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Their momma and daddy had the twins and three years after them they had a daughter. Their momma had died birthing her, nearly taking poor Birdie with her. 

Thank the Lord for Lassie. She had kept calm when her friend went limp and unresponsive. Stack was told that Lassie had reached right in and taken the baby out, removing the fleshy noose from around the baby’s neck. Even after that, she had done what she could; going out of her way to find a new mother to give up some of her milk, giving their daddy Mary’s old baby clothes and even watching her when their daddy grew sick of looking at her. 

But there was only so much Lassie could do, and their father sure as hell didn’t know what to do with her. Too loud for a tiny baby who had come into the world too early. She had so much anger in her little body that only grew as she grew. 

You see, everyone knew she was a mistake. An accident. A night filled with cigar smoke and cheap hooch. A burden that had come at the wrong time. 

Their daddy made sure she knew it too. 

The twins didn’t see it like that though. She was good. Maybe she was too loud when all the world wanted to be was quiet. Maybe she was too angry with no good reason to be. But she was a Moore. She had their momma’s nose, her pretty eyes, and her pretty face. They could ignore that her temper came from their dad. She was only four after all. They had been no better at that age.

Besides, she grew out of it by the time she hit sixteen.

Till daddy’s beatings got worse. 

And then it was gone again. Draining between the floorboards as she scrubbed away their father’s blood. 

Stack still remembered waking up and seeing her face above his, a matching swollen eye inches from his own. Her pretty face had been purple and black and he knew she was in a world of pain, but despite that, she had grinned at him. He was sure their daddy must’ve finally knocked her brains loose—that she had gone crazy. 

She had smiled so wide, baring blood-stained teeth. 

“We’re free.” Willa hushed, her breath fanning over blood. “Ya’ hear me, Elias? We’re free.”

While Smoke was out burying the body she had bathed the blood from her brother, scolding him every time he fixed his mouth to speak about taking care of herself.

“Lemme jus’ do this, hm?” She mumbled, her top lip still fat from the hit it had taken. Stack couldn’t help but stare at it. It was the reason his daddy almost beat him to death. 

“C’mon, Willa. Take a look at your face.” He whispered. “You’re all we got left. We gotta stick together. You can’t do that when you only focus on us, can ya’?”

She had stared at him like he wasn’t speaking English—like he was dumb.

“Yer an idiot.” She huffed.

And they were.

When Mound Bayou was at their backs, the words of the mayor’s rejection still ringing in their ears, Stack suggested a few other places they could go. He had tried to fill the silent car with his rowdiness. Talking about how a town like that couldn’t handle the Moores taking over. How they were intimidated by the promise they saw in them. His jokes weren’t enough to save the day this time, Smoke could see the anger creep back into Willa’s eyes. 

“They must’ve heard ‘bout Birdie.” Stack chuckled, tossing his head to glance back into the backseat. “All that fighting you did when you was young finally caught up to you, huh?”

Neither brother noticed her flinch. 

Stack poked at Smoke next, mentioning how he looked just like their daddy and that’s why they had been turned away. Willa sighed then and sat up straighter. Her lone bag filled with her mother’s jewelry and a spare change of clothes weighed heavily in her lap. 

Willa had sung then. The only time Stack would shut up was when he heard good music. So she sang. 

“Now I got the crazy blues  

Since my baby went away 

I ain’t got no time to lose 

I must find him today  

Now the doctor’s gonna do all that he can  

But what you’re gonna need is an undertaker man 

I ain’t had nothin’ but bad news  

Now I got the crazy blues.” 

The motel they had stayed at that very night was the place Willa had decided to leave them. With Stack back at full health and the wounds that were placed by their daddy’s fist were now only faint scars, healed and old, they guessed she had found it easier to leave then. 

She left behind her pink piggy bank filled with quarters, a necklace from their mother, and a note. 

Stack didn’t read it. Couldn’t. 

Smoke read and kept it tucked by his heart with the juju bag Annie had given him like the fool he was. Stack could imagine it meant she had promised to come back one day. Deep down, behind the hurt, he hoped she did.

Two years later when she was twenty-four she came back. She had found them in Illinois. One of the people they ran with at the time had pointed out a woman looking for them. Usually, women wanted one twin or the other, none had ever called for both. 

They had found her sitting in the dark corner of the bar they frequented, a cigarette nestled between her fingers. 

They recognized her silhouette instantly. 

The SmokeStack twins had settled on either side of her. In the two years of being abandoned, Stack had plenty to say but when he saw her in the light he couldn’t even remember what those words were. 

The dim warm light of the bar illuminated a large scar on the right side of her face that started from below her eye and ended just under the curve of her jaw. And in that light, the twins could see that accompanying that scar was the anger—back like it had never left but with that anger…there was fear. 

She allowed them to set her up in the town they grew up in but she refused to say what had happened when she left. 

“I didn’t care much for the music.” That was all she said when asked. 

Willa pretended like they were the happy family they could’ve been if she had stayed. Smoke and Stack pretended like they only knew of the scar on her cheek.

Lips pressed against sweat-damp skin, bodies moved in perfect sync. Hands roamed curved flesh, pale fingers digging into dark skin.  

Willa tossed her head back, neck straining as she fought to hold back a moan. A growl vibrated from the man above her, animalistic, angry. Those hands that caressed her so lovingly wound around her neck, thumbs pulling her chin down to release her teeth from her lips.  

“What did I say about keeping those pretty noises from me?” Remmick huffed, his breath warming her damp lips. When she only shook her head he chuckled, his hips slowing to a maddening drag. “You know what I want.” He paused, the tip of his dick just barely within her—and it was torture. He worked it in a bit more, shallowly thrusting, giving just enough to have her panting. “C’mon, pretty girl. Lemme hear the music you make.”  

Willa gasped, her poor neglected pussy clenching down on practically nothing. Maybe he didn’t know it but his accent always came out strong while he was inside her.  

A hand left her face to snake down between their bodies and her eyes snapped open. As rough fingertips brushed over her clit she met dark eyes. Remmick bent his head slowly, candlelight catching on the bone of his brow and the slope of his cheek. When she moaned, his eyes flashed red, greedily watching her as she impatiently tried to work herself on his dick.  

“Move.” She commanded. 

He listened, rutting into her heat as he drew quick circles over her clit. It made her a mess. Turned her into a blubbering moaning whore. And the man above her loved it. Red glinted eyes obsessively stared down at her glittering dark skin, at the sweat-damp neck that taunted him. At the dark eyes that stared back at him unflinchingly—like she was trying to burn his face into her memory. Those dark eyes fell half-mast, struggling to stay open as he worked her over. 

Fuck, he could tell she was close, could feel her fluttering around his cock. Hear her heart stuttering like it always did when she— 

The music he craved filled the air, soft, wispy, seductive, and warm. 

A snarl left him soon after, his hips no doubt bruising her own as he pushed himself as deep as he could go before stilling, his head slotting down to rest right next to her own. Hands both soft and rough ran over his hair and along his shoulders, over and over and over. 

Remmick rolled himself over, a hand coming around her waist to press her into his side. Absent-mindedly he passed a hand over her wet pussy, pressing a thumb inside to keep in the cum that threatened to come out. 

“I hope you know that ain’t gon’ do nothin’,” Willa murmured, squirming when he removed his digit to strum at her clit again. 

“I just like knowin’ yer full of me.” He gruffed and finally left her poor overstimulated body alone. He turned his head down to watch her for a moment before sitting up and carefully maneuvering her body to the side. Willa was one of those pretty girls. The ones that didn’t fully know just how beautiful they really were. A real tragedy if you asked him. It was fine by him really, he could spend the rest of her days letting her know just how mesmerizing she was.  

Remmick disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged with a damp washcloth, wiping down his girl, smirking when her breath hitched. He could feel his dick getting hard again as he cleaned her. It was unusual for him to be so insatiable, to want a singular person as badly as he did. 

But he did. He was man enough to admit he was obsessed with this woman. 

“Remi baby, I’m clean now, I think.” Willa giggled, a foot coming up to press against his chest. Remmick grabbed at her ankle, sliding a hand along smooth skin until he reached the bend of her knee.

“Lemme get a taste and see if it is.” 

A pillow thumped against his face and he finally let up with a chuckle, tossing the wet cloth to the side carelessly and beginning to scour the bedroom floor for their clothing. Willa reached for a cigarette, lighting it carefully before taking a dainty drag. 

“My brothers would kill me if they saw me now.” She muttered. Rimmick paused in his search for his pants before bending and shoving his shirt over his head. 

“Don’t approve of you sleeping with strangers, huh?” He surmised, though he was hardly a stranger. Far from it. He tossed her dress onto the mattress and finally located his pants.  

Willa snorted. “Them boys probably got more bodies than a Chicago whore. I don’t care about that.” She waved the cigarette, the smoke curling around her fingertips. “I used to hate the smell of smoke. Used to hate a lot of things actually.” 

Remmick turned to watch her, staring as her face went from open to unreadable. He hated that. He wanted to know her soul. Wanted to do what his base instincts told him to and just take what he wanted. 

The dark skinned girl sat up, heavy breasts proudly on display before she covered them with her dress. “I gotta go.”  

Like always, his chest tightened when she said that. Only relaxing when he reminded himself that she would come back. 

She always did. 

When she finished dressing, looking as clean and presentable as she did before, she made her way over to him. The raised scar on her cheek stood out in the candlelight and he leaned down to kiss it.  

“My pretty girl…” Large hands cradled her head, thumbs dragging gently along the skin under her eye. “Tomorrow, darlin’?” He murmured. Willa nodded, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. He didn’t notice the wobble in her chin when she leaned up to kiss him. 

“I’ll see ya’ tomorrow.” 

What a liar she was. 

Clarksdale, Mississippi | October 16, 1932 | 

Fingers carefully rolled thin paper together, packing the Turkish tobacco into a cylinder shape. Folding the edge inward those nimble fingers tucked the paper in, rolling until only a small edge was left. A tongue darted out to quickly lick along the adhesive before laying the edge down flat. Tapping the freshly rolled cigarette against the table, Willa added it to her pile. 

Dirt crunched along the path behind her cottage and the windchimes she put up rang wildly in the wind. Standing up quietly from her kitchen chair, Willa moved to the kitchen doorway and paused, reaching a hand up until her fingers closed around metal. Making her way to the back door, she peeked through one of the curtains to see the pair of tall dark silhouettes standing still in the middle of her porch. 

“Just us, Birdie. You can put the shotgun down.” Smoke called, his voice muffled by the glass. Willa’s lip curled at the childish nickname. Swiping back all four of her locks she swung the door open to swing the muzzle of her shotgun toward his balls.

“Call me ‘Birdie’ again.” 

Stack raised a brow, cocking his head down at her before pushing past her to move into her home, leaving Smoke to deal with her alone.

Smoke sighed and used a pointer finger to push the barrel down. “It ain’t ever that serious,” A muscle tugged at the corner of his lips, gold flashing alongside white. “Birdie.”

Willa huffed, turning her back on the man to wander into her home, not even bothering to invite him in. The fool owned the place anyway.

“I don’t remember teachin’ you to shoot just so you could point weapons at me.” Smoke drawled from behind her, his heavy weight making her normally silent floors creak. “Where’d you get that anyways?”

“None of yer business.” Willa sighed before pausing by her small bedroom. “Quit snoopin’, Stack, or you’ll find somethin’ you ain’t ready to see.”

Dual scoffs of disgust echoed around her and she chuckled, moving her way into the kitchen. 

“What y'all want? Tea? Coffee?” She called, placing the shotgun back in its spot over the kitchen doorway. “Got this fancy tea from—“ She cut herself off, an unseen blush warming her cheeks. Exhaling quietly, she moved her kettle onto the stove. Reaching into her bralette, she brought out her stolen lighter and lit the stove, the flame reminding her of a man she wished she had allowed herself to know a little longer.

Behind her she could hear her brothers settling into her kitchen chairs, talking quietly to one another. 

“Birdie.” 

Willa sighed and looked over her shoulder at Stack. She was glad to see that he looked good, the wound she had sewn shut all those years ago was barely visible. 

“Hm?” She hummed, turning back around to gather three cups. She was glad that they both looked good. Better than good if she were being honest. She had caught a peek at their fancy clothes. Shit, they even smelled expensive now. 

She placed the cups down in front of them, ignoring the probing look Stack gave her when she pressed a kiss to his temple. Smoke tilted his head unconsciously to receive one as well and she smirked when she caught the scent of incense on his collar. 

“We bought that land by the fields. The one with the old sawmill on it.” Stack said, adding a few spoons of sugar to his cup while Smoke left his alone. Willa turned back to the stove, her hand falling on the old wooden handle of the kettle. The scars on her knuckles appeared almost white from the way she gripped the thing.

“We fixed it up a bit. Turned it into a juke joint…and we’re openin’ it tonight.” Smoke added slowly, almost cautiously.

Willa froze and she could hear them lean forward. 

“We want you to sing.” Stack stood, moving to her right side since she refused to turn and look at them. 

“No.” 

“C’mon, I haven’t heard you sing since you was twenty-one. Bet you sound just—“

“Stack, I said no.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. 

Lemme hear the music you make. 

“…Birdie? Willa, you're shakin’.” A hand touched the back of her own and she flinched. The warm air in the cottage became as cold as an icebox.

“The fuck was that?” Smoke moved to her other side, tilting his head down to try and catch her eye.

“Wasn’t nothin’.” Willa rebuffed, moving her shaking hands down her front.

“That wasn’t ‘nothin’.” Smoke persisted, his voice dangerously low. “Someone put their hands on you while we was gone?”

Her eyes snapped closed. “No one did a damn thing.”

“Why do I feel as though you're lyin’ to us? Huh?” Stack removed the kettle from the flame and shut off the stove, a hand at the small of her back nudging her closer to Smoke.

Her lungs felt tight. “If I sing at yer jook house will y’all leave me alone about it?”

They both paused and she opened her eyes to catch them sharing a look over her head. Rolling her eyes she pushed them away. “The answer is yes.” 

A hand touched her throat, fingering the leather strap there and she sighed.

“You still talk to Annie?” Stack asked, something she couldn’t quite recognize coloring his voice.

“‘Course I do.”

Smoke knew she did. He spotted the bundle of fresh sunflowers and white hyacinths at his daughter's grave. The same ones decorated the sides of the path leading to her door and currently sat on her windowsill. 

Stack grunted, “We gotta finish settin’ up, Sammie’s  still in the car.” His hand lingered for a moment, the back of his knuckles running along the scar he wished he knew the story of. 

Willa gaped. “Ya’ll have me warmin’ up water for no reason? While my poor baby cousin is fryin’ in that car? Go get Sammie and then we can go.”

The twins exchanged a look but ultimately listened. 

At the door she gave her cousin a squeeze, rocking him back and forth and pinching his cheek as she called him adorable.

“Girl, you ain't that much older than him.” Smoke chuckled shortly, watching his baby sister with a ghost of a smile. They all knew it was there even if they couldn’t see it.

“That don’t mean shit. He’s still adorable—look at this face.” She refused to comment about the bass in his voice though. 

Willa forced the boys to sit and got out her fancy chamomile tea, adding it to the three cups.

“You gon’ be singin’ later, Sammie. Lemme add honey to yer cup.” Willa even slid him a biscuit. Sammie smiled under the special attention. He was the oldest of four with high expectations from his father. But Willa had a way of making him feel cherished especially when she cared so much about him taking care of his hands and his voice. 

Willa turned back to her brothers, raising a brow expectantly. “What you callin’ this place anyways?”

Stack smiled at her, gold and white flashing. “Club Juke.”

Willa stood just outside the door, swaying to the music as Cornbread yammered on about this and that. She had no idea what the man was saying. And she didn’t care. As soon as she finished her smoke she would go in and dance with the man who had been eying her like she was candy. It had been years since she allowed herself to have this much fun. 

She let her eyes shut, humming along to the song her cousin was singing. Imagining red glinted eyes watching her as she moved.

“You gonna sing, Birdie?” Cornbread asked, interrupting her.

“Maybe later.” She sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. She had promised she would, so she would. She was trying not to be the liar her brothers knew her to be. “Save me a dance later, ya’ hear!”

She walked back inside, unaware of the eyes that watched her. 

Her hips swayed as she felt the music deep in her chest. The man from earlier found her immediately, his hand coming to rest on her hip, moving her until her core was hovering right over his thigh. 

“Been watchin’ you dance all night.” The man murmured, low and slow. 

Willa kept her hands to herself, a hand moving up to keep her hair off of her damp neck. “I know.” She drawled, her lips curling up when the man gave her hip a squeeze. 

“Avoidin’ me, then?” Lips brushed along her temple and she turned her head away to watch another couple dance only to catch a glimpse of Sammie and Pearline disappearing into a room. 

“Hmm.” Willa hummed distractedly, a grin taking over her coy smile. “You was sittin’ there not movin’. Seemed to me you just the type to watch.” She suppressed the urge to sigh, pushing off of him, taking a quick glance at his expression. “I promised to buy my friend a drink. You can watch me dance later.” She lied.

Without waiting for his response she slipped away, scrubbing a hand over her forehead until it felt somewhat dry. A hint of pale skin had her pausing before she pushed her way past a gyrating pair and into Mary’s face. 

“Mary!” Willa shouted, gathering the older woman in her arms. She could feel her freezing before quickly returning the embrace. Willa pulled back slightly, tears causing her lashes to turn spikey. “Momma Lassie—I sent you a letter and some money for the funeral. You got it right? ‘Cause if it was lost—“

Mary smiled down at her. “I got it, Birdie. Thank you.” Her slim fingers rose to cradle each side of her face, and it was then that Willa noticed that she had been crying. “I missed you, girl.” 

Willa smiled, big and wide. Toothy and white with a hint of gold. “I missed ya’ too.” She eyed the tear track before tugging her in the direction of the bar. “Lemme buy you a drink. You still like whiskey, right?”

At the bar, Grace greeted her with a smile and slipped them both their drink of choice. Whiskey for Mary and rum for Willa. 

“Where’s Bo at?” Mary inquired, downing her glass and gesturing for another. 

“He’s around. You’ll see him when I get him to dance with me again.” Grace sighed, moving down the bar to take care of someone else. 

Willa watched Mary silently. She had just lost her momma but here she was dancing and crying. Willa took a sip of her rum, eyes squinting over the glass. “Ya’ look fancy tonight.” Fancy like she was trying to catch a certain someone’s eye.

Mary turned her brown eyes to her, a brow coming up as she looked at Willa. “Me?! You don’t know what you look like then. All dressed in white, like a bride on her weddin’ night.” Willa snickered, her cheeks warming. 

“It’s the only dress I had, surprised it still fits me.” 

Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t ‘This ole thing’ me. That looks brand new.” 

Willa turned her eyes down to the dress, a hand coming up to smooth her neckline. “Wore it only once in New Orleans.” She had lost her virginity in this dress. Like a real bride on her wedding night. “It was the best day of my life, I think.” 

Mary hummed, eyes far away as if she was reminiscing on the best day of her life. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Willa could see her two brothers moving through the crowd and she stood immediately, fixing her dress as she followed a distance behind them.

“Y’all must be the owners of this fine establishment.” 

Willa froze, causing Annie to shoot her a glance as she moved around her. Mary ran a hand down her waist, squeezing it when she felt Willa trembling. A concerned look took over her face when she felt the unmistakable form of Willa’s revolver. 

“Names Remmick.” Willa nearly fainted right then and there, she barely managed to wave Mary away as she moved to listen out of sight from the doorway. 

Willa was only half listening really. She was sure she had never told him where she was from. Never mentioned the Delta or her brothers by name. How had he managed to find her brother’s barrelhouse on its grand opening? How was he here and not in New Orleans?

Her stomach churned as she listened to him and the other white folks with him sing about robbing. Her face scrunched when she saw Stack’s stupid self bobbing his head like an idiot. 

When Smoke was finally able to send them on their way she stepped out from behind Pearline. 

As if the man had super hearing, he cocked his head, glancing back just enough so that she could see the grin on his face. Willa continued to stare out that door long after seeing his back disappear behind one of the cars. 

It was him. He was here.

Her mind flashed to the night she had left him. The kiss on her scar. The fingers digging into her skin. The sweat that tasted so good on her tongue. The words that kept her up at night. 

“My pretty girl…”  

“Let me hear the music you make…” 

Willa moved a step closer to the door. She could talk to him. Tell him why she had to leave. Willa took another step and another—

A hand brushed against her temple, warm and soothing. Clearing. 

“You okay, girl?” Annie whispered, eyes roving over her face long after Willa gave her a nod. “Then c'mon. You can help me fry up some catfish since you just standin’ there.”

Willa gaped, “You know I’m wearin’ white silk, right?” 

“Mhm. Don’t know why either. You shoulda known where you'd end up.” Annie took her by the arm, and Willa cast one last look out the door before following her. 

On stage, Pearline was already beginning her song, the seductive tune a welcome distraction to the man who haunted her thoughts. 

Annie led her to a seat, nudging her until she finally sat down. Willa watched as her friend prepared a plate with a fillet of catfish, a steaming square of baked mac n cheese, and a slice of cornbread. 

Willa opened her mouth to say that she honestly wasn’t hungry at all but the look Annie tossed her had her keeping quiet. Finally, Annie pushed the warm plate in front of her, those watchful eyes looking from her to the door. 

“Eat. Ya’ look grey.” 

Smoke eyed the man in front of him, the cut from the razor was deep, slicing from the bridge of his nose, sweeping horizontally along his cheek, and ending just shy of his ear.

“Yea’, you gon’ need some stitches.” He turned to look over his shoulder at Sammie. “Get Stack…and Willa while you’re at it.”

Sammie nodded and moved through the crowd, his eye falling on Pearline on stage as she stomped to the beat of the music. Coiffed hair loose, pretty dark brown skin shining. A smile pulled at his lips without his permission as he watched her run her left hand down the front of her body. 

Ringless without even a hint of an indent. 

Maybe later he’ll convince Smoke to let him borrow the car. Let him take her on a proper date. One she deserved. 

He turned away and immediately spotted his cousin.

Willa’s face was half-tipped in the dark, her singular gold tooth flashing as she took a drag from a cigarette. As she crossed her legs he caught a flash of metal before she readjusted the silken fabric to cover it. She didn’t smile at the man talking to her, her head tilted like she didn’t give a shit about what he was trying to say. 

It was then that he could see how she was related to the twins. Yeah, everyone knew about Birdie, sister of the SmokeStack twins. But he could see here that this was the girl who had liked to fight when she was a teenager. The girl who couldn’t talk slick like her brother Stack or make people move with one look like Smoke, but she sure as hell could hit hard and heavy like a man. 

And with that scar that cut neatly through her pretty face, he could see how this version of her could fit seamlessly next to her brother’s. 

Willa met his eyes suddenly and he froze until she smiled questioningly at him. Sammie jerked his head, making a sewing motion with his hands before he turned and went to look for Stack. 

Willa sighed noisily and pushed the man talking to her to the side, making her way to the back room where the sound of groans and boots on flesh could be heard. As she came upon the scene she sniffed, the scent of blood causing her nose to wrinkle. Settling up next to Smoke, she gestured down to her dress. 

“Do I need to remind you that I’m wearin’ white?” 

Smoke didn’t even bother to look at her, impatiently handing her a black spool and a needle. “I’ll buy you another one if you fix him up.” Sammie came to whisper in his ear and he left. Leaving her to deal with the weaving man in front of her.

Willa turned to him and sighed. “‘Ight, c’mon.” She squinted at his wound and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the countertop, tipping it over to splash it on her hands. Another man kindly handed her a cup of water and she carefully poured it over the bloody man's face.  

From experience, she knew that face wounds tended to bleed almost excessively but they healed better than any other part of her body. Unfortunately for this man, he would be left with a scar. 

“Okay, I gotta splash this vodka on yer face, no tellin’ what typa nastiness was on the shit that cut you—“

Shots stole the rest of the words right out of her mouth and she ducked instinctively, raising her head enough to catch sight of a bloodied Mary sprinting from the building. Giggling.

Scrambling from the floor, Willa pushed her way through the crowd to see Annie and Slim enter one of the rooms. She just managed to get to the door as it began to close, a surprised Slim mumbling about how strong she was. 

Air left her lungs in a short pitiful whimper. Her knees buckled and it took Slim to keep her from falling like a dead weight. Pushing away from him she crawled on her hands and knees, adding her much smaller hands on top of Smoke’s, cradling Stack's neck. 

“S-she bit me.” He stuttered, the gaping wound in his neck flapping with each thump of his heart, emptying his blood onto the floor between them. Willa yanked her hand away to rip away the sash at her waist, the pins that had kept it secured to her dress ripped jagged cuts into her skin that she couldn’t even feel. Balling the fabric against his wound she shushed him, her tears spraying from her lips as she stared at the way his blood rapidly drenched silk. 

Her eyes darted from face to face. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? 

When she met Annie’s eyes she almost snarled like an animal. She could see the helplessness there—could see that there wasn’t a thing she could do to keep Stack from losing his blood.

Willa turned back to Stack, lips trembling as she spoke to a God that had never listened to her before. “Lord, please.” She hissed, angry like she had never been. “Don’t you dare take him away from me.” 

Smoke held the bundle of silk tighter, shuddering as he watched their brother’s blood gush past the pressure of their combined hands. 

“I’m scared.” Stack gasped, words barely understandable as he quivered, continually trying to speak through chattering teeth. His eyes moved between them before they settled on Smoke. “Love you.”

For the first time in her life, Stack stopped talking. 

The silence was deafening.

Willa struggled for air. The sound of her rapid breathing filled the small silent room. Her eyes stayed glued to Stack, waiting for him to say it was all a stupid joke. That she was just as gullible as she was when she was a child. Then she would make him promise to never do such a mean thing like this again. Willa removed her hands from his neck and picked up his hand. 

“Okay…” Her voice broke and she pressed his limp hand to her cheek. “Alright…” 

Distantly she could hear Annie talking. Couldn’t make out what the fuck she was saying even though the woman was right next to her. Her ears were only waiting for the sound of Stack. To hear him say he loved her too. To tell her he could forgive her for running away when she had everything she ever needed in them. 

“Elias…” She tried again, tears blurring her vision.

Willa rocked slowly, her breath hiccuping in her chest when he didn’t respond.

“I coulda stopped it.” 

Willa paused her rocking, taking far too long to realize that that was Elijah talking and not Elias. Willa tuned everyone out again. Waiting for her big brother to stop being so limp. 

Memories flashed.

Two pairs of hands holding her own, lifting her and swinging her small body between them. 

A red hat dropped on her head, so big that it fell over her brow. 

A blued revolver with her initials carved into the handle, a gift that was currently digging into her side. 

A knife on her sixteenth birthday, a reminder that some people bring knives to a fist fight. 

Stack’s eyes closed as he listened to her sing, a smile on his face as he tapped his ring on the table. 

A kiss to her temple when she fell asleep rolling cigarettes.  

She shook her head, dragging her eyes around the room slowly. Elijah. 

She turned her head, Stacks’ knuckles bumping against her cheekbone before she gently laid it in her lap. 

She looked up to see Smoke watching her. Shaking his head as tears dried on his cheek. “He’s gone.” His voice shook as if he had to repeat it a few times too many. 

As if the weight of it was crushing him. 

Lord, it was crushing her. The weight of losing their sat on her chest—making it so that her chest couldn’t pull in the proper amount of air it needed. 

The grip she had on Stack’s hand tightened. 

Her heart shattered when he didn’t squeeze back. 

She felt as if she was permanently rooted to the ground. As if she could soak right into the floor, dripping between the dust covered floorboards like the blood pooling around her knees.

Willa’s eyes welled and she looked away from him, causing them to spill and land on Stack's hand. Using her tears, she wiped his hand clean of blood and placed it so that it rested on his motionless chest. 

Numbly, she watched as Smoke carefully laid Stack's head down and stand, taking time to adjust his twins’ clothes. As he passed her he paused, reaching down to haul her out of the puddle of blood. She expected him to walk out then, to go and deal with the rest of the party and leave her to be comforted by someone else. 

Until he hugged her. 

Gathered her so close she couldn’t breathe. That was okay. She didn’t really want to do any of that at the moment. Weak arms hugged him back, clinging to him like she had when she was a child. He allowed her to hold onto him for a little while longer before stumbling back, turning to exit the room. 

Willa stood still. Nausea bubbling in her gut when she sent a look in the direction her brother's body laid in. Willa stumbled. That almost got her. Seeing Stack laying there—still and unmoving. 

“C’mon,” Slim murmured, softest she had ever heard his voice. “Sit on that chair there.” She allowed him to lead her out the room and onto a chair by the open door. A cool breeze blew in, dragging the scent of blood out of her nose. 

She was getting real tired of smelling copper. 

Reaching into her bralette she tugged out the lighter she had stolen years ago. Steady fingers flicking it open and closed in sharp movements. 

Her eyes trailed out into the night, catching Cornbread mumbling as he stomped his way to the door. She wondered where Mary went. She had been the one to rip a chunk out of Elias like he was a fine ribeye steak. 

Sliding her lighter back to where it belonged, she lifted her dress, uncaring that she had just flashed the room with her bare thighs. Her hand settled on the warm handle of her revolver, slipping it out of the holster easily. She let her dress fall back down and held its comforting weight in her lap, her mind going back in time to Stack warning her to only aim at what she wanted to shoot. What she intended to kill. 

Slim shifted uneasily, watching her caress the white handle like it was a tiny pet poodle. 

“Slim! Smoke!” Cornbread hollered when he was finally within hearing distance. Slim narrowed his eyes on the big man, his hand on her arm to assist her up when she moved to stand. 

“Where the hell ya’ been at? Huh?” His eyes darting up and down, taking in Cornbread’s appearance. 

“To go see a man about a dog—like I told you, you old drunk. Turns out I needed to take a shit too.” His eyes were almost eerily wide when they landed on Willa. A glint of recognition making them seem brighter than normal. She could feel Smoke moving to stand behind her to her left side. “Gah dawg! What happened to the two of you?” 

Willa cocked her head at him, her dress damp in the front, sticking to her skin with Elias’s blood. The grip she had on her revolver began to shake. 

She watched on silently as Smoke told him of their brother's death. Cornbread shook his head, the apology he gave sounding false even to her ringing ears.

“Well, let me in so I can help.” He looked at her then, and she swore she could smell the scent of wet copper on him.

“Hol’ on.” Annie stepped up to her other side, meeting Cornbread’s gaze with a narrowed one of her own. “Why you need ‘em to do that? You big and strong to push past us.” 

Willa darted her eyes to Annie and then back to Cornbread. 

“Well that wouldn’t be so polite now would it Miss Annie.” 

The hairs on the back of Willa’s neck rose and she adjusted the grip on her gun, one finger at a time. It was when he disrespected Annie that she took a step back from the door. 

Willa had seen and heard alot of shit in her life. Shit, she had even helped her brother finish burying their father. But it was extremely odd to hear Annie accuse Cornbread of being dead when he was standing there talking so animatedly. But it was also odd to hear him talk about ‘We’ when he was the only one they could see standing there, and swinging his arms wide preaching about being kind to one another. 

When Smoke refused to allow him entry again he stuck his hand out, palm facing up as he demanded he be paid for the job he failed to do properly. 

Willa squinted, her words came out hoarse and raspy—like she had just swallowed a strip of sandpaper. “I don’ see why it’s a good reason to pay a man who abandoned his post for twenty minutes.” Cornbread's eyes flashed to her, causing Smoke to step in front of her, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a few dollars.

Behind them Slim rambled about not handing Cornbread not one cent. 

Annie tilted her head. “Careful.” Her eyes were knowing in a way only people who practiced rootwork were. 

Slowly Smoke reached beyond the doorway, his fingers holding out the money to place it in Cornbread's hand. 

It happened quickly. Her brother’s arm getting yanked and raised to sharp pointed teeth, his quick hand drawing his gun to pop Cornbread in the mouth. 

And despite taking a bullet to the face, big ole Cornbread managed to push himself up and lunge for her brother again. Blood splattered across her face as her arm jerked four times. One, two, three, and four bullets finding their way into his chest, jerking his body but not stopping him from chasing after Smoke's scrambling form. It was only when Smoke was beyond the threshold did Cornbread stop dead in his tracks, white opaque eyes glinting as he watched her, even as the door closed.

Willa shook her arm out, flipping over the cylinder of her revolver to release the empty cartridges to the wooden floor, her thumb keeping the other four from joining the others. Jerking the cylinder back into the frame she met Smoke’s eyes. 

“You good?” Her voice came out embarrassingly shaky but she honestly couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had almost lost him. Just minutes after losing her other brother. As if he could see that he nodded, moving closer to her to brush the hair that had escaped her loose bun behind her ear. 

“Didn’t even scratch me.” He assured her quietly. She bobbed her head once before weakly sending her fist into his side. 

“Ya’ couldn’t have just tossed him the fuckin’ money?” 

He shook his head, no doubt reeling from what had just happened. “If I had known he was about to take a bite—maybe. I mean, shit—how’d he even get back up?” 

“Smoke!” The siblings both turned to Sammie, exchanging a glance as they made their way towards the back room. 

“Smoke? Go on ahead, open up this door and let me outta here.” 

Willa rushed forward just barely managing not to run poor Pearline over as she pressed an ear to the door. Smoke peered into the hole in the door and she clutched at his hand. She could feel it shaking in her grasp. 

“Stack…that you?” Smoke asked hesitantly. 

“Nah fool, it’s Jim Crow.” Stack answered, “Nigga, ‘course it’s me, open the door.” 

Willa shook her head. She had just watched him die. She had watched him tell Stack he loved him with his last breath. She still had his damp blood drying on her skin. Ain’t nobody was getting up after losing that much blood. Not even Stack. 

She turned her head to stare at Smoke, pleading with her eyes to see what she was seeing. 

Smoke turned back to the door. “How you feelin’? You lost a lot of blood.” They could both hear him moving around inside. Which should’ve been impossible. 

“Yeah. It was scary. I’m feelin’ much better now.” Stack paused. “I swear. On momma’s grave.” 

Willa flinched. “You mean that Elias?” Her bottom lip wobbled. “Yer okay?”

She could hear him breathing on the other side as the others spoke behind her. “Yeah, Birdie. I’m feelin’ real good. No pain or nothin’.” He sighed. “How about you let your big brother out of this room, huh? You know where the key is?” 

“No.” Willa shook her head. Backing up from the door when he gave it a thump.

“Smoke,” Annie started, waiting for him to turn and look at her. “That ain’t your brother.” 

Willa had to cover her ears, the cold handle of her revolver pressing painfully into the cartilage. She could still hear him talking, demanding to be let out of the room as he hit against the door. Smoke moved away to go look for the key and Sammie took his spot, voice low as he called out to his cousin. Only a few seconds after calling out the door came crashing down. 

Willa yelped and pressed her back into the wall, staring wide eyed as her brother was splashed with pickled garlic juice. Boils appeared on his skin like he had been doused in hot grease instead. As he ran passed her she gagged at the smell of burning flesh, her eyes glued to his form as he yanked the door open. 

Willa puffed at a cigarette, listening to Remmick and his new fellow vampires sing music from his homeland. It was odd to consider her neighbor’s and friends as vampires now. That their sole instinct was to bite and feed on the living. Glancing out the window she could see them all dancing like they had never done before, singing a song she knew for a fact most of them had never heard before. 

It was all Remmick’s doing. She knew it was. 

Willa couldn’t help but feel guilty even if Remmick said he had come for Sammie. A part of her knew that he had stayed for her too. That meant she was responsible for her brother turning. She was responsible for Smoke losing his other half. That was on her. And it broke her heart that he didn’t even know it. 

He would probably hate her when she told him she was involved with a vampire. An Irish vampire who was the reason for the massacre that had taken place. 

Willa flinched when someone nudged her shoulder. 

“Still avoidin’ me, huh?” 

Willa tilted her head to watch the man. She didn’t even know his name. Didn’t want to know it. “I wasn’t doin’ that in the first place, sir.” She tiredly sighed, looking away from him to avoid his garlic breath. “I gotta sharpen more stakes, excuse me.” She rose from her spot, not bothering to give him another glance. 

“Sorry ‘bout your brother.” He called after her. 

Yeah. She was sorry too.

Remmick watched her from his spot next to Bo. She was as pretty as the day she left him, if not more so. Fuller in the hips and the stubborn innocence of childhood scrubbed clean out from her eyes. Gorgeous and his. 

Even if she didn’t know it yet. 

He tilted his head at Sammie but kept his eyes on her. “You come with me and I’ll let the rest of them live.” 

He could hear both of their hearts thudding loudly and by God, he was one greedy son-of-a-bitch. He wanted them both. Sammie could bring back his people with his music and his Willa would witness it all from her rightful place at his side. 

Where she belonged. 

Behind him Stack and Mary waltzed up. Hand in hand. They were able to be together with him. Because of him. Free from the prejudices of the world. 

That had happened because of him.

And he could have that with Willa. He would. 

He watched her pretty brown eyes turn flintly at the sight of Mary, a snarl ripping out of her throat as she raised her revolver. Mary lifted her hands mockingly, her eyes glinting white as Stack stepped in front of her. 

“You wouldn’t shoot yer brother now, would ya’?” Remmick cooed, smiling when her eyes snapped back to him. He hoggishly soaked up her attention. “I know all about ya’ now. Birdie.” Her hand began to shake and he smiled at her. Nodding even as she shook her head.

“Know that the scar on your inner thigh was from gettin’ in a fight. Nearly killed ya’.” Remmick tilted his head, “Should’ve known you was a girl who liked to fight. See, you been fightin’ the inevitable all these years.”

Smoke shook his head, refusing to move his eyes from the man in front of him. “Willa, what the hell is he talkin’ about?” 

Rocks kicked up as Stack threw his arm around Remmick’s neck. “This here is our brother-in-law. I can see all of his memories.” Willa finally let her arm drop, the revolver thumping against her thigh. “Turns out we ain’t the only ones Birdie’s ran away from.” 

Willa choked. “I ran for good reason.” She took a step forward, one Remmick matched readily, staring down at her with his red glinted eyes on full display. 

