Damon hadn’t spoken since they crested the ridge. Just dropped the packs, unfolded the tent, scraped together a sputtering fire, then collapsed outside with a groan. He was bleeding slightly through his bandages. Cassandra didn’t mention it. She was too busy trying not to vomit from exhaustion.
The tent smelled like herbs, the kind that stung. Cassandra crawled in like a wounded fox. She let out a small yelp as the herbs got to work.
The fire became dead ash. Damon snored, strong and rhythmic under the sea's hiss. Cassandra lay on the gritty sand inside the tent, wide awake despite her exhaustion. Damon’s shoulders wouldn’t leave her head, the muscle shifting under skin as he’d led her along the narrow trail. A pointless detail clinging like burrs. Why wouldn’t it drop?
A low ache took root deep inside her gut. Persistent. Insistent. Just there, thrumming like a badly tuned lute string. Another flaw in this leaking vessel she was trapped in. She needed it to stop.
Fine. Poke the malfunction.
She shoved her hand under the scratchy wool, down the tunic. Long, slender fingers met damp curls. More useless plumbing. The ache pulsed hotter, lower. There.
A clumsy touch found soft folds, slick. A jolt stabbed upwards. Sharp, bright, shocking. Too much. She froze. It wasn't pain, but it was loud in the quiet tent, like touching a frayed wire.
She eased back, pressing softer nearby. A hum this time, warmer, growing. Better. Firmer now. The hum swelled into a low wave, cresting, washing the ache back until it was almost gone. Relief, crude and fast. She repeated, focusing harder. Faster. The wave surged deeper, heavier warmth ripping a gasp from her. Her hips bucked, idiot limbs moving on their own. She willed them still.
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Pushing deeper found heat and soft walls. Space. She explored ridges and smooth patches, then hooked a finger up hard against the unyielding curve high inside... wet marble where no ledge should be.
Pressure.
Deep inside, a heavy pulse sparked. Then another, rhythmic, building like a drumbeat under her ribs. Different from the bright shock outside. Deeper. Pulling... A groan wrestled free, need laced with something else. Her back arched, muscles pulling taut like rigging. The wave built, a deep, rolling warmth tightening her belly, flooding her veins. Too much, yet somehow not enough? Absurd mortal nonsense.
She held the pressure, consumed, obliterated. Relief like drowning. Pathetic. Efficient.
Release. The pulse fractured into rough tremors, shattering the heat into sparks. Her body shook itself apart before slamming down onto the sand, lungs heaving, limbs water. Still. Finally.
But... the echo of that deep pulse lingered. Could she...? Was there more...?
The molten warmth wasn't enough. The ache transmuted, deeper, hungrier.
She drove her fingers deep, deeper, angling desperately upwards into yielding softness. Her knuckles strained. Pressed high inside. Pressed hard until it started to hurt, a dull, structural protest deep in her pelvis. She held for an age.
Nothing. Not at first. Just the ache blooming into something sharper.
Then...
Quake.
The pain shattered, replaced by a full-body surge erupting from her core. Deep. Resonant. A hum becoming thunder. Bones vibrating like plucked strings. Waves shaking her apart from the inside. The world vanished. Air fled. Sight blurred into grey static. Deeper than pain. Worse. She was coming undone at the seams. Unmade by her own stupid, leaking carcass. Idiotic punishment. Divine miscalculation.
Time clattered back. Sand sharp against her back. Canvas swam overhead. The ache was obliterated, replaced by warmth pooling low and thick as liquid lead. Done. Please, done.
Exhaustion dragged at her like deep water. Damon's shoulder was gone. Tomorrow's danger was smothered. Everything lay muffled under the raw wreckage her body had made. His snoring, the only anchor. The sea, meaningless noise.
One last jagged thought scraped through: So this is the price of flesh. No wonder they sleep.
