"Not at all." Elisha's voice came out thin. She swallowed, breath hitching as Sheba stepped closer and lowered herself into the cold water with a soft gasp. The chill kissed the new warmth of her skin and Sheba shivered delicately.
"Too cold?" Elisha asked, springing to her feet. "I can warm it—"
"It's all right," Sheba interrupted, smiling in a way that steadied Elisha's quickened tempo. "I can manage. It's not the first time we've shared a bath; my body just needs to readjust."
Elisha returned the smile, fragile and dazzling in equal measure. For a moment they simply sat in the water, the silence between them laden with unspoken catalogues of hurt and yearning. Their eyes met, and that brief contact carried the weight of everything: the old tenderness, the accusation, the aching hope. Elisha looked away first, unable to bear the intensity.
"You look well," Sheba said, more practical than anything, as she took up a pinch of the exquisite sea salt at the bath's rim and began to rub it along her arms. The ritual was domestic and intimate, a small attempt to reclaim normalcy.
"Yes," Elisha managed, a laugh wrung thin from nerves. Sheba's gaze sharpened like a blade. "Of course you are," she added after a pause. "I was trying to understand why you have avoided me since I returned."
Elisha could feel the blood retreating from her face. Her hands curled in the water like anchors. "I—" she began, voice faltering.
"You find me disgusting?" The question was blunt, raw, without pretense.
"No!" Elisha burst, immediate and fierce. The distance between them closed with the force of her denial.
Sheba let out a breath and moved her hair aside, offering Elisha a view of Lucifer's mark where it had branded her skin. The sight should have been an affront; instead, it broke Elisha open anew. "It makes sense," Sheba said, not unkindly. "You avoid me because of this. Because you cannot bear to be near Lucifer's mark on me. Is that it?"
"It's not what you think," Elisha sobbed, salt-tracing tears onto her cheeks. "I would never be disgusted by you. I'm ashamed—ashamed of myself. I failed you beyond what words can hold. I let him take you. I feel utterly unworthy. I promised myself I would find a way to break his claim before I showed my face again. I didn't want to hurt you further by appearing before I had a solution." She reached out and cupped Sheba's face; this time Sheba did not pull away.
Sheba listened to her thoughts while she spoke. Each confession washed across her like surf. Elisha's words landed and did not repel. There was a steadiness in Sheba's gaze now, and with it a softness that made the room shrink to a single, sacred place.
"Have you found a way to help me?" she asked, voice quieter, threaded with hope and exhaustion.
Elisha snuffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "Not yet." The answer trembled. "But I promise I will. I promise it won't be long. I'll find a way to rid you of his claim."
"That won't be necessary." Sheba's tone altered, sliding from brittle concern into something lascivious and tender at once. She looked at Elisha in a way that made warmth bloom low in Elisha's belly. "I have another way."
"You do?" Relief came so sudden it almost hurt. "What is it? Tell me. I will do anything."
"Of course you will." Sheba's fingers trailed along the water, sketching circles that caught the light. "You don't need to fight some impossible war. You need only do what you have always done best." She leaned forward, breath warm against Elisha's cheek. "Make me forget. Make me lose myself in you. Let pleasure drown out the claim for as long as it can. Can you do that for me?"
The question was a torch to dry tinder. Elisha's disbelief crumpled into a grin that was almost a sob. "The joy of my existence is to pleasure you, Sheba," she whispered, voice raw and worshipful. "I love you beyond measure. I would rather die than deny you anything."
"Good"...