“You don’t need to run anymore, Willa. You don’t have to be scared.” Stack whispered, a smile he reserved only for his baby sister gracing his lips. Remmick could hear her breath stall in her chest at that. “Us three…we was fooling ourselves thinking we could find freedom. Mound Bayou. Chicago. New Orleans…well we don’t gotta search for it anymore.” Stack met Smoke’s eyes. “It’s right here. This is the way. Forever. Together.” He took a step closer. “And I ain’t doin’ it without ya’. There is no me without ya’.” 

Remmick could see that those words had gotten to them both. He could practically feel Willa’s resolve breaking as she struggled for air. As she struggled to even stand. 

Willa took a step, her face breaching the doorway, her eyes straying to Remmick’s. He could see it there, that she wanted him to rip her from safety—to relinquish her from having to make the decision to walk out willingly. 

Remmick reached up. He wanted to touch her, to feel her skin. And he would have if that woman, Annie, hadn’t dragged the siblings inside and slammed the door in his face.

Willa collapsed against the wall, ragged breaths whistling out of her. “I should go. I can. He wants me. He’ll leave y’all alone. I can make him go away.” Arms wound their way around her body as she shook. 

“I ain’t letting you leave this buildin’, ya’ hear me?” Smoke gruffed. “Fuck all that shit he just said. You ran straight back home to us for a reason—for us to protect you. Stack can’t do it anymore, so I will, okay?” 

He pushed his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes until she finally got it through her thick skull. 

“I ain’t hear you.” 

“Okay.” Willa mumbled.

Smoke finally moved away and Willa released a shaky breath. Her unbroken grip around her gun was shaken. It was shaken the moment Stack stepped in front of the muzzle. She could never shoot Stack. 

Not after all the years of her sewing him back together. She couldn’t be the one to undo all of that fixing. 

Sammie settled next to her, a warm presence that she found herself leaning into. 

“So a vampire, huh?” He nudged her gently. “He the one that gave you the scar?” 

Willa ran her fingertips over the raised skin on her cheek, shaking her head. “He saved me from the one who did.”

Sammie hummed. “When did you find out what he was?”

Willa smiled at him. A sad heartbroken smile. 

“The day I met him.” She turned slightly, reaching into her blood soaked dress to show him a lighter. It wasn’t anything special really. But it was in good condition, obviously cared for and used often. “Ya’ know, all I ever wanted was to be free of this wrath inside me. I looked to the wrong types of people to make me forget it was there.” 

Her eyes stared over his shoulder at the door, glossed over. He could practically see the events as she spoke about them. About being held down, her head forced to stay still as a man far bigger than her dug the tip of his blade into delicate skin. Sammie’s eyes traced over the scar on her face. It was straight, and the edges were only slightly ragged.

“To this day I can’t fully remember what I said to make him so mad.” Willa shrugged, flipping her lighter open to stare into the flame. “I think I refused to sing for his friends.”

“And Remmick? How did he save you?”

“He snapped all of their necks.” The lighter snipped closed. Willa met his gaze head on. No blushing, hiding eyes, or remorse. A chill ran down his spine. “He had said he heard me and came runnin’.” Willa fell quiet after that but Sammie knew there was more to it than that. From what he heard, she had married the demon. There had to be more there—why she ran, why she couldn’t stay. 

Why didn’t he turn her?

Willa rolled her lips together, the speckled dried blood splatters on her face wrinkling with the movement. “I think I would have stayed if I wasn’t scared of being like my daddy.” Her words were barely audible. 

Sammie felt as if he was intruding upon hearing that. Like he was sitting in on someone’s confession at a church. “But if I had I would have been far worse than him.”

Sammie shook his head immediately, watching the older woman with an assured air. “Willa your daddy beat on you and your brothers. You could never be like him.”

She scoffed. “When daddy was alive and the boys were in Germany, I used to fight. Used to let men bet money to see who I could lay out next. When my daddy found out…” Willa’s brow furrowed. “I remember sittin’ in the car, not even carin’ that he was gonna beat me black and blue. I just knew that I was gonna kill him if he did. I thought that when he was gone all the anger and misery would leave me. And then he actually died and it was still there.” 

It wasn’t lost on Sammie that she was trying to prove to him that she was just as evil as her father. Maybe if he didn’t know her—if she wasn’t his blood. If he didn’t see that she was applying her rage the way her father did—the way she was taught. Learning to hurt others because that’s what her daddy did. Causing her to abandon the only people who could love her—anger, misery and all... 

Maybe if he didn’t know all of that he would say she was his spitting image. 

And still, he would be wrong.

“It’s okay to be angry.” Sammie whispered, his eyes moving to his guitar. “You just gotta learn to live with it.” He looked at her then, eyes aged beyond his twenty years. “No more runnin’, Birdie.”

Across the room, Grace decided what needed to be done, fed up with the inaction—with the risk of allowing the evil to go after her daughter. 

With the taste of Smoke’s blood on her tongue, she opened her mouth and invited the evil in.

Chapter Text

It happened quickly. 

Chaotically.

Devastatingly. 

They should have known they wouldn’t survive. 

Willa should have known better. 

Clarksdale, Mississippi | October 20, 1932

Bloodied, raw blistered hands slipped along the wooden handle of the shovel, eyes dry as they took in the three graves in front of Annie's Apothecary. Each had a fresh bundle of sunflowers and white hyacinths resting against the small headstones, which were just rocks she had found around the yard. 

Willa limped forward, tossing her shovel to the side to kneel by Smoke’s grave. 

She felt numb…but there was one emotion that seemed to creep through the fog. Guilt. Heavy, knee-buckling guilt. 

Willa cleared her throat. “Hope you can forgive me.” Her voice creaked, struggling to get out past the ring of bruises around her neck. “I’ll be leavin’ this place soon, Elijah.” She reached into her canvas bag to pull out a jar. Gently, as if she was afraid to harm the corpse underneath, Willa scooped up a few handfuls of her brother’s grave dirt, depositing it into the clear glass. When it was filled to the top she hesitated before capping it.

In exchange for the dirt, she placed her fanciest cigar—the type he loved—on top of her brother’s rock, along with a waxed paper bag filled with boiled peanuts. Taking out her husband’s lighter, she lit the cigar, watching the smoke rise up in a steady straight line despite the wind that ripped at her unbound hair. 

“Sorry I ran and left you and Elias behind. I know it hurt you even if ya’ never said it did.” She licked her dry lips and stared down at the makeshift headstone. “Worst thing I have ever done.” She admitted. “And then I came back and lied to y’all, pretendin’ like I was fine, not tellin’ ya’ why I was hurtin’.” Willa paused, heart heavy. Soul drained. “It led to all of this. I had a hand in yer death and I’ll carry that with me until I see you again.” Patting a hand on the soil, she whispered the words he didn’t get to hear from her for five long years. “Love ya’, Elijah.” 

Willa nodded a few times before putting the jar in her bag. For a moment she sat there quietly, allowing the cool breeze to dry the sweat that gathered along her hairline. Tentatively, Willa hummed. It came out so slow and quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat carry with the solemn sound, harmonizing and making a song made up purely of her grief. Words soon wisped out of her. She didn’t know what they were—wouldn’t remember them when she laid her head down later. All she knew was that in that moment she was giving a song that came straight from her soul. 

The song ended where it had begun, humming and a broken heart beating irregularly to its tune. 

Her injured leg cramped when she got up from her stooped position. She easily disregarded the pain to move to the smallest grave. The little white rock with a tiny black handprint on it was used to mark her niece's final resting place. She had only held her in her arms four times before she was laid to rest. Her body had been so frail the last time and the poor baby couldn’t stop crying. Weak, heartbreakingly feeble cries. Stack had told her she had cried the same way once.

Taking out a small container, Willa refreshed the bottle of milk Annie had left out. “Bye Bethy, yer Auntie Birdie misses you.”

When she moved on to Annie’s grave she set her knees on the grass by the headstone, listening to mourning doves sing. 

Shaking hands rose to clutch at loose clothing, pressing until she could practically feel how heavy her heart was. Annie had worked so hard to try and help them survive the night. And now Willa was kneeling by her grave. 

Alone.

Willa removed one of her hands to dig into her bag until her fingers landed on wax paper. “I respect you so much, Annie. I love ya’ and…and I’m sorry.” She gently set the wrapped squares of pralines by the flowers. “I’ll be leaving now.” 

She wasn’t touched by the gift of knowing like Annie but she could feel that the area was at rest. 

That her brother was where he needed to be. 

And that was not at her side. 

She blew out a shuddering breath then and slapped her thighs. When she was back on her feet, she watched the graves for one last moment before turning and painfully making her way to Smoke’s truck. 

People said you have to walk out of a graveyard backward so that the spirits didn’t follow you home. Willa felt no need to do that. 

She had no home. 

The jar suddenly felt overly warm through her bag but she chose to ignore it. 

Until she smelled Smoke. Not the scent of her cigar, but Smoke himself. Earthy, spiced, with a hint of incense.

The comforting heat that swept along her right side had nothing to do with the Mississippi sun. The heat shifted ever so slightly and she swore she could feel the prickly feeling of facial hair brushing against her temple. 

The tears that had been missing the last few days came leaking out of her then. It took her digging her teeth into her bottom lip to keep the sobs trapped inside of her mouth. She stood as still as she could—afraid that if she moved the presence of her brother would disappear faster. A few painfully short moments later, the warmth left her and she couldn’t feel the prickles on the side of her head. 

Willa sat down right in the middle of the dirt path and cried.

༻✧༺

Lisa stared at her. Eyes ringed with red. 

Willa cleared her throat, looking away from that accusing gaze. “I have a few—“

“I don’t need shit from you.” Lisa cut in, back straight, chin raised. Willa paused and reached into the pocket of her sweater, refusing to bristle under the young girl's frigid glare. Lisa rose to her feet. “I said—“ She stopped when she saw what Willa was holding. 

Red fabric folded neatly into a perfect square was laid onto the Chow’s dining room table. 

Lisa trembled and sat back down. “That’s momma’s bandana.” Her voice came out a whisper, as gentle as the fingers that went to cradle the folded square. The last time she had seen her mother she had been wearing it. She brought it to her nose, the familiar smell of her mother’s shampoo bringing a new wave of tears to cascade down her cheeks. The folded bandana crinkled and she brought it away from her nose to unravel it. 

A folded piece of paper fell into her lap. Lisa glanced at Willa before opening it up. It was obvious to her it was quickly written, her mother’s normally beautiful cursive was now a slanted almost unreadable mess. 

But Lisa read it. She sobbed as she did. 

When she was able to rein back in her tears she looked to Willa. 

The woman was haggard. Brown skin looking almost grey and lacking the shine it normally did. The collar of bruises around her throat, the bruising under her eye, and the cut on her forehead. It told her that she wasn’t able to escape completely unscathed. 

But she had escaped nonetheless. 

And she hated her for it. Even if she read the words of her mother telling her she wasn’t going to make it home. 

Lisa looked away. Her mother was the strongest person she knew. If she couldn’t make it home, how could Willa Moore?

“I need you to leave,” Lisa muttered at her thighs, unwilling to look the woman in her eyes.

Willa shifted, reminding the fourteen-year-old that she was alive and her mother and father weren’t. “Let me help you—“

“I don’t need your help, your pity, nor your guilt. I need you to leave .”

Willa took that calmly, dark brown eyes duller than they had been when she first walked through the door. “A child shouldn’t be alone after losin’ both of their parents.” 

Lisa flinched. Even though she had said it as politely as she could, it still came off harsh. Because any child losing both of their parents was harsh. It was unfair. 

She still needed them. 

Still needed her mother to wake her up with a dozen kisses that she pretended were annoying. Still needed her father to cut her meat for her even though she was fully capable of doing it on her own. She needed to catch her parents dancing inside their empty store, swaying to music only they could hear. 

She needed them here , with her.

“I’m fully capable of taking care of myself,” Lisa said firmly.

“Yes. You are. But ya’ shouldn’t have to be.” Willa sighed, coughing when the pain in her throat became too much. “I sent a letter to yer aunt in Georgia.” 

“Auntie Mai?” Lisa hadn’t seen her in a few years. She hadn’t even thought about letting her know that her brother was dead. “How did you know to do that?”

Willa massaged her throat, her brow twitching in pain. “She grew up here. She would want to be here for her niece.”

Manners that were ingrained in her had her thanking Willa quietly. The woman waved her thanks away and moved to get up from the table, reaching into her pocket to place down a slip of paper. 

“You need anythin’… anythin’. Send mail here and I’ll answer.” Willa tapped the paper and gave little Lisa a nod, slowly rising to her feet to make her way to the front door. 

Lisa stared at the paper. “Where are you goin’?” She found herself asking. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Willa paused. “Be mindful of who you invite into your home.” She nodded once more and finally left the girl to grieve in peace. Lisa waited a few long seconds before getting up from the table, her mother’s red bandana clutched in her fist. Twitching the curtain to the side, she watched Willa hobble her way to a truck where a man was leaning against the side of it. 

Lisa took in the way Willa froze upon seeing him and reached for her mother’s shotgun. Neither of them noticed her crack the door open. 

Grit crunched under her slippered feet and she darted her eyes down to see a thin line of sprinkled dirt. She had been around people who practiced hoodoo long enough to know what it meant. Careful not to disturb the dirt, Lisa lifted her foot up. The sound of voices drifted back to her and she resumed keeping watch to see if the man was harassing Willa.

Lisa couldn’t make out what the man was saying but she could see that Willa hadn’t completely relaxed her stiff shoulders. The man gestured toward the truck, moving to open the passenger side door. Willa glanced back at Lisa then, giving the girl a short wave before allowing the man to help her inside. 

The man looked back at Lisa and she recognized him as someone who frequented the shop her daddy ran. He waved at her too, removing his hat to do so before turning and heading to the driver’s side. 

Long after they left Lisa was still thinking about the blank dull look in Willa’s eyes. 

Memphis, Tennessee | October 21, 1932 |

The motel reminded her of the motel where she abandoned her brothers years ago. It made her skin itch to step into the room that was almost identical to it. Similar red floral comforter, a similar stale tobacco smell, similar off-white curtains, a similar glass of water on the side table, and the exact same carpet. 

“The room okay?” Jonah asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. Willa peered over her shoulder to find him inside the room with her, his towering form peeking over her head to take it all in. His nostrils flared. “Smells like smoke.”

It did. 

Willa clenched her jaw and turned fully to look at the tall man. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and that stupid smile was stamped proudly on his face. He was dressed well, almost too well. A woolen suit that looked tailored, shoes shiny and barely creased, hair greased and parted. 

She nodded her head towards the door. “What room you in again?” 

Jonah glanced down at his key and showed it to her. R18. “Right next to yours.” He sent her a smile, “You need anythin’ just knock.”

Willa couldn’t return the smile but she gave him a look that she hoped conveyed that she was getting irritated with his presence. The man ignored it and slipped out of the door, closing it behind him. The room fell silent—the air heavy with the weight of regret. It clung to her lungs like thick smog, weighing down each breath.

Fuck, why did everything have to remind her of them?

Tossing her bags onto her bed, she scrambled at her pockets until she found the cigarette she had pre-rolled. Her fingers trembled slightly as she shoved the stick into her mouth. The warm metal of her lighter fell into her palm and she quickly pressed her thumb against the flint wheel, rolling it down. 

It didn’t light. 

Panic licked at her chest and she flicked her thumb over the wheel in frantic movements. Never had her lighter stopped working. It had been the one constant thing in her life for years. Why was it failing her now? 

Shaking out her trembling hands she forced herself to stop and think. She needed lighter fluid. Or flint. Or whatever the hell people put in lighters. Willa unzipped her main bag and grabbed a few of the dollars she had stuffed in the inside pocket. Making sure she had her key on her, she quickly went to open her door. When her hand hit the handle she found that it opened without the normal click. 

Willa frowned. She was sure Jonah had closed it properly when he left. 

Staring at the handle for just a moment longer she left her room, making sure her door clicked closed. Unease roiled in her belly but she continued on anyway. 

The sun was setting on the horizon in the distance and the fear she felt from that night pressed against her mind. She paused before Jonah’s door. She couldn’t hear any noises coming from his room and she honestly wasn’t in the mood to deal with his overly positive attitude. Turning away from his door, she quickly walked her way to the main building. 

The motel desk clerk watched her walk up with an inscrutable expression, their eyes drifting over her slightly wrinkled black dress to her dust-covered heels and finally rose to stare at the scar and healing cut on her face. Willa took the cigarette out of her mouth and silently cursed herself for not taking time to care for her appearance. 

She wasn’t in the Delta anymore. 

Willa twisted her lips into what she hoped was an endearing smile. 

“Good evenin’, sir,” She started, laying her drawl on thick. “My lighter ran out of its fluid and I was wonderin’ if y’all might have any lighter fluid I can use.”

The man stared at her for a moment, pale green eyes drifting down her front where her chest was covered by the modesty shawl she had thrown on hours ago. 

“We have some.” He confirmed, gruff voice a pleasant warning for what he was about to say next. “But not for you.” 

Willa continued her faux smiling and slid a dollar under the protective glass. “I just need a little, sir.” 

Blonde hair shone, appearing almost white when he tilted his head at the money. “Appears to me, you don’t need it bad enough.” 

Greedy son of a bitch. 

Willa shoved one more dollar onto the counter and raised a brow. 

The man nodded and reached under the counter to retrieve a small can. Surprisingly, he held a hand out and she reached her own into her bra to take out her lighter. The man greedily eyeballed the flash of the rounded flesh. 

Willa hesitated a moment before placing her lighter in his pale palm. She made sure to watch him as he removed the bottom of the lighter from the body. Her whole body flinched when he none too gently wedged a penny into the screw, turning it and scraping the metal with each careless turn. 

Willa looked away from those boorish, graceless hands, and as she did her eyes snagged on the daily newspaper, one particular column causing her palms to sweat. 

Memphis Evening Appeal  

___｡___

Delta Slaughter. 12 dead.  

“Twelve men have been gunned down by an unknown assailant in Clarksdale, Mississippi…Notable members of the community have been murdered; The Hogwoods had suffered the loss of the head of their family. Real estate agent Dale Hogwood had been found pumped full of bullets and the weapon [A Model 1921 Thompson SMG] discarded carelessly at his side. His nephew and his wife have also been reported missing…Many families have been affected by this tragedy…An investigation is underway. The families of the deceased have come together and are offering 10,000 for any information about the killer…”

A wooden board creaked from behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see that the sun had finally set. Since the night four days ago she had made sure to always stay inside. Her paranoia had her feeling like she was being watched. 

Much like how she felt at the moment.

It was an odd feeling, one she was positive she wasn’t alone in experiencing. Every time you felt it you wouldn’t want to look, because what if someone was there, staring back at you? And then, when you finally grew the balls to take a peek there was no one there. It was unsettling for Willa. Especially when she slept. The feeling of eyes on her in such a vulnerable state where she was unable to wake herself up. It’s why she rarely slept now, that and—

“Miss…” The man called, drawing her attention back to him. The lighter had been filled for her but he had damaged the smooth metal. Still, Willa thanked him and slipped him another dollar, taking one last glance at the newspaper.

The way back to her room felt longer, colder without the warmth of the sun. She never had a problem with the dark before, in fact, she had always preferred it to the daytime. 

Until she found out what was hiding in the night. 

Shaking away the unease, Willa lit her cigarette, inhaling until her lungs burned, holding it until her fingers were steady again. Smoke curled past the side of her face to trail behind her. It was a nice distraction from the fear she had of the night. 

Her heels clicked unevenly against the pavement, the sound coming to an abrupt stop when she reached her ajar door. Willa’s fingers twitched, tightening around her cigarette and lighter. There were only two people who had the key to her room. Her and that white-haired desk clerk. Willa blew out a breath, dropping her key into her bra and stubbing out her cigarette on the brick wall. Lifting her dress, she pulled out her revolver, the blued metal appearing black in the dim overhead lighting. 

Willa crept forward unflinchingly, silently pushing the door open all the way. She didn’t exactly know what to expect. An empty room was definitely not—

Something warm brushed along her ankle and she pointed her revolver at it, her heart pounding as she reeled away from the heat. 

An offended meow echoed, an orange tabby stared up at her with wide reflective eyes. Willa shooed it away, watching it scurry off and disappear under a car. Glancing back at her rented room she entered it slowly. She made sure to sweep through it thoroughly. She checked under the covers, under the bed, behind dusty curtains, in the bathroom, and in the tiny closet with the safe. She even checked her bag to see if the person who broke in stole anything. But everything was just how she had left it. 

Not one thing was touched or taken. 

The anger that had been absent as she grieved came roaring back, the glass cup on the side table went flying, shattering when it collided against the wall by the bathroom. 

Willa shook, her fingers tightening around the wooden grip of her revolver until she was almost sure it would split. She stared at the shards of glass, the sharp edges pointing at her accusingly. Willa rolled her lips together, bending to pick up the pieces close to her and placing them in her palm. 

A short meow made her cringe, her fingers involuntarily tightening around the glass, causing them to prick into her flesh. Willa turned her head to see the cat peering at her from just outside her room. 

She had left her door wide open. Anyone who walked by would see her standing in the middle of the room, hair wild, gun in hand, glass on the floor, and call the authorities. So, as calmly as Willa could at that very moment, she deposited the glass into the garbage, shut her door, jiggled the handle, and made sure it snipped closed. 

A laugh brimming with hysteria nearly escaped her and she just barely managed to press the back of her hand over her mouth. Her vision blurred as she shook her head slowly, eyes darting from one direction to another. 

Someone had to be fucking with her. Someone had to be playing a cruel joke—or maybe it was her brother’s spirits trying to let her know that they were there. 

Willa sagged against the door, the back of her head thudding against the wood, making old wounds smart. 

She was tired. That’s all it was. Her exhausted brain made her forget to close her door and imagine eyes watching her. What she needed to do was sleep.  

Removing her hand from her mouth, she looked at the time displayed on the small clock on the bedside table. It was only twenty past eight but her bed was calling for her. Slapping a hand against the wall she shut off the main light. 

Her left knee twinged when she kicked off her heels and limped her way toward her bed, stripping off all her clothes along the way, save for her high-waisted lace panties and her bra. Before she crawled into bed she took out a few items from her bag and placed them under her pillow. 

The lamp on the side table flicked on easily enough. The orange lampshade caused the room to fill with warm light.

It reminded her of the sun.

Briefly, she contemplated switching out her room for another as she slipped under the sheets. But by the time she thought to get back up her eyes had already drifted shut.

We shouldn’t extend grace to those who wish us harm. 

༻✧༺

The song of robbing echoed throughout the night like a demon’s lullaby.  

And so did Grace’s invitation.  

Willa sprang up from her seat, taking Sammie with her as she dragged him toward the table with all the stakes laid out on it. “Fuck, Grace.” She hissed and tossed Sammie the shotgun he had been modifying. Smoke handed her the stakes she had whittled, thinner pieces of wood that fit into her palm far better than the ones the others made. Willa quickly shoved them into her empty holster and flicked out her revolver’s cylinder to make sure the four cartridges were still in there.  

As the eerie song continued, she removed one and placed it in her bralette, right next to her heart. It clanked against the metal of her lighter. 

Grace ignored them all as they formed a loose line, furious hands flipping open a windproof lighter and lighting the rag that dipped into the bottle of whiskey. 

The song came to an end, and the double doors of the sawmill creaked open to reveal her husband. In the corner of her eye, she could see her brother step in front of Annie. Next to them, the man who wanted her cast her a brief look before focusing on the door.  

Remmick smiled, slow and triumphant when she finally looked him in the eye. She could see the longing there, the burning hunger that she knew had nothing to do with blood. He prowled closer, his eyes taking her in properly for the first time in years. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her fingers tingling around the wood of the stake. She knew he could hear it, could see his bloody crooked smile widen when he cocked his head at her.  

The short moment ended when Grace threw the Molotov at him, the flaming bottle flipping through the air before Remmick easily batted to the side. It was like that set off the whole thing. Vampires came rushing in like a herd of ants, heavy footfalls causing dust to kick up.  

Willa raised her revolver, the recoil of it sending vibrations through her arm as she shot the one that beelined to her. As he fell to the floor, blood spraying from the gunshot wound on his head, she crawled on top of him and slammed her thin wooden stake between his ribs. A leaden weight knocked into her side, a woman she couldn’t recognize unhinged her jaw, off-white teeth flashing orange from the fire.  

Willa grunted and smashed her revolver across her mouth. Teeth and blood rained down onto her face, into her eyes and mouth. Blindly, Willa stabbed. Over and over. Each time she could feel the woman screech and convulse, succumbing to her injuries for a second only to reawaken again. The woman was bigger than her, using her weight to press her knees into Willa’s ribs and torso.  

Hands clamped around her throat, slipping, scrambling to find purchase on her blood-soaked skin. Willa gasped when those hands clenched down harder, long talons biting into her skin. There was pressure in her face from the restricted blood flow, she could feel it in her gums, behind her eyes, and could feel her pulse hammering in the back of her head. Willa opened her mouth wide, and air whistled out of her, moving past her bloating tongue.  

Her hands flailed, her gun hand beating against the hands at her throat and her other jabbing into ribs. She could make out the blurred shape above her, leaning down to bite her with regrown teeth. 

With her eyes losing focus and her head feeling as if it might burst, Willa stabbed one more time. The woman jerked before falling still on top of her and she pushed her off, barely having time to shoot a man who was barreling right towards her. Sucking in a ragged gasp, Willa rolled onto her knees, coughing into the sawdust-covered floor, her eyes on the scene around her. 

Her vision was now tinted red with blood and no matter how much she blinked it wouldn’t go away.  

With the fire burning around, her friends and neighbors screaming in agony…she was positive this was hell.  

More hands grabbed her from under her arms and she struck out, just barely managing to stop her thin stake from burying into Slim's arm. “Get up.” He gave her another yank. He was breathing heavily, eyes wide as he stared down at her. “You ain’t bit, right?”  

Willa didn’t get a chance to answer, didn’t think she could from the burning she felt around her throat. Next to her Sammie shot his shotgun, the sound blowing out her eardrum from how close it was to her. She flinched away, her eyes stuck on Bo and Grace’s burning bodies before she mentally shook herself and moved forward.  

She was able to stay on her feet the next time a vampire landed in front of her. She was able to temporarily forget that these people were people she just shared a shot of vodka with, that she had just broken bread with. Stake after stake found themselves buried in bodies but after each one fell three more replaced it. 

Willa shot her last bullet into the temple of a young woman and shoved one of her last stakes into her heart. Pain lanced through her scalp and someone kicked her left leg, her back hit the floor and her head quickly followed. Soft familiar hands ran up her front, gently closing over her swollen throat. Pink satin slid along her thighs before Mary sat down on them, preventing her from kicking her feet.  

“Willa,” Mary whispered, voice lilting with a giddiness she had never heard from her before. Willa struck out with her last stack, the wood scraping across her friend’s face. The grip on her throat continued to stay gentle but firm, at odds with the way Mary pulled her body up and slammed her back onto the floor. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” Mary leaned over her body, slowly dragging her nose from her sternum and up between her heaving breasts. “I missed ya’ so much while I was away in Arkansas.” Sharp teeth nipped at the soft swell of her left breast, a tongue poking out to lathe at the blood that welled to the surface.  

Willa shook, working her throat to try and get the words out. “Mary.” The vampire shushed her, sucking at the blood, teeth grazing along her flesh. Mary pulled away, crawling up until their faces were inches apart. She could see the white glint in her eyes now, almost metallic with the way it reflected the light. “Mary, please.” 

“I’ve seen what you had with him, Willa. He wants you. He loves you.” Mary smiled then, purring her words as she bent to press her nose into her neck. “He can give us what we always wanted. A family where we can—“ Mary howled into her ear, releasing her grip on Willa to arch her back, clawed fingers wrapping around her middle to try and soothe the blisters. The scent of burning skin filled the air and Willa used that distraction to slam her revolver into Mary’s face.  

Staggering away from her she turned to see Annie throw more of the pickled garlic juice at Remmick who twisted away with a curse. “We need more—“  

It was frightening how fast her brother moved to jump on the woman who loved their older brother. It was utterly devastating to see him tear into her throat, cradling her face as if he were giving her a loving peck instead. Slowly, as if savoring the taste of her he lifted his head, a string of red-tinged saliva connecting them before he went in for another bite. 

Her scream ripped her out of sleep. 

Willa sat straight up, still cradling her gun in her right hand and in the other a thin stake. She dropped it onto the comforter, blinking her eyes. 

Her room was dark. 

The complete opposite she had left it before she shut her eyes.

That same unease—that same paranoia. The hair-raising feeling of being watched polluted her room. Her gun rattled in her grip as she tried to get her eyes to adjust to the dark. She couldn’t hear anything, only the sound of a shotgun firing, and her eyesight was utterly failing her. 

Turning slowly she raised her left hand, flinching when her hand came in contact with the gaudy beads of the lampshade skirt. The beads bumped into one another, each sound making her heart pound behind the cage of her ribs. When her fingertips found the switch she began to turn it. 

The chair by the window, closest to her bed. 

A shadow lazily shifted. 

Moonlight shone off her revolver as she pointed it at the person. She could see the shine of teeth as they smiled. 

“You get them too, huh.” The shadow leaned forward. Willa brought back the hammer. “I keep relivin’ that night. Keep seein’ my friends try ta’ eat me.” Willa shivered, moving back on the bed as the shadow stood, towering over her. 

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” She was proud her voice didn’t shake like the rest of her body. When he took another step closer Willa slid the rest of the way out from under the covers, making sure to put the bed between them. The moonlight came through the window, casting the back of the man’s body in light and illuminating just enough of his features. 

The shadow moved forward another step. “Jonah…” Willa warned, her finger moving to the trigger. “I am a taken woman.” She hissed, the lighter felt hot, burning a hole into her chest. 

Jonah scoffed, tilting his head. “To a white demon.” His voice thickened with disgust and something else she refused to acknowledge. “You made it clear you don’t want me.”

Her finger spasmed on the trigger and she cocked her head. “So what? You was just gon’ come in here and take what isn’t yers?” Willa sneered, the scar on her cheek felt tight, the ones on her knuckles itching with the need to make new ones.

Jonah shifted. “That’s whatchu’ think this is?” He sounded offended, confused. Even brought a hand up to scratch at the back of his head. Willa’s lip curled.

Willa spoke slowly, “Whatchu’ want me to think, huh?” A ticking sound started in her brain, showing up physically as a muscle twitching under her brow. “Yer in my fuckin’ room watchin’ me sleep. You should be happy yer not full of lead right now.” Her fingertip warmed the neglected metal of the trigger of her gun. 

Jonah stumbled forward, desperation clinging to every atom of his body. “You’re the only one left, Willa. I don’t know where else I’m supposed to go.” 

“I don’t care.”

The blued revolver jerked toward the door. 

“Leave.”

She could see his eyes widen with an almost fevered panic and she observed the way he frantically shook his head. “No, Willa—“ She made her way around the bed then, a pulse in her temple throbbing angrily. Willa stopped in front of Jonah and even though she was staring up at him she still managed to tilt her head just so, looking down her nose at him. Jonah opened his mouth. 

Whatever he was about to say shriveled to dust when she pushed the muzzle into his chest, the cold metal burning through the fabric. 

She watched his eyes. The way they darted between her own and down to her mouth and back up again. Willa’s lips twitched. The revolver dug deeper into his chest and she reached out until her hand fell on the handle of her motel door. 

Yanking it open she jerked her head, “Leave. You escorted me halfway to my destination like ya’ offered. And I thank you kindly.” She eyed his expensive clothes, recognizing the red ‘S’ embroidered into the collar. 

“You managed to survive the hell we went through. Yer God saved you for a reason, so I suggest you go before I ruin his divine intervention by killing you where you stand.”

Jonah left her then. 

She leaned against the door of her room, listening as he packed up his belongings next door and quietly shut the door with a sound click. She could hear him breathing between the wooden barrier before a sigh left him. The sound of slow footsteps retreating echoed into the night and slipped under her door. 

Long after he left Willa stood in the same spot. Her gun clattering in her hand as she stared blankly at the stake in the middle of her bed. 

Willa brushed her thumb across the ticket’s words over and over again. 

She was early. Early enough that only a handful of people were on the platform. A few of them were smoking amongst each other passing a hoagie and casting glances her way. 

Fucking Jonah. 

Hissing out a breath, she lit another cigarette, angling her head slightly so that the group of men couldn’t see her face. 

Her brothers had robbed this train before. No one had ever said she looked like them but she didn’t exactly want to be linked to them when she had no clue of the relationship they had with the people in these parts. And considering that they robbed this train she could guess it wasn’t all that great. 

Willa glanced at the clock. It was five fourteen and she had gotten a ticket for the train that left the earliest; which was at six thirty. She groaned, scrubbing a fist over tired eyes. 

She hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep after finding Jonah in her room, she had stayed up turning the last cartridge from that night at Club Juke over and over in her hand. She had thought back to her brother’s truck, thinking about where she had left it. The guilt ate at her even though she knew she couldn’t take it with her. 

She took one last drag of her cigarette before raising her heel and stubbing it out. Someone behind her whistled low and long. 

Willa ignored the man and flicked her cigarette off to the side. She could feel a stare burning into the back of her head. The same man made kissing noises at her and that was when Willa decided she could wait somewhere else. Running a hand over her hair she gathered her bags and calmly walked in the direction of the park. She could hear the group of men chuckling behind her but thankfully none followed. 

Adjusting her grip on her luggage she slowed her steps, tilting her head to stare up at the sky. She could see hints of light blue blending with the dark of early morning, and if she squinted she could see smears of orange and pink just along the treeline. 

She had a plan for herself, even if it felt like she carried the weight of sin on her shoulders…she wanted to live. For everyone at the Club Juke. For her brothers. For Annie. 

She could live for them. Be a better person—because she was given that second chance. She didn’t have to be her father. With time she could just be Willa , back to the version of the girl who only loved her brothers and her cousins. The girl who visited the Chows every Sunday with homemade pralines and calas that she dusted in heaps of powdered sugar. The girl who sat in Annie’s Apothecary and watched her friend silently care for their community. The girl who sat in the backseat with a smile on her face as she entered a town full of people who had the freedom that she and her brothers had longed for.

With time the rage could leave her alone. 

And with time she could have her freedom. 

“Willa.”  

Willa stopped, her heels digging into soft dewy grass. With care, she transferred all her bags to one arm and pulled her knife from one of the pockets as she did. She continued her walking, turning down the park's path toward the pond. She could hear heavy breathing behind her, struggling to keep up even though she was walking as slowly as she did before. 

“C’mon, Willa. Wait!” Air shifted to her right and she quickly brought her hand up, the knife’s tip digging into the underside of Jonah’s fat chin. The man swallowed, the motion causing the knife to prick into his skin. “Willa—“

She was tired of hearing her name in his mouth. “Why’d ya’ follow me?” Silence echoed across the empty park. The ticking started up again, the muscles in her brow spasming before it smoothed away. Willa nudged the knife up, her eyes watching a bead of blood boil over her blade and down a bumpy neck. She looks him in the eyes, waiting for him to answer. Jonah only rolled his lips into his mouth. 

The knife left his throat, arching back before coming down in a swift motion. 

Jonah flinched. 

“Your brother asked me to watch out for you.” The knife didn't stop but missed his throat entirely. Jonah’s heart thudded wildly as she stumbled away, shaking her head. “It was after you went to sharpen more stakes.” He could see multiple emotions flash across her face, too many for him to properly identify. 

The familiar cold indifferent look in her eye faded. It changed her whole face; the harsh angle of her brows smoothed out and rounded, the corners of her mouth softened. She looked like her teenage self again. Those deep brown eyes rose to his and he swore his breath got trapped in his throat. 

He took in the way she blinked, readjusting her hold on her heavy bags before turning and pointing to the dock. Silently, she walked off toward it, her steps sure and steady despite the secret he had been hiding from her. 

It took him a second but he followed after her, his eyes dipping to the sway of her hips. She was still wearing mourning black and she had never looked more modest than she did at that moment. Shawl covering her shoulders, pitch black hair tightly pinned back and left to coil at the nape of her neck, dress hugging her hips and reaching to brush the middle of her shins. 

She was perfectly modest but his eyes still traced an outline of her shape. 

Wooden planks groaned under his weight and he followed after Willa dutifully. Not commenting when she let her three heavy bags fall to the ground. She stood precariously by the very edge of the dock, watching the fish send air bubbles to the surface. 

Jonah shifted, stopping just a step behind her. “Why New Mexico?” He had caught a glimpse of her train ticket earlier when she was focused on watching the other men on the platform. 

Memphis to Santa Rosa.  

He had no idea what was over in New Mexico for someone like Willa to pack up her life and abandon the Delta completely. 

Willa’s voice was quiet, “When we left Mound Bayou my brothers talked about buyin’ land in New Mexico. I guess when I left they had actually gone out and done it. They even gave homesteadin’ a try but eventually they found somethin’ better.” Willa began spinning her knife around her finger. “When I came back from New Orleans I had a few of their properties to pick from but I decided to come back home.” There was a certain tiredness to her voice. A weariness that was bone deep. A quality that spoke to his soul. 

Jonah hummed, watching her out of the corner of his eye. He found her beautiful like this. Unaware and trusting. 

Soft and delicate like she was supposed to be. 

“I’ll protect ya’, Willa.” She looked at him then, eyes unusually bright in the dark. Lips damp and brown eyes doll-like. “You look so—“

Jonah paused, his gut clenching in confusion. Pain lanced through his torso and he stumbled back, gasping at the feeling of liquid pouring down his front. “What?” 

His cries filled the air when Willa blew out one of his kneecaps. He hit the dock hard, landing backward onto an elbow. The sound of a dull crunch was echoed by his howl of pain. Rolling to his side, he squinted through tear-flooded eyes to assess the gunshot wound to his leg. At the sight of it, he whimpered, dropping his head back to sob into the early morning air. 

He had seen injuries like this before in Germany. He could already feel the sharp teeth of a saw grinding into his bone, cutting through nerves, muscle, and fatty flesh. 

He would never walk on both his legs again. 

A dark shadow towered over his sniveling form before it stooped down. It took him blinking a few times to properly see Willa’s face. The softness he had seen was gone. Only eyes made from chips of ice watched him. 

“I don’t know what you thought was gonna happen here, Jonah. That I was gon’ swoon and take ya’ with me? That I would have yer babies and build a life with you? That I would want you?” 

Willa made a noise someone might mistake for laughter. It sent his heart skittering and he wanted nothing more than to be back in that fucking sawmill again. Anything to be away from her. 

