The Monster's Wife(80)

A hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned to see Adam’s face tattooed from sleeping on the seam of his shirtsleeve. “Burning things? In the middle of the night?” His voice was throaty.

“I rose hours ago. I’m cooking.” She brushed a spider’s web from his shoulder.

He crouched by the fragile fire. “What are those?”

“Roots,” she smiled. “I’ve eaten them many a time.”

He stared at her and for a moment she thought he would hit her. But instead, he pulled her hard into his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“What was that for?” Her laugh was muffled against his skin.

“I don’t know.” He held her at arm’s length, looking at her intently.

She wondered at the strange, stung look on his face. He bent and kissed her, just a press of the lips at first. Then she felt the soft warmth of his mouth, mingling with hers, tasted salt and seaweed and heat. She put her arms around his neck and held him closer.

His hand moved to the curve of her back, his mouth pressing harder. His fingers fumbled for the hem of her dress, catching the flimsy cloth, pushing it up her thigh, feeling for her, touching her roughly so that she gasped, her back arching. He took her hand, slipping her fingers inside his breeks. She felt the rough tickle of the hair there, the tautness of him, caressing with her thumb until he groaned into her neck, a dewdrop of wetness slicking the flesh she held in her hand. He hoisted her up and laid her on the ground, pushing her dress up to her hips, un-tying the rope at his waist, poised between her legs, just watching her, flushed and trembling.

Stones rattled somewhere below them. There was another noise, maybe a muttered curse. Adam’s eyes widened. He rose to his knees, retying the rope. “Someone is there.”

Oona scrabbled up, pulling her dress down. She felt ashamed, as if someone had seen. Adam tiptoed to the brow of the hill, gesturing to her to keep back, but she followed him anyway. From where they stood, she could see a pile of fallen rocks, churned-up reddish earth and turf from the bank below, but no sign of a person. She reached for his hand. He slapped her away, his fingernails scratching her skin. She crouched back, frowning, sucking on the scored flesh, tinny with new blood. He turned to her, his face dark. “Stay here.”

As he walked to the fallen rocks, fists clenched, the words forced their way into her head again. He’s a murderer, cold-blooded. A monster. She pressed her hands to her ears to block out the echo she suddenly seemed to hear around the valley, squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the white blankness of those first awful days enter her head. Her knees weakened. Before she could steady herself, she sank to the floor.

“What is the matter with you?” Adam stood over her. His face was still dark and instead of putting out his hands to help her, he made fists of them.

“My head feels hot.” Tears stung the rims of her eyes.

He knelt down by her, brow furrowed, his face looking heavier, older. He held his hands out. Cupped in one of them was a metal object. “I found this in that heap of earth. Someone was climbing there and fell down the scree and ran off, left this.”

She squinted at the letters graven into the handle. She turned away, her hands over her face.

“It is his, isn’t it? Victor’s.” His voice shook. “Did you tell those men to bring him here?”

She said nothing, feeling hot tears slip between her fingers. He trusted her even less than she trusted him, despite what they’d been about to do. Her throat was dry, her head filled with rough noise. She felt Adam grab her hand and press the cold shape of the knife into her palm. He forced her fingers closed until the carved initials pressed into her like a brand. She yelped and dropped the knife. He stood. She could smell burning. It was roots. They’d be turning black in the fire, the white flesh inside growing hard and yellow-brown. It didn’t matter now. She stayed hunched over the knife. It glimmered wickedly between her trembling knees. He paced the hilltop like a trapped dog, growling.

At last she opened her mouth. “What will we do?”

“Be quiet.”

Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her thighs. She couldn’t stay where she was. She knelt by the fire, pulling out burnt roots like the black shapes of sinners, burning her hands. It was penance. It felt bad and good. She whined softly to herself at the hurt and sucked her scorched fingers.

Adam’s face appeared next to her. “Stop that.”

“Stop giving orders.” She poked at a burnt root.

“He is out here still. He’ll see us.” He wrenched her by the wrist like a naughty child, dragging her towards the cairn, half pulling her arm from the socket.

She pulled herself away, rubbing her burning shoulder. “You’re not my master.”

“I am as long as you behave like a child.” He dropped her hand, scowling. “You’d be helpless out there on your own.”

“Who fed us yesterday and today?”

He crouched down, eye to eye with her. “And who led that monster to our door?” He held her by the chin. “Was this a trap set for me?”

“No!”

He squeezed her face, his fingers a vice. “Liar!”

Her jaw ached as if her teeth would pop out, or her eyes. His grip was iron.

Her fist shot out, her sharp knuckles splitting his lip. Blood spurted from his mouth. He stared at her, startled.