Jonah licked his lips, tears leaking out of his eyes as he stared at her unblinking. “Please…a—after what we’ve been through together—“

“There is no ‘we’ .” Her eyes were so dark they were almost black. She looked just like her daddy. “I know ya’ lied.” Her eyes dipped down to his stolen clothes, landing on the red ‘S’ on his collar. On her brother’s collar.

Jonah blanched, flapping his mouth open to deny it. “I—I don’t—“

“My brother fully believed he could protect me. There was no one alive more capable of that than Smoke. Nigga, why on Earth would he ever hand over that responsibility to you, huh?” Her black eyes traveled over his pitiful state, disgust curling her lips up to expose gold and ivory white. “I don’t know what you thought this was but I can’t have this.” She gestured openly to his obliterated knee, the blood leaking off the wood and pattering into the water. 

Willa cocked her head and he could tell she was contemplating something. 

God, save him.  

Hands delved into his pocket, uncaring of his injury.

He blinked hard. One moment she was crouching by his head the next she was standing. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled. Not to him. To whom?

He didn’t know. 

The sound of a revolver firing echoed across the pond, followed by a splash of water.

The two-day journey to Santa Rosa was peaceful. Quiet and long. 

Willa didn’t sleep the whole journey there. 

Chapter Text

New Mexico | October 23, 1932 |  

Dry wind swept across the property, kicking up sand and dust with every slight breeze. Black clothing whipped in the air, molding against sweat-damp skin. 

Willa fanned a hand over her face, taking another step back to take in her brother’s small ranch. 

It was fucking ugly.

When she had poured over the documents Smoke had in his truck she had imagined the building to be…grander. This was the ranch house her brothers had lived in for six months? 

The ‘ranch house’ was technically a two-room cabin but if she was completely honest it was more of a shack, much like the one they grew up in. Willa wandered forward, eyes taking in everything. It was about a mile or two hidden off the main road. The directions Smoke had written down claimed that the small property was located southwest of Raton, about fifteen miles along Ranchway Road. She had been insane enough to think that she could get there without a vehicle. She had thought about all the times she walked around the Delta and in truth underestimated how long it would take. 

What should have been a twenty-minute drive had unfortunately been a three-hour walk. She had been ready to lie down and die until she saw the cursed place. The only reason she had spotted it was because she had gone to empty her bladder and tripped over an old broken sign pointing in the direction of her new home. 

She just wished the land didn’t need so much work done to it. The property had two structures on it; one being the sturdy-looking horse stall and the other her humble shack. If she was thinking positively, she would say that there was plenty of land. Land she didn’t exactly know what to do with. She had no desire to raise cattle or deal with chasing after chickens and livestock. She wouldn’t mind a horse though. 

Willa shifted, the movement sending pain to the pulse in her left leg. It had started to bother her around ten minutes into walking. No one in Raton was willing to sell her a horse or even let her rent a car. She could still feel the stares of the white folks burning into her skin. It had started when she got off the train and continued as she went from one livery stable to another. All had turned her down, many flat-out ignored her and one spat at her feet. 

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to it. She was just puzzled about how her brothers, The SmokeStack Twins, could have dealt with it for six months. 

Blowing out a rough sigh, Willa decided that she should take a look at where she would be living for the next sixty years. 

Sand ground between her shoe and her skin, scraping off her flesh every time she took a step. Wincing, she bent down and shucked them off, groaning low at the instant relief she felt. 

Willa stepped onto the porch cautiously, knocking her knuckles on one of the wooden support beams. It felt sound enough. The door was sturdy-looking and seemed to have a screen attached to the frame. When she tried the handle she found it unlocked, slowly she pushed it open. Before she stepped inside she brushed the bottoms of her feet against the wooden porch floor to scrape off some of the sand before she stepped in.

Letting her bags drop to the ground, she looked around the small space. It was far better looking on the inside. 

There was a fireplace to the far back wall, the inside a pitch black with soot. The main room was cozy, with a dusty carpet by the fireplace, a few rocking chairs pushed into the back left corner of the room by the sink, and a wooden dining table situated under a rectangular window overlooking the west side of the property. Willa leaned over the table to look out. Despite her reservations, it was a gorgeous view. 

She doubted her brothers had built the shack but whoever did had set it up on a plateau overlooking the Vermejo river and the grassy valley. She could see the mining town, Dawson, in the distance as well, the large smoke stacks dispensing black smog into the air. 

Willa pushed away from the window to continue exploring. Her brothers had left behind bits of their lives here. Stack’s lighter on the table, a deck of cards, ammunition, a few pistols, and one of Smoke’s journals. Willa paused by the large sink to the right of the window, wrinkling her nose when she saw the skeleton of a dead rodent. 

Turning away, she moved to one of the bedrooms and immediately knew which brother had taken it up as his own. As soon as she walked in she could smell incense and spice. It wasn’t even a lingering smell—it smelled like Annie’s Apothecary, rich and potent. Her eyes welled when she moved around the bed to the bedside table, her hands brushing over the frame of a portrait. It was her family. All of them together and smiling. 

Annie had just given birth but she was out and about, baby Bethy strapped to her chest with a gauzy shawl. The picture was grainy but she could see the love in Smoke’s eyes as he gazed down at the two loves of his life. Mary was to his right, peering up at Stack, her hand blurred as if in the middle of gesturing. Her brother was staring down at her, that smile of his wider than she remembered, his arm slung over her shoulder. And Willa. She was smiling. Wide and toothy with a hint of gold. Her hair coiffed neatly below her ears, and her hand clasped in one of Stack’s. 

She had been so happy then. She remembered laughing her lungs out when Smoke threatened to shoot Bo’s dick off when he couldn’t figure out how to take the photo. Willa leaned down, blowing off the dust that had gathered on top of it. 

She missed them. Missed them so damn much. Willa buried her face in her hands, digging her fingers into the thin hair that rimmed her hairline. She was alone. Truly alone in this world and it was something she had brought upon herself. 

Sucking in a deep breath, she dropped her hands and moved out of Smoke’s bedroom and into Stack’s. Her brow furrowed when she saw how empty it was. There was only a bed, stripped of its sheets, pushed up underneath the window, a chest with nothing in it, and a chair. 

Willa swept through the room slowly, looking underneath the bed and double-checking the chest. Maybe he took everything with him. 

Sighing, Willa decided she would stay in his room. Nothing about it reminded her of her brother and she couldn’t imagine sleeping in Smoke’s bed surrounded by the smell of him, knowing he would never come back and refresh it. 

Just thinking that made her nauseous with grief. 

Willa looked around the room, determined to make this new home of hers a home. 

New Orleans | March 27, 1927 |  

Warm lighting smudged into the darkness, illuminating the woman on the floor. This was the girl who had called out to whatever was left of his soul? Her face was a swollen mess, nearly unrecognizable with how bloated it was with bruises and the large cut on her cheek. A dark, burnt umber eye watched him as he ran his tongue over his bloodstained fingers.  

Something deep, buried beneath years of self-loathing and hate twinged at her unflinching gaze. His feet ghosted closer to her, taking in her demure clothing and modesty shawl. He hummed lowly as he scented her blood. It smelled sweet, powdering the air with its infectious aroma. His blood-speckled boots stopped inches from her bare feet. She was curled up against one of the barstools, her one visible eye flicking to the bodies behind him. 

He expected tears, screaming, pleading—he craved it. But the girl only returned her eye to him. Watchful. Waiting.  

Slowly he sank into a crouch, his eyes holding her one captive as he raised a clawed hand and clasped her jaw. 

His head canted to the side, a lopsided grin displaying his long canines and premolars. He could hear her heart thudding wildly in her chest, could feel it drumming through her skin. “Are you afraid, girl?” He wondered, flaring his nostrils to pull in more of that alluring fragrance. He could smell her pain, her confusion, and her relief. But the one scent he was looking for was curiously absent. 

The woman’s glossed lips parted but she shook her head ‘No’.  

He raised a brow, tightening his fingers until she could feel the threat of his nails digging into her skin. “It ain’t polite to lie.” He warned, keeping his voice soft. “Words this time.” He urged. 

The woman licked at the blood that dipped into the corner of her mouth. “I ain’t afraid of you.”  

He nudged her head back at that, tilting her head into the light to study her pupils. They were blown wide, only a thin ring of mahogany lining it.  

“How’d ya’ know I needed help?” She whispered, eyes darting between his own, allowing him to look for what he needed to. 

Remmick ticked his head back slightly, taken aback. Still, he answered truthfully. “I heard you screamin’.” He could see the confusion fogging her eyes and sighed. He didn’t know how to explain to her that her rage—her agony had been like a siren’s call to him.  

She had led him straight here.  

And he had come running. 

He hummed again and released her, standing back up to loom over her. “I would suggest you stay away from those who wish ya’ harm.” He was halfway across the room when he heard her speak again. 

“And you don’t?”  

Remmick paused at that, a pink tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip clean. There was a captivating lilt to her voice like she was daring him to do something. He looked over his shoulder to see her on her feet, unhurriedly picking her way over the dead body of the man who had marred and beat her. “Do ya’ want me to?”  

Her eyes flickered for the first time and he could see the answer before she could even comprehend what the thought was. His mouth curved into a smile. Before her eyes could register it he was in front of her again, leaning down and pushing into her space to lick the blood from her cut. Beneath his tongue he could feel her skin knitting together, could feel her gasp puffing into his ear. A groan rumbled in his chest, one of his hands raising to clutch her delicate jaw, moving her head to the side to give him full access to her intoxicating taste.  

He could feel her shift closer and he stilled when he felt her hand smooth against his blazer to dip inside and cling to the vest hidden underneath. Bloodied lips curled against puckered skin.  

“What a sinful girl.” He hummed, basking in the power of having her surrender to him so easily. He could taste the alcohol in her blood, could taste her anger like it was a physical thing. Spiced and bitter, a captivating contrast to the sweet enchanting scent. And still, there was a layer of something that bathed his tongue. Something so familiar but long forgotten. 

He leaned back, eying the freshly healed scar. Gently, Remmick ran the pad of his thumb down her cheek, his smile dropping when she finally flinched. Something sharp pricked into his side and he narrowed his eyes.  

“To answer yer question.” He backed away from her and her knife. “No.” After taking one last look at her he disappeared around the corner, blending seamlessly into the hustle and bustle of New Orleans nightlife.  

It was when he was in his apartment, the blood on his skin tinting the bath water pink, that he realized he had not gotten the woman’s name. And more importantly, he did not want her dead.  

New Mexico | November 9, 1932 |

A biting draft leaked through her front door, past the barrier of blankets she had wedged into the crack at the bottom of the door. Rain pattered into multiple pots and pans she had laid out on the ground. Despite having multiple blankets wrapped around her she still felt cold, her body shivering and her head throbbing. 

Willa flinched when a cold droplet landed on her skin. Huddling closer to the warmth of the fireplace she listened to the sound of the wind howling, whistling as it pulled at her shutters. The carpet was soft under her temple, the now dust-free thing no longer making her sneeze when she lay on it. 

She had beaten it to high hell a week ago when the temperature had dropped suddenly. Stack’s room was too far from the fireplace to warm up to a comfortable temperature and she still refused to sleep in Smoke’s room. She’d rather sleep on the carpet. So she did. 

Willa rolled closer to the heat and sat up onto her knees. Her small meal was still boiling in the cast iron Dutch oven she had hanging over the fire. It would have been considered a poor man’s meal by some of her friends but she remembered sitting at the Chow dining table enjoying it. Rice and steamed eggs. She hoped she was doing Grace justice. She didn’t have any of her fancy soy sauce or oils to drizzle on her food but she was sure it would taste good regardless. 

As long as it wasn’t beans or June peas.  

To say she had been struggling to survive was an understatement. She now hated the texture of beans. 

She had known the town of Raton was primarily white. Had expected to get turned out of most of the shops. What she naively hadn’t thought about was that they might band together and decide that they would not be serving her anything at all. No canned goods, no meat from the butcher, no horse, and no car. Willa didn’t mind that as much as she minded the lack of transportation. She had to walk everywhere—for everything . 

If she needed to use the restroom she had to leave the safety of her shack to go to the outdated outhouse behind her small home. If she needed water she would have to trek all the way to the well and then carry the water back. If she wanted meat she would have to try her hand at fishing in the river, which she had learned she had no patience for. If she needed to go to town she had to walk miles in the New Mexico sun to get there. She didn’t even know why she bothered, they turned her away almost every time. 

She was dreading the time when the rest of her trunks would arrive. She would probably have to bribe a young teenager to help deliver her things. Her mouth screwed up at that. Maybe not that. She had been careful to not show how much money she had. 

Outside something howled. It sounded more like a scream than anything. A woman’s scream. Shrill and piercing. Getting up slowly from the floor, stumbling only a bit as her vision blurred and her head suddenly felt ten times heavier. Shaking off the lightheadedness, Willa chanced a look outside, nudging her curtains to the side to get a better look. The sight of the pitch-black night made her skin crawl. Thunder rumbled in the distance shortly followed by the flash of lightning. For a moment she thought she saw a blurred silhouette of something in the distance, its head turned in her direction. Willa swore under her breath and let her curtain drop down over her window. 

She hoped it wasn’t a coyote, she had yet to see one and she honestly didn’t want to waste her limited ammunition trying to kill it. Turning away from the window she checked on her rice again to see that it had finished cooking. 

Willa’s eyes fell on the jar sitting alone on the shelf above the fireplace. The dirt appeared black in the glim light. She was supposed to sprinkle the dirt around the outside of her home, as Annie had taught her but she wanted to wait. She needed her shack to feel like a home and it didn’t quite feel like that yet. She had done it for Lisa, a protection against those who would wish her harm. Willa stared at the jar for a few more seconds before she finally tore her eyes away, moving to scoop the food into a bowl. 

She ate her rationed supper alone in the quiet of her shack, eyes staring off into nothingness. She could feel her pulse thrumming in her temples now, synching with each flex her jaw made as she mindlessly chewed. The food was bland without any of the usual seasoning but she managed to eat about half of it before feeling like she was about to be sick. 

Pushing up from the table, Willa moved to place her leftovers into another dish and stumbled, sending her food toppling down to the floor. Shaking fingers rose to grasp at her head. 

Pain. Blaring pain flared in her temple and branched down to the base of her skull. Over and over. Wave after wave of pain rippled over her brain. 

Distantly, she felt pain in her knees and she could understand that she had fallen somehow. Whatever instinct that would have helped her throw out her arms to cushion her fall, failed. Willa careened forward, her forehead glancing off the back of the chair she had just been sitting on as she collapsed.

A noise, low and frail filled her shack, weakly bouncing off the walls. It was drawn out, echoing back to her ears as if she were stuck in a cave. She didn’t notice that it was her making the sound. Sweat beaded along her forehead, dripping down the side of her face to combine with the blood that leaked from the cut above her brow. 

She felt dazed, drunk almost. Not feeling the pain or the sick feeling in her gut. All she felt was warm. Too warm. Her hand weakly tugged at her dress, the excessive movement only making her sick. Vomit spewed from her mouth as she retched, and she barely managed to twist her head to the side. 

Willa knew something was wrong with her. She had been sluggish all day, barely able to make the trek back from the well. She groaned, dry sobs of pain escaping her as her stomach spasmed, expelling more of the food she had just eaten. 

Her whimpers filled the air, a familiar slow creaking echoing inside her head, a musical backdrop to her darkening vision. 

Ping…P-ping…Ping 

The rhythmic sound of water tapping against metal woke her. Immediately, she could smell the rancid aroma of vomit and she lurched away. Blinking her eyes open she could see that the shack was dark, only the slight glow of embers cast a red glow over the room. Turning her throbbing head she stared out the window. It was night out but she had no way of telling how long she had been out for. Whipping her head back to her fireplace she finally registered that it was only smoldering now.

Her heart sank at that. She had been out for hours then, long enough that the sun had risen and fallen. An entire day, lost. Willa let her eyes rove around the room, her head pounding. 

The wasted food was splattered on the ground along with coagulated puddles of her vomit. She had been getting migraines for a while now but never one that made her sick enough that she lost consciousness or fell over. 

Getting up slowly she tested her balance, staggering a few steps to her room where she stored her towels. Fuck, her head was spinning. It was worse than being drunk. It almost felt like she had been drugged. 

The thought had her mind reeling. Snapping her head to the side, she stared at the fresh bag of rice she had bought. 

No. 

Uncaring if she was destroying the home she had spent weeks cleaning, Willa scrambled her way towards the bag by the fireplace. Her legs gave out a third of the way there and she landed hard on her healing leg. A cry ripped out of her and she grit her teeth to stifle it, pulling herself along the floor until she was close enough to tug the sack of rice toward her. Delving a hand into the bag she scooped up a handful and brought it to her nose. At first, she couldn’t smell anything but after a second she could catch hints of an almost sour, moldy garlic smell. 

Willa’s breathing whistled out between her teeth and she let the grains fall between her finger and back into the bag. She had to be sure. Shuffling over to the fireplace she added a few of the thinner logs to the smoldering coals and ripped a few pieces of paper from a book she didn’t care about. Holding the paper to the glowing coals she blew slowly until the bundles of paper lit. The fireplace roared back to life after a few minutes of her nursing it. 

Glancing at the rice sack she nearly didn’t look. It took her a few minutes to convince herself to drag the bag closer to the light. Again, Willa scooped up the rice and held it up. 

Among the white pieces of rice were pale teal and white pellets. 

The woman in Raton had poisoned her with rat poison. Had knowingly dumped rodenticide into the food she would consume. The short conversation flashed in Willa’s mind.

༻✧༺  

The basket Willa usually brought with her was empty, another failed trip to a town that didn’t care much for the random colored woman. She had always made sure to wear her best mourning dresses as well. She didn’t know why she tried.  

The wooden boardwalk clunked under her heels, loud enough that she almost missed the tap of a fingernail of glass. Willa paused, listening. The noise came again and she turned to a small general store, a young white woman waved her hand at her from the other side of the glass.  

Willa glanced over her shoulder—because surely this woman wasn’t trying to get her attention—but no one was there. When she turned back around the dark-haired woman waved at her again.  

The store was slightly cooler than the outside, a blessing to someone who had been walking for the better half of the day. The general store was one she had tried before, the last time she had visited it had been manned by an older white man who let his cold stare do all the talking for him.  

Willa rounded a display shelf of canned mutton broth, tomato soup, and kidney beans. Stepping cautiously to the counter she greeted the woman with a nod. “Hello, ma’am.” She murmured, suspiciously watching as she smiled at her. It was immediately off-putting after not receiving a single smile since Jonah.  

The girl had gapped front teeth. It made her look younger than she likely was. If Willa could guess she would say she was in her early twenties.  

“I saw ya’ the last time you was in town.” The woman said, leaning closer to the counter to peer into Willa’s empty basket. Willa’s fingers twitched and she moved her elbow into her waist just to feel the reassuring weight of her revolver settle lower on her hip. “I see you’re still not able to get anythin’.” 

Willa stayed quiet. Watching the woman.  

A pretty pink tinged the apple of her cheek and she ducked her head. “My daddy ain’t here today—got business out in Cimarron.” The woman bent and reached down to pick up a large sack of rice, plopping it down on the counter. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Her eyes twinkled then. It made her blue eyes seem even bluer.  

Willa swallowed, “I appreciate this, miss…”  

A sunburned hand thrust itself over the counter. Willa took it gently, giving it a firm shake before letting go. “Name’s Cherry.”  

“Cherry,” Willa repeated slowly, a small smile curving her lips up. “Well, since yer daddy ain’t here can I take a few of the soups on the shelf?”  

Cherry’s smile dimmed but she gave her a silent nod, watching her place three cans of the mutton broth into her basket. “It’s hard survivin’ out here, I suggest fillin’ up more on rice and bread. That’ll put some meat on your bones.”  

Willa laughed under her breath. She had lost a bit of weight living in New Mexico. She didn’t quite know how she felt about having it pointed out to her by a stranger, no matter how kind she was. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The price for everything would only come up to two dollars and eighty-five cents, but since this woman was one of the first to sell to her she slipped the girl a five-dollar bill. 

“Thank you, Cherry.” Before the girl could try and give her her change back she took her basket and left.  

༻✧༺

Willa tossed the rice back into the bag, cinching the top back together. 

For a long time, she sat there, eyes red but dry. If she had eaten any more of her food she would have been dead. If she wasn’t rationing her food she would have been a cold corpse on the ground. 

Calmly, Willa set the bag to rest against the wall and stood up, lurching to the left when she put too much weight down on her leg. Regaining her balance, she began the slow process of cleaning her shack. 

She spent the night scrubbing the vomit and blood off of the hardwood floor, the blood leaving a slight stain. She cleaned up her food, throwing it into the bag of tainted rice. She righted the furniture she had knocked over and opened windows to let the breeze take away the scent of stomach bile and copper. Tirelessly, an ill Willa worked through the night and into early morning to get her house back in order. 

When she was done she sat at her table staring out the window, cigarette smoke curling out of her mouth and a cup of tea warming her hands. Her brother’s journal sat open in front of her, a singular name written in neat cursive. 

New Mexico | November 15, 1932 

Since Willa’s poisoning, her migraines have become far more frequent. It affected the work she had to do around the ranch and her appetite. 

When she was young she always had a problem with eating properly when she was sick or in pain. Momma Lassie hated that. 

“How are you gon’ heal if you ain’t feeding yourself?” 

Those were the words she heard now as she struggled to carry her two pails of water from the well. She wished she knew why her stomach refused to keep food down, why she suddenly grew uninterested in it. She wondered if it had to do with her subconscious, unwilling to put food in her mouth without knowing it wasn’t poisoned. 

The thin metal handles of the pails dug into her palms, the water sloshing over the sides as she made her way back up the path toward her shack. Sweat dripped down the muscular indent of her back, her arms and shoulders straining. She wasn’t opposed or even afraid of laborious jobs, but she could feel the toll it was taking on her neglected body. 

Willa stumbled, cursing at the small pebble that nearly caused her to twist her ankle. 

Almost everyday—multiple times a day she cursed her brothers for picking this particular area to set up a home in. Surprisingly enough, she could see Sammie doing well homesteading but she knew music was his calling.

She could practically hear him humming as she approached her shack, the deep low soothing tones bouncing around in her memories of him. 

For the first time in weeks, she smiled a real smile. Sammie was in Chicago somewhere doing what he loved and she was happy for him. 

Willa climbed the two short steps up onto her porch and set the pails down, using her behind to keep the door open as she awkwardly shuffled the heavy buckets inside. After placing the pails by the fireplace she used some of the water to wash her hands, her eyes darting to look at the open letter on the table. 

Sammie had sent her a letter talking about what he had been up to. There was no mention of her brothers which she was thankful for. He had been hired to sing at a small barrelhouse, the pay was good and they even offered him lodgings. She thought it was beyond a fair deal. Willa smiled down at her sudsy hands. He wrote that he missed her calas and that the ones he had found in Chicago just weren’t as good as her own. Maybe in a year or two, she could visit him. 

Pain pulsed in the back of her head and she scowled, turning to dry her hands on a dish towel. 

She hated these migraines. They were the type that came after a long cry—when you had sobbed for hours and hours. The type that made sunlight seem like a gift from the devil.  

Ironically enough, Willa hadn’t cried like that since she felt Smoke like he was physically there. She assumed the migraine had to do with that. That the tears were blocked up inside her head, putting pressure on her temples and behind her eyes. Desperate to come out. 

Damp hands slowed their wiping process, a realization coming to her. 

Maybe this is how it was supposed to be. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be here anymore. Sammie had made it out because he still had something to give the world. 

What did she have? 

When she went to bed that night she didn’t bother lighting a candle. Her throbbing mind was occupied. 

Maybe she wasn’t meant to survive.

Her dreams were always filled with memories of that night. 

Vampires snapping their sharp teeth at her. Ol’ Delta Slim sacrificing himself to save the rest of them. Smoke and Stack fighting. Pearline bleeding out, her neck missing a chunk of flesh. Sammie jumping out the window without her. Jonah lying on the ground, a puddle of blood underneath him. 

And Remmick.  

His unreadable eyes strayed to her from her position guarding the loft window, her revolver tucked away and her stake trembling in her grasp. He watched her solemnly, pressing into her space, taking in the way she backed away from him until her heels hovered off the opening of the window.  

“Remmick…” Willa whispered hoarsely past her bruised throat. Her eyes welled as she stared up at him…she knew she was going to die. “Leave Sammie alone, ya’ hear me?”  

Remmick watched her silently, the sound of her brothers fighting made those tears drip down her cheeks.

Slowly, his hand rose. Somehow she didn’t flinch. 

His thumb smoothed over the damp skin, smearing away clumps of blood and dirt. Fingers gentle like the night she left him. She could smell his burning flesh as his fingers grazed against the leather string of her juju bag. 

His caress turned into a hold then and she tensed, feeling his claws shift through her hair, scraping against her scalp. He ignored her whimper. He ignored Smoke yelling at him to get away from her.  

For a short moment, she thought he would listen to her. Could see the conflict in his eyes as they darted from her own to behind her shoulder.  

For a short moment, she thought he would do the right thing for once.  

Until he pulled her into the sawmill and stepped to the side. 

The tug forward had her stumbling, Pearline’s fresh fangs glimmering in the warm light as she fell into her and flipped over the side of the railing. There was a still moment when Willa was in the air where she could see his strong back tense and flex as he leaped from the building. She could see both of her brothers watching her fall to the ground, their eyes wide with fear.  

She hit the ground hard. 

She knew that. Could feel it. 

Could feel the body that cushioned her fall crunch under her weight before the back of her head slammed into the ground.  

༻✧༺

Willa gasped, lurching up into a sitting position. Her hands scrambled across her body, patting the back of her head and clutching at her neck. The pain that had been plaguing her was gone. Willa swallowed and removed her hands to look down at them. 

They were scar-free, smooth like they were when she was thirteen.  

Willa looked around then, a gasp of shock leaving her when she realized she was in her childhood home. It was just how she remembered it; the knife marks on the side of the door frame marking her height and her brother’s. The thin layer of dust that coated the chair her mother was supposed to sit in. Her dad’s guitar that he had always left leaning against the wall by the kitchen.  

She got to her feet slowly, moving to walk around the preserved place. She hadn’t seen it since they buried her father.  

Willa ran her fingers along the back of Stack's chair, tears springing to her eyes as she did.  

A noise creaked on the porch and she snapped her head in that direction, finally picking up on a soft elderly voice. Rounding the corner, she could see the back of someone’s head as they rocked in a rocking chair. It was an older woman, her snow-white hair wet as if she had just taken a bath, the tight coils resting along the slope of her neck and grazing the tops of her slim shoulders.  

“This little light of mine…” The woman crooned, her chair rocking back slowly, too slow. “I’m gon’ let it shine…This little light of mine, I’m gon’ let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” The rocking slowed to a stop and the woman sat there for a moment. It was silent then. No sound of birds chirping or leaves moving in the wind. Just Willa’s rapid breathing and the woman’s foot tapping.  

Suddenly, the woman tilted her head, the side of her face barely visible as she spoke. “You just gon’ stand there, hm?” Her head faced forward again. “C’mere, child.”  

Without her consent, Willa’s feet carried her across the house and toward the woman, her hand raising to push open the screen door. There was something off about her, no matter how close she got, or how the angle changed the woman’s face remained turned away from her, a curtain of curled white hair blocking her features.  

“Oh, ya’ look just like yer momma, girl.” The woman chuckled. Willa didn’t know how she could know that…she still wouldn’t look at her. The old woman sniffed, deep and audible. “That spirit though. Seems ta’ me you take after yer daddy.”  

Willa flinched and the woman’s body shook as she silently laughed. “Don’t like that do ya’?” There was a smile in her voice. “You here wit’ me so I don’t see why yer worried.” She slowly spread out her thin arms, fingers apart as if she were trying to catch something big. It was like she was trying to show off something.  

Willa glanced around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. No bugs, no animals, no people.  

Just the old woman.  

Willa opened her mouth, heart pounding as she looked around the eerily still place. “He here?” There was only one person she was dreading to see on the other side. 

The woman sighed. “Do ya’ see ‘em?” Willa shook her head. “Then he ain’t here.”  

It had dawned on Willa that this was a other side…but it wasn’t hell and it certainly wasn’t heaven.  

“No.” She turned to the woman. “Smoke—and Sammie! Remmick went after him, I have to go back.”  

“Ain’t no way to go back if yer soul don’ wanna go.”  

“What do you mean?” Willa pressed. Her soul wanted to go back. Needed to go back. She had to get to Sammie, had to stop Remmick.  

“Yer cup is too full, girl. You got a demon’s wrath in you. A soul can only handle so much, don’ cha know that?”  

“I’ve tried —“ 

The woman cut her off, her hands slamming onto the armrests of her rocking chair. The noise seemed to echo across the dead air. “You ran. You could’ve faced it. Could’ve dealt with it better than yer daddy did. But ya’ didn’t.” She scoffed. “You ran yer clock right out. Ain’t no fixin’ that.”  

“I ain’t ready.” Willa wept, she thought she was. Thought she could deal with dying and seeing her mother for the first time but this. She couldn’t handle this. The old woman hummed quietly as she sobbed, the creak of a rocking chair deafening her cries. She felt like she was drowning in her tears. Getting buried beneath her grief.  

Willa sunk to the ground, her body molding to it as she cried and cried. Her tears were endless, flowing out of her in a constant stream, falling to soak into the ground like a downpour of rain.

She could feel hands ghosting over her face and neck, patting her. Could hear a muffled voice calling for her, screaming for her.  

Willa coughed, gasping sharply when a firm slap whipped her head to the side.  

Her eyes sprung open and she could see Sammie, the side of his face bloodied and cut. Willa lifted her hand to take a hold of his chin, concern twisting at her brow. She opened her mouth to speak. 

Sammie shushed her. “I’m okay. You look like shit, Birdie, fuck.” His hands trembled as they ran over her neck. “Can ya’ even talk?” 

Willa swallowed, “Yeah.”  

Sammie flinched. “No, you can’t.”  

Willa sat up. “Where’s Smoke—Stack? Remmick?” She pushed him away. “You should be in the next town over, what the hell are you doin’?” 

She would never forget the look on his face then. The way it dropped, the tears that flooded his eyes. She had sat up, not even feeling the broken string of her juju bag fall away and drop into the sawdust. She barely remembered shoving him away to sprint up the stairs of the sawmill to where she had last seen her brother alive. She had taken in the empty loft area and looked out the window then. She saw that it was morning. The sun had risen, and she hadn’t even noticed the gentle warmth of it. What she did notice was the slumped-over corpses, the dozens of black smudges dusting the ground, and her brother’s body.  

Those were her dreams now. Of her eldest brother laid out in the sun, a bullet wound cutting through his torso. Of Stack bleeding out as she held her hands to his neck. Of Mary preparing to bite her. Of Annie getting torn apart by someone she had gone out of her way to protect—to pray for.  

Her dreams were endless repeats of Club Juke and the old woman in the rocking chair humming. 

New Mexico | November 25, 1932 |

Willa lazily stirred her spoon around her bowl of soup, the metal scraping across the bottom as she mindlessly stared out the window and into the night. 

Sometimes her mind was only haunted by the awful, frightening things. Sometimes she was tortured by the good. 

She honestly didn’t know which was worse. 

There was one memory that she constantly remembered with Remmick. One that now filled her with shame. Knowing what she knew now, knowing how she was truly playing with the devil.

Her wedding night. 

It was a small affair. Just the two of them and a preacher willing to marry a colored woman and a white man. They had gotten married under a crescent moon on the roof of his apartment building. She had been so captivated by him. The darkness that lurked under the surface that called to a part of her that she despised. The way he watched her, like he might consume her. The way his hand shook only slightly when he finished swearing his vows. He had promised to cherish her. To put her above everyone else.

To protect her. 

She had fully believed him then. 

༻✧༺

Willa was never a nervous girl. Remmick seemed to do that to her. Make her a weak, trembling mess.  

A large warm hand ran its way up her back, taking its time as it caressed her, skating unhurriedly up the indent of her back, fingers bumping against the bones of her spine. Willa’s lips parted and her hand squeezed around the safety railing. She kept her eyes focused on the people below even as a nose pushed its way into her neck, nuzzling at her pulse. 

His chest pressed into her back, his hands coming forward to bracket her in the cage of his arms. His breath hissed out softly between his teeth, warming the space just below her ear. There was a noise. Almost like metal bending. Slowly, Willa glanced away from the people dancing beneath them to his hands on the railing. He had managed to warp the thick bar to the shape of his fingers. It was moments like this that amazed her—that she could feel so safe when she knew all he wanted to do was devour her. 

Willa flexed her fingers, moving her hand along the rail so that she could hook her pinky around his thumb. She could feel Remmick relax into her, letting some of his weight rock her forward. 

Her eyes dipped down to stare at her wedding band, then to the matching one on his finger. “Remi?”  

Her husband paused, pulling away to drag the hand she wasn’t holding up her thigh. “What is it?” His hand burned into her hip, hot and heavy. The stubble on his jaw scraped pleasantly along her brow when he tugged her closer. “Willa?”  

“How come you won’t tell me what you are?”  

She had figured it out a long time ago but he had never volunteered the information to her. She wanted to hear it from him. She wanted him to trust her with himself…like how she trusted him.  

He stiffened against her slightly, “Why is it important?” Willa gently slapped a hand against his arm. He didn’t always do that; answer a question with a question or make it seem like it shouldn’t matter. Unless it was about him. About the night she met him.

Willa turned in his arms, “I don’t have a right to know?” She pressed into him, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Yer wife can’t know why you sleep all day or why ya’ like the taste of blood?” Nervous never meant she couldn’t be bold. Her hands drifted down his body, stopping when they caught on the waistband of his slacks. “Yer wife can’t know why you disappear all the damn time?” Her hand slipped inside and she cupped his thickening length, clenching her thighs together at the thought of it coming near her.  

She could hear his breathing pick up as she tugged his pants down, could feel him huff out a groan when she pulled his cock free from its confines. “Well?” She hummed.  

Remmick grit his teeth, grinding them together when she ran her fingers over his thighs. “You never been this curious before. Why now?”  

Willa sank to her knees, staring into his soul as she licked at her bottom lip. “I wanna know now. I wanna know how to love the side of you that you hide.” She watched how his eyes slid shut as if he thought that if he couldn’t see her he wouldn’t have to answer. 

She didn’t like that.  

Holding his heavy dick by the base she slowly ran a tongue up the underside, eyes fluttering at the feeling of veins pulsing. Red glinted eyes snapped open, watching her with an intense focus that would have scared her if she were anyone else. The tip of her tongue reached the underside of his head and she widened her mouth, finally taking him inside her damp heat.  

The groan he released had her thighs slipping against one another. It was deep, low, and open. This was a man who wasn’t afraid of how loud he was. The noises fed her. It made her pussy drenched knowing she had him groaning and gripping at the railing.  

One of his hands delved into her hair, getting lost in her curls as he helped work her head into a rhythm. The sides of her mouth burned from a stretch she wasn’t used to and she was so focused on pleasing him that she had forgotten that she needed to breathe. Willa yanked him out of her mouth, swirling her tongue around his tip and working both of her hands over his length.   

“You scared I won’t love you if yer a vampire?”  

His eyes flashed down to her, a groan stealing away whatever he would have said when she sucked him down again. The noises that came from him were obscene. She wanted to hear him make them while he was inside her, right into her ear. Willa moaned around him at the image in her mind and she rolled her hips, groaning when she couldn’t feel an ounce of relief.  

“You like doin’ this, don’cha?” Remmick huffed and grabbed the sides of her head so that her eyes were forced to stay on his. “What a dirty fuckin’ girl you are—Like the way I taste, huh?” Willa nodded, suckling on him when he groaned deep in his chest. “Good—fuck.”  

Willa whimpered when he pulled her off his dick. She continued to rub her hands up and down his shaft, even when she could feel his thighs trembling under her arms. “I want you in me when you cum,” Willa whispered, her head tipped back to stare up at him, watching his red eyes.  

Remmick had cussed then, leaning down to capture her lips in a consuming kiss. She could feel him moving her to lie down, could feel the chill of night cooling down her sweaty body. She wanted him—needed him so desperately. Her dress was shucked up to reveal her bare pussy. The breathy chuckle that left him made her cheeks heat, she could feel him lowering himself down her body until his head was resting on her inner thigh.  

There was a break in the sexual tension when his hand smoothed over the wide scar on her inner thigh. She could feel him pressing his lips to it as he always did. Little brushes that made her want to weep.  

His head turned away from the scar and his face nuzzled deeper between her legs. The sensation of his tongue pressing against her sopping wet core had her entire body jolting. She didn’t want that. She wanted him inside her. 

“Remi, please.” She moaned out, like a whore. She could barely hear him mutter back a response before his hot mouth sealed over her nub. Remmick had explored her body plenty of times before. Had made her come everytime he did but she had never experienced anything close to what he was doing to her. 

It was like he had only given her a small taste of what he was capable of, waiting until she was finally his to deliver her straight to heaven. 

Willa’s back arched off the ground when she felt him apply suction to her clit. His arm banded over her hips like steel, keeping her from running away. “You think you can handle me?” Remmick whispered into her, his tongue delving into her heat. “Ya’ wanna know all the evil sides of me?”  

Willa couldn’t even think about what he was saying, not when he was making her feel so good but she nodded anyway. 

“You want to know that I can hear how close ya’ are already—just by how fast yer heart is beatin’.” A finger worked its way into her tightness and she moaned, loud and long. “Every time I hold ya’ I think about bitin’ into yer flesh. I dream about sippin’ at yer blood again.” Another finger pushed into her and she gasped, shoving her fingers into his hair to tug him to the clit he had begun to neglect. She didn’t care about the words he was saying. They were going through one ear and out the other. 

“Yer pain calls to me. When ya’ cry, when ya’ moan. Music to my ears.” 

There was a hint of pain. A burning sensation that had her whimpering even as she pressed closer to it. She craved the hurt. The blood. The mess.  

“So wet for me, pretty girl.” Remmick hissed, pumping his fingers as he watched her toss her head. Suddenly, he slowed and she grunted, letting one of her hands fall to grasp his wrist, her hips moving to try and bring back that same euphoric feeling he was just giving her.  

“How did you know?” He asked, his breath ghosting over her throbbing nub. Willa clenched around his thick digits.  

“It’s obvious—please, I need you.” She gasped. She was unaware of the look in his eyes as he slowly pulled away from her, rising to his knees to shuck off the rest of his clothing. 

Willa blinked her eyes open, vision blurry with tears. Her breath stalled at the sight of odd symbols marked into his skin. Willa stared up at the massive scar that lanced across his stomach. It was too big—too deep for someone to survive it but here he was in front of her. Alive. The symbols meant nothing to her—just slanted and curved lines that were blackened. It was only when he knelt over her that she noticed they were brands.  

Willa gasped. “Remmic—“ 

Remmick shushed her, pulling her dress up until it was over her head. When she was completely bare he tugged at her hip once, his inhuman strength easily dragging her closer until her core bumped into the tip of his dick.  

His voice was hushed, his eyes lacking the glint of red as he watched her. “I am what I am. I crave blood…I crave you.” Willa trembled, swallowing down a sick moan at the feverish want she could see in his eyes. 

He reached for her left hand, dragging it across the large old scar before pulling it back and laying it on her stomach, her wedding ring glinting. “Press down.” He ordered quietly. There was a certain quality to his voice now. Now that she revealed that she knew exactly what he was, there was no hiding. What was the point of doing that anymore? “Willa.” He urged firmly. 

Willa listened, pressing her palm into her pelvis. It was such an odd thing but she could feel herself clenching down on nothing.  

With care, Remmick leaned over her, curling one hand under her shoulder, coaxing her to wrap an arm around his neck. She could feel his heat poking into her core, dragging up and down, she gasped each time his dick brushed against her clit. Willa tilted her hips up, pressing kisses along his tensed jaw until she landed on his lips.  

That was when he pressed in on a downstroke, his tip breaching her pussy, stretching it open in one smooth thrust. Remmick sipped the gasp straight out her mouth, barely waiting before pressing into her again. She could feel him through her palm, and she pressed down, reflexively clamping down on his length. The pain was a minute thing. Something her brain shoved off to the side in favor of experiencing the immense amount of pleasure that had her eyes slipping closed and her mouth falling open.  

Remmick had fallen still above her, his breathing ragged. “Takin’ me so well. Ya’ look so pretty with me makin’ you so full.” There was an almost dazed quality to his voice. “Shit—I can see how deep I am. Can you feel that? How good it feels?” His next thrust had her moaning so loudly she was sure the preacher could hear them as he walked his way back home. 

“Tell me.” Remmick drawled, eyes half lidded. “Need those pretty lips to tell me I’m makin’ you feel good.” 

Willa pressed down harder on her pelvis, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” She was sure she was slurring her words at that point. She was overwhelmed with just how much she was feeling. How good the burn of the stretch felt, how euphoric the pleasure was.

“So fuckin’ tight.” He grunted, his thumbs digging into her hips as he waited for her to adjust.  

She felt so full of him. He was everywhere. In her ear, whispering things that had her pussy trying to milk his cock. It felt like he was coating her entire being in him.  

Slowly—almost excruciatingly so, he began to move, dragging himself out before pushing back in. Shallowly thrusting, working her body until she was able to take him to the hilt. Beneath her palm, she could feel him going so impossibly deep. Her right hand squeezed against his shoulder, finger spreading wide as she raked her nails across his skin. Remmick groaned into her ear, his dick twitching inside her when she did it again.  

Willa smiled against his temple when he let his head drop. “I want you to drink from me.” She whispered.  

Remmick immediately shook his head, but she could see how his body reacted to her saying that. The way his hips picked up speed, the way his hands pressed into her skin.  

He wanted to.  

Willa leaned up, nipping at his ear. “You had my blood before…” Her hips rose to meet his, her eyes fluttering shut as she lowered her hand to rub at her clit. Her moans flowed into his ear and she gasped when he pulled out almost all the way and rammed into her again. “I wonder what tastes better…my pussy or my blood.”  

Remmick snarled, the sound making her clamp down on him. His dick punched into her and she could feel it in her gut, pressing so deep she was sure he was trying to reach her womb. His name fell from her lips in a low chant as he worked her over the edge. As she came, she bit into her tongue, blood flooding her mouth. 

Dragging his face to hers, she kissed him, gasping when his tongue delved into her mouth to lick at her own. A noise left him that had a small part of her pausing. A cautious part of her that let her know that there was a predator above her, inside her. It lit her on fire knowing that she had this powerful creature that she had seen dispatch an entire bar in a matter of minutes above her, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.  

“Do I taste good?” She wondered against his lips, swallowing her taste. Remmick cussed.  

A hand wrapped around her throat, a firm hold that had her blood singeing through her veins. His thrusts were wild. Manic in the way they sped up, slamming into her over and over again. Hitting her cervix with enough force that she came again. She choked, her left hand coming up to hold onto the steely wrist that pinned her against the ground. Willa craned her neck back, her moans echoing up to the moon and the stars, the only things to witness the two beings losing themselves completely to one another.  

Lips pressed into her neck and she gave him more space. 

A tongue slipped past trembling lips, coming out to lick at the sweaty skin.  

Unbeknownst to the writhing woman the man above her was holding onto his control by a string. Her scent called to him. Her sample of blood he had gotten would never be enough to satisfy him. He craved more.  

Remmick bent his head, widening his mouth over that stretched neck, the very tip of his fangs scratching along the artery pumping that sweet, sweet blood. Under her shoulder his hand clenched, breaking the concrete floor into dust. His other hand ripped out of her grip to slam down by her head to do the same thing. He didn’t trust himself to touch her at that moment. Didn’t trust that he wouldn’t rip through her soft flesh and devour her whole.  

His hips moved faster and he felt her pussy juice spatter against him with each violent thrust. He hadn’t wanted her first time to be so rough but she had slipped her blood into his mouth and it set him off. He needed more. More blood. More of her.  

His teeth sank into her neck by an inch, the blood beading onto his tongue. Remmick sucked at it, his eyes squeezing shut.  

He was an addict. Addicted to her taste.  

Something soft brushed between them and then he could smell her musk.  

Transfixed, Remmick watched his wife spread her cum onto her lips, her eyes half-lidded as she curled her finger at him.  

She didn’t know what she did to him.  

What a dangerous woman she was.  

Remmick kissed her. Her cum and her blood mingling on his tongue was enough to send him over the edge but he wanted her to fall with him too. Bringing a hand down her body, he pinched her clit between his fingers and rolled, swallowing her moans as they left her mouth. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice, so tight he couldn’t even move. His moans fell from his lips and into hers as his hips stilled.  

Her lips moved against his own, smiling lazily. “Husband.” Willa murmured happily, petting at his back, soothing the cuts she had left behind.  

Remmick wasn’t sure he could form words. But he did manage to say the one thing that set a primal part of him on fire. “Wife.” She was his and his alone. 

༻✧༺

Willa swallowed repeatedly, nausea making her mouth flood with saliva. Slamming up and away from the table she pushed open the window and vomited, spewing the dusty ground with stomach acid and her meal. 

Dragging a hand across her mouth Willa stared into the darkness, her chest stinging from the way the wood dug into her breasts. 

A flash in the dark. A dim metallic red. 

Willa stared. 

Slowly, she brought her head back inside, her eyes never leaving the glowing eyes in the dark. 

“A coyote.” She mumbled through numb lips. Turning her back to the window she sunk to her knees, slowly moving until she was lying on her side, ear pressed against the dirty wooden floor. 

Her body sank into it, her hip bone pressing almost painfully into the ground. Dull eyes stared into an unlit fireplace. Her brother’s jar glinted in the moonlight and the lighter she kept tucked by her heart seared into her skin like a brand. 

༻✧༺

Remmick watched her from afar. 

She wasn’t eating. Wasn’t sleeping properly and barely drinking enough water. 

The flicker of candlelight brightened the night and he watched her door open. She rarely ever left the house when it was dark out and the break in her tight routine had him sitting up. His eyes were aimed up, approximately where her head should have been. But the door stayed open, the dim light from inside casting dancing shadows into the grass and shrubbery. Finally, he lowered his eyes to see her crumpled on the floor just barely within her home. His heart stalled and he slowly rose from his spot. 

She had crawled her way to the door, leaving it open to stare in his direction. He knew she could see his eyes. Knew that she now knew he had been watching her. 

Remmick stalked closer, eying her frail body. She was wearing a thin light blue slip, the straps slipping down and revealing almost an entire breast. If he wasn’t concerned with the sheer amount of weight she’d lost in such a short time he would have commented. 

He stopped about a few feet away from her, closing his eyes to listen to her heartbeat. 

Sluggish and slow. 

Remmick flashed forward, his unhuman speed bringing him inches from her in seconds. 

“Willa.” He rasped, taking in her bony collarbones. Her eyes were half-lidded. Observing him coldly. “Baby, lemme help ya’.”

Slowly—painfully slow, she shook her head, chapped lips unmoving. 

“You have to at least drink water, hm.” He glanced inside her home, on the kitchen table he could see an entire meal laid out. It was still steaming. “Why don’t ya’ go and eat, okay? That food’s gonna get cold with you sittin’ here.” He fought to keep the panic out of his voice but by the cruel amusement he could see swimming in her eyes, he had failed. 

Pain ached in his vertebrae and he turned his head to catch a glimpse of the sunrise, flinching when his skin started to blister. 

Turning back to his wife, he gave her one word before he left. 

“Eat.”

As soon as the sun fell again he came back, a gutted and skinned jackrabbit clutched in his grip. 

Willa had not left her spot on the floor. He could hear her breathing quietly so he didn't rush to check on her. Instead, he built a small fire pit to the right side of her porch, placing the rabbit to cook on a few flat rocks he found. While the rabbit sizzled he tried to get her to drink water from his flask. Not exactly his, it was one he had stolen from Bert weeks ago. 

“Need you to drink, baby,” Remmick said quietly, waking her from her sleep. Willa tilted her head back to look at him. Umber eyes foggy with exhaustion. Remmick placed the flask on the floor, using his pointer finger to push it to her until his finger hit what felt like a solid wall. 

Willa worked her mouth, blinking her eyes like she was coming out of anesthesia. 

“No…” She hushed. 

Frustration festered in his gut. 

“What are ya’ tryin’ to do? Kill yourself?” The vampire snarled, twisting his head to stare off into the distance. “You wanna hurt me? Okay, I’m hurtin’, baby. Watchin’ you kill yourself like this is killin’ me.” 

He had been a starving boy before. He knew how it felt to not have food in your belly. How eventually it felt like raw aching pain. And he could see that pain in her eyes. Could see her stubbornly willing to do this to make him hurt. 

He pressed closer, tilting his head to catch her eyes again. She was so beautiful it hurt. Her breath wheezed out of her when she sighed, her eyelids drooping. He could see the hate in their depth, could see the caution—but what really gutted him was the fear. For the first time, she was watching him with fear. His brave, pretty girl was afraid of him.

How could he have ever wanted to taste her fear? 

“You want to hurt me? Take a stake dipped in melted silver and I’ll teach you the runes you need to etch into it. You can drive it straight through my heart…but this? You can’t do this. ”

Willa only nodded off. 

She did not eat the rabbit or drink from the flask. 

It went on for a few more days. Him lighting the fire pit and cooking rabbit or chicken, sitting so close to her he could feel her warmth through the thin sliver of space keeping them from touching. Her rejecting all the food and water he softly urged her to take. Day after day he had to watch her slowly deteriorate in front of him. His Willa losing the natural shine to her skin. Her lips becoming chapped from the minuscule amount of water she drank. 

Remmick was at his wit's end. Completely unable to take care of the one person he had left in the world. 

It was the fourth day that scared him the most. He could always hear her heart beating stubbornly in the background of his thoughts. It surprised him that he didn’t notice that it had stopped until he tried to hand her another piece of rabbit only for his hand to fall straight through that solid barrier. 

He could hear her heart give out. 

Never had he moved as fast as he did then. 

Savagely, he bit into his palm and then pressed it to her mouth. 

Long ago he had learned that his blood could save lives that were on the brink of death. Just like music, blood had the power to bring forth spirits—but unlike music, it could be used as a physical bridge between life, death, and something else completely. And the warmth of life that reminded him of the sun was slipping away. 

Blood pooled into her mouth, the powerful liquid dripping past her lips to drip uselessly down to the ground. He could tell she wasn’t able to swallow it. He could feel her pulse fluttering irregularly, thumping weakly where he held her. Her life flickering in and out like a weak bulb.

Remmick didn’t deserve anything life had to offer. After centuries of watching the world go by, and being unable to connect back with his people he knew he would never find true happiness. And he had turned that despair into something wicked. He had hurt people for the hell of it. He had tried to make connections and communities the way he had been taught, the way he had grown up seeing. And each time they failed. Over and over he was stripped of feeling everlasting peace. 

Until he had her. 

He had her and pushed her away to get to the boy who could only give him something temporary. 

And with a stake pricking his heart, the sun setting his body on fire, he had deeply regretted that decision. 

“Drink, Willa.” Blinking away the dampness from his eyes, he rubbed a thumb along the column of her throat and finally, she swallowed. “That’s a good girl. Good job, darlin’.” He cooed, removing his bloodied hand to reach for the flask that had managed to fall over when he moved her. Maneuvering her so that she lay sideways in his lap, he fed her the water slowly, encouraging words spilling from his mouth whenever she opened her mouth for more. 

He couldn’t help himself from indulging in the moment. In the physical closeness she wouldn’t have granted him if she was healthy and not on the verge of death. Remmick shifted her again, her head knocking into his collarbone as he stood up and settled down closer to the warmth that escaped through the open door. She was so much lighter now and he could feel the ladder of her ribs as he ran a hand down her side. Beneath his hand, he could feel her stomach gurgle. 

Looking to the side he glanced at the jackrabbit, the steam still rising lazily off the meat. Careful not to disturb her, he leaned to the side—her body following his—and ripped off a chuck of the meat. Her dry lips were parted, her lashes fanned out over her gaunt cheeks. 

“C’mon…” He coaxed, rubbing the oily meat along her bottom lip until her mouth opened. “ Good .” He whispered into her ear, slipping the meat to the side of her mouth so that she could chew. It was a slow process but she managed to eat a good amount before her brows began to furrow, and her mouth pulled down into a frown. 

Remmick chuckled low, licking his fingers clean and wiping them dry on his shirt. Nosing at the side of her head he inhaled her scent. It had an immediate effect on him. His chest didn't feel as heavy, his shoulders felt lighter, and his jaw relaxed.

For the first time since being reborn again, he felt content.

That night he held her until he had to leave in the morning. 

༻✧༺

Willa woke to the warmth of the sun on her skin and her belly full.

Chapter Text

New Mexico | November 30, 1932 |

Pots and pans filled with rainwater spilled onto the dusty hardwood floor, knocked over by frantic feet that carelessly spread the water as they hurried over to the sink. 

Willa slammed open the cabinets, her fingers shaking as she scrambled to grab two of the family-sized canned beans from their space on the shelf. Tossing them onto the counter, she searched frantically for a can opener, her stomach twisting painfully as hunger hit her so intensely it felt like something was clawing at her insides. 

“Where is it?” She hissed angrily, yanking open drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, only to come up empty. 

Her eyes drifted over to the still firmly sealed can of beans. 

They were taunting her. 

Yanking her knife up from the table, she grabbed one of the cans and stabbed the sharp tip through the top of the tin, wiggling the knife back and forth to widen the hole. Her knife clattered mutedly when she tossed it to the side and brought the ragged edge of the can to her lips. 

The liquid hit her tongue first and she groaned, flexing her jaw so that the cold beans could fall straight into her mouth. The juice flowed past the corner of her lips and spilled down her front, drenching her chest in the cold wetness. 

If she were in her right mind, she would have been embarrassed by the noises that left her and by how she looked at that very moment. 

The can emptied quickly, too quickly and Willa let it fall out of her grasp, listening to it clang onto the ground.

She was still hungry. Still thirsty. 

Her eyes fell on the rest of her emergency food stash. 

The rational part of her brain flickered on and she gasped, backing away from her kitchen area only to slip on water and stumble into her dining table, her hip catching painfully on the corner—further reminding her that she was losing her mind. 

The abandoned meal from days ago wobbled and she froze, turning to watch the wooden bowl tip over and spill some of the cold clumpy soup over the side. 

Her mouth watered and she spun away, heading into Stack’s room and shutting the door behind her. 

Why was she so hungry? 

Aggressively, Willa ripped the damp nightgown off of her and tossed it to the side. Running a trembling hand down her front, she slowly felt the pronounced ladder of her ribs, the slight bulge of the large can of beans she had just eaten. 

The watering of her mouth quickly turned to ash. 

She hated beans. 

Despised them. 

And she had just gobbled down a whole can as if they were candied peanuts. She dragged the back of her hand over her mouth, swiping away the bean juice with a grimace. 

She ran her hands over her face, trying desperately to scrub away the itch for food and moved to sit on the bed. What the hell was going on with her? 

“Good job, darlin’.” 

Willa swallowed, removing her hands so that she could fall over on her side. Outside the window, through the slim slit in the navy blue curtains, the sun shone just above the horizon. 

The start of a new day. 

A new day she shouldn’t have been seeing. 

She had nearly starved herself to death. Had barely drunk enough water to keep the elasticity of her skin or the moisture in her mouth. She had even felt herself enter a state of being where she could only hear things. 

Hear him and his pathetic attempts to keep her alive. 

Somehow he had succeeded. 

She was still alive. 

After all the pain and suffering, all the death and gore why had her heart—

A hand crept up her body, up past her sternum to lay flat against her left breast. 

Thump…thump…t-thump…

Willa let her hand fall away. Her heart was pounding away behind her ribs. 

Air whistled out from between her teeth and she angrily blinked tears from her eyes, ignoring the urge to go and open the other can of beans. 

Her eyes drifted to the window, her teeth sawing into her bottom lip. He had come for her. Had been watching her for who knows how long. Her hands shook as she wrapped them around her waist, as if she could hold in the disgusting slimy feeling of fear. 

She had never really been afraid of him while they were in New Orleans. He had always gone out of his way to protect her from himself and others. But the Remmick that had shown up at Club Juke wasn’t interested in only her. 

There was Sammie. 

For whatever reason he had wanted her cousin more, with a selfish urgency that wounded and scared her. She had seen him murder before. But it was always justified in her mind. Those people had hurt her. Had pinned her to a table and allowed the man she was with to rip open her face with his knife. 

Club Juke was different. Those were good people. Killed. Slaughtered and made reborn for an agenda she wasn’t sure she could ever understand. 

It was a tragedy felt through their community. Bo’s stores that helped serve them would now be under the management of a child, one who was grieving her parents. Mothers had lost sons and daughters. Wives had lost husbands and vice versa. 

Because of her. Because of Remmick. 

The man she somehow still considered her husband. Even if it made her chest ache and her heart burn. 

Lord save her, it utterly shamed her. 

It was one thing to invite the devil to warm her bed but it was another to bare her neck and let him drink from her. 

She was as bad as him. If not worse. 

Because she was—no, had been blinded by love. By her selfishness and greed. She couldn’t claim to be the naive young girl anymore, could she? Not when she had actively let him in. 

Willa let her eyes drift shut, the warmth of the sun blocked by the curtain leaving the room cold and dark, lulling her into fitful sleep. 

༻✧༺

She waited for him to return once the sun went down. She had slept through the entire day, neglecting her chores. Having dreams about her brothers and the creak of a rocking chair haunting the background like soft jazz. 

Willa had woken to her dark shack in complete disarray, her pots to catch water from the holes in the ceiling were knocked over and spilled all over her floor. There were beans littering the ground and soup dripping off the table. It didn’t take her very long to clean it all up but she was disgusted with herself—that she had been so controlled by hunger that she had made her home a mess.

She didn’t even bother to make supper, far too sickened from the way she had ravaged the can of beans that could have lasted her a good week. Willa hated wasting food like that, especially when she was as weak as she was. And knowing that winter was here and that she needed to stretch the food that she had. 

Damp hair curled above her shoulders, cool droplets splashing onto the table and dripping down between her cleavage. She had managed to wash up with the water she had in the shack, and that was when she truly noticed just how much weight she lost. 

Willa had always been plumper, with a wide behind, and a rounded belly. She had seen right away that she had dropped an unhealthy amount of weight. Her skin had stretch marks bracketing her belly button and loose flabby skin around her upper arms. Her knees looked knobbier, her legs slim in a way that scared her. If Annie were alive she would have thrown a fit, would’ve forced her to sit at her kitchen table and eat the greasiest food known to man. Or grits drowned in butter and topped with salt and pepper.

She missed having someone like that to care for her. Smoke and Stack always had one another. Could always lean on each other to handle what the other couldn’t. Willa had to do it on her own now. 

Willa sighed, sipping at her lukewarm tea and staring out her window as if she could conjure Remmick with her mind only. 

She wanted answers. He was supposed to be dead. Sammie had said that Smoke had driven a stake through his heart, that he had burst into flames when the sun had broken past the treeline.

Sammie had promised her he was gone. 

She should have known better than that. 

Her hands fiddled with the handle of her mug, her eyes on her last cigarette, Remmick’s lighter, and her revolver. She had been doing well at not smoking—getting poisoned and constantly reliving her worst nightmare tended to do that. 

She had also run out of tobacco and rolling papers. 

Willa licked at her teeth, using her pointer finger to roll the cigarette back and forth as she contemplated whether she should smoke it or not. She still hadn’t gotten her luggage yet. She was halfway sure that the townies in Raton had taken them and rummaged through it like it was Christmas day. Most of the essential items that she needed at the ranch were in those trunks. Her extra ammunition, her gardening tools, her mother’s set of pans, and some of her money she had hidden in her dirty dress from Club Juke. 

She huffed, a sardonic smile twisting the corner of her lips up. If they did steal her belongings she hoped that they found that dress first. 

Many of her most important possessions were still at her hidden cottage to be delivered by her hand only. If she could figure out how to rent a horse or a mule from Raton. Just the thought of heading back to that town had her blowing out a sigh. 

She was honestly becoming tired of trying to survive here. She had no idea what she was doing—why she was given another chance at living life and why she was so eager to try and live for the dead. The things she went through were weighing down on her and the soil at the back of her shack was calling her name.

Rocks rolling and knocking into one another had her head snapping up and to the left, her depressive thoughts settling off to the side as she grabbed her revolver. 

He was back. 

Willa got up from her seat, adjusting the bodice of her mourning dress as she moved to stand just within her open doorway to watch him approach. 

Remmick was wearing cleaner clothing than she had last seen him in, the beige button-up shirt was replaced by a wine-colored one that he left partially unbuttoned to show peeks of his white wife-beater. The slacks he wore were black and held up by equally black suspenders.

She hated that he had done that. Dressed in clean, new-looking clothing like it could disguise the sins she knew he committed.

All she could see when she looked at him now was flashes of that night. With blood dripping down his chin, his face full of triumph when he thought he had finally gotten what he wanted. All she could see were the graves she dug and her brother's dead body.

And just like that she no longer wanted answers. 

Didn’t need them. Didn’t care. She wanted him gone. Away from her and forever out of her life.

Willa opened her mouth to tell him to turn his ass around but the large shifting shadow next to him had her pausing, her face sliding in an unreadable mask when she saw what it was. 

Slowly, Remmick breached into the warm light that emulated from her shack, stopping just at the bottom of the porch steps to stare up at her. She could feel his intense gaze on the side of her face, skimming down her body and causing goosebumps to rise as if it were a physical touch. 

Willa ignored him, focusing instead on the donkey arching its neck to sniff at her. Its wide brown nostrils flared as she stared down at its furry white nose bridge. On its back, it carried a few empty holding containers for water and leather packs. 

Turning her eyes back to Remmick, she stilled. He was closer to her, standing on the second step peering down at her, his head tipped to the side. She could feel her heart skip and it took everything in her not to back up deeper into her home. How did he move without her even noticing? 

The vampire’s dark brows furrowed, his eyes darting over her face, lingering on the scab above her eye and the scar on her cheek. He could probably hear her heart trembling with fear even if she tried not to show it outwardly. 

“Why?” Willa clipped, her fingers clenching around the grip of her gun, her nail dragging along the rounded pommel. Remmick continued to stare at her face—as if the gun wasn’t a threat at all. She guessed it wouldn’t be for someone like him.

“Didn’t know I needed a reason to see my wife.” 

Her upper lip curled at that. Was she supposed to believe he still cared about her? After he sent her flying over the railing in Club Juke—after he murdered her people—her brothers. After he orchestrated the event that made up all of her dreams and nightmares.

As if sensing the rise of her emotions he stepped up onto the porch, the clank of her revolver doing nothing to stop him from dropping the lead of the donkey to get closer to her. 

“How’d ya’ get inside?” She demanded, her fear finally leaking into her voice. It made him pause. 

She could see the change in him too, the red glint in his eye flashing as he leaned closer to her. 

“You died.” His voice was cold, angry. It almost made her take a step back. He had never used that tone with her before—he hadn’t even used it while he was at Club Juke terrorizing her brother's sawmill. His shoulders were tense and his arms flexed as he clenched his fists, the muscles stretching the fabric taut. He was angry with her, she could see it in the set of his lips, in the slant of his brows. He was angry at her for trying—no—succeeding in killing herself. For neglecting herself as he helplessly watched, unable to do a thing. 

It was a weird feeling to find out she had passed. She didn’t remember that at all. She recalled sleeping almost endlessly after she completely stopped eating. She remembered the heat of another person and being held. She knew he was the one holding her gently, pressing his scruff against the side of her face. 

“You died—yer heart stopped beatin’.” 

Willa was stone. She wanted to feel triumphant, proud that she had managed to get him worked up but it felt slightly off. 

Of course, it did. She could hear the hurt in his voice. 

Still, she shook it off and glanced down at her knuckles, at the pale brown scars flecked over them. Willa sucked in a breath, a harsh laugh coming out with her exhale. “So what? Am I like you now?” 

Remmick shook his head, releasing a weary sigh that she felt fan over the top of her head. She watched him cautiously as he moved, turning to jog back down the porch and tie the donkey to one of the support beams. It went along easily, his tail whipping his end tuff to swat at one of the bugs that were biting at his rear.

“I’d have to bite you for you to turn.” He said calmly as he removed some of the items from the donkey's back. She watched him work, her mind moving a mile a minute. He had bitten her before. She had let him drink from her neck multiple times but she knew for a fact she hadn’t been turned. 

But what he did to her was completely different from the absolute carnage she saw at Club Juke. They had ripped out necks, leaving them to bleed out with no chance to save them. Willa could feel her heart picking up again. 

Her eyes found their way back to him. He was nailing a white tarp into the ground to give the donkey temporary cover. Why would he need to do that when her stable was just a few yards away? She kept her mouth closed, keeping her questions to herself. 

Remmick tightened a rope and the canvas went taut. “Got feed and hay for him too.” He grunted, moving around the donkey to place down said hay and feed. 

In truth, Willa was a bit shocked at his nonchalance. She had died yesterday and here he was toting around a donkey and acting like seeing him wasn’t torture to her soul. Like he wasn’t the reason she wanted to die. She looked away from him when he crossed to the right side of the porch, her eyes filling with tears that she rushed to blink away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him disappear and come back, bending and peeking into crevices. 

“Where the hell is yer well pump?” 

Well pump? 

“Thought the well and the river were the only source of water ‘round here.” She muttered under her breath, knowing he could hear her just fine. Without her permission, she could feel her face heat in embarrassment. She had been hiking almost daily to get to the well and she was just learning that there could be a pump somewhere. 

“Nah, baby. They wouldn’t build so far from it…“ He trailed off, his blue eyes slitting as he squinted, his hand coming up to scrub at the scruff on his chin. “Reckon they got one nearby.” He used to do that a lot, casually explain things. Making her feel not so stupid for not knowing. Remmick slapped a palm on his thigh. “Right, I’ll look for it after you eat.” 

Willa stared. 

“How are you here?” Why was he here? He was supposed to be dead, not trying to crawl his way back into her life with good deeds and a fucking donkey.

Remmick sighed. “I can’t be killed with just a regular stake to the heart.” He revealed, watching her watch him. That’s right…he had told her that a few days ago, she wracked her brain for what he said only to come up empty. Her revolver shook in the quiet following his confession, revealing to him what he no doubt figured out the very moment he was close to her again. 

“Yer scared of me.” Remmick deduced quietly, staring up at her from below. The height difference should have felt reassuring to her but it was impossible to feel that way when he watched her almost knowingly. Like he knew her better than she knew herself. Like he could see exactly what she was thinking. 

It terrified her that he probably did. 

Willa could see him pausing, waiting for her to reply. So she did, hating the weakness she was showing so freely. “Of course, I’m scared.” 

She could see the disbelief, the maelstrom of emotions flickering in those metallic depths before he dragged his eyes away. Willa almost wanted to laugh—could feel the urge bubbling in the back of her throat. What did he think was going to happen when he showed up out of the blue and murdered everyone she held dear to her heart? 

He moved forward a step and she tensed, observing the way he turned his body and sat heavily onto her top step. 

“You ain’t never been afraid of me before.” 

She had been, when he was in Club Juke and she felt his clawed hand caress and then grip her face, fear had surged through her like she had been struck by lightning. It had come quickly but left just as fast. 

It had left as fast as the back of her head slamming into the ground. 

But she had felt it before even that. When he gave her a glimpse of what her future would be if she had stayed in Louisiana. 

Willa straightened her posture, mentally picking up the weak creature her psyche had become, and tossed it off to the side.

She stared down at his wide back, only seeing the memory of when he turned it on her and leaped from the window to go after Sammie. 

“My brothers are dead, Remi.” Willa told him harshly, her own heart flinching at the insensitive words, though they were the truth. “I buried Smoke…Annie. Dug out the dirt with a faulty shovel until my hands bled.” There were probably dozens of other families back in Clarksdale who had done the same, only they would have to lower empty caskets into the cold ground. 

And Stack…there was no body for her to bury, only blood-soaked memories. 

Her revolver felt heavy in her grasp and she should have raised it and put a bullet in the back of his head. Instead, she backed up farther into her shack, her hand on the handle of the door. “I don' know why you came here…but I suggest you leave. There ain’t nothin’ here for you.” 

The whispered apology went ignored, deafened by the sound of a heart splintering.

Willa left him to sit out on the porch alone, shutting her door quietly, and moved to lay down on her makeshift bed in front of the fireplace. Her chest heavy and numb, her lungs only working when she reminded them to. 

Her brother's jar gleamed at her from on top of the shelf. She wondered if she was just imagining the air growing cold with disappointment.

Throughout the night she could hear Remmick fiddling outside her home, hammering some distance away until the sun came up. Not that she could see it, she was already asleep by the time it had risen. 

༻✧༺ 

Willa woke to darkness, so dark she wasn’t even sure her eyes were open. Her revolver shook in her grasp, filling her shack with metallic clanks. 

She was terrified, her breathing coming in and out of her lungs faster than her brain could keep up. Her mouth was dry, reminding her of the death she had faced before. It deepened her terror, pulling her farther into a panic she couldn’t drag herself out of. She felt like she was underwater, dragging in sips of water that weren’t made for her lungs. Her eyes fluttered, her lashes tickling her cheeks as her brain started feeling fuzzy. Her head lolled to the side as her breathing grew quicker.

There was a voice, muffled by the water. Calling for her. Willa blinked her eyes open and she looked up at her window to see Remmick watching her, concern pulling at his mouth. 

“Breathe. Slow, baby.” His voice whispered through the crack in the window. 

Her body listened. 

She sucked in a deep breath, releasing it shakily before doing it again and again. Her eyes slid shut but she could still feel him watching her. She almost wanted to keep them closed just so that she wouldn’t have to face him. 

When she opened them she could see a glint in his and it had nothing to do with the color red. She had seen it on him before but this was different. It was akin to male satisfaction—like he was proud that he was the one to bring her out of her panic attack. 

Willa looked away from him, placing her gun down on the floor so she could sit up. 

When she looked out of the window again he was gone. 

༻✧༺

Remmick did not leave her ranch like she had told him to. In fact, he had taken it upon himself to fix it. 

It left her with no other choice but to avoid him. It was difficult considering her sleep schedule had changed drastically since the night he returned. When she woke up nowadays the sky would already be dark and the sound of hammering would be drumming into the night. 

Sometimes she would wake up as the sun went down and that’s when she would relieve her bladder in the outhouse or take a cold bath in the river. She still wasn’t eating as well as she should have and the chores she had to do inside her house had started to pile up. The dishes stacked in her sink, her laundry that she should have done days ago, and the dusty floors she was growing tired of staring at. 

In the distance she could hear the donkey bray loudly, informing her of Remmick's return. 

Willa flicked her lighter open, staring into the flame. She had stolen it from him the day she met him, it was the only thing of his she kept when she ran. She snipped the lighter closed, her heart flinching at the sound.

There was a knock at her door and she blinked, placing the lighter back into her bra as she rose from her spot by her fireplace to go and open it. 

Remmick stood there in the cold, a plucked chicken clutched within his tight grip. His blue eyes roved over her face, trying to meet her eyes but Willa would barely spare him a glance.

“Ya’ need to eat.” He grunted finally, eying her still malnourished form. Willa stiffened, a sneer beginning to warp her face. 

Before she could tell him where he could shove that chicken carcass, Remmick thrust his hand forward. His fist stopped just outside her doorway but unlike him, the chicken had no problem swinging into her home. Willa jumped away from the swaying meat and leveled the vampire with a cool glare before taking the chicken from him. 

As soon as she had it safely in her hands he turned on his heel and went over to the donkey, patting at its nose like it was a dog before heading towards her stable. 

Willa pursed her lips and shut her door. 

That night she made a bland chicken soup with some of her rationed beans.

New Mexico | December 8, 1932 |

She had woken up early today, the sun was still in the sky only just making its descent past the treeline. Her supper sat bubbling in her Dutch oven, the scent of it following after her as she left the house, about to make her way to the outhouse. She could see all the work Remmick had done so far. The porch had a temporary metal trough attached to it, the water rippling as she shut the door. Though she avoided going over to the stable area she could see the newer planks of wood on the side, along with a new gate. She didn’t know where the materials had come from and she wouldn’t ask. 

Willa paused to pet the donkey, his red-brown winter coat shimmering in the sun as he chewed on hay. 

“Hello, honey.” She drawled softly, smiling when its head reared up and it trotted closer to her, braying noisily. Willa scratched at his nose, snorting when he whipped his tail so hard it spun in a circle. “Happy to see me, hm?” She gave him one last pat on the head, her eyes crinkling when his ear went back on reflex. Turning away from him she hurried to the outhouse. She still hadn’t named the poor thing yet and she didn’t know if Remmick had—she was still pretending like he wasn’t here. 

They hadn’t spoken much in the last few days but she could feel him watching her sometimes. When he was taking a break from building and fixing he would sit on the porch steps and pet the donkey, watching her cook whatever he had caught for her. It was an unnerving stare—one she hadn’t gotten from him before. Like an animal watching his prey while it hid in a tree. Waiting for it to get comfortable enough to leave its illusion of safety before he pounced. 

They were both well aware that she was hiding from him. And they were both well aware that he had no intention of leaving the ranch. 

She honestly should have put that last cartridge from Club Juke into her revolver and ended things the moment she saw those cursed red eyes again. 

The outhouse door squeaked noisily as she opened it and she took a breath of fresh air before entering. Outhouses were generally dirty things. Just random planks of wood thrown together to make a small closet and then placed over a deep hole in the ground. And this one was no exception. It made her miss the one she had at her cottage that she had regularly thrown lime and lemon into and hung scent bags in. 

Willa covered her nose with the collar of her shirt and squatted. She hadn’t gotten her period the entire time she had been in New Mexico. She knew it had to do with her fluctuating weight and the stress she had been going through constantly. But she knew that once she started gaining the weight back she would see its return. Her only issue with that was the vampire that lurked around the outside of her home. 

She didn’t even know if he was feeding. How could he? Every day he was at her shack or out hunting for her. He appeared fine on the surface but she knew he had to be starving, especially after the hard labor he had been doing around the ranch. 

Willa sighed, cleaned herself down, and opened the door. The sun was still falling and she knew that she had another hour or so of daylight before Remmick came back from wherever he went. 

After scurrying back to her shack, she grabbed a towel and a bar of soap and made her way down the path leading to the Vermejo River. It was freezing now that it was early December and she knew that she would have to start bathing inside the shack. She still needed to buy a metal bathtub since she wasn't too keen on bathing from the sink. That would mean she would have to head to either Raton or Dawson again and that was a trip she did not want to take. 

As she traveled down the rock path to the river she saw a pair of deer sprint along the river edge on the opposite side and paused. They were Mule deer, she could tell from how large they were compared to the ones she would see back home. And of course, they sported those large ears that were so reminiscent of a donkey’s. 

Willa felt herself smile again for the second time, her mood lifting as they bounded off farther along the river. Maybe she had been too critical about this ranch. It was nestled in a decent area between the towns of Raton and Dawson, it had a river running through its property, and the soil and mud surrounding the river would be great for when she started gardening. 

Willa continued along the path until she reached the edge of the river. The person who had first built the property had also built a small wooden dock and a bridge over the slimmer part of the river. She liked this area to bathe the most; the river dipped down a level and created a small waterfall that reminded her of heavy rain. 

Laying her towel onto the dock, she removed her clothes quickly and tossed them onto it. After carefully setting her shoes to the side she dipped her toes in, a violent shiver wracking through her body as she walked forward. Moving closer to the shallow end she waded in until her knees were fully submerged and crouched, a gasp tearing out of her at the chill. A breathy laugh left her and she rubbed her washcloth into the bar, bringing the lather up to her neck and scrubbing. 

As she cleaned herself she hummed, the tune sounding disjointed from the chattering of her teeth. Slowly the words spilled out of her, a small smirk on her face as she found humor in the lyrics.  

“My heart is sad and I’m all alone 

My man’s treatin’ me mean 

I regret the day that I was born

Oh, a good man is so hard to find 

We always get that ol’ roughed kind  b 

Just when you think he’s your pal 

You look and find him hangin’ round some ol’ gal 

Then you rave n you crave 

You wanna see him layin’ dead in his grave” 

Her smile slipped and she could only picture one person as she quietly sang the rest of the song. 

“So if your man is nice, take my advice 

Hug him in the morning, kiss him at night 

Give him plenty lovin’, treat your man right 

‘Cause a good man nowadays is sure hard to find.” 

To her left a few yards away, a vampire watched her from the shadows of a wide tree. He could see a few stubborn tears bead down her face, glimmering in the sun. Even from where he stood he could smell the melancholy wafting off of her. He could taste her grief and could feel her longing. 

Willa wiped at her face aggressively, her whole body trembling as she rushed to finish bathing.

Remmick tilted his head.

She was freezing, even from how far away he was he could see that she was shivering, that her skin had goosebumps decorating the surface of it. 

She looked healthier. More than she had been when he first held her. He could see her cheeks filling out slightly, and the dull color of her skin was gone, now it was back to the deep warm brown. Remmick's lips quirked up and he took in the way she looked in the setting sun. It was like she glowed from the inside out. 

Remmick sighed, flexing his fist and slowly moving his hand away from the safety of the shadow. He hissed as his skin started to boil and blister then blackened, the pain rippling up his arm before he pulled away. The pain of the sun always felt like a punishment. Burning not just at the surface but deep into his bones, like the Gods were personally doling out repercussions for making the decision to turn into a creature from the Otherworld.

The damage to his hand faded slowly, reminding him that he would need to eat more than the coyotes that roamed around the area. They only sated him for a short while but what his body needed to function was human blood. 

And he hated leaving her. 

He had grown to enjoy the silence of fixing this broken-down place, just so that she could be comfortable. He had even taken a liking to the donkey he had bought in Raton. It reminded him of the one his father had at the farm, they both had a similar red-brown coat and a diamond shaped patch of white on their nose. 

A quiet splash drew his attention back to Willa and he met her eyes. She was staring in his direction, her eyes narrowed as she stood with her clothes pressed to her naked chest. 

Ah, he had been spotted. 

He knew she felt safe in the sun. In her little cabin. But she was the one person left in the world that he wanted—needed. And he would have her. He was ready to play the long game to get her. 

Because behind the fear of him, was her fear of loving him—of still loving him despite what he had done. And he was going to show her that it was well within her rights to have whatever she desired. And if he was what she wanted to have…well, he saw no reason why she couldn’t have what she secretly yearned for. 

He would help her get it. 

He wasn’t letting her run anymore. 

The sun had dipped low enough past the mountains on the horizon and he stepped out from the shadow of the tree, his jaw clenching as the sun beat onto the back of his head and exposed neck. 

As he approached her he noticed that the fear he saw in her eyes was gone and replaced with that delicious wrath. He could practically feel it whirling off of her in waves. 

“I’m gettin’ real sick of you bein’ around my ranch, Remmick. Ya’ needa leave.” Her voice was calm, the complete opposite of the way her pretty brown eyes sparked with anger.

His own eyes narrowed at the use of his full name and he nodded slowly, coming to a stop just a few feet from her, surveying the land behind her. “Look—I hear ya’, baby, I do.” One of her dark slim eyebrows shot up and he smiled, finally meeting her dark eyes. “But…I ain’t doin’ that.” 

“And why the hell not?” Water dripped from her chin, falling to splat against a rock. “I’m tryna move on with my life and my new one sure don’t include you.” 

There was plenty wrong with what she said. She had tried to move on with her life by starving herself and dying? And there was something so disturbing with the way she thought he would ever willingly leave her side. 

He thought she knew better than that. 

Remmick’s smile fell. “You call what you did in yer doorway livin’?” His heart rended when she winced but he ignored it and reached down to grab her towel off the dock, shaking it out before laying it over her shivering shoulders. He could feel her heat weakly beating off her skin. “I’ll forget you ever did that to me if you go and get dry,” He tipped his head to the sliver of sun peeking over the trees. “You know how cold it gets.”

He could tell she was struggling with listening to him and doing what she wanted to do. Though both were essentially the same thing. 

Willa’s breath puffed out white in the cold air and he felt his lips twitch down into a frown. He pointedly glanced in the direction of the cabin and readjusted her towel when it had begun to slip. He knew she was an extremely stubborn woman but he wasn’t about to stand around and wait for her toes to freeze off just because she didn’t want to do as he said. 

Luckily for her, they didn’t have to do it his way. 

Her eyes bored into him for a second longer before she bent down and swiped up her shoes, leaving him burning in the remaining sun without a backward glance.

He didn’t care much because she had listened to what he had said. Again. 

New Mexico | December 14, 1932 |

He had finished repairing the holes in her roof and the stable’s by the time the first snow swept through. Remmick found it interesting that Willa decided to settle down in such a rural area after living with her for over a year in New Orleans. The Willa he knew seemed to prefer a more lavish lifestyle with far more lavish clothing. He was used to seeing her in the modest but hip-hugging dresses—loose everywhere but the hips. 

There was one dress she wore, a black one that hung off her shoulders and brushed the tips of her shoes. It was truthfully a very plain dress but on her…

Remmick dug the pitchfork into one of the stacks of hay and sprinkled it along the wooden floor, his face likely a bit red. Wick brayed at him from outside the stall, the noise sounding suspiciously like a laugh. 

“You bet’ not be laughin’ at me while I’m fixin’ yer stall for ya’, Wick.” He warned loudly, chuckling when the braying came to an abrupt stop. He had decided to name the donkey that day at the river. The day he truly decided that Willa would one day make him a permanent fixture in her life. 

Willa was a stubborn woman and she was also intensely loyal. Never once had she slipped up on who her brothers or family were. That loyalty carried into death as well. She would try her damndest not to be with him because it would be like spitting on the graves she had dug. 

He just had to convince her that that wasn’t the case somehow. 

Remmick finished shoveling the hay and hung his pitchfork in the room next to it. He had fixed the third stall to be more of a storage area since he had an idea to start building fencing and a chicken coop in the spring. He had also found the well pump, an old rusted broken pipe that poked out of the ground by a few inches. It was next to the path leading to the stables and the well, he was glad he had found it before Willa stepped on it. He knew she still liked to go out and fetch water from the well. He had plans to fix it the next day since he had just found a handle replacement for it.

Remmick left the stall, clicking his tongue as he called for Wick to come inside and get out of the snow. As the donkey passed by him, he gave his furry side firm pats, and stepped into the cold to shut the gate. The donkey gave him a long stare, his tail whipping back and forth as he puffed out a thick sigh.

“I’ll see ya’ later, bud,” Remmick promised, giving that white nose bridge a scratch before he moved in the direction of the cabin. He tugged his jacket closed, trying to preserve what little heat his body produced. As a vampire, his heart pumped slower than a human’s did, especially when he hadn’t fed. It made the cold, colder. It made healing a slow process and the hunger for human blood almost unbearable. 

Up ahead he could see the golden candlelight from Willa’s cabin lighting the dark, like a beacon informing him of where home was. He could tell she was awake by the smell drifting from her cabin, one that had his mouth watering. He had delivered her another chicken yesterday and he could smell it cooking, could hear the bubbling of hearty soup. He remembered her cooking for him at his apartment, wearing his shirt, smelling like him. Now…she smelled sweet.

Remmick paused a few feet away from the cabin.

He could smell her. Blood. Her blood. 

He could see the faint glow of red on his cheeks when he lowered his eyes. His fangs pricked into his bottom lip and he could feel the wet string of drool begin to drip down his chin. 

From outside the cabin, Remmick could see Willa holding up her left hand, a thick stream of her sweet-scented blood trailed down her palm and dribbled down her forearm. His breath rushed out of him. Fuck, he wanted to taste her again. Five long, long years without her skin beneath his teeth—her neck between his jaws, her honeyed blood on his tongue. 

He hissed, feeling like his skin was burning with want—hunger. The nibbling in his gut had turned into full-on clawing. He desperately needed to feed.

Remmick turned his back on her, wandering back to the stable to grab the cast iron handle replacement for the well pump. He shucked off his coat and hung it on the gate and slipped on a hat before he left again, the snowflakes that landed on him doing nothing to soothe the fire that raged beneath his skin. 

༻✧༺ 

Willa pursed her lips, flexing her hand and flinching at the way her skin pulled apart. Never before had she cut herself so deeply while chopping vegetables that she was in need of stitches. Pressing the cloth back to the large cut she quickly wrapped it around her hand and tied it off. She had taken off her soup off the hook and replaced it with a kettle which she could now hear beginning to boil. 

Taking it off the heat she carried it to her table, setting it next to a few scraps of gauze, her spool of black thread, and a needle. 

Willa sat down carefully and poured some of the water into a cup and began threading the needle. It had been so long since she had last patched herself up like this. It reminded her of her teenage years with her brothers. She had spent her childhood wiping blood from Stack's body and sewing him up and now she was doing it to herself. 

Willa glanced at the jar on her fireplace mantel. 

She missed them. So much that sometimes she felt like her heart couldn’t take it. She had lost them both in one day. Smoke in the ground and Stack one of the many black smudges in the dirt. Willa bit into her lip, the pain keeping her from shedding the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes. 

Ever since she had cried in the river thinking about what she could have had with Remmick she’s been so emotional. Her eyes welled every time she looked at that fucking jar, tears dampening her pillow every single time she woke up from sleep. It was like that cry in the river had opened up her tear ducts and she hated it. She would rather have back the migraines that robbed her of her breath and prevented her from finding her appetite. 

Willa glared down at the needle clenched between her fingers and dropped it in the hot water. Without much care she unwound the dishcloth from around her hand, the bloodied thing nearly saturated. Tossing it to the side she inspected the cut again. It started from the meaty flesh below her thumb and traveled across her palm at a slight slant. 

Taking the gauze she gently began to clean the blood from the surrounding skin, the muscle above her brow twitching as she mentally tried to smother the pain. Yanking the hot needle for the cup she waited a moment for it to cool before pressing the tip into her skin. Her hand was steady and soon she found a rhythm to the continuous ‘poke…poke…pull’ motion. 

When she was done she couldn’t help but stare at the bumpy surface the snug stitches created. 

A noise outside had her looking up, her head felt like it was underwater, moving slower than she had intended it to. Willa stood from her chair slowly and glanced out her screen door, the cold slipping inside and causing goosebumps to rise along her skin. 

It was snowing, thick white clumps of snow, and Remmick was out there working. He was always working, from the moment the sun went down to the moment the sun rose again. It was frustrating. For two straight weeks, he had been fixing up her property into a far more livable place. 

Willa squinted her eyes as he stood up and they quickly snapped back wide open. 

Remmick was shirtless, his suspenders hanging from his pants that sat low on his hips. His back flexed as he wiped the sweat from his chin, hard muscles shifting under pale skin. She could see the silvery thin lines of scars, the ragged uneven edge of that massive one on his torso when he bent down again. Willa swallowed, unsuccessfully trying to bring moisture back to her mouth. It had been so long since she saw him bare and he looked…

Remmick brought his hammer down on whatever he was hitting, his shoulders and biceps appearing bigger than she remembered. Willa shifted closer to the screen door. She knew exactly how those muscles felt, knew exactly how nice it felt to be in those arms. The hammer came down again, dark brown hair clinging to his sweaty forehead beneath the brim of the hat he wore. Willa blew out a shaky breath, jumping when he suddenly spoke. 

“Yer up,” Remmick called, grunting when he stood up from his crouch and checked the work he had done. Fuck, he looked good. 

Willa made a noise, a cross between an affirmative and something vulgar. 

Remmick’s eyes cut to her and she felt herself flinch at how bright the red glint was. It left streaks in the air as he moved and she felt caught, trapped. She could see the want in them, the hunger, the need. She knew her eyes were displaying the same thing. But for the first time, she could also see the years of hurt that she had caused when she abandoned him. 

For a few long seconds, it was just red and brown, clashing with five years worth of loneliness and pain. 

Willa looked away first. 

She turned her body to the side, her eyes landing on the steaming pot of soup. The words were out of her mouth before she could even think to stop them. 

“You want a bowl of soup?”

There was a pocket of silence, interrupted by the almost mute sound of Willa fiddling with the painful edge of her stitches. She could feel him staring at her, his eyes leaving her feeling warm despite her standing in front of the screen door. She felt undressed at that moment, stripped of not her clothes but the barriers she had put up the moment she had turned her back on him five years ago. It felt as if he could see exactly what she was offering without her having to explicitly say it. 

And she didn’t exactly know what she was offering. Only that she was.

When the silence went on for too long she opened her mouth to take it back. Remmick stepped forward quickly and muttered one word, his eyes glinting intensely—like fire—underneath the brim of his hat.

“Please.”

Willa nodded and as calmly as she could turned back into her shack and pulled out two bowls, her hands shaking as she ladled the boiling hot liquid. When she turned around she almost didn’t see him sitting down on the second step, his eyes on some point in the distance. 

Willa took her time watching him. He had put his shirt back on but his coat was nowhere to be seen. Willa eyed the wooden planks just outside her door. 

She had never willingly left her home when he was outside. 

“No more runnin’, Birdie.” 

Remmick stiffened when he felt a warm hand on the back of his neck, it was a fleeting touch but it spoke of shy familiarity. It dragged him back to a time where she wasn’t afraid to touch him—or yell at him, or tell him exactly what she was feeling in the moment. 

“Here,” Willa murmured tonelessly but softly, watching him with distrustful eyes. “Eat.” She held out the wooden bowl to him. 

“Thank ya’, baby.” He quickly removed his hat, laid it on his knee, and took the bowl from her. The soup smelled even better now that it was in his hands. It was something he had eaten many times while married to her, one of his favorites; chicken and dumplings. Remmick could feel his throat tighten and he swallowed past the thick ball of emotions. Picking up the wooden spoon he went in for his favorite part; the dumpling. 

He took a bite and almost immediately tears sprung to his eyes. Remmick turned away and coughed, clearing his throat as he gathered himself. He could hear her fidgeting as she sat down next to him. He knew she was nervous about sharing her food again, it wasn’t like she had everything she needed in the cabin. Another thing he would have to rectify. 

“Didn’t know my cookin’ got that bad.” She joked stiffly, her own bowl steaming wildly in the cold weather. 

“Nah, darlin’,” Remmick choked, swallowing before glancing at her from the corner of his eye. They were about a foot apart but it felt as if they were practically touching. He could feel his face relax—soften as he continued to look at her. “Jus’ missed yer cookin’, that’s all.” 

He could see Willa’s cheeks and nose take on a red undertone and he was absolutely positive it had nothing to do with the snow or the freezing wind. She took a peek at him, a glance that was supposed to just be a glance but ended up being something longer, something weighty. 

She looked so pretty with the candlelight casting a warm orange glow onto her face. It softened the normally harsh look in her eye and made the anger not so sharp and bitter. Remmick found himself smiling at her, the soup that tasted like home forgotten as he admired his wife.

In that moment he knew what he had to say, even if it permanently ruined the plans he had for the future. He just knew she needed to hear it, that if she didn’t want to hear another thing from him at least she could have this.

“I’m so sorry,” Remmick whispered, his smile fading. “I’m sorry about what I’ve done to the family you had left. And—“ He struggled for a second. “And I understand if that’s exactly why you left me, ‘cause you thought I might end up doin’ somethin’ like that. Or—I don’t know why you left and I could jus’ be assumin’ but, Willa, I am sorry. And I mean that with all that is left of my soul.” 

He could see her eyes welling with fat tears that she stubbornly refused to let drop. “I got the rest of your life to try and atone…and I know I never can for the sins I’ve committed against you—my wife.” Finally, she blinked, sending those tears to drip into her soup. “Oh, darlin’, please…” 

Remmick’s left hand rose, his thumb swiping away the tears that trailed along her scar. Willa’s lips pressed together as she sucked in a shuddering breath through her nose. He could see her putting herself back together in front of him and he let his hand drop, holding her dark eyes even as they became stony. 

After a long moment, Willa averted her eyes and stood, hesitating for a split second before heading back inside. 

She did not shut the door behind her.

 With her property repaired and the stable secured, Remmick was left to only deliver her fresh meat every other day or so. Each time she took it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and an unreadable expression on her face. 

With nothing else to do, he decided to go back to watching her from a distance.

He would much rather be by her side but he also enjoyed watching her and those short moments of happiness she found. Hidden within the shadow of a tree he would watch her play with Wick, who she had taken to calling ‘Honey’. And as the weather grew colder she had taken to sitting in front of the fireplace, a pink and purple blanket wrapped around her as she patched clothing or cleaned her revolver.

Sometimes she would hum so quietly at the jar of dirt on the fireplace mantel that he almost couldn’t hear it. He guessed he wasn’t supposed to but he had always loved her voice. 

He missed her. Missed the woman he had on his wedding night, missed the woman who pressed a knife into his side when he had treated her gently. Missed the woman who listened as he spoke about his home across the sea. 

He missed her more than he missed the sun. 

Gods, he needed her and as much as he hated that day he wanted to go back to the day she died. Just so he could hold her again—to feel her heart beating through her skin. 

Remmick rolled his lips together, watching Willa begin to sing, her body swaying from side to side as she swept the floor of her cabin. The vampire swayed with her, imagining himself inside that warm cabin enjoying her presence because she allowed him to. 

“I’m a fool to want you 

To want a love that can’t be true 

I’m a fool to hold you 

To share a kiss the Devil has known…” 

Remmick mouthed the words with her, his palms tingling with phantom brushes as if his very nerves wanted to be holding her, dancing with her, humming and singing with her. 

“I’m a fool to want you 

Pity me, I need you 

I know it’s wrong…it must be wrong 

But right or wrong, I can’t get along without you.” 

The vampire stopped his swaying, standing still in the snow in the dark of night, his red eyes glinting like hot coals as he stared at the woman he called his. Those metallic-like eyes cut toward the horizon and after taking one last look at his Willa, he turned and walked away, the icy wind ripping at his clothes.

 New Mexico | January 3, 1934 |  

Snow blanketed the small ranch, a couple of inches that continued to grow as the storm raged on. Willa had ventured out a few hours ago to check on Honey, making sure his water hadn’t frozen over and that he was well stocked with pellets and hay. She quickly learned that her fussing wasn’t warranted, donkeys were surprisingly very hardy animals. Social as well. She found herself spending some of the night petting and talking to Honey in his stall. Today was no different. 

However, when she had checked on Honey she noticed him doing the same thing she had caught herself doing every day for the last fifteen days. 

Looking for the vampire that took care of them. 

He hadn’t been back in weeks. There were no glinted red eyes watching her in the dark. No hammering echoing into the night as he fixed random issues around her shack. No heavy—almost physical glances that she could feel like a caress. 

Fuck.

Willa rolled over in her nest of blankets, the warmth from the fireplace making her feel overheated. She stared up at her ceiling, her cheeks burning with frustration.

All she could think about were muscles moving under skin, the light from the moon contrasting against the light from her candles. She hadn’t truly appreciated it then but he had looked like art, painted by the hands of someone who loved him. She had wanted to touch him then and she wanted to touch him now. 

And she wanted him to touch her.

Willa dragged a hand up her thigh, imagining her hand to be bigger, rougher, and far less scarred. Her nightgown slipped up and pooled around her stomach. Tentatively, she let her hand touch her bared core, her fingers immediately going to the nub she rarely touched.

Her gasp was loud, so loud it nearly choked her. She had tried to refrain from touching herself and being touched for five years. It always felt taboo to allow herself the pleasure. Her hand delved down lower and she bit her lip, surprised at how wet she was. All she had done was think of him. Willa swallowed another gasp as she brought the wetness up to her clit, moving her fingers in a slow circular motion. 

Her mind conjured up memories of a dark head between her legs, blue eyes flashing red as they watched her come undone. Her fingers moved faster, her mouth parting to release her soft moans into the air. She could hear his voice drifting into her ear, coaxing her closer to what she needed. Ghost hands of memories smoothed up her sides, rubbing soothing circles into the fleshy part of her hip. 

“I want to hear you…” 

Willa listened, her soft restrained noises turning wanton. If she wasn’t so lost in the moment she would have noticed the crack in her front door widening. Would’ve noticed the cold air on her sweaty skin. 

“Yer mines, ain’t ya’.” Her memories demanded to know, a skilled tongue working her closer to the edge. She could feel her body twitching as she lewdly moaned. 

“Yes…” She sobbed, her legs trembling as she worked her fingers into her heat, a gasp ripping out of her at how tight she felt. A name whispered off her tongue, sweet and gentle. She could feel the muscles in her lower abdomen clench and the orgasm she had been building to come crashing into her. 

“Remi…” She moaned out, the ghost of a tongue lapping up her cum, her fingers trying desperately to wring another orgasm out of her.

“Fuck.” 

The deep husky word had that orgasm ripping out of her, and as she twitched she turned her head to see a snow-covered Remmick watching her. 

Willa sprang up with a gasp, her wet hands pushing her blankets the rest of the way off her legs. “What the hell happened to you?” She demanded, coming up to her knees, her dress falling back over her thighs. “Where’d ya’ go?” 

Remmick smirked at her then, not at all seeming like the snow or the cold bothered him in the slightest. “Aw, ya’ missed me, huh, baby?” 

Willa’s heart betrayed her by skipping and by the widening of that smirk, he had heard it. She stared back at him, wet lips parted to deny it but the words stalled in her chest. 

For once, she couldn’t lie to save her life.

That smirk dropped, and his red glinted eyes turned half-mast. Slowly, he braced an arm on the door frame, leaning as far as he could. He nudged his head to the side in a beaconing motion. 

“C’mere.”

Willa’s heart flinched and she rose slowly from her blankets, her thighs sliding together and making the most vulgar noise as she took a step. The growl that came out of him had her pausing and he cursed, low and guttural. 

“Baby, please.” Remmick practically begged. “Just one taste, hm?” 

Willa could feel her body responding to him and she released a shaking breath. Finally, she crossed the last few feet to stand in front of him. 

They watched each other. 

Red taking in glistening thighs and glowing dark brown skin. Brown taking in the hand on her door frame, traveling down it to see hard bunching muscle. 

Willa tipped her head back to catch his eye, her brow muscle twitching when his eyes lingered on the two scars on her face. When his eyes met hers again she could see his face soften visibly, the lustful smirk lost its sharp edge and the red glint dimmed until there was only dark blue. Willa’s breath wobbled.

They both knew it was wrong for her to want him…but they were both aware that it was wrong for her to want him in New Orleans too. 

Willa carefully lifted her dress, exposing more of her wet thighs. Remmick held her eyes steadily but she could see his nose flare, could see his eyes dilate until there was only a thin ring of dark blue. She slipped her right hand under her nightgown and dragged two fingers through her mess, her cheeks growing hot when she heard how wet she was—knowing he could hear it too. Willa removed her hand, bringing it up between them. 

Red watched in a trance-like state as she stuck one of her fingers into her mouth, taking in the small almost silent noise she made before she pulled the digits out with an audible pop. 

Willa was always surprised when she tasted herself, the sweet almost tangy flavor was one she would try again…so she did, holding Remmick’s eyes throughout as she licked her hand clean. 

“I taste good.”

Remmick swallowed. What a tease his wife was. He knew she tasted good, he could smell just how good she tasted. His breathing came out rough—ragged and his mouth watered. The hand clutching the doorframe crushed the old wood under it. 

Willa didn’t appear to pay it any mind, those dark umber eyes were stuck on his. 

“You want me?” She asked, her voice just a whisper. 

“I’ve never stopped.” 

Time seemed to slow down at the raw admission and Willa couldn’t look away, trapped in that dark blue gaze until it flashed red again. 

Willa blinked rapidly and let her dress drop back down. She could hear him cuss softly, could feel the release of air shifting her hair from just how close they were. Remmick took another step closer, desperation creeping into his eyes when she moved a step back. 

“Willa.” 

She averted her eyes.

“C’mon, baby, wait.” 

Shame curdled in her gut as she shut the door. 

Chapter Text

New Mexico | January 21, 1933 |

It had been a long while since he had last experienced a true winter. One with snow that covered the ground in a thick blanket of white, one that made the night silent enough that it had him believing he was the only one left in the world. 

Remmick sucked in the cold air through his nose, scenting the area north of Willa’s ranch. He could smell the stale trails of deer and a few rabbits but otherwise, nothing was amiss. Remmick continued along the perimeter, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he kept an eye out.

It was almost like second nature for his mind to go to Willa. 

There was no real progress in their…relationship? Marriage? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he still considered her his wife despite being abandoned without explanation. He still loved her despite his actions at the sawmill that made it seem otherwise. It wasn’t like he expected her to just forget everything he had done. 

He had come to Club Juke because he had felt Sammie, had heard his music call to his soul—whispering like a hushed promise. It was a pure, unfortunate coincidence that Sammie and Willa were related—and that Remmick had been moved by a covetous desire to think he could have them both. 

It made sense for him that he would be drawn in by Sammie’s gift, one he had only caught glimpses of from the outside. He remembered exactly how he felt as he stared at the exterior of that old sawmill, listening to the music. 

It was what he felt when Willa used to make his favorite meals from Ireland that he had taught her how to make. It was what he felt when he held Willa on her days off from the bar in New Orleans. It was what he felt when she tried to mimic his accent—the one of his old life. The one that slipped out when he would get so comfortable around her. 

Because just like Sammie, Willa had the ability to make him feel like he could have a home again. Willa had been that. Had been the community he would return back to, the safe space that allowed him to be himself completely. 

For a year and a couple of months, he had a home in Willa. 

Sammie and his music had the ability to bring those feelings back. Maybe it wouldn’t have been with Willa but it would have been with his ancestors—his family that were long dead. 

Until he scented her and then saw her dancing in the doorway, the golden light from inside making her shiny skin glow. That was when he realized he could have both his wife and his people—his culture back. 

Now it was looking like he would never have either. 

His mind flashed to the night a few weeks ago. The way her scarred hand glistened with her arousal. 

She must really hate him. To torture him—licking away the evidence of her pleasure and then shutting the door in his face. 

He could still hear her moaning his name in that soft, sweet way, completely unburdened by her overthinking. Gods, she was a wicked woman, truly. Even more so because she acted like it never happened. Willa was back to her frustratingly unreadable eyes and her short responses. And in the last few days, he saw her less and less, though he could blame it on the cold and the snow. 

Usually, when he came back after the sun had fallen he could see signs of her. The donkey was content and happy, there were fresh deep indents in the snow that showed her path as she traveled from her cabin, to the outhouse, and over to the stable. He was glad that she had found a routine here, the first weeks after the sawmill had been hard for her. 

He should know, he had been the one to take care of the body she left floating carelessly in the pond in Memphis. 

Remmick turned back to the cabin where he had a small fire going a few yards away from Willa’s home. She should be getting ready to sleep now that she left him a small pot of her gumbo. He had put off eating it so that he could make sure the edges of her property were secure. 

Although she mostly ignored him she made sure he was fed. She couldn’t possibly know that his heart skipped every time she handed him a plate or a small pot he could reheat over the fire when he was done working. It had become his favorite part of his day to see what she had made, to sit by the fire, eat, listen to her hum, and move around inside her cabin.

As he settled down on a wooden log by the firepit, his pot bubbled gently from its spot on the edge of the coals. Remmick picked up the bowl and spoon he left in the snow, his mouth watering in anticipation. The food smelled delicious as it always did, and as he removed the cover he smiled at the smoked sausage swimming on top. There was something about seeing Willa make a meal out of the food he had given her. Maybe it was knowing he had provided it for her and she had put it to use. 

Across the ranch, Wick brayed loudly and stomped his hooves into the ground. Remmick let out a sigh, he had just fed that donkey not too long ago and even made sure he had warm water and fresh hay. 

Laying his hand on his thigh, he contemplated whether he should eat first or check on the noisy donkey first. The lid of the small pot rattled as it boiled, the steam pushing out the scent of smoked sausage and onion. Remmick decided then that he would go to Wick after he ate. His fingers wrapped around the hooked handle of the pot's lid, warming them as he began to lift it. 

Suddenly the muscle behind Remmick’s ear twitched and he cocked his head, canting it to the right when he heard the noise again. 

Remmick frowned, cutting his eyes from side to side, he could smell the familiar scent of copper. His lips twitched as the sound of snow crunching echoed across the silent land.

Slowly, he let the pot lid go and leaned back.

Someone was stalking him. 

He could feel his fangs lengthen, causing an ache to build in his gums as the tips of his canines pinched into his bottom lip. His chest rumbled as he hummed quietly, a hymn he had learned long ago. 

To his right the footsteps paused, allowing him to hear the person approaching to the left. Rudely, the men didn’t allow him to finish humming his song. 

Two stocky figures materialized out of the shadows of night, the crunch of fresh snow getting flattened under heavy steps barely reached his ears as he watched them. Their handguns and rifles leveled squarely on his chest and head as they stopped a few feet away from him. 

They were dirty, filthy as if they had crawled through mud and decided to live in it. 

The one holding the handgun was the dirtiest of the two, his face covered in grime like he had purposefully smeared it on. A large scar on his face distorted his nose and warped his lips into a permanent sneer. Beneath shaggy blond hair that was flattened to his forehead by sweat and grease, were pale eyes that darted like he couldn’t decide on what to focus on. 

The second one had the iron sight of his rifle settled firmly on the space between Remmick’s eye, his pale skin making his pitch-black eyes pop out on his face.

If Remmick had been human they might have unsettled him, but alas, he was not. 

The second man, Black Eyes, motioned for Remmick to raise his arms up, which he did, slowly. 

The men reeked, smelling heavily of sweat, urine, and copper. They looked like they were in desperate need of a hot meal and a roof over their heads for the night. 

Unfortunately for them, the only roof for miles was where his wife was underneath and by the look on their faces, they knew that. 

Blondie stepped closer to the fire, the lighting and the way his head was angled made his scars look deeper, more ghastly. He looked demonic. His head tilted slowly, his green eyes on the gumbo. 

“Got more of that?” The man rasped, his voice deeper than it ought to be. Remmick shrugged. 

“Can’t say that I do,” Remmick grunted, though they all heard the thing boiling away. “Now, why don’t y’all go back to where ya’ came from? There’s a town ‘bout a couple of miles north. Sure they got plenty to eat over there.” He tilted his head, moving his bowl off to the side. 

His heart thumped when he heard movement in Willa’s cabin. She was still awake, he could hear her shifting around, hear the clatter of delicate china and the sound of water being poured followed by a drawn-out yawn. 

“No need to be hostile.” Black Eyes drawled, he smiled when Remmick looked over at him. It was extremely odd to see such a boyish—almost innocent-looking face peering at him over the barrel of the rifle that was pointed at his head. 

For a second they held eye contact. He had only seen such soulless eyes on the dead. It was a bit uncanny to see them peering at him from someone who was supposed to be alive—human. 

There was not a single light in his eye. Not one glint from the raging fire. Just matte black circles sitting in between eyelids that were spread a tad bit too wide. 

Blondie hummed, “Jus’ heard a little story ‘bout a lone woman who needed company during the winter months.” He took a step closer to the house and Remmick had to bite back a snarl. 

Remmick shrugged, but he could tell that his tense shoulders were giving him away. “Now, I ain’t ever been mistaken as a woman before. Have ta’ say that’s a new one.” He didn’t bother adding humor to his voice. There was no point. He was going to rip their hearts out and eat them. His eyes landed on the black-eyed one, he could see a flicker of recognition in them. 

A predator acknowledging another predator. 

“Ain’t no woman here.” It was the last warning he would give and it was far more than they deserved. He wasn’t really thinking about them. He was thinking about his Willa. He had spent two months trying to ease his way back into her life and him slaughtering two men would most certainly kill his chances. 

The men exchanged a look over his head and he felt his nails grow, slamming out of his nail beds just as a bullet lodged into his shoulder. 

Blondie shot him again when he lunged at him, pumping his chest with four more bullets. Remmick could feel them ricochet around his insides as he swiped at the man again, his claws dragging deep into his inner thigh. Blondie snarled and fired again, this time the bullet went through his heart. 

Hard lead entered through thick keloid skin and broke past muscle, tissue, and bone. It cut straight through his heart and rattled between his ribs to exit out of his back. 

Remmick fell to his knees, the lack of human blood in his system crippling his healing process and he could feel his blood leaving him in a steady stream. Another bullet slammed into the back of his head and as he fell he could see Black Eyes watching him passively, smoke from the barrel obscuring one of his soulless eyes. 

He fell hard, his temple slamming into one of the rocks surrounding the firepit and sending him rolling off to the side to bleed out in the snow. The sound of Wick's braying echoed as his vision darkened. 

༻✧༺

Willa read the letter from Lisa over again. Then again. 

The authorities from Clarksdale were asking around about her and Sammie. Someone must have tipped them off about the night at Club Juke.

Willa tossed the letter onto the table, her dark eyes staring at it blankly. Her mind went back to the newspaper column she had read on the motel clerk's desk. The slaughter they had spoken about had only mentioned the twelve clansmen—it said not a word about the dozens of dead and missing locals. 

They were looking for them to ask about the deaths of twelve white folks. 

Willa pressed her lips together. She felt secure enough in New Mexico, far away up north in the mountains, sandwiched between two small towns, and on a property no one really knew about. Who she was worried about was Sammie. She hadn’t received a letter from him after his first and she hoped he was okay in Chicago. 

She glared down at the scratched table, the blanket around her shoulders slipping as she smoothed out Lisa’s letter. Lisa had talked about running her parents' stores on her own, and how her Aunt Mai had left a few weeks ago to spend Christmas with her family and hadn’t come back. As if Lisa wasn’t her family. It made Willa feel physically ill that she had reached out to that woman only for her to abandon the child when she needed her the most. 

Willa pushed the paper to the side and reached for her tea, the dainty cup shook in her grasp. 

She was the reason Lisa had been abandoned. She swallowed and placed the cup back down on the table, her shaking hands trembling as she reached for the letter again. Her guilt had her reading the letter for the fifth time, going over the neat slanted words. 

In the spring, when the snow melted she would have to visit the child to make sure everything was okay. 

The crack of a gunshot had her flinching, her teacup wobbling on the table when her thigh bumped into it. Willa stood quickly, her blanket falling to the floor and her heart pounding when six more shots echoed. She could hear Honey stomping and braying in the distance, making a ruckus like she had never heard before.

Willa knew immediately that it wasn't Remmick. Remmick would never use a gun—always preferring to hunt by hand. And if he did he wouldn’t shoot so close to her shack. 

Willa swallowed, moving away from the table to crouch down so that her body wouldn’t cast shadows as she made her way across the floor. Slowly, she crouch-walked her way toward Smoke’s room, her right hand slipping under her dress to pull out her revolver. The heavy weight did nothing to stop the prick of fear she felt when she heard footsteps approaching her shack. 

As she turned the wooden handle of the door she could hear two sets of heavy boots clomping onto her porch. Just as she slipped into the bedroom and snipped the door closed behind her, the front door banged open. A few picture frames crashed to the ground from the force of it slamming into the wall. The glass littered the ground around her bare feet and she let out a shuddering breath, listening as they began to scour her shack. She could hear things clattering to the ground as they rummaged through her belongings she kept by the fireplace. 

Willa could hear one of them grunting in pain, he was so close to the bedroom door that she could feel the floorboards beneath her feet shift when he moved. Willa looked around the room, her eyes landing on the window opposite of the door. 

Another shaky breath left her. It had been bolted shut long before she had come to live here and she knew she was out of options. The men were clearly armed and somehow Remmick hadn’t been able to stop them, so how could she?

The sound of her delicate china being messed with had her tensing and she trembled as she stepped between some of the shards to make her way toward the bed. She knew her brother and she knew that Smoke would never live in a home without having multiple weapons stashed somewhere. Pain lanced up her leg when she took another step and she was barely able to keep the gasp from escaping her. 

Willa’s teeth bit into her bottom lip when the heel of her left foot sunk into glass, the sharp edge easily sliding into the flesh. 

In the main room, one of the men slurped, and then spit, cussing wildly. 

“It’s boilin’ hot…” He hissed out quietly. Willa took another step and again stepped on more glass. It took her biting into her tongue to keep the whimper that beat at the back of her throat in. Dropping to her hands and knees she brushed the glass away as she crawled silently toward the bed. From this angle, she could see the dark barrel of Smoke’s shotgun just out of reach. 

“Man, I knew he was lyin’. Why the hell was he out there when he got a nice warm cabin to cook in?” The second man’s voice was deep and raspy like he had swallowed gasoline. 

Willa could hear him walk around, his gait uneven like he had a slight limp. She heard him open Stack’s bedroom door and enter, the floorboards creaking as he slowly searched the room. Willa knew she wouldn’t be able to reach the shotgun, at least not from on the floor; the way it was wedged between the bed and the wall made it impossible. 

The man left Stack’s room and made his way to Smoke’s. Willa scrambled up to her feet, limping over to the left side of the bed to put space between her and the entrance. Her hands shook as she braced her revolver onto the bed, keeping the barrel pointed at the door. 

Each slow step the man took echoed in her ear, sounding identical to her heartbeat. The door handle turned excruciatingly slow and Willa laid a finger on the trigger, the familiar feel of cold smooth metal soothing the fear and igniting the old anger. 

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an empty doorway. She could see her cabin in disarray, her belongings strewn around the main room, her clothing on the floor. Willa focused, settling deeper into her crouch and taking a peek around the corner of the wooden bed frame. She could see the side of an arm as the man leaned against the wall just outside the room. 

That was enough. 

Willa fired at it, ignoring his cry of pain to fire again when he tittered over, clutching at the wound. She could hear glass shattering as her bullet missed him by a hair and broke one of her windows. She got up from her spot gingerly, listening to the man’s groans of pain. Carefully she crept along the side of the wall until she could see into the main room, a blond man was off to the side cradling his arm, his handgun left abandoned on the ground in front of Smoke’s room. 

The man who spat out the tea was nowhere to be seen but she could hear him breathing calmly on the other side of the wall she was leaning against. 

“That wasn’t very nice, doll.” The faceless man whispered, somehow his voice carried above his groaning friend. 

Willa scoffed, jerking her revolver out to release the two empty cartridges from the cylinder. The noise of metal clattering to the ground only made her anger boil more. The scar on her cheek felt tight and itchy as she slammed the cylinder back into the metal body.  

“Neither is breakin’ inta my home,” Willa pulled back the hammer of her revolver and held the muzzle about an inch off the wall, and fired. She must have missed because she didn’t hear a sound of pain out of him, she could only hear him chuckle lightly. 

“You a feisty one, ain’tcha?” He cooed, giving the wall by her head two heavy taps. “You lucky I like that.” 

The floorboards creaked.

Willa darted her eyes to where the blond man was only to see him missing, a small puddle of blood left where he had been rolling in agony. Keeping her gun raised at chest level she stepped backward but not fast enough. The uninjured man swept into the room quickly, ducking under her arm and pushing it up as she fired, the bullet lodging itself deep into the thick logs of her ceiling. 

Splintered chips of wood and years of dust rained down from the ceiling, sprinkling through the air like the snow outside. Willa struck out with her left hand, only to have it caught and jerked to her back as the man moved behind her. She could feel her shoulder twinge uncomfortably and she hissed. Willa managed to yank her right hand away from him and ram her elbow back into his side. 

She knew she hit him hard, and could feel the ache in her elbow as she did it again. 

The man barely reacted past a soft grunt. A heavy boot kicked into her left leg and she dropped like a lead weight, a gasp leaving her chest in a rush. The pain that had just started to subside came roaring back as her knees slammed into the ground. A large hand gripped at the nape of her neck and smashed her face first into the dust-covered floor. 

A knee replaced the hand holding her left wrist, pinning it painfully to her back. The man didn’t bother to hold back on putting all his weight on her, and she wheezed as he leaned forward and yanked the revolver from her weakening grip.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a flash of pale skin as he tossed it, the blued metal glinting as it spun out of sight. Willa flailed as panic set in with the anger, bucking her shoulders back to try and dislodge the man. 

“Shhh…” The hand around her nape rotated until she could feel a scarred palm resting against the delicate bones of her adam's apple. The man tightened his hand and she immediately could feel the restrictions of her blood.

She could hear the blood thrumming under the surface, desperate to reach her brain. Could feel the pressure in her eyes—could see the edges of her vision blurring and narrowing. Soon her movements became less frantic as her brain didn’t receive the blood it needed. 

“Jus’ like that.” The man encouraged softly, his thumb stroking along the weakening pulse in her neck. 

The blond man staggered into the room, his body trembling with rage. “Stupid cunt grazed me.” Willa’s head cracked to the side when his heavy boot slammed into her temple. 

Pain erupted from the spot and traveled into her neck and with the hand around her throat she wasn’t even able to cry out. 

Willa went limp, her breathing coming out slow and labored when the man on top of her finally released the shackled hold he had on her.

Like a ragdoll, she was dropped to the ground and she could feel him leave the room. Willa gasped and groaned into the floor, her right hand coming under her to push her an inch off the ground. It was like her world was scrambled—like the urgency she had felt instinctively was forced down by the pounding pain in her skull. 

Blood dripped from her head as she looked around the room. She could see her gun just under the bed, all she had to do was reach for it. 

A dirty, mud-covered boot pulled back and flung itself forward, pushing itself deep into her gut. The gumbo she had finished eating hours ago spilled out of her mouth and onto the floor in a short stream. 

“Tch.” The blond man sneered in disgust and reached down to dig a hand into her loose hair. Willa was dragged from the room, her hands and knees catching on the shards of glass. Her neck ached as she was roughly pulled, her bloodied knees sliding along the floor before she was tossed onto her bed in front of the fireplace. 

Her brain still felt fuzzy from the kick it had taken but she tried to get back on her feet and only found herself being pushed down again. She could feel the hot stream of blood pouring from her forehead and temple, a red tint slowly blurring out her left eye. 

It reminded Willa of the hell she believed she was in when she was at Club Juke. 

In the light of the main room, she could clearly see the blond’s face as he stared down at her and she nearly flinched back. It was like someone had taken a hook and dragged it from his inner eye and down to his chin, not caring that they were ruining this man's nose or mouth. 

The man watched her with open hate, his left hand cradling the wound she gave him. As he stepped closer to her she could see claw marks on his inner thigh, the wounds gaping open slightly when he squatted in front of her. 

Willa glared up at him, her blood spraying from her lips when she gathered saliva and spit at him. Willa openly watched the wad of pink-tinged spit dip into the grooves of his scar with a sick interest. Watching as it slowly dripped down his face and fell to the floor with a loud plop.

There was a moment of silence as they both stared at each other. It was the most unsettling thing to see the rise of anger in someone that wasn’t her. She could see exactly what he wanted to do with her as she watched his eyes darken with rage. 

The man raised his balled fist and sent it into her jaw, and before she could even begin to tilt to the side he did it again, her head knocking into the ground. 

༻✧༺

Willa groaned as she blinked her eyes open, the fireplace warming her back. Immediately she sprang upright, her body swaying unsteadily as she tried to stay sitting up straight. Her head felt like a heavy weight, dropping down to her chest even as she tried desperately to stay conscious. She must have passed out after Blondie punched her. 

Parts of her vision were spotted and blurred, when she went to rub at her eyes she realized that she couldn’t. Willa rolled her wrist, feeling the harsh rope bite into the soft skin there, the uneven fibers easily prickling into flesh. 

“Look who’s up.” The blond man rasped, Willa cringed at his voice, her shoulders rising to instinctively block it out. He talked like it hurt to do so, like he was gargling rusted nails and barbed wire. “What’s a woman like you doing with all this money?” He murmured.

Willa raised her leaden head enough to see him standing behind the man who had brought her to the ground and choked her. He was sitting at the table, dark hair obscuring his eyes as he flipped through and counted the money they had found around her shack. Her eyes narrowed on the pile of her mother’s jewelry sitting by her forgotten tea cup. 

Willa’s mouth lost all its moisture when she saw the brown leather of her holster strap. Next to it was her knife and the stake she always kept under all of her clothing. 

They had searched her. They had their hands underneath her dress. Their fingers had brushed against her bare skin. She could feel herself quivering, twitching with the possibility that she had been touched without her knowing. It was that same feeling she had with Jonah after finding him in her motel room. 

The comparison made her feel sick. Violated.

Willa shifted her legs out from beneath her and scooted backward until her behind hit the stones of the fireplace. Unable to check with her hands, she pressed her chest into her knees and nearly wept when she felt the familiar shape of Remmick’s lighter pushing into her skin. It felt as cold as the frosty air that drifted in through the broken window. 

Willa welcomed the contrast, using it to reign her emotions back in—it helped her focus back on the two uninvited men.

The blond man picked up a few of the dollars and stuffed them into the back pocket of his grimy jeans. She could see the wound on his leg, one of her black mourning dresses cut into strips and used to staunch the blood. 

When he caught her looking, Blondie coughed wetly, and spit onto her floor. Willa didn’t bother hiding her look of disgust. 

They were both disgustingly dirty, the blond one more so. She could smell him from where she sat, stinking of warm blood and piss. She raised her eyes to his right arm, glad to see that it was still bleeding freely and that he let it. The only outward sign of pain he was showing was the occasional twitch of his shoulder. 

“She’s kinda pretty for a negro, ain’t she, Dusty?” 

Willa cut her eyes to the dark-haired man and ended up staring into the eyes of the devil himself. Willa froze under his intense unwavering gaze, like a prey animal. 

The man smiled like he knew exactly the type of effect he had on people. His eyes were so impossibly dark, like they were incapable of creating shine—like they could only absorb the light from the room. They were dead like he couldn’t understand or even know how to feel any human emotion. Just expressionless and without a hint of life. 

Willa felt so unsettled by him that she muttered a quiet prayer to a God she didn’t even believe in. 

His smile widened, and he shifted to look up at his friend. 

“Man…” Dusty growled in disgust, his scars pulling taut as he twisted his face. 

The man with dead eyes looked back at her and she got a good look at the first flicker of anything in those bottomless pits. 

Lust. 

It sent fear burning up her throat like acid. 

“I’m jus’ sayin’, I wouldn’t be outside eatin’ when I could be in here.” Willa looked away but she could still feel those empty eyes watching her. It was different from how Remmick looked at her. With Remmick, it was like he wanted to consume her—to possess her very soul, but those looks had always felt warm, they always lacked malicious intent. The way this man watched her made the fear she felt for Remmick seem so small in comparison. 

This man watched her like he wanted to hurt her just to hurt her. 

Willa’s bottom lip trembled. God, what had they done to Remmick? She had seen him survive multiple gunshots to the chest before…what had happened this time? Despite what he had done to her—to her family, she was worried about him. She didn’t want him dead, she needed him alive so that she could one day tell him how much she loved him. How much she still cared about him. 

Willa shifted, twisting her wrists to see if there was any give in them. Her heart sank when she was reminded just how tight they were. She tipped her head back, blinking away tears as the two men continued to talk about her like she wasn’t there. 

The knot on the side of her head throbbed in time with her heart and she could feel the blood that had leaked from her head wound drying into her dress and clinging to her skin. 

Memories flashed through her mind of her laying on sawdust-covered ground, of her neck being squeezed, of her leg being kicked in by Mary. It was like she was cursed to be haunted by that night. If she wasn’t reliving it in her dreams she would be reliving it in her reality somehow. 

She would never escape the night at Club Juke. 

Willa blinked hard, her vision wavering in and out and she tried desperately to focus back on what they were saying. 

“All this money…the jewelry…” Dusty murmured. Willa swayed, losing consciousness even as she struggled to stay upright. 

A hand caught her by the shoulder as she careened forward, stopping her from smashing her face into the floor. 

Black eyes peered down at her, a curious tilt of his head made him seem almost childlike. “Whatcha’ doin’ all the way out here, girl?” He watched her face, his eyes lingering on the blood that had trailed into the crease of her mouth. 

Willa stayed silent, blinking up at him even when he shoved a hand into her loose unbound hair as he sank into a crouch.

He seemed unbothered by her lack of communication and used his grip to tilt her head back and forth. His soulless eyes studied the scars on her face and after a moment of looking, he slowly lifted a hand, giving her ample time to register where it was headed. 

Willa flinched when his fingers brushed against the one on her cheek and his lips twitched into something adjacent to a smile. Gently, he smoothed his thumb over the raised skin, watching her eyes widen with horror when he pressed down hard.

“I bet it hurt a lot.” He murmured softly, leaning in close enough that his foul breath fanned into her nose. Her eyes watered and that smile of his turned sharp. “I got ways to make you talk, suga’.” The man rose to his feet and let go of her hair to scoop an arm under her legs, taking her with him. 

Dusty watched from his spot at the table, not even bothering to glance at her, he addressed the man holding her. “Don’t take long, we gotta bury the body.” 

Willa twisted in the steely arms that held her, a noise of disbelief leaving her that finally drew Dusty's eyes. She shook her head. Remmick was alive, he couldn’t be killed by regular bullets and regular people. Before she could open her mouth to say anything the man took her back inside Smoke’s room, ignoring her cries of pain when he set her down on the glass. 

He whistled lowly as he took in the room properly for the first time. “Lots of shit in here.” He muttered and gave her a push. Without her hands to stop her fall, she fell into the bed, her head bouncing off the bed frame. 

Her vision blackened for a moment and she could feel the man hoisting her into the position he wanted her in. She could feel her arms slacken as he cut the rope off them and then maneuvered them above her head. It was at that moment when she was laying there, that she finally felt how those men she used to beat up had felt like. She was almost scared to open her eyes again.

Her head whipped to the side when a heavy palm collided with her cheek.

“Wake up.” He ordered tonelessly, grabbing her chin and giving it a quick shake. “Good.” He grunted when she was finally able to blink her eyes open. 

Willa pressed away from him, turning her head to the side to breathe in air that didn’t smell like it came from the devil’s ass. The man let go of her wrists to stand over her and she scrambled backward, watching him watch her. 

The lust was back in his eyes and Willa suddenly felt so tired. A tiredness that soaked into her bones and made them feel like they were filled with cement. A tiredness that made her see the world as a place that wasn’t worth living in. 

What was it about her that made men think they could just have her? What did she do that made her such a prime target for men’s violence and lust? What was she doing to make men want to take advantage of her?

Willa could feel her anger burning under her skin, it made her feel overheated, and it made her scars throb as if they were fresh cuts. It made her tremble, like there was too much in her body and it needed to be released. 

The man continued to stare, holding her gaze even as he moved to lean against the wall opposite of her. 

“Yer a shy one, huh, doll?” He canted his head, his eyes slowly looking up and down her body. Dragging from her bloody toes to her heaving chest and settling back on her flinty eyes. “Names Sly,” He paused, raising a dark eyebrow when all she did was sit there and stare. 

He shrugged and pushed away from the wall, his large hands falling to his belt. “Normally you would give me yer name.” The buckle popped open, metallic clacks filled the room. “It’s only polite,” Sly added and wiggled out of his dirt-crusted jeans. “Don’t worry, like I told you, I got ways to make ya’ talk.”

His voice came out almost apologetic as he tossed his jeans to the side, maybe a person could have believed him if he didn’t have a giddy look in his eye. 

Sly reached down, retrieving something from his jeans. Willa observed the hunting knife he brandished, feeling not a single thing except rage as he walked over to her. 

“Ever heard of The Skinner Brothers?” He asked, an uncomfortable amount of glee entered his eyes as he towered over her. 

He was taller than Remmick—taller than her brothers had been and she hated it. Hated that she was forced to bend her head back to keep looking into those soot-colored eyes. “Me and my brother like ta’ hurt people.” There was a crazed look in his eyes as he darted a look from the blade and back to her. 

“He don’t like negroes much so I can have you all to myself.” 

The second he came close enough to touch her, Willa kicked out with her right foot, catching him between the legs. Sly dropped to his knees with a snarl of pain, the noise ending abruptly when she raised a fist and sent it towards his temple. 

It never got a chance to connect. 

All the man had to do was jerk on her bad leg and she was down. Her back slammed into the mattress and he dodged another swing and gathered both her wrists in one of his own.

A scream ripped out of her lungs so harshly she could taste blood on her breath. Willa panted, doing everything she could to stay as still as possible. Sly pushed down again, sharpened steel pierced unhurriedly through both of Willa’s palms and pinned them to the bed. Her entire body shook, every movement pure agony that rippled from the middle of her palms and up into her fingertips. 

Sly stared down at her, the hand he had on the handle slowly wiggling the blade back and forth. The look in his eyes terrified her. It was like he lived off her cries. She could see his face softening, relaxing into a peaceful expression the more she screamed. 

So Willa clenched her teeth, refusing to give him what he wanted even as she heard her jaw release a pop from how hard she was grinding her teeth. 

For the first time, she saw anger in those eyes. It transformed his boyish face completely, his brows lowered, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes turned cold enough to send a chill down her spine. The knife that he was toying with stilled and she groaned a muffled sound of relief. 

“Get the fuck off me.” Willa gasped, attempting to kick out again. Sly grabbed the limb and pushed it off to the side, his wide smile showing off all of his yellowed teeth. 

“She speaks.” Sly breathed mockingly. The knife wiggled again and spittle sprayed from between her clenched teeth, landing on his dirty face. “C’mon, lemme hear ya’.” He hummed, letting go of his knife to drag a hand up her thigh. 

Willa turned her eyes up to the ceiling, dark eyes sticking on the bullet hole she had shot into it. Her eyes followed the rough splintered edge of it and found that it was identical to the massive hole in her soul. The sound of water rushing began to flood her ears and she could feel it filling her lungs. Her skin felt numb. Couldn’t even feel the impatient hands trying to rip her mourning dress off. 

Willa flinched when a low hum echoed in her ear. It was a tune she had heard when Momma Lassie took her and her brothers to church. A tune to a song she heard at every funeral. Her head twitched to the side when she heard the sound of wood creaking. Slow and steady.  

It was the sound that haunted her dreams and nightmares. The sound she heard when her head cracked open on the sawdust-covered floor of the old sawmill.

The sound of death. 

One of them was going to die and Willa was damned sure it wouldn’t be her.

Another noise rose with the creaking, a tick. A quick metallic tap at the cauldron that held the contents of her wrath. The muscle above her brow ticked with it.  

Willa curled her fingers, pressing her pinned palms up and sliding the knife out of the mattress. The man stripping her underwear off of her was unaware of the change in the woman he had harmed. Didn’t notice the rigidness of her tense frame or feel the presence of someone who had personally seen the devil. 

Didn’t notice even as the blade bit into his neck. 

༻✧༺ 

Dusty licked his blood-smudged fingers, the moisture helping him flick through the money faster. A laugh of disbelief rumbled out of his chest and he tossed the stack next to the rest, leaning back in his chair to stare at all the shit they had found. The amount of money was enough to make him forget the pain he was feeling.

Enough to make him almost forget that the woman had injured him. 

The thought of her had him looking down at his right arm. She had grazed him good—took a chunk out of his arm. A sneer tugged at his lips, pulling at his scars. 

He hoped Sly was tearing her a new hole. 

Dusty shivered suddenly, an icy draft slipping through the broken window. It reminded him that if he hadn’t ducked that window would’ve been his head. He turned away from the money, feeling antsy just sitting there counting it over and over. 

Getting up from the table, he leaned over and downed the now lukewarm tea, smacking his lips at the first taste of something other than warm, dirty snow water. Tossing the cup to the side, he wandered around the room, using the tip of his boot to turn over the luggage they had already searched through. He already knew it was all women's clothing and supplies. 

Another thing that was odd about this ranch. 

Dusty’s mind went back to the dead man out by the firepit. He was still confused about what he had been doing out there when there was a nice warm cabin just yards away. 

The blond man crouched down next to a brown suitcase, sifting through dark clothing. They still had to bury the body if they were planning to hole up here until the weather got better. 

They were still running from the law. Wanted because his brother was stupid enough to kill a woman too close to home. Dusty sighed, dropping the woman’s clothing back into the suitcase and pushing it to the side. She had to have more money. With the amount they had found there was bound to be some hidden elsewhere. 

Green eyes darted to the room his brother was in, a smirk stretching his thin lips wide. He could hear wet thuds, grunting, and the sound of creaking wood. Dusty shook his head and moved away. Sly was always the one to fall for a pretty face—didn’t matter what race or gender they were. If he wanted them he would have them. 

A slow knock at the door drew his attention away and he frowned, pulling his pistol out from his hip holster. It was a careful knock, polite. Just two taps. Quiet enough that he almost didn’t hear it. Dusty waited, cocking his head to the side to see if it would come again. 

Creeping closer to the door he listened for the sound of feet or even breathing but there was nothing at all. Unease dripped down his spine despite him holding a gun. The general store owner had only mentioned the one lone colored woman living out here. The man who cut him had been a surprise but there were no other signs of more than two people living here. 

Going back to the table he stuffed as much of the money and jewelry into his pockets, knocking over some of the valuables they had found. Rushing to the back room he pounded on the door. He could hear now that it was deathly silent inside. 

“Aye, Sly! We gotta go. Think that old man lied to us!” He hissed, scowling when he didn’t get a response. 

Another knock sounded at the door and Dusty sneered, moving toward it. Racking the slide of his pistol he carefully pushed the curtain to the side, his forest-green eyes widening when he saw no one there. Letting the curtain drop, he stilled, listening carefully. 

Abruptly, the next set of knocks turned into vicious pounding that rattled the very frame of the house. Fed up with the games, Dusty ripped the door open with a curse, his heart thudding wildly when he saw absolutely no one there. 

Stepping onto the porch he peered out across the property, the cold wind carrying thick white flurries. The night appeared darker than it had when he was walking through it earlier. There was no moon tonight and it was noticeable. The cabin was the only source of light, the weak glow barely reaching ten feet into the inky darkness. 

Taking one last glance at the house, Dusty made his way off the porch and toward the area where they had killed the man and left his body to freeze. 

It was when he was about four feet away from the porch that he heard the singing. It was that song the man had been humming around the firepit. A song he had only heard at the only funeral he had ever attended. 

“When peace like a river attendeth my way.  

When sorrows like sea billows roll;  

Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say, 

‘It is well…it is well with my soul…’” 

In all of his thirty-four years living he had never been as petrified as he was in that very moment. Never been so frightened that he was scared to turn around and look behind him. Out of him and his brother he was always the one to look danger in the eye and shoot. 

It was why his face was disfigured, it was why he and his brother didn’t have a place except the road to call home. 

But the haunting voice behind him had that reckless bravery draining out of his body. It left him frozen in place, eyes wide, and focused on the shadowed building in the distance where he could see the shiny glint of the donkey's eyes. He hadn’t even noticed the beast until then—with its head hanging out of the stall to watch him. 

There was a creak behind him and he gasped, trembling. Slow footsteps flattening the snow behind him until they were about a foot away. Dusty could feel him, the heat of another person, the awareness of a person pressing into his personal space. There was an oppressive wave of fury radiating from behind him and there was no stopping the tears that flowed from his eyes. 

He should have been dead. He had been shot more than five times in the chest—even took a bullet to the back of his head. Dusty quivered, turning his head slightly and stopping when he heard another creak from the porch. This time these footsteps were light. 

There was a disturbance in the air by his right side and he jumped when something heavy plopped into the bright white snow. The scent of fresh piss filled the air and Dusty whimpered, stepping closer until he was standing over the object leaking into the snow. 

His brother's head stared up at him, his uniquely dark eyes gone, the red scratches indicating that they had been gouged out, leaving dark empty sockets. 

Dusty didn’t get time to mourn before a hand was shoved into his back, sliding between ribs with enough force that they broke. He could feel the dead man’s hand in his body, slipping overly long fingers through flesh and blood until they wrapped around his heart and squeezed. 

Crushing it. 

Willa dragged the body out through the main room, cussing viciously the entire time. From the porch Remmick watched her, his eyes drifting occasionally as he minded the fire burning a few yards away. 

He didn’t bother to ask if he could help. She wasn’t going to invite him in. 

There was a thick trail of blood by the time she managed to bring the body halfway through the door. Gently he nudged her aside and hefted the limp weight onto his shoulder, carrying it through the snow and to the edge of her property to where the fire was raging. His entire body ached when he tossed the heavy corpse into the fire. 

When he took a step back his arm brushed against Willa’s and she barely flinched. Remmick glanced at her from the corner of his eye to see her staring into the fire, a bruised look in her eyes. 

Slowly, as if her arm was weighed down by something unseen she lifted her revolver, her hand shaking as she pulled the trigger. The crack of the gunshot echoed across dead air and another one followed. Again and again, Willa fired into the corpses until her gun made a clicking noise—and even then Remmick could see her pressing down on the trigger. 

Remmick flexed his jaw. He had been helpless and useless again when she had needed him. His ear twitched at the sound of her walking off, her unsteady gait adding to the guilt he was feeling. Smoke and the scent of burning meat drifted into the air as Remmick stared unseeing at the pale skin blackening as it burned. He could hear Willa come back, the sound of a shotgun getting pumped had him instinctively taking a step to the side. 

Her body jolted as she aimed and shot into the fire, empty casings ejecting to the side as she pumped the dead men with lead. Remmick couldn’t help but stare. Her jet black coils bounced each time she racked the shotgun, her bloody face pulled into a cold sneer showing a hint of gold as she curled her lip. Her ripped black dress clung to her legs as the wind blew. 

She was beautiful in the midst of her wrath. In every single way. 

Remmick looked into the fire when she finally stopped shooting, he didn’t even cringe when she spit. They stayed like that for a long time, watching the fire. After a while, he turned to look at Willa only to find her staring up at him.

His lungs stopped functioning for a moment and he stared back. She was watching him boldly, dragging her eyes down his body and observing the blood that drenched his front. Her focus seemed to get stuck there and he could hear her heart picking up speed. Thudding loud enough that he was sure she was about to pass out. 

Remmick shifted, his brow furrowed when he reached for her chin, concern making him turn toward her fully when she didn’t push him away like she should have. His eyes took in the two clotted knots on her forehead and he used his thumb to scrape away some of the dried blood by the outer corner of her eye. 

“Willa—“ He began, only to be interrupted by her tugging at his shirt. 

“Why ain’t you healin’?” He wondered if she knew her voice quivered when she asked him that. 

Remmick squinted down at her before letting his eyes drop to the wounds that his shirt clung to. Her fists were still clenched around the bloody fabric and he could finally see the wreckage of her hands. Snatching them up, he inspected them, cussing at the damage done to them. It was a miracle she was even able to close them at all. 

“Baby, fuck. Why didn’t you say anythin’?!” He held her wrists gently, bending his head to catch her eyes but they were still stuck on his torso. “Willa?”

“I asked you…why are you not healin’?” She took a step closer, shaking his grip off of her so that she could try and shove his shirt up. Remmick took a step back.

“I’m fine. Jus’ need sleep.” He lied. Willa watched him, her eyes shinier than usual. 

He could tell that she knew he lied. 

Willa stared at him for a second longer before she turned on her heel and staggered her way back to the cabin. Her limp was back and looking far more painful than it had before. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed—couldn’t even smell the blood on her hands. It was like all his senses were muted, muffled. He turned his eyes back to the burning bodies. He should have drank from one of them before he threw them in. 

Remmick stumbled. His vision was swimming now, darkening around the edges. This was the longest he had gone without blood, the longest he had stayed dead too. When the bullet had entered the path Smoke’s stack had traveled it was like he had relived the agony all over again. 

The fire, the pain. It felt like the Gods were doling out his punishment personally. His breath ripped out of him and he bent over, trying desperately to breathe normally. 

A hand touched his arm and he was able to turn his head just enough to see his Willa standing there. In her hand was a teacup, the contents inside dark and thick. 

He knew instantly what it was.

Remmick stared. “Willa—”

“You don’t feed.” She interrupted again. “You haven’t drank anythin’ since the weather’s gotten worse.” She pushed the cup forward. “So drink.” 

She held out the cup to him like she didn’t know exactly what she was offering. 

He could see that she had reopened the stab wound, could see that she tried to bandage her hands as best as she could. 

Remmick took the cup from her, nearly dropping it when he took a sip. His eyes slid shut and he rolled the rich flavor around in his mouth. Almost instantly he could feel his skin knitting together, could feel the blood beginning to clot properly. The next sip had him groaning. A rumbling noise drifted out of him unabashedly and he sucked the rest of the blood down, the liquid going down like smooth Irish Whiskey. 

She almost tasted like she had years ago but there was something different. She wasn’t as sweet, more sharp and bitter with subtle notes of something tart—fruit-like. Like dark chocolate and raspberry but infinitely better. 

She tasted like a fine wine.

As the taste of her settled on his tongue, he could feel her lifting his shirt again and could hear her heart returning to a steady calm. And now with human blood in his system, he could smell every single area she was bleeding out from. 

Remmick’s eyes flashed open and he looked down at her, red glowing onto smooth dark skin. “Thank you.” 

Willa shrugged and looked away. “You would have done the same.”

He would have bled himself dry for her if that was what she needed, would have laid out in the sun she truly wanted him to. 

He loved her and to him, with this gesture, she had said the same.

Remmick nudged his head toward her cabin. “C’mon then, cailín. Let’s get you off of those feet.” He ordered gruffly, annoyed that she was even standing on them—and in the snow. Willa huffed tiredly but turned and began to hobble her way back home. “Don’t even know how yer able to walk right now.” He muttered, his hand hovering over her back as he followed behind her. 

“Shut up.” She groaned, waving the empty harmless shotgun at him.

༻✧༺ 

With a needle pinched between his careful fingers, Willa had allowed him to stitch her up right there on the steps of her porch. The money and her mother’s jewelry Dusty had taken were safely at her side and she absently played with a golden chain. She kept her eyes off the bright orange fire at the edge of the property and instead kept her attention on the man who was still her husband. 

Remmick’s dark head was lowered as he squatted just off of her porch. His hands cradled her foot gently as he stared down at the stitches he just finished, face completely closed off. 

Remmick slowly dragged a thumb along the heel of her foot, the gentle caress at odds with the way his biceps twitched.

He was angry. Maybe with himself. Maybe even with her. She could see the anger in the tense lines of his shoulders, in the way he clenched his jaw. 

Willa didn’t know what possessed her to drop her mother’s necklace and run the tips of her fingers over his brow. But she did it. And she did it again and again until his jaw unclenched and his shoulders fell and relaxed. Her fingers dropped to trail over the shell of his ear and then moved to cup the nape of his neck, his soft dark-brown hair pricking into her raw cut. 

Willa gave him a tug and he came easily, setting down her feet so that he could brace his arms on either side of her. Willa pressed her forehead to his, staring into his dark blue eyes. 

The fear she had felt when Sly was hovering over her had her eyes tearing up just remembering it and she shook her head when Remmick opened his mouth to speak. 

“I’m okay.” She whispered, the tears finally dropping when he nodded. “Yer okay?” Remmick nodded again, setting the needle and thread to the side to wipe at her tears. 

“Don’t worry about me, darlin’. Just…” He licked his lips, nervously glancing off to the side. “I—Let me heal you?” 

Willa nodded, shutting her eyes when he picked up her hands, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip when she felt the heat of his breath on her throbbing wound. 

“You should watch.” He murmured and so she did.

Willa opened her eyes and watched as Remmick licked a slow line up her palm, his tongue pressing into her skin and gathering the blood that welled to the surface. Willa squirmed, gasping when he set down her healed palm and picked up her other hand. Again he lapped at her wound, swirling his tongue to catch the blood that threatened to drip and fall to the ground. It felt amazing, the warmth, the slight occasional suckling. 

Willa dropped her head to the side. A soft sigh left her as the pain in her palms did. She could feel the skin knitting together, feel the ripped flesh underneath repairing itself. She clenched her hands into fists, tears pricking her eyelids. 

She had been denying herself this—this tenderness and love that she craved and yearned for. It made her chest tight like someone was pressing onto her lungs. She missed being loved and having someone to love. 

A hand cupped her jaw and she pressed into it, a shiver shaking her body when a soft mouth sealed over the cuts on her forehead and temple. Even after the area was healed she felt him linger, pressing light kisses to her head. 

And Willa allowed it. 

Slowly, Remmick pulled away, taking his warmth with him. 

“Where else?”

Willa blinked her eyes open, unsure when she had even closed them, and looked up to see him watching her. He still had a concerned look in his eye that she didn’t know how to soothe away. 

Sitting up she glanced down at her feet. She wouldn’t let him heal those or…

“That’s it.” She said quietly, grimacing when Remmick made a noise. “I don’ know if we should…” Her tongue pressed into the skin on the inside of her bottom lip, feeling where Dusty had hit her and made the flesh split. Remmick didn’t give her a chance to say anything else, his head was already bending down again and his mouth slowly covered her own. 

It was barely a kiss. 

Just Remmick’s mouth patiently coaxing hers open. Just him taking hold of her jaw in such a way that it had her lower stomach fluttering. Just his tongue sweeping inside so that it could press into the small cut. Just her husband pulling back just enough to unhurriedly lick across her bottom lip. 

When Remmick stepped back fully he finally seemed satisfied, his eyes roving over every inch of her, nostrils flaring as he scented for more open wounds. Red glinted eyes glittered in the candlelight before he turned away and gathered her sewing kit for her.

Willa’s heart skipped and she swallowed, glancing behind her to look at the jar on her fireplace mantel. 

She turned away.

She didn’t know when she stopped seeing the death of her brothers and Annie when she looked at Remmick. And that scared her more than anything. 

Chapter Text

New Mexico | February 18, 1933 |

Logs shifted in the fireplace, crackling and popping in the background as Willa removed the plaits from her hair. Steady greased fingers gently untangled the shiny black strands, coaxing them to lay flat. 

She hadn’t taken much care of her hair while living in New Mexico, always leaving it out unbound and loose so that the tight coily ends brushed against her shoulders. It left it dry and frizzy, and with spring coming soon she didn’t want to add it as another thing she had to worry about. 

The kettle she had hanging over the fireplace began to whistle, shooting a thick stream of steam out of the spout. Willa got up from the table and ran her hand over her hair, pleased with the way it felt. 

Grabbing the kettle, she poured the boiling water into the two cups she had waiting, her hand twinging  when the handle pressed against her bandages.

Outside, she could hear him as he walked along the path to her shack. 

She had gotten better at listening out for him, almost instinctively knowing it was him each time. 

Bending back slightly, she poured more hot water into the second mug and took a peek out the screen door. She could see Remmick wiping sweat from his brow, fanning himself as he leaned against one of the porch's support beams, his head turning as he surveyed the land. 

He had been out all day marking the perimeter and hammering down fence posts. 

She guessed the night a few weeks ago had shaken him too.

“Comin’.” Willa called, leaning forward when he tilted his head toward her, the wide brim of his hat keeping her from seeing his eyes.

“No rush, darlin’,” Remmick grunted, his head turning back to the front when she hummed and wrapped her blanket over her shoulders.

Balancing the two cups in one hand, Willa approached the door and used her elbow to pop the handle open. Socked feet padded onto the old wooden decking, the woven fabric catching on a few uneven parts as she made her way to the top step. 

Stepping out onto the porch was different than when he first arrived. She wasn’t scared to leave the safety of her shack anymore. 

Because it was never safe to begin with.

Willa moved to sit, bending to place her cup down before she handed the larger mug off to Remmick. Like always, he took off his hat and thanked her softly, moving to sit beside her. 

Tucking her legs up, she balanced the hot tea cup between her knees so that she could adjust the blanket around her to keep the freezing air out. 

A tentative quiet stretched between them. 

They didn’t touch or talk. They just sat together, staring out onto her property and listening to the sounds of Honey braying or the wind. 

It was the middle of winter so snow clung stubbornly to the roof of the stable and covered the ground in a thin layer of white. Surprisingly, the wind wasn’t as cold as it had been in January; it made sitting out on her porch with Remmick bearable. 

Willa glanced at him as she raised her teacup to her lips. 

He looked better. The color of his skin wasn’t as pale as it had been before and she could tell that the cold didn’t bother him like it did her. 

Remmick took a sip from the mug, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. Willa looked away and down at the beige gauze wrapped around her right palm. 

He was drinking her blood. 

She had been spiking his tea with it. He never asked about it and she never mentioned it. 

She just couldn’t have what happened a few weeks ago happen again.  

Willa turned her head down, her thick, coiled curls sliding forward like a black curtain as she peered into her cup to see her reflection. In those eyes that reminded her so much of her father’s, she could see what she had been denying the day he showed up at the old sawmill. 

She had finally admitted to herself that she still cared about Remmick…and seeing him on the verge of…death? She still didn’t know if he could die from not drinking blood, but she knew when she saw him stumble that he had been close to it. 

And it scared the shit out of her. She didn’t like that he neglected himself to the point of starvation that he couldn’t even heal himself. 

As ironic as that was. 

She had always seen him as…not Godly, more…resilient. And he was. A stake to the heart and he had still managed to live, to be reborn. But she knew the death had taken its toll—it weakened him. There was no other reason that regular bullets had almost taken him out. 

And if they had it would have been on her. Because he had been staying close to her ranch for her.  

Willa’s eyes drifted to the left side of her property where there were signs of the fire that had burned for half a night and half a day. 

The snow still wouldn’t stick to the ground there despite how long it had been since the fire went out—despite how low the temperatures got. It was like a piece of The Skinner Brothers' hellish souls were now stuck on her land. 

Willa looked away. She didn’t quite know how to feel about that. 

Her sock-covered feet curled down, pressing over the side of the stairs. They had healed well enough for her to walk on them now and the stitches had come out a few days ago. 

They would scar. 

Like the hole gaping in her chest, they would be a reminder of the evil she had experienced and seen. And after the visit from The Skinner Brothers, she knew things had to change. She had been scared of that man—of Sly and his soot eyes. She had been in a situation that many women didn’t make it out of. 

She wanted to believe it had made her into a braver person but it did not. 

Smoke’s room was left untouched, the door shut and locked. She hated to even look at it most days because she could still smell Sly’s rancid breath, could still feel his hands on her. And when she glanced outside looking for a chance to see Remmick she would see those soulless black pits watching her in the window instead.

Sometimes she would find herself waking up frozen and unable to move, the sound of wood creaking echoing in her ears and the feeling of hands shackling her wrists like a phantom touch of death. They both whispered over her like ghostly memories from hell. It utterly terrified her.

Good lord, she was tired. 

But Remmick helped. 

When she was outside of that suffocating shack just sitting next to him…it helped. Even when they would just share a cup of tea, passing it between them. Even when the air was cold enough to make her breathing stutter and he would shift closer to her. 

Just…it all helped a lot.

Remmick, an evil that needed permission to come into her home, hasn't harmed her since being here. It had taken two filthy men a couple of hours to make her shack feel like it was only an illusion of safety. 

Willa would never be safe in the world. If she locked her doors they could be broken down. If she stepped into the night her throat could be ripped out. 

It was funny when she really thought about it. She and the people at Club Juke had tried their hardest to live—fought tooth and nail and they would have all died anyway. Had Remmick not come then it would have been the Klan. If not the Klan then a fire—or maybe a shooting. 

Either way, they were all meant to die that night and somehow Willa had cheated her way out of it. 

And maybe that’s why she continued to suffer every day after. 

A warm finger brushed against her ear as it pushed her hair back and she turned, catching Remmick’s eye. He was watching her—as he always did. Taking her in like it might be the last time he would see her. It made her heart ache because that was how he always looked at her—even before she decided it was best to leave. 

“Good?” He murmured, his tentative touch turning brave and he tugged gently at her earlobe. 

Willa nodded. A lie but she turned her head away before he could see it written in her eyes. 

They had changed. 

The casual touching. She had allowed it—initiated it first and now she didn’t want it to stop. She felt comfortable here. Safe. Not inside her shack with her brother's grave dirt making her feel his cold disappointment. Not inside the home where her nightmares played like a never-ending play in her mind. 

But right on her porch steps with Remmick. 

And for that, she begged her dead brothers every day to understand why she was being so weak. 

And every day she prayed to a deaf God to forgive her for her continuous sinning so that she could see them again. 

Remmick made a noise and drained the last of his blood spiked tea, taking Willa’s half-drunken cup when she handed it off to him. “You needa keep drinkin’, baby.” He chided, but still took a sip, huffing a short laugh. Willa turned to look at him, squinting. 

“What?” She probed, watching him take another sip and shake his head. Just from the familiar way his nose crinkled she knew exactly why he had laughed. “Don’t you dare talk about sugar.”

He pursed his lips. 

Willa sat up straight, shivering when her blanket slipped off her shoulder. “It’s only two spoonfuls! Jus’ enough to not give you a toothache.” 

Remmick snorted. “Two spoonfuls too many, if ya’ ask me.”

Willa sniffed, turning her eyes away from him to glare off into the distance. “Well, no one’s askin’ you.” She could hear him slurping next to her, still drinking it despite hating the taste and her indignation poured out of her. 

She rubbed a finger over her brow and blew out a sigh, watching it turn into a white cloud. 

“What is it?” Remmick asked, and she rolled her lips together, nervously tracing over the scars on her knuckles. 

Willa could feel his eyes on her once more and the hair by her ear shifted again, his hand cupping her jaw gently before letting go. 

She didn’t know how he did it. Holding her like her jagged broken edges never hurt when they cut him. Holding her like it was easy—like it was a base instinct. 

When she glanced at him the look on his face stalled all the thoughts in her mind. 

His lips were shiny, damp from the sip he had just taken. It was like she was seeing him for the first time in months. 

There was no hunger in his eyes as he looked between her own, it was almost like he was searching for something. And he must have found it because his features relaxed and he gave her a look—it was so tender that she swallowed the words she was about to say. 

He was watching her like he loved her still. It was all in the soft line of his lips, the thin ring of blue in his eyes as he stared down at her. In the way he smiled almost absentmindedly, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

Willa tore her eyes away, panting quietly like she had been holding her breath. Maybe she had. 

She glanced back at him. “Stop that.” He dropped his eyes obediently but they quickly came back up, dragging across her features, lingering on her hair. 

“Can’t.” He breathed, he leaned closer to her, the gold chain around his neck gleaming from the light from the open door behind them, and she could smell the earl grey on his breath when he whispered. “Ya’ look so pretty with yer hair like that, mo shearc.” 

My love. 

Her heart burned and she could feel her eyes watering at hearing him say that to her again. She could see in his eyes that he meant it. Knew deep in her broken, cavernous soul that he felt it—believed it like a devoted priest believed in God. 

“I need to head inta town,” Willa whispered after a moment, her frozen cheeks heating when he blinked. “My luggage…and I need supplies.” Remmick leaned back, a low laugh leaving him before he drained the rest of the tea, working his jaw as he let the warmth of it sit in his mouth. 

“Do ya’ wanna come?” 

It was another patheticly timid invitation. An invisible hand that she held out to him. 

Remmick’s jaw stopped moving and he swallowed. “Can’t I get it for ya’?” 

The soft atmosphere dropped like a stone and Willa shook her head. She could feel herself closing off, building back up a portion of her fragile walls as she stood. 

“You can but ya’ won’t.” She carefully took the blanket off of her, shaking it out before draping it over her arm. “I’m leavin’ now. If ya’ don’t wanna come, then don’t.” Willa held out her free hand for the mug and the cup, thanking him quietly before heading inside.

Her shack was almost back to the condition it was before The Skinner Brothers had arrived. Only she now made sure to keep the shotgun near the dining table. Willa shuffled her feet, the fabric of her sock wiping off some of the rust color that was still on the wood. The blood had been the hardest to get out. The floorboards weren’t treated and sealed like a normal home so it had been stained. There was now a large smear that went from Smoke’s room and stopped just outside the front door.

Willa laid the blanket on the back of one of the chairs and quickly put on her boots, as she straightened back up her eyes landed on her brother’s journal on the table. The book was open and on the page were four names. Two had been crossed out and the other two she was unsure what to do with. 

Willa turned away, gathering the basket she normally used when she went into town and some money, then carefully slipped on her coat. She left her fireplace lit, adding an extra log to it. 

After blowing out the candles and making sure her boots were on properly she left her shack, pausing when she saw Remmick standing there with Honey, the lead rope dangling between the two. 

Red glinted eyes met dark brown ones and Remmick tilted his head. She had expected him not to come but she could see it written plainly on his face—in his eyes, that he would follow her anywhere. 

Somewhere deep in her chest a brick loosened and sent the rest tumbling to the ground. 

Honey brayed loudly and attempted to climb the stairs to sniff at her, allowing her to pull her eyes away from Remmick’s. 

“Hey there, Honey.” She cooed, running her hands down his nose. Willa stepped off the porch, side-eying Remmick as she did. “We still haven’t named him.” She mumbled and made her way down the path. 

The tips of her ears were warm when she brushed her hair behind them. She had said ‘We’ and she knew without even looking at him that he would be smiling at that. 

“Nah…we didn’t.” Willa sighed tiredly at him. “Now, jus’ what should we name him?” Remmick drawled, his voice carrying a lilt that told her he was grinning. She nearly turned back around then. “Whatchu’ think ‘bout Wick?” 

Willa nodded as she adjusted the basket on her arm. She actually liked it a lot. 

Until she looked at him and caught the secret smile on his face. 

“Yer an idiot.” She breathed. “Why give the poor creature a combination of our names…ain’t there somethin’ else we can call ‘em?” 

Remmick shook his head, the ends of his dark hair brushing against his brow as he looked down at her. “Nah, baby. He already comes when I call him. Don’cha, Wick.” The donkey brayed, snorting softly when Remmick patted his side. 

Lord, save her.

༻✧༺ 

The road was dark, unlit by the absence of streetlights that would have lined far more traveled roads, but her eyes adjusted to the light the moon provided. It felt a bit odd to head into town so late into the night but she knew a few places that were open almost twenty-four-seven. She just had to convince them to sell to her. 

She hadn’t been to town in a while. Not since she had been poisoned. Everything she truly needed had been in her shack and she lived off the game Remmick hunted for her. 

His arm brushed against hers and she took a peek at him. He was silent, his blue eyes darting to the side every time he heard something she couldn’t. 

The quiet between them was different than the one she felt when she sat out on her porch with him. This silence felt tense. Weighty.

Willa turned her eyes back to the road, the town's lights shining and letting her know they were almost there. 

She stopped walking.

“Remmick.” Her eyes dropped down to his hand, the pale skin contrasting against the brown leather lead. “Maybe we should enter at different times?” She reached into her bra, her fingertips bumping against her stolen lighter as she pulled out her list. After ripping it in half she held a piece out to him. 

Remmick’s slowed to a stop next to her, “Why would we do that?” He tilted his head to the side, she could tell he was irritated with that suggestion. 

“This ain’t New Orleans, Remmick,” Willa spoke calmly, avoiding his eyes by keeping hers on his golden chain. “These people would likely get ya’ the things on that list and those are the things I need the most.” 

It was quiet after she spoke, only broken when Wick shifted, the leather pack bags on his back squeaking as he moved. She could feel Remmick observing her face, looking for something only he was able to read.

“They been mistreatin’ ya’?” His hushed voice sent a shiver down her spine. Already his body was radiating anger, she could practically feel it rippling off of him, send wave after wave of blistering rage.

Her silence said everything. 

Of course, she had been mistreated. 

A black woman traveling alone in a predominantly white town. She had been spit at, cursed at. They had refused her service, and the one person she had naively thought was being kind had purposefully poisoned her. Willa’s gut twisted at the thought of that woman, the nausea she had felt for days making her mouth water and she swallowed down the urge to vomit. 

Straightening her spine, she met his eyes finally and canted her head, saying only two words. 

“You know.” 

He knew exactly just how evil people could be when it came to the color of her skin. 

She could see the metallic red glint fade into his eyes, bright enough to leave faint streaks in the air when he looked away from her. The line of his shoulders grew tense and rigid. She knew how he felt. It was a helpless feeling he had. It was the same he felt when they were in New Orleans; when she went out into the daytime and came back home upset. 

Remmick turned back to her and grabbed the list pieces from her cold fingers, his glinted eyes darting from side to side as he read what she needed. “I’ll get us a wagon too. Reckon I’ll need to purchase another mule.” He mumbled and shoved the papers into his back pocket. 

He looked down at her, a dark frown tugging his lips down. “I want ya’ to stick close to me while I get the things we need.” Willa’s eyes narrowed at the command in his voice. “None of that, darlin’. You used to listen to me so well.” 

Her heart skittered. “Remmick—“ Her voice came out less of a warning with how breathy it was.

“I jus’ need you in my line of sight, ya hear me?” The back of his fingers brushed against her arm, an unspoken apology for how harsh he had sounded.

He didn’t know what that did to her. 

Willa nodded slowly. Maybe it was the way he looked when he had said that that had her agreeing so easily. Maybe she was just relieved to not be so alone on this trip. 

Raton, New Mexico | February 18, 1933 |

The cold wood of the bench bit into the back of her legs as she waited for Remmick to return. It was nice not having to barter and beg the people of this town for her necessities. It was nice not having to look someone who hated her based on her race in the eye and try to talk to them nice. 

Laughter drifted on the wind, low and mocking. 

Across the street was the smoke shop, it was still open and had a few older men loitering around outside passing a hoagie between them. They were staring at her as she sat minding her business, nudging each other like children whenever she glanced their way. 

The door to the post office opened behind her, a gentle gust of warmth escaping and fanning over her. Heavy footsteps clomped along the wooden walkway before they headed toward her. 

“This is the last of yer luggage,” Remmick informed her, moving around her to place the bag into the small wagon he had bought. “Been sittin’ in storage for ‘bout a month.” 

The livery had an extra donkey, a black one with big brown eyes. She was smaller than Wick by just a smidge but the weight of holding up the wagon didn’t seem to bother her at all. Remmick let Willa name her and she decided on Luna.

“Thank you.” Willa watched him secure the bags down with rope, looking away when she saw the way his biceps and his back muscles bulged when he tightened them. 

Remmick brushed his hands together before delving into his pocket to take out the lists. His forehead was beaded with sweat, dampening his hair and making the brown look almost black. It made the dark blue of his eyes stand out, the color reminding her of the sky when the sun stubbornly kept illuminating it long after it had fallen. 

“Got a few more places I need to go and then we can leave.” He glanced at her then, squinting as he thought. “Stay right here?” 

Willa nodded, leaning forward a bit. “‘Ight, just don’t get rice from the general store.” Remmick nodded and turned, heading past the post office and turning a corner but not before looking across the street. 

Whatever the men saw on his face silenced them until Remmick glanced her way, sending her a look that she read as ‘behave’ before disappearing. 

Willa ran her tongue over her teeth. She could still feel the heavy stares from the men smoking across from her. She made sure not to make any more eye contact and stood up from the bench to move to one that was farther away, but still had the wagon and the donkeys where she could see them. 

It felt strange to walk the wooden walkway now. The town hadn’t changed much at all but it felt like she had. She had a few more scars, both physical and mental. She was accompanied by a man who she would have wanted dead a few months ago. 

Willa had changed.

She hoped it was for the better. For her own happiness at least…and maybe even his. 

Willa reached for his lighter, the one she stole from him the day she met him, running her fingers over the ‘R’ etched into the bottom. It wasn’t as pristine as it was five years ago. 

There were scratches from where the motel desk clerk had popped it open to refill it. The metal now had thin spidery scratches that affected its shine. Willa ran her thumb over the rough etching before flicking the lighter open. Reaching into her bra again she took out her last cigarette and balanced it between her lips. 

Fire burned paper as she inhaled, the muscles in her body relaxed for the first time in months as she puffed and flicked the lighter closed. 

Fuck, she missed smoking. 

It was a bad habit she picked up while she was living in New Orleans before she married Remmick. One of the men she had fancied liked it when she rolled for him, and when he kissed her he liked to blow smoke into her lungs. 

It was something she hated until she didn’t. 

That man had introduced her to a lot of things she hated, smoking, partying—and alcohol. She was halfway positive he was the devil with the way he was able to coax her into enjoying and loving sin but hating herself. 

Willa rubbed the knuckle of her thumb into the scar on her cheek, feeling the phantom sting and burn of a knife dragging into her flesh. 

He had liked to listen to her sing. 

Got mad when she didn’t. 

“A voice that could take a man straight to heaven.”  

Her daddy had once said the same thing. Liked to drink too. Would get so lost in his cups before a beating that he didn’t know when to stop. 

The man who gave her her scar had been like that too.

She wished she was strong then. To leave that man like she was able to leave Remmick. 

Willa exhaled, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth when a woman walked by. She flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette, squinting down when she noticed some of the powdery ash had fallen on her boot.

It reminded her of Remmick.

New Orleans, Louisiana | August 23, 1926 |

Indigo-tipped fingers passed her a drink, dark green eyes watching as she slammed it back like a shot of vodka and sputtered, Willa’s whole body shaking as she turned to hack into the bend of her elbow. 

“Ain’t that bad,” Aglae muttered, her voice wispy with age. She turned away to hobble into her apothecary, the hem of her white dress hovering just above the ground, it made it appear as if she were floating. 

The stout old woman mumbled under her breath, words Willa didn’t understand. “You want this cold drink I got back here, chile?” 

Willa continued to cough into her arm, the burn of the concoction making her feel like she was breathing fire into her lungs with every inhale. Somehow she managed to tell her ‘yes’. 

Lord, Annie never gave her anything that made her feel like she was about to meet the devil. 

Aglae made a noise of displeasure and sucked her teeth. “Get up out the doorway and sit down in that chair dere, huh.” She gestured broadly into the small store, pointing at the table in the back. “Blockin’ the rest of customers from comin’ inside. Tch.” The old woman moved around her shop, disappearing behind a thick gauzy curtain with strings of beads on it, leaving Willa alone. 

When she looked behind her there was not a single soul, the street dark and lifeless. 

With a hand rubbing at her burning chest, she entered.   

Almost immediately, Willa felt the calm of the space. It smelled like Annie’s Apothecary, scented homemade candles, burnt bay leaves, lavender, and lemon. Willa walked past shelves upon shelves of jarred herbs and labeled powders. 

Something brushed against her hair, snagging her, and when she glanced up she saw a bundle of fresh lavender drying as it hung from the ceiling. After untangling the strands that had gotten caught, Willa turned away and kept her hands to herself, looking but not touching. She had learned to do that when she watched Annie work.  

Her reflection warped as she walked by a jar of chicken bones and she found herself staring blankly into her own eyes. She missed Annie and her brothers, missed talking to them every day and listening to Stack ramble about the most nonsensical things as he rolled. She missed sitting in Annie’s Apothecary and listening to her mutter to herself as she worked. 

One day soon Willa would see her again. When she had her life all sorted out and her anger in check.  

Beads knocked into each other, a soft calming wave of noise that drew Willa’s attention back to the curtained-off room to see Aglae watching her, a chilled bottle of Coke in her hand. 

“C’mere.” The woman muttered softly, her lips twitching when Willa came to her immediately. Crooked indigo-dyed fingers brushed against her cheek, probing at the puckered scar. “What’chu got yoself into, girl?” Her wrinkled eyes were sad as she brushed her fingers over her black eye. “What I tell you ‘bout hangin’ wit’ that man, huh?”  

Willa took the chiding silently, finding comfort in her deep accent that reminded her of her Annie. A hand fell sharply onto her arm and she didn’t even flinch. “I’m hearin’ you. Promise.”  

The old woman glared at her. “No, you not.” The sigh that came out of her was drawn out and exhausted. “But you will.” 

She let go of Willa, tucking one of her white braids that had escaped back under her beige scarf, and moved around her store to go behind a makeshift counter. For a moment she disappeared when she leaned over, a hand on her poor back as she came up slowly with a few items and placed down a brown bag.  

“This here is salt,” Aglae said, using the tip of her finger to slide the bag closer to Willa. Next, she clunked a glass jar onto the counter. “You take some of this vinegar and wash yo door, you hear me?”  

“I hear ya’.”  

“Mhm, don’t be takin’ negative energy inta that new house of yours.” A white eyebrow slid up, a green eye peering at her over the top of her glasses. “Cleansin’ wash, vinegar, and then the salt.” When Willa nodded she moved on, bending again with a grunt to grab a bundle of sage. There were bits of dull purple leaves, white and yellow chamomile flowers, and the thin needle-like leaves of rosemary all wrapped in cotton thread.  

Aglae pursed her lips, looking at Willa like she had known her for years and not just a few short months before she sighed again, “You be seein’ too much death girl.” That was all she said as she placed the smudge bundle down. “Before you do any of that cleansin’ of yo space…make sure you cleanse yoself.”  

It was a standard—a basic in rootwork but the fact that she emphasized it made Willa stand a bit straighter.  

“Thank you, Aglae.” And she was thankful, this woman didn’t have to help her at all. She could’ve sent her on her way after the first time she came by her shop two months ago but she didn’t. And when Willa came knocking again she opened her door with a weary grunt and waited for her to walk in.  

Willa didn’t pick up any of the items from the counter, instead, she reached into her bag and laid out four used horseshoes, smiling when Aglae snorted. Willa reached down again and pulled out a jar of full-moon water, this time Aglae grunted in approval. “Needed more of that one, thank you, baby.”  

Willa smiled again and filled her empty bag with the smudge bundle, the small bottle of vinegar, and the leather bag of salt. It was an equal exchange between the two of them. Aglae would help her with cleansing her home and herself and Willa would help her obtain items she wasn’t able to go and get in her elderly age.  

Aglae walked her to the door and just as she was about to say goodbye she grabbed her arm, the grip almost bruisingly tight. “The devil’s got a taste of you, Willa. I’m tellin’ you there’s only so much an ol’ woman can do.”  

After that she let Willa go, watching her walk away with sad knowing eyes.  

Willa slipped through alleyways and backstreets to head to her new apartment. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a single bedroom over the new bar she was working at. Her old place had been Reggie’s, paid by him so that he could come in unannounced at random points in the day. Just to check on her.  

She was glad the controlling bastard was dead.  

The music from the bar poured into the street like syrup, it trapped any passersby into stalling, soaking up the blues before they continued on their journey.  

It was a different atmosphere from her other job. Less tense and less bloody. It wasn’t as fancy but the music was better. Well-known locals would come and take turns making music together. The synergy reminded her of the jook joints back home in the Delta. It felt like a community.  

Willa slipped into the side alley, taking the thin path to the door that led up to her apartment. After slipping her key in she let the door bang shut behind her and jogged up the winding stairs to another locked door. Her key went in easily and she stepped inside, locking the door shut behind her. 

Her apartment was dingy and small. One bedroom, a kitchen that opened into a living room. She was happy that she had a balcony, one that overlooked the dancing that tended to spill into the streets on weekends.  

The cigarette she had in her bra found its way between her lips. Her bag weighed heavily on her arm and she placed it on the kitchen table carefully, considering that everything inside was to protect her from spirits that may have lingered around her after the slaughter at the bar.  

Her mind went back to the man. The white man who grabbed her face and licked her wound shut. No man had ever held her with such care. Like she was delicate. Like she was meant to be cherished.  

Willa reached into her pocket to pull out the metal lighter she had stolen from him. It was shiny like it was brand-new, gleaming in the dim lighting of her dark apartment. Willa turned it over in her hand, rubbing against the ‘R’ carved onto the bottom. 

Snapping the lighter open she stared into the dancing flame and brought it to the end of her cigarette. The inhale did nothing to soothe her mind or her body and she began to pace, tracing a line into the wood floors.  

Each time she blinked she could see that the flame from the lighter had been burned into her vision.  

And all she could think about was those red-glinted eyes of the white man from the bar.  

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the night her face had split open. He had come in like a hurricane, overly long fingers ripping into throats—snapping them, elongated teeth on display as he snarled and drank from his victims.  

That did not scare her. What did was the gentle thumb that dragged down her healed cut. And when she looked up and watched his face she could see his features twisting, like he was upset that someone had hurt her. It sent something inside her quivering. 

Tap tap.    

The girl was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the first knock or the second.  

Tap Tap Tap. 

Willa froze, cocking her head. Listening. 

There was someone at her door. Willa frowned. Her boss always waited for her when she went downstairs for work to tell her anything. She couldn’t fathom why he would bother her if not for an emergency.  

The floorboards shifted underneath her weight as she hurried to the door and opened it.  

“Hey—“ 

The words died on her tongue when she met the eyes of the man who had been plaguing her mind.  

“You…” She stared up at him. He wasn’t covered in blood anymore and she could see his face clearly. “How did ya’ find me?” Willa breathed, the cigarette bobbing with her words. The man peered down at her, his nostrils flaring as he leaned forward.  

“That’s not so important.” He murmured, his voice low enough to send her heart skittering. A slow creeping smile made its way onto his face. “Scared of me this time around, huh?”  

She shook her head.  

She should’ve been scared. Any woman would be. But she wasn’t. All she felt was this intense want and curiosity. Willa continued to stare up at him, her eyes taking in his short wavy dark brown hair and traveling over his features. She could tell that he was older than her by at least ten years. 

“You stalkin’ me, mister?” She met his eyes again, the smoke from the cigarette clouding off to the side when she exhaled.  

Dark brows twitched and that smile grew. “And if I was?” 

Willa cocked her head. “I don’ want any of the trouble that you’ve got to bring.” She lied. He eased forward just a step. He was looking at her—hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. Willa wasn’t sure she liked it. He was doing a lot of things other people don’t normally do.  

“I jus’ wanna get to know you.” He breathed, he stuffed one of his hands into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. His fingers were normal-sized, nails short. It made her feel like she had imagined it all for a second. “Smoke with me?”  

She immediately shook her head. It was one thing to want this man but it was another to be seen with him out and about. Willa took a step back. “No, I think I won’t.”  

Her hand fell on the edge of the door, closing it. 

His eyes flickered, a tongue coming to wet his lips. “Lemme get yer name, hm.” The door paused. “Please.” 

She stared at him. The way he watched her was intense like he was looking at something he desperately needed. She tried to remember what she had done to warrant all of this. 

Her eyes drifted off to the side, looking at her bag on the table. She could practically feel her ancestors rolling as she widened the door again. Her un-ashed cigarette wobbled as she spoke, sending grey powdery ash to fall onto her shoe.  

“My name’s Willa.” She stepped outside of her apartment and into his space, holding out her hand for him to grab. It was quickly engulfed by a larger one and brought up to his face. Soft lips brushed against the scars of her knuckles in a gentle lingering kiss, red metallic-like eyes pinned her to the spot.  

Willa could feel a thumb smoothing over her wrist, a caress that spoke of a familiarity they didn’t have.  

“M’name’s Remmick.”  

༻✧༺ 

The woman—Willa, looked better. The bruising on her face had faded to a faint plum color that was only noticeable if you were looking for too long. And what was left of her black eye was just a thin shadow of bruising. If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have guessed she had been beaten so badly that she had only one eye visible. And then there was the wound he healed. It stretched down from her right eye in a raised jagged line, curving to continue under her jaw.  

Remmick tilted his head, studying her from head to toe. Her pale yellow dress brushed the tip of her shoes. It was tight, hugging her figure in the middle and falling loosely at her hips. It was so distracting that he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the way it swayed as she moved. 

Willa shifted again, the wide skirt fluttering like silk as she pressed into the shadows as someone walked by.  

They were leaning against opposite walls of the alley, the path wide enough that he could just graze her if he reached out. 

Smoke curled up and away from her as she exhaled, the thick white haze blocking half of her face. Remmick studied her openly, tracing her curved silhouette—her chin pressed into her shoulder and those dark eyes that were turned to the left, peering out into the street. The moon was hitting the curves of her cheek and jaw, casting her face in a lilac glow, the rest of her hidden in the shadows.  

The silence that stretched between them was broken up by the noise of the bar, the sound of the soft jazz trickling down the street. 

Remmick exhaled slowly and then inhaled her scent. He could still smell that uniquely sweet honeyed scent that seemed to cling to her like Turkish perfume.   

“You work here now?” He asked her, pretending like he hadn’t watched her pack up her belongings and trudged them up the apartment after landing this job. Willa kept a watchful eye on the street for a second longer before turning to him.  

“Let’s not play games now.” Remmick’s lips twitched when she narrowed her eyes at him. Her accent was different from the ones he was used to hearing. A drawl that had him wanting to listen to her talk for hours. “Why didn’t you kill me like ya’ did everybody else?”  

He could feel his face pulling into a frown. How could he tell her that he was gone the moment he saw her on that table bleeding? The moment he heard, felt, and tasted her anger?  

Remmick licked at his bottom lip, smiling when those umber eyes traced the movement.  

“Why would I kill you?”  

Willa blinked, opening her mouth then shutting it again. 

He could see her thinking and decided he had enough of sitting around and not taking what he wanted. Flicking his unlit, unused cigarette off to the side he stepped into her space, her gasp of surprise pulling air away from his damp lips. 

Remmick could hear her heart thudding, could hear the whoosh of blood as it was pumped through her veins. Being this close to her he could feel the heat coming off her body.  

He imagined that the Sun’s heat didn’t feel nearly as comforting as the warmth that came off of her.  

There was a dull red glow that blended with the lilac on her skin and he knew what she was seeing. Those eyes of hers were like mirrors—showing him the monster that he was.  

But Willa wasn’t afraid.  

That stench of fear he was so accustomed to smelling was absent again.  

She was watching him back, the cigarette she was smoking forgotten between full lips.  

No one had ever looked at him like that;

 like they wanted him—wanted to know him. And she—even after what she had witnessed him do…she wanted him. 

There was this curious feeling in his chest whenever he was near her. Like he was breathing fresh air for the first time. He couldn’t explain it…but he knew that this woman was his.

Remmick reached out and snagged her left hand. It was soft, smaller than his own but fit into his palm perfectly. He dragged his eyes away from hers and looked down at the connection, feathering his thumb lightly over the scars. Much like that night, she flinched and he tightened his grip, red-glinted eyes coming up to study her.  

Again her pupils were blown wide, deep warm depths flicking from his lips and back up to his eyes. Remmick pressed into her until her head rested against the brick of the building, her face tilted slightly so that they wouldn’t break eye contact.  

“Have ya’ kissed anyone before?” He asked her, surprising himself at how soft the question came out.  

She nodded slowly, umber eyes sticking on his lips. His hand came up, a thumb resting just under her chin to coax her eyes to his. “Can I kiss you?”  

Willa didn’t verbally answer him, instead, she took the cigarette from between her lips and nudged her face up.  

The first brush of their lips was gentle enough to draw a hesitant smile from her, the next a breathy sigh. 

Remmick turned into her fully, grabbing the sides of her face to tug her closer. The moment her lips were flush against his own he knew he could never walk away from her willingly. The taste of her was just too intoxicating. Remmick’s hand slid down her waist, tugging her so that her front was pressed to his.  

It was like she melted into him, soft and pliable.  

Willa’s arms draped over his shoulders to pull him back into the kiss when he retreated for air and he found himself getting lost in her. In the kiss. In her smell. In how she felt. He wanted more. To feel her as close to him as possible, to taste her sweet blood on his tongue—to have her neck beneath his teeth. 

Remmick could feel his canines lengthening, pushing out of his gums. He made to move back but she adjusted to the new seamlessly and swept her tongue over the tip of his right fang. 

Immediately, he could taste traces of copper in her saliva.  

The groan that rumbled out of him was swallowed up by her. Kissed away. It was like she knew exactly what it was doing to him because she did it again and again until he was able to taste blood blooming constantly. His right hand shook as it smoothed up her back, her neck, and tangled in the tight curls at the nape of her neck. The slight pull had her gasping and he drank that sound away.  

He wanted all of her. Her soul. Her thoughts. Her love. Her blood.  

He yearned to devour her whole.  

Remmick moved away from her swollen lips, kissing his way along her jaw and just below her ear, his lips sucking at the warm skin. He could smell her arousal now, feel her rubbing her thighs together for some sort of relief. Remmick huffed a low laugh into her skin.  

“What do ya’ need?” He pushed until her back was braced against the wall. Willa’s neck rolled, pressing into his hold when he made her look him in the eye. “Need me?” He could see her dazed eyes watching him, looking to him for direction. It fed that primal monster inside him that yearned for that submission. “Yeah, you do.” He whispered against her lips.  

Remmick pressed closer to her, nudging her feet apart so that her legs could make room for his knee. “Yer gonna take what you need, pretty girl,” He whispered, moving her forward so that the hot heat of her pussy hovered directly over his leg. “I’m gonna help ya’.” 

He watched her eyes as he lifted her dress, looking for a sign that she might want to pull away but there was none. His hand curved over the smooth bare skin of her inner thigh until his fingers brushed against dampness.  

His lips pressed against hers, once, and then twice. She was wet, completely soaked through her underwear. Remmick could feel her body shaking in anticipation, could feel her panting softly against his lips. His thumb ran over her clothed mound and brushed against her clit through the fabric.  

Willa’s reaction was instant. Eyes fluttered and if his thigh wasn’t between her legs she would have crumpled to the floor. It was the sexiest thing to know that he had her coming undone with only one touch.  

Remmick took her mouth again, rewarding her with soft, slow kisses. “That feel good, darlin’?”  

Willa nodded, dark eyes half-lidded and clear. The words she muttered next would truly damn her.  

“More.”  

Remmick dropped to his knees, flipped her dress over his head, and stripped her of her underwear in one quick rip. Wide shoulders bullied her legs open, the tattered pieces of her white underwear barely touched the ground before his mouth was sealed over her wet pussy. The moan Willa let out above him echoed loud enough to reach the street.  

His slacks grew tight as he licked her honeyed taste into his mouth. 

Remmick ate like a man starved. Like a man reaching a desert oasis after days without water. His hands ran up the back of her quaking legs, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass to bring her closer, to stop her from pulling away from his hungry mouth.  

Above him, he could hear her trying unsuccessfully to stifle her noises. A sharp gasp left her when he gave her thigh a nip. 

“I need to hear ya’.” He muttered against her. Remmick sucked her clit into his mouth, his eyes sliding shut when he heard her cry out. It was like music to him, melding with the rhythm of her heart to make a song that nearly had him cumming in his pants. 

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling another orgasm out of her just to hear her voice. To feel her shaking—to feel her pussy clenching around nothing as he licked away the mess she made.   

A hand fell onto his shoulder, weakly pressing.  

“Remmick, please.” Willa groaned, her legs quivering hard enough that her voice shook with them. Remmick slowly reemerged, a lopsided grin on his face when he saw hers. 

The tears he had expected to see when he slaughtered those people in the bar had finally come, dripping down her face to dampen the front of her dress. Remmick stood, wiping his wet face off with his hand so that he could press a small kiss to her lips.  

“Yer beautiful. Mo cailín álainn.” He whispered into her mouth, hoping she could taste how true his words were. 

Just outside the alleyway, a group of drunken men stumbled by and he twisted his body, blocking her from view. Willa blinked and straightened her dress with shaky hands, a red undertone in her cheeks when she glanced up at him. 

Her eyes flitted away, then back, and she cleared her throat, her quiet confidence struggling to come back.  

“I know what I jus’ did—what I let ya’ do, may suggest that…I do this often, but I don’t.” She pushed off the wall, turning to face him fully. “I wanna thank you for that night at the bar. For savin’ me.” 

Willa rolled her lips together and lifted her hand to brush at the cigarette ash that had gotten on his suit jacket. She was stalling, overthinking.  

“Would ya’ like somethin’ to eat?”  

Remmick nodded, lifting his hand to lick the the taste of her off his fingers, a bemused smile curving on his face when her eyes widened. 

“If yer food tastes as good as you…I’ll eat anythin’ ya’ make.”  

The woman laughed, a quiet laugh that sounded like she didn’t always know how to do it. As if she was discovering something for the first time. 

Willa’s dark eyes glittered like stars and she tilted her head to the door. “Come inside then, I got leftover stew from yesterday.” She took his hand, leading him deeper into the alleyway. “You like Irish beer?”  

Remmick smiled, his cracked, dead soul twitching.

 “Thought ya’ quit.” 

Willa raised her dazed gaze to see Remmick approaching with the last of the supplies, his eyes glued to the cigarette wedged between her fingers. She rolled the white stick between them, shrugging. 

“No one sells to me here. If I stopped it was purely against my will.” She muttered, glaring in the direction of the smoke shop that had denied her entry. 

Remmick deposited the rest of the supplies into the wagon and came to sit down next to her. They were far enough apart that they could have been seen as complete strangers. Six feet apart and on opposite sides of the bench. 

“Now, that just ain’t right,” He began, laying his drawl on thick. “I woulda sold you the shirt off my back if ya’ asked nice enough.” 

Willa only hummed, playing with the lighter in her hands. 

Remmick noticed it right away. He was sure she hadn’t kept anything of his when she left him. He observed the way she held it—like it was valuable. Precious. 

His throat felt tight when he spoke, voice coming out choked. “You still got that ol’ thing?” 

Willa glanced down, her thumb running over the bottom before she put it into her bra. Right next to her heart. 

It was like she was trying to kill him. 

“Yeah.” She said softly, brushing her thick mass of coily hair behind her ear. She looked pretty with it like that. Dark curls framing her face, making her eyes look brighter, bigger. 

It had almost made his heart stop when he saw her this morning. Hair out and curled around her shoulders, those long tight coils twisting in every direction like they had a mind of their own. The undertone of her dark skin a deep red from the cold.

She was so pretty that it hurt. 

Remmick looked away from her, staring unseeing at Wick and Luna. He could feel the itch of nervousness in his chest. “Why’d ya’ keep it.” 

Why’d you leave?

Somewhere between him nailing down the wooden boards over her broken roof, between seeing her shining in that river like she was a dying star. Between the way she caressed his face like she still needed him, like she still loved him. 

Somewhere between it all he stopped wanting to convince her that he needed to stay. 

He wanted her to choose. To realize it all on her own. 

For once, he wanted her to pick him. To stay. To love him the way he craved. 

The way only she could.

His heart pounded behind the cage of his ribs, burning a hole through his chest with anticipation as the silence stretched. He turned to look at her when it lasted longer than he knew it should have, but she wasn’t paying attention to him, her eyes were on something happening across the street. 

Remmick studied her face, the way it settled into a cold indifference, her brown eyes pure black as they remained trained on the scene across from her. 

Slowly dragging his eyes away from her, he followed her focused stare until it landed on a happy couple embracing.

A pale woman with dark hair kissed a man goodbye, her hand caressing his chin as she pulled away. Remmick could hear her softly whisper ‘bye’ before turning and heading down an empty side street. The man watched her go, a smile unconsciously spreading his lips wide when the woman twirled, before he turned and headed toward his car. 

Remmick’s gums began to itch. Is that who Willa was looking at? 

Remmick glanced back at her to see her getting up, her cigarette a crumpled ball of paper and smoking tobacco in her fist. 

He could smell the anger, the burning fury as she made her way across the street. It raged under the surface hot enough that he followed behind her slowly, his eyes taking in the way her hand lifted her dress to reveal the familiar glint of blued metal. 

༻✧༺ 

The woman turned the corner, a giddy smile easing onto her face. She paused in the entranceway of the alley and squealed happily. She couldn’t believe that Caleb wanted her badly enough to marry her. Sticking her hand out, palm side down, she admired the ring he gave her. 

It wasn’t a fancy ring like the other girls tended to want and she loved that. A pretty golden band with delicate flowers etched into it. It was exactly what she told him she wanted her dream ring to be. It showed that he paid attention to her even when he pretended not to. 

Cherry continued on her way home, almost skipping like a young girl as she approached the house with her daddy’s truck sitting in front of it. Reaching into her bag she sifted around for her keys, frowning when she didn’t feel them. 

Widening the opening she peered into it, angling the bag to the side so that she could see with the street lamps light. Cherry finally saw a glint of brass and yanked it out only to have it fall to the ground. Shifting her bag up her arms she bent, snatching the key off of the ground. 

Letting out an annoyed huff, she made her way up the steps, mumbling a song she couldn’t remember the words to. 

She didn’t notice the woman she poisoned standing across the street behind her. 

Willa could hear the ticking booming in her ears. Could feel the muscles in her brow tick with it. She knew she recognized her. The first name she had written in her brother’s journal. She had been the one to tumble her into starvation and ultimately into her death in her doorway. 

In Willa’s eyes, Cherry was a dead woman. 

She was dead the moment she decided to sprinkle rat poison into her food. The moment she had looked her in the eye and pretended to be a kind person. 

Willa could feel herself trembling as she stared at the woman dropping her keys for a second time. She was happy. She saw it. Saw them. Kissing that man like she was an innocent young girl, jumping and spinning in the alleyway like she hadn’t tried to murder her. 

A curtain twitched in her peripherals. She ignored it.

Her revolver sat snug in her grip. A familiar weight made the muscles in her arm burn as the muzzle followed the girl as she shoved the key into the lock. 

A slim finger warmed the cold metal of the trigger, pressing down—

Remmick’s chest pressed into the barrel and she flinched, cutting her eyes up to meet his. 

“Move.” Willa hissed.

She could see in his eyes that he wouldn’t. She hated him for it. Willa moved to the side just in time to see the door closing and with it, the ticking. Her hand began to shake, rattling her revolver. She let her hand drop to her side.

“Willa—“ 

She turned her back on him and walked away. 

༻✧༺ 

The journey back home had been as silent as a grave. The entire time Willa had refused to look at him and kept her eyes trained forward. 

Donkeys were extremely intuitive animals and Remmick could see Wick bobbing his head occasionally at Willa to try and force her to give him pets. He doubted she even noticed. 

It was like she wasn’t there, her eyes glazed over as she stared mindlessly ahead at the dark road. 

Remmick led the wagon to the side of the road, urging Wick and Luna to come to a stop. Next to him on the wooden seat, Willa stayed silent, still. 

“Baby—“ 

“She poisoned me.” 

He flinched at her monotone voice. It was somehow worse than the restrained anger and resentment from a few months ago. This voice had nothing in it. Empty is what it was. Remmick’s hands twisted on the reins, the rope burning into his palms. The ground beneath the wagon seemed to shake, his world rattling as he tried to understand what she was saying. 

“What?” 

For the first time since they left Raton, Willa looked at him. He mourned the cautiously soft glances that he was just getting used to already. 

“She put rat poison in my rice.” She began, a wispy disbelieving laugh leaving her lungs gently. “She told me to make sure I eat more rice…so that I could fatten up. Ya’ know, I was losin’ weight fast at that time too. Strugglin’ real hard to live after…” 

Remmick’s fingers twitched. 

“And well, the first person to treat me kindly fucked up every last bit of common sense that I had. ‘Cause what did I do after I bought that rice? I ate it every day after.” Willa’s lip twitched into a crooked smile and she looked away for a second. “Every single day.” 

The moon seemed to favor her at that moment, bathing her in soft hues of lavender and dull indigo. She met his eyes again. 

“I would have been dead a few days before you finally showed yerself.” 

The thought of that alone had his hands shaking. “Willa…”

“You don’t need to say anythin’.” Willa sighed tiredly, her eyes fell to his ringless fingers and he swallowed. “I saw the man watching from the window too. And I woulda shot her anyway.” They both knew what would have happened if she did. It hurt to know that she would do that. That she was still willing to live a life without him. 

“They woulda hanged you, Willa.” The words came out harsher than he intended but she didn’t seem to care. 

“And if I died alone in that broken-down shack, what would happen to her?” Remmick let go of the reins to drive his fingers through his hair and off of his sweaty forehead. 

He didn’t have an answer for her. 

“Nothin’, Remmick. If she had shot me down in the middle of the street, I think they would have rolled my body to the side and carried on. That’s what you have if you have me, Remi. ‘Cause I’m dead either way, ain’t I? There ain’t ever gon’ be justice for me unless I take it for myself.”

His chest ached because that wasn’t true at all. He would have killed that woman and the rest of her family if Willa told him to. She still didn’t seem to understand that. 

“You shoulda told me.” 

Willa turned her gaze away then, looking out into the field of snow. “Why would I do that?” 

“I would have handled it.” Willa opened her mouth. “You are my wife.” His whisper was soft, near silent. Tired and worn down. It stopped whatever she had to say. “Yer my wife, Willa. How can I jus’ be hearin’ about this after months of takin’ care of you?” 

Her sudden quietness ate at him, gnawing through his patience like starving rats. Remmick rolled his neck to the side, trying desperately to relieve the sudden tightness there. “What’s her name?” 

Willa shifted in her seat, sliding closer to him by an inch. He wondered if it was on purpose or something she did instinctively. Either way, it calmed the tension that was broiling underneath the surface of his skin. 

“Cherry. She works at the general store with her daddy.” 

Remmick nodded and snapped the reins, urging the donkeys back onto the road. 

After a moment of quiet he reached over, his hand curling around her thigh to drag her closer. He could feel her stiff body relax slowly into his side and he decided to keep his hand there, just to feel that she was present with him. It helped keep his mind off of the woman he let live in Raton. 

He didn’t expect her to hook her pinky on his own. Didn’t expect to feel her head come to rest on his shoulder.

The rest of the ride was spent like that. The hold gradually changing until their hands were clasped together. 

New Mexico | February 23, 1933 |

The shack was quiet. The only sound Willa could hear was her own breathing. 

The jar on the fireplace mantel stared back at her from her spot on the floor below it. 

“Sorry.” The whisper was a shamed one, defeated. “I’m real sorry, Elijah.” Willa got off the floor to lift the jar, her hands trembling. 

Had it always been this heavy? She stared down at the top, at the thin layer of dust that coated the surface. 

Cradling the cold jar in her arm, Willa reached into her dress pocket and took out a key. Stepping out of her makeshift bed she made her way to the room she had been avoiding. It surprised her that her hands didn’t shake as she slid the key in and turned the handle. 

As soon as the door creaked open she wanted to vomit. 

She could smell the dried blood in the air, see the dark rust color of it smeared on the sheets where she had killed Sly. 

Willa held her breath and slowly stepped inside, her heart pounding loud enough that she could hear it in her ears. She began to shake as she moved carefully to avoid the glass shards. The phantom pain made her wince every time her heel touched the floor. 

Her legs were only able to carry her to the middle of the room before she froze, movement near the bed causing her heart to shudder.

In the corner of her vision, she could see the scene play out, could see herself laid out on the bed beaten and broken. She had never seen herself like that. Through the eyes of someone else. 

She didn’t like what she saw. 

Willa forcibly turned her body and kept walking until she was standing in front of the nightstand on the left side of the bed. The picture they had taken in Clarksdale was untouched by the violence the rest of the room had seen. The picture of her family all in one image stared back at her with their permanent smiles. Willa lifted it from the desk, blowing the dust off of it to see it clearly. Her eyes fell on Stack, the brother she had hurt the most when she left. 

Her lips screwed to the side and she turned around, hurrying over the scattered glass and dried blood to close the door again. She didn’t bother to lock it up again. 

In Stack’s empty room, Willa set up white candles, a wooden bowl of water, and an old bible on top of Stack’s empty trunk. The picture of her family and the jar of grave dirt were placed down gently with lingering touches. It took her a minute to find dried out flowers to lay around the items but once she did she felt like the altar was complete. 

Now Stack’s room didn’t feel as empty as it did before. 

༻✧༺ 

The lowering sun blended with the darkening sky. Orange and pink smeared into dark indigo and blue. 

Remmick observed the sunset through the space between the stable walls. A sight he would never experience like he would have if he were human.

Behind him, the donkeys brayed and he could hear the quiet footsteps approaching. Her heart beat calmly, steadily. He could feel her eyes on him like a heavy caress. Remmick glanced over his shoulder to see Willa standing in the doorway, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

For a moment she watched him, and he said nothing, breath held. Waiting.

“Come inside, Remmick.”

༻✧༺ 

Food bubbled in the cast iron pot hanging over the fireplace. The smell told him it was stew. The type of stew his grandmother would make. Remmick shifted in his seat at the table, watching Willa ladle the soup into a bowl and place a thick slice of soda bread on the side. She appeared almost nervous as she placed the bowl in front of him.

Willa didn’t get anything for herself and instead shuffled to sit in the chair opposite of him. The realization had his heart burning.

She had made it for him. 

Remmick looked away from her to lift the wooden spoon, another thing she made sure to give him. He peered into the bowl, a small smile flitting across his lips when he finally took a bite. It had been a long, long time since he had a proper Irish meal—one that made him feel like he was back on the farm. It had been too long since he’d had a piece of home from across the sea. 

Remmick ate slowly, savoring each bite of carrot and potato, each sip of the hearty broth. He was sure he started tearing up at one point.

Across from him, Willa poured water from a pitcher into a mug and slid it over to him, the tips of their fingers brushing when he took it from her. Pushing the cup off to the side he grabbed her hand instead, feeling her pulse jump beneath his loose grip. 

Dark eyes found blue ones and they stuck. 

Her hand was soft in his, warm. He gave it a light squeeze, smiling at her when she did it back. Her eyes were warm, studying him with a look straight from five years ago. His entire body felt heated, warmed. And it had nothing to do with the stew.

“Thank you, Willa.”

When he finished eating she took the bowl to the sink and began to clean it, her hair falling over her shoulders to curtain off her face. 

He couldn’t stop watching her. Somehow he had done it. He had earned back his spot to sit at her table but there was something that clung to the back of his mind. 

A simple question. 

A question he didn’t know if he wanted an answer to. 

“Do you…” Her soft voice drifted into the quiet and he focused back on her. She was standing with her back to him. He could smell the nervous energy wafting off of her, smell her hesitation. “Do you wanna stay here? With me?” 

The vampire stood from the table, the creak of wood and the swish of clothing letting her know he was behind her now. 

His first touch was cautious, slow like how one would approach a skittish cat. Remmick’s right hand pushed the dark mass of coiled hair over her shoulder, the rough pads of his fingers running over the smooth skin of her neck. A pale thumb pressed against the artery there. 

“Do ya’ want me to?” Her shiver had him smiling before it fell. He wanted those eyes on him. His hand dragged down, nudging her until she turned enough to look at him. “You scared?” 

Willa’s voice shook—like she was on the verge of tears. “Jus’…I missed you.” 

His chest squeezed and he maneuvered her until her front was facing his. There was still a wall of air between them that was broiling with their combined heat. Neither one seemed to want to break it. 

“Can I hold you?” His voice came out soft, as it always did with her. 

Big brown eyes watched him, bright with unshed tears. 

She nodded. 

Remmick slowly reached out to her. He was expecting her to pull away—to change her mind. But she didn’t. Willa continued to stare up at him. Waiting patiently. His hands finally found their place at her waist and she came easily when he tugged her into him. 

The wall between them vanished like it had never been there at all. 

Somewhere deep inside Remmick’s chest, the pieces to an unfinished puzzle fit into place, his body following soon after. His arms curved around her, crushing his wife to him. It left Willa with little choice but to balance onto the tip of her toes and wrap her arms around his shoulders, her fingers twisting into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. 

His heart was thudding wildly in his chest as they melded deeper into one another. He was sure it stopped working completely when she rested her head down, her soft lips pressing into the exposed skin of his collarbone. 

His right hand found its way to the back of her head, cradling her to him as he slowly rocked them from side to side. 

Holding her felt like he had finally reached the destination he had been sprinting toward for years.

Holding her felt like home. 

He was crying. Not wet, loud sobs. But silent tears that dripped down off of his chin and fell to her cheeks. It made it look like she was crying too. Maybe she was.

He could feel her trembling. Could hear her heart and feel how it had already synced up to his. 

The rest of the cabin was quiet, not even the fireplace making a noise, as if afraid to interrupt the swaying lovers. 

༻✧༺ 

During the day they slept in front of the fireplace, legs and arms intertwined, chests pressed together as if their hearts couldn’t take another separation. 

For the first time in one hundred and thirty-four days, Willa was able to sleep without hearing the creak of wood or the haunting song of the events at the sawmill. The only thing she heard was the sound of Remmick humming to her, his hand smoothing up and down her back in slow movements. 

She had never slept better.

Chapter Text

“This wedding ring won’t ever wipe off…
But if you stay…
You’ll probably leave later anyway.”
~ American Wedding - Frank Ocean

New Mexico | February 15, 1933 |

Sleeping had always been a dreadful thing for Willa. Nightmares filled with fire and blood, dreams that pulled her deep into horrific memories. She was used to that now. Used to waking up in a cold sweat with her sheets tangled around her like a rope. She was used to her voice bouncing off the walls of the shack as she screamed herself awake. 

But this time when she slept she had dreamt of nothing. Not a single thing.  

She wasn’t used to the quiet in her mind.

Nor the melodious humming that she could feel vibrating in her ear in deep rumbling tones. It was what lulled her to sleep and now it was easing her out of it.

Willa pressed her cheek into Remmick’s chest, her arm tightening around his waist to drag herself closer. A warm arm banded against her back, tugging her until she was snug against his side, his hand palming her hip as she settled. 

“Good mornin’, baby,” Remmick mumbled, pressing a kiss to her hairline. It sent her heart thumping and he chuckled, a low sound that had her lower belly tightening. “Ya’ needa eat.” He grunted, lifting his head off the pillow to peer out the window. It was dark outside now, the sun must’ve fallen a long time ago based on the lack of color in the sky. 

She didn’t particularly want to leave the warmth they had created together but she could feel the urge to use the restroom pressing at her bladder. “Can you start on the water?” Willa mumbled, using his chest to push herself up. Her loose hair swept forward, tickling the skin on her shoulders. She found herself blinking bleary eyes down at him, her vision clearing enough to show Remmick laid out in her nest of blankets. 

His right arm was behind his neck, his left moving from around her to lay across his bare abdomen, the tip of his pinky brushing the edge of his gruesome scar. Willa blinked, her fingers spreading unconsciously to graze one of the raised brands as if to soothe a pain that was long gone. 

She didn’t remember him taking his shirt off, didn’t even register that her face was pressed against bare his skin while she slept. She knew he had gained muscle since working the ranch, she noticed it through his clothing. The way his shirts fit across his biceps was tight enough that she thought they would burst at the seams. She noticed it with his chest as well, the taut stretch of fabric that molded against hard muscle. And now she was seeing him up close and not from her window as she peeped at him. 

Her hand began to feel hot as if flames were licking at her palm. She was still bracing herself on his chest—she was practically hovering over him. In her peripherals, she could see a hint of a white lopsided smile and she slowly lifted her hand up and away. 

Saliva pooled in her mouth. 

All she wanted to do was bite him. To taste his skin.

Remmick’s head cocked when she pulled away from him completely, her cheeks burning as she moved to rest on her knees. 

They were quiet, the two of them. 

It was then that she realized she didn’t know how to act with him now. With all the baggage and the trauma…how was she supposed to act? Like the wife she was supposed to be? Like the woman she pretended to be for five years? Or like the woman he had changed her into? Willa clasped her hands together in her lap, the abnormal warmth she felt dissipating, leaving her hand feeling numb. 

She was unsure of herself. Of what her invitation now meant for the both of them. Did she want to go back to how they were when they were married?

“Hey.” 

Willa snapped her eyes up to see him already sitting up, watching her. There was concern written in his eyes, a frown tugging his lips down. 

They studied each other for a moment. His blue eyes were searching, bouncing between her own as he read her like a book. She hated that he could do that sometimes. That it took a single glance to see what she was fussing over. Willa pressed her lips together. Uncertain on how to navigate this new relationship. 

Willa wrung her hands in her lap, leaning back as if she were trying to physically move away from the swirl of negative thoughts that circled her mind.

“Remmick, I—“ 

He interrupted her by taking both of her hands, stilling her rough twisting and raising them to his lips so that he could kiss each of her palms. He paid more attention to the left one—the one she had sliced open two months ago. Soft lips pressed along the jagged edge of the scar so tenderly that her heart trembled and her eyes flooded with tears. With a simple gesture, he had soothed away her worries, pushing them to the back of her mind for her. Remmick carefully turned her hands over and tugged at her, pulling her off balance. 

He was there to catch her. To hold her. 

His hands guided her legs forward until her knees were pressed into his left side. Slowly, Remmick embraced her, directing her arms to find their place around his neck so that he could pull her into his lap. 

They fit together like they were made for each other, nothing ever felt out of place or uncomfortable. It was easy for Willa to lay her head down and relax into him.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Remmick whispered into her hair. “It ain’t ever gon’ be how it was before and that’s okay. What we do is make somethin’ different—better, with what we have now. Hm?” 

Willa nodded into his shoulder, her fingers curling around the back of his neck to disappear into the dark curls at his nape. His right hand found her thigh, smoothing long strokes up and down her skin. She could hear him sigh above her head, her curls shifting to fall into her face. 

“I’m yer husband, Willa,” Remmick murmured, brushing her hair back so that he could see her face again. “That lighter by yer heart means I’m yers and yer mine. Five years without ya’ don’t mean my vows are broken.” Willa could feel his lips ghosting along her hairline, feathering light kisses that made her want to weep.

Her words came out choked but they felt right. Like they were the truest thing her lying mouth had ever said. 

“I’m yers, Remi,” 

Those arms pulled her closer and she could feel him smiling into the side of her head.

___｡___

In the distance, the donkeys caused a ruckus, the feed he refreshed was likely gone by now. The air was warmer today, Remmick would have doubted that they were still in the midst of winter if not for the snow that still covered the ground. Humming whispered from behind him and there was no stopping the smile that pulled at his lips. 

He loved Willa. 

He learned that his love had never once faded for her. Not when he arrived at her empty apartment. Or when he searched for her for months in Louisiana, talking to all her coworkers and people she mentioned in passing, thinking she was dead—only to find out she had skipped town. Not even then, when he was so beside himself, wondering what the hell he could have possibly done to not even receive a letter, did he feel any of his love for her deflate. 

The strangest thing was that it had grown. 

The thing about missing someone was that all you seemed to remember was the good. And that was all that they had. Well, to Remmick it was. He loved every minute of being with her. Loved when she raised her voice at him or got all sassy-like and popped her hip out. He loved when she would get mad. Mad enough that the smell of it would turn bitter like nicotine, the burn of it would become addictive—making him crave more. 

Somehow the memories they shared were all good to him. But isn’t that what love is? That it had a way of turning the bad, the ugly, the hideous into something you wanted to covet and cherish. Into something you loved? That’s what he felt for Willa. All of the parts that she hated about herself, those parts that made her avoid looking in the mirror, those were the ones that called to him. That he adored. 

And though it wasn’t the same love he had when he had seen her wearing that white silk dress at their wedding, it was greater. It had grown with his frustration, his anger, his loneliness. In a way, after decades—centuries on this Earth, he had evolved again somehow. 

And it was because of Willa. 

“Does this taste right?” A soft voice had him turning on the porch step to look up at his wife. She had a wooden ladle in her hand, her other one beneath it to catch the drippings. Her pretty face screwed up with stress, bunching the scar on her cheek. The golden light coming from inside the house made the edges of her silhouette look hazy, almost like an apparition. She was beautiful.

Remmick motioned her closer, taking hold of her wrist so that he could control how much he was tasting. The soup was good, maybe too sweet with how many carrots she put in, but that was nothing that couldn’t be adjusted the next time she prepared it. Remmick leaned back, smacking his lips playfully just so she could scoff at him and get that sad pout off her face.

“Fix yer face, darlin’, it tastes good to me. Next time, less carrots, hm?” He teased, rubbing a few circles into her wrist before letting her go.

Willa nodded, the thin lines on her forehead vanishing as she smiled down at him. Remmick could see the golden tooth of her first premolar winking at him in the candlelight. The smile stalled him. He had seen it aimed at Wick or Luna, had seen it when she spoke to the jar of dirt she had had on the fireplace mantel. Never had it been directed at him. 

Not for five long years. 

“It’s ‘cause I’m tryin’ a new recipe from Annie’s journal. I knew I messed up when I grabbed an extra one.” Willa’s skirt sent her scent his way when she spun to head back inside. “Thank ya’, baby.” 

Fangs slammed out of flesh, pricking into his bottom lip, saliva pooled along his tongue and he swallowed thickly. The sweet smell of blood paired with her calling him ‘baby’ nearly took him out.

She was about to have her monthly. 

He could smell it now that he noticed it—the change in her scent. 

Blood from the womb was far more potent than blood from a regular cut. To a vampire it was like sipping shots of spiked honey, it was laced with something unknown and magical. And unfortunately for Remmick, he was an addict. 

The muscles behind Remmick’s ears twitched, tuning in on the noises Willa made as she moved around inside, humming under her breath as she set the soup to simmer next to where his coat was hanging. The sudden feeling of emptiness in his stomach gnawed at him, the smell of the purest blood making a string of drool drip past his lips. Remmick was on his feet and standing in the middle of the cabin before he even registered he had moved at all. 

His wife was at the sink, her arms elbow deep in sudsy opaque water, scrubbing at the dishes. Remmick’s eyes tracked her movement as she bent over, the black dress she wore molding to her curved frame. 

She had begun to gain back the weight she lost, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into her skin—to feel how plush her flesh was. To feel soft meat between his jaws. Remmick paused by the table, nostrils flaring wide to suck in her intoxicating scent. His gums throbbed, and his breathing turned deep—slow as if savoring each pull of her aroma. 

“Remmick…” His eyes were slow to meet hers and when they did he could see her confusion, her concern. For him. Poor girl. “Remi, yer eyes.” 

Another smell perfumed the air. 

Remmick huffed a laugh, dragging his eyes away from her to stare down at his shoes. Why could he smell her pussy getting wet like he was on his knees in front of her? It was like every sense was heightened for him. He could hear her heart pounding, hear her breathing quicken. It was like she knew what was about to happen, that there was no avoiding it. 

“You better run, pretty girl.” 

Feet thudded against wooden floorboards, the door slamming into the wall as she sprinted off toward the river. The breeze from her hurried exit filtered into his nose and filled his lungs. Remmick rolled his shoulders back, flexing his arms to release the building tension in his body. 

It had been so long since he had been lost in his hunger. He didn’t bother to fight it.

Five years was a long time. 

The vampire turned on his heel, strolling out of the cabin, his steps unhurried as his hearing picked up on the sound of his wife scrambling through the woods. Willa had made it far like he knew she would. 

Willa was good at running after all. 

And Remmick was good at chasing. 

___｡___

Loose hair whipped into darting eyes, branches ripped into dark skin, the blood that rose to the surface leaving a trail for the hungry vampire hunting her. Copper coated each breath Willa took as she pushed herself to keep the pace she set. She had been running for over twenty minutes now, pausing in short intervals to catch her breath. She knew she would need a real break soon, she hadn’t been taking proper care of herself since the events at the sawmill and it was showing in her lack of endurance. Willa was quickly getting winded, and fatigue was hitting her already. 

Her injured left leg was also an issue. The weather had been warmer lately, enough that the snow had melted in pockets and the ground underneath was soft. The limp kept her from having a steady gait and she would stumble every so often when her left foot landed on uneven ground. 

She had no idea where she was either, never had she ventured past the bridge over the river to know the area. 

But Remmick did. 

Remmick constantly checked the perimeter—he hunted in these woods. He knew these woods better than he knew the interior of the shack he had been staring at every day for weeks. Willa slowed to a jog, her breath wheezing out of her burning lungs. She knew she wouldn’t be able to find her way back home. Not in the dark where everything looked identical to her. Every boulder, every scruby bush, and every tree looked the exact same to her. 

There were no obvious paths she could take but she found herself following the indented line of a dried-out stream, barely managing not to trip over the rocks and exposed roots that littered the ground as she did.

Something sharp scratched against her leg, snagging onto the lace detail at the hem of her dress. She was caught in a bush, the waxy, pointed leaves poking into her sensitive palm when she pushed at the dull green mass. The thought of stopping when he could be close by had her yanking at the fabric, panicking when it wouldn’t budge. 

Crack.

Willa froze, holding her breath and cocking her head. 

She heard something. 

She turned back to the caught dress, finally freeing herself after another strong tug. Willa cussed wildly when her heel dug into the mud, dragging her right leg forward and bringing her to the ground. She landed heavily in slushed snow, the shock of cold stealing the air right out of her lungs. Willa scrambled to her knees, thighs trembling hard enough that she took a second to catch her bearings. 

There was a thin crescent moon in the sky, lighting the ground just enough for her to see a few feet in front of her. Willa could see a shadowy crevice below a fallen tree. It was wide enough for her to fit inside if she wanted to. 

Except that was the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to get up and keep running. At least far enough that he could lose her scent. 

Willa sucked in two deep breaths and pushed onto her right leg, bracing her hand on her knee to straighten up. As soon as she put weight on her left leg it buckled, sending her teetering back into dirty wet snow. 

There was a noise, a slow clicking sound that echoed around her three times. 

He was here. Mocking her. 

Tsking at her attempt like he knew she could do better. 

“Thought you was good at runnin’, baby. What happened?” Remmick’s voice echoed into the silence, the bass of it bouncing around the trees. It sent shivers down her spine. It felt like there wasn’t a single living thing in these woods except for him and her. 

A tired sigh left her, the pain in her knee causing the muscles in her left leg to spasm and cramp. Willa flipped her wet hair over her shoulder as she sat up, her hand immediately reaching down to massage the ache away. 

“Me too.” She muttered, her pulse spiking when there was no reply in return. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched making her feel like she did in Memphis at the hotel. “Remi, are you okay now?” There were only a few times since knowing him that she had seen him driven by hunger and the elevated emotions that came with it. The sawmill had been devastating and before that…her pussy throbbed at the memory. 

“You don’ even know, huh.” Remmick’s voice rumbled out, deep and from somewhere above her. Willa swallowed, scrambling onto her feet, just barely managing to stay on them as she pressed her back into the trunk of a wide tree. 

There was no point in running anymore. 

The light from the moon seemed to dim and Willa flinched as he moved in the canopy of branches above her. Every primal instinct was telling her to bolt—to take off, that she was fast enough that she could lose him.

Remmick didn’t give her a chance to think the fool thought through. Every muscle in her body locked up when she felt the ground behind the tree she was pressed against vibrate as if something heavy landed.

She was soaked, her dress laden and clinging to her skin. It was like she was just discovering that she was shivering violently, the adrenaline leaving her system as she remained standing still. The cold slammed into her then.

“Remi…” Willa whispered, her tongue nervously darting out past chattering teeth to lick her lips. “What don’t I know?” 

Silence boomed. 

Her chest heaved. It wasn’t exactly fear she was feeling at that moment. Deep down she knew Remmick would never hurt her—not in the way she was used to men hurting her. Willa had seen him like this once before but that was when they were happily married, when she hadn’t abandoned him without a word. 

Somehow Willa knew she would be answering for what she had done years ago. 

“I waited for you.” The disembodied voice drifted from directly behind her. She imagined Remmick was leaning against the tree the same as she was, his glinted eyes burning with hunger, with anguish. “I waited at yer apartment thinkin’ you had a long day at work. But you were long gone by the time I realized somethin’ wasn’t right.” Remmick’s voice was guttural, rasping low with an aching pain. She had done that, had been the one to hurt him.

Willa trembled, her breath panting out of her. 

“Why’d ya’ leave me?”

It was the question she asked herself plenty of times. Not even she liked the answer anymore. Her mouth opened, a white cloud leaving her mouth as she spoke. 

“I never regretted marrying ya’, Remmick.” Willa stared into the dark woods, somehow it was easier to confess into the void. “But I was not who I wanted to be then. I hated myself, ya’ know. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw the one person I hated more than the devil himself.” Dark brown eyes drifted down, staring at the back of her hands where the scars seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her daddy had similar scars, most he had gotten from his knuckles scraping against her teeth. 

“My daddy’s the reason I left Elijah and Elias too. It ain’t a good reason and it will never be, but when I thought about what the future meant for us…I think I panicked. All I kept thinking about was my daddy and what type of evil he would turn into if he was what you are.” Because at the end of the day, she was her daddy’s daughter. 

A piece of his rotten soul was stitched together with hers.

The words didn’t alleviate any of the heaviness in her chest. Nor did it make her feel any better. Instead, she felt worse, like her words were ash and smoke in her mouth. 

Burnt, bitter, and empty. 

Suddenly there was a touch at her chin, rough calloused fingers scooping up the tears she didn’t realize she had been crying. Through her blurry vision, she could see his body outlined by the minuscule lighting the moon provided. It was like Remmick was dipped in shadows, practically half melted into them. The only thing that wasn’t was his eyes. They burned into her. 

Willa’s breath seized in her throat. 

Those glowing metallic-like eyes watched her, never straying from her own even as she shifted on her aching feet. It was like being watched by a predator, their sole focus on the meal they were about to devour. 

But the difference between Remmick and a predator that hunted; was anger. Predators weren’t hunting their prey because of anger. They did it because they were hungry—because they needed to feed. 

For the first time in months, Willa felt fearful of her husband. 

His nostrils flared, no doubt pulling in the smell of her fear, and he smiled. White fangs elongated before her eyes and she squeezed her legs together, failing to stop the quivering that almost sent her back on her ass. 

“Remmick—“ A hand at her throat cut off her words, the heavy palm almost spanning her entire neck. Remmick seemed larger now. It was like he was towering over her with his oppressive energy alone. This is what those men at the bar saw before he snapped their necks? How they felt before they died? He hadn’t even looked at her like this when he chose to run after Sammie, not even when he tossed her off the second floor of the sawmill. 

Willa blinked away her tears, her throat bobbing against the tense grip around her neck as she swallowed. “I’m sorry.” 

The hold tightened just enough that she struggled to breathe for a second, her eyes flaring wide before she snapped them closed. The air in front of her face shifted, heated, alerting her that he was now within her personal space. Willa could see how bright his eyes were through the thin skin of her eyelids. Air puffed against her chin, a soft brush of lips against her own.

“Not good enough.” 

Lips took her own viciously and she gasped. Remmick took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside, running it over hers, dominating her mouth like he owned it. Willa could practically taste his feelings. The loneliness, the anger, the misery. More tears dripped, following the path of her scar before falling off her chin. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

They were finally in a good place. Willa’s hands moved up to touch him—to hold him. 

Remmick caught her wrists before the tips of her fingers could even brush against his sides, breaking the kiss long enough for him to wrench her arms above her head. When he bent his head again she lifted onto her tiptoes to welcome him back, her breath ripping out of her like she was sprinting again. This time Remmick crashed into her with enough force her head bumped back against the tree. Willa barely noticed. The lips she had been fantasizing about for the last five years were finally back where they belonged. 

Their teeth clicked together at times, the skin on the inside of her bottom lip pinching in the collision. She could taste her blood beading from the small cut and so could Remmick. His groan was borderline animalistic as he deepened the kiss, the noise echoing around in her chest from how close they were pressed together. 

A hard thigh moved forward, pushing between her legs, pressing against her soaked sex through layers of clothing, Willa tossed her head back, a curse breaking off of her lips. Remmick didn’t give her time to breathe. 

An arm swept under her ass, lifting her and slamming her against the hard bark. Immediately, Willa could feel her skin tear, could feel the burn of it even as Remmick pressed the distracting hot length of his dick against her pussy. Her legs wound around his waist, her hands twisting in the manacled grip his hand had on her wrists. 

Teeth scraped against the skin of her neck, the sharp points threatening to breach the sweaty surface. Willa decided that if he was to kill her then she wouldn’t mind it so much. She had finally laid in his arms, had gotten her kiss, and had gotten a peaceful sleep. Willa’s head rolled to the side, baring her neck. 

“I’m sorry.” She choked out. He needed to know that at least. “I’m so sorry.” The hold Remmick had on her froze. As did his teeth. 

Abruptly, he let her go. 

Pain itched at her back when she landed on her feet, she ignored it to reach for him. Remmick hadn’t backed away from her yet but he wouldn’t look at her, instead, his eyes were back to that dark blue, his gaze focused unseeingly over her head. 

Willa’s hand stopped an inch before it touched his face. She could see it shaking, she let it fall back down to her side. 

“Remmi—“

Her husband flinched. Like she had hit him. 

Horror had nausea creeping up the back of her throat, burning like acid. 

Her breathing was an audible thing now, panicked and quick. Willa took a step to the side and turned, vomiting in the bush that had snagged her earlier. More liquid poured out of her as she emptied her stomach. Sobs and coughs mingled into the sounds she was making as her mind played Remmick flinching away from her over and over. 

Not a single one of her loved ones had ever flinched when she spoke before. Like she was going to harm them. 

Like she was her daddy. 

Willa heaved again, her fingers almost gouging holes into her skin when she wiped at her mouth. “I would never hit you.” She whispered, voice raw. “I would never put my hands on you—I can’t…” Her wet, unbound hair curtained her face as she bent over, pressing the back of a shaking hand to her mouth. 

A cold hand on her elbow tugged her away from the puddle of vomit, pulling her gently through the woods. Willa sniffled, allowing Remmick to pull her along, not at all paying attention to where he was taking her. 

All she could see was the flinch.

The entire journey was slow and quiet except for her constant sniveling. Neither of them talked. Not even when Willa would have to take a break to massage her knee or when she tripped and Remmick had to catch her before she fell. They were both lost in their thoughts and misery.

Willa found herself looking at Remmick often but his face remained impassive—like he was made of stone. She wanted to fix that. To make sure he was okay. 

That lying mouth opened, prepared to apologize again but the words ended up getting caught in her throat. What could she say to make this better? The damage was done. 

The hand dropped from her elbow and she could hear the sound of boots climbing up wooden stairs. They had made it home. And Willa hadn’t even noticed. She was quiet as she followed behind him, hesitating just within the threshold as if this wasn’t her home. It felt like a completely different place than what it had been hours prior. The warm atmosphere was gone, the soft glances erased like they had never been given. 

Across the room, Remmick removed the soup she had left simmering and brought it to the table. The loud clunk of it being placed down had her jumping, her eyes nervously observing the way he stared into the reflective lid of the pot. 

“Remi…” Willa hushed, hands burning as she wrung them. Her lips were still swollen from the kiss—their first real kiss after years. “I—“

“Sit down.” 

Remmick pushed away from the table, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. She could see that his eyes were stuttered, closed off, and distant. It made her feel sick knowing she had put that look there. Willa’s legs shook as she walked closer to him, her eyes darting over his face. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Reassurance? The love she had been shying away from since he showed up at her door? She didn’t know. 

But what she did know was that what she was searching for wasn’t there. 

Her cold wet dress squished under her as she sat, Willa reached out, hoping they could look at each other and talk. Remmick moved away from her immediately, pacing a few feet to the side to peer out the window. She let her hand fall back into her lap, rubbing her thumb over the tender scar on her palm. 

With the way his body was angled, she could only see the side of his face and his blurred reflection in the glass. Everything about him was tense. It was like his muscles were now made of marble, hard and defined as he clenched his fists. The silence between them stretched, the muted sound of wood popping in the fireplace was the only noise that penetrated it. 

Willa didn’t know what to do with herself. There was an ocean-sized pocket in the wound they had bandaged just a few hours ago. Gapping and deep. 

Remmick tilted his head after a while, his eyes still staring out into the dark. “Why’d ya’ leave me?”

“I already told ya’—“ 

The laugh Remmick let out was a quiet sound, riddled with disbelief.

“I married a coward,” Remmick muttered at his reflection, the window showing her a different version of his lopsided smile, just a miserable curl of his lip. The sight had her eyes welling. “You can’t even tell me the truth.”

Willa looked away to stare down at her hands, her left palm up and showing the raised line of her scar. The pain didn’t compare to what she was feeling right now. “I am tellin’ you the truth.” 

“Liar.” The word was like a slap. Direct and coming off so loud in the quiet that it reverberated around in her mind. “You don’ even fuckin’ know why ya’ left.” Remmick turned to her then, blue eyes bruised, his breathing deep but unsteady as if he was battling to stay calm. 

“It wasn’t because of yer daddy. Or yer rage. You were afraid of being like me, weren’t ya’? Endlessly searchin’ for somethin’ you could never have again.” The pause had her looking up, meeting his eyes. The nail of her thumb bit into the sensitive skin of her scarred palm, he looked so disappointed in her.

Willa had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying, she turned away from him, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Remmick scoffed, moving around the table. In the corner of her blurred vision, she could see him grabbing his coat from the fireplace. Speaking to her all the while. 

“I have yer brother’s memories in my head. You two are more alike than ya’ think. That freedom you wanted in Mound Bayou? You never had a chance at gettin’ it ‘cause yer just like yo daddy.” His breathing was ragged now, seething through his teeth as he shoved his hands through his coat sleeves. He was livid. Angry at her silence. Angry that she wasn’t denying a thing he was saying. 

“And that freedom you thought you could have lovin’ me? Well, Willa, it was there! The freedom you wanted from anger was never the issue, the issue was you runnin’ from it. I would have given you everythin’ . I didn’t give a damn about yer wrath, yer baggage, or yer self-loathin’. I have enough love in me to love you for yourself.”

Tears were falling freely down her face now, her head turned from him as she tried desperately to muffle her sobs. “Ya’ just didn’t wanna see it. Too scared to reach for freedom when it was right in front of you.” 

The air went quiet and she heard him walk away from the fireplace, moving toward the open door. She could sense him hesitating to say his next words. They lacked the bitter bite of anger like the rest of them had, they were spoken softly from an exhausted hurt soul. 

“I wouldn’t have gone searchin’ for somethin’ only you could give me if ya’ hadn’t left.”

The door snipped shut. 

A log in the fireplace fell, the crackling crumbling noise sounding suspiciously like her heart.

New Mexico | ? ?,1933 |

Remmick did not return that night. Nor did he return the next day or the week after that. By the time the snow melted, Willa was sure she would catch a glimpse of red metallic eyes watching her from the distance. 

She was wrong. 

It was well into June when she stopped looking out the window. 

It was painfully ironic to her that she had been the one to ruin their mending relationship. 

It was also painful to know she had been the reason for the massacre at the sawmill. It was like a slug to the chest to hear those words from him, to realize that her guilt had been justified was the most Earth-shattering thing. Smoke, Stack, Annie, Delta Slim, Mary, Bo and Grace, Pearline, Cornbread, and the dozens of empty caskets…

All those deaths at Club Juke were on her hands. 

To know she had been right to feel responsible for the deaths of her family was torture. The guilt was a near-physical feeling in her chest, heavy and dark. A wet, cancerous mass that grew until she felt like her entire body was weighed down by it. Breathing had become purely manual, an act she had to remind herself to do or she wouldn’t. 

It was almost like drowning. 

To be pulled deep under the surface of black waves of guilt, thrown back and forth between the currents of self-loathing and despair. She would try—unsuccessfully—to swim out of it, doing things that brought her joy to try and keep herself from sinking. Playing with the donkeys, talking to them, and cooking well-seasoned food that tasted like dirt and chalk. She would even try to sing again but her vocal chords had been damaged from crying. 

So she gave up on trying to swim. The calm dark abyss below the waves was far more comforting than above. 

So she sank. 

Her back would hit the bottom of what felt like nothing at all. Everything was pitch black, a numb feeling washed over her and she embraced it because the alternative meant swimming. Swimming until your arms felt raw, until your legs couldn’t kick anymore, until your lungs spasmed. 

Willa was beyond the point of feeling nothing. 

Slim fingers held her last cigarette—

That’s weird she thought had she smoked that already. 

Bruised umber eyes stared at the thin white rolled paper, tendrils of smoke pushing back against her fingers as the wind began to rip at her clothing.

The woman ignored it, raising the cigarette to her lips.

The wind stopped. 

Water lapped at her feet. Push and pull. Tug and release. 

Willa reminded herself to breathe. 

In her right hand was her revolver, her thumb digging into the divots on the rotating cylinder, pushing down harshly so that the sound of the metallic clinks echoed over the water. Warm air tossed wet curls to the right, and the sound of a gate slamming against wood banged in the distance. 

It was empty, her property. She had let the donkeys go a long time ago. 

Now she was alone. 

Willa reached into her bra, numb fingers finding what she needed. The cartridge from Club Juke fell into her scarred palm, radiating heat like it was alive. Bare feet walked deeper into the water, toes becoming numb as she dug them deep into gravel and mud.

Flicking the cylinder open she stared at the empty hollow chambers for a moment before slipping the cartridge in, gently pushing it back into the body, and spinning it. 

The metal of the revolver felt cold—like ice, colder than the numbness she felt in her toes as it burned into the skin of her temple. 

Click.

She thought about little Lisa, how she had held her as a baby, rocking her in her arms when she cried for her mother. She was the only one outside of Grace, Bo, and Annie who she allowed to hold her. She thought about the red bandana and her muted regret of not staying behind to take care of her. 

How she abandoned her as well. 

Click. 

Her eyes slid shut, picturing Annie laughing at her piss-poor attempt at pralines. She had still eaten them anyway.

Click.

She wondered about her brothers. What they were doing in the afterlife she had a hand in sending them to. 

Click.

She thought about the vampire she loved. The look of hurt that twisted his features, and his back as he left her shack. The scent of him lingered on her blankets even though he hadn’t laid in them for months. The same blanket she wrapped herself in as she slowly rotted into the floor. 

Click. 

Willa thought about her daddy. How he would be waiting for her when she pulled the trigger one last time.

Cli—

Willa swayed into the water, her feet like lumps of ice. She could hear cussing and the sound of something metallic clanking to the ground like it had been thrown.

Spiced smoke burned her lungs and made her cough out low hacking huffs. Soon it became hard to breathe, the smoke not only entering her mouth but her nose as well. It was different from drowning in water, between harsh pulls of smoke there were sips of air. It was cruel. Like giving a thirsty man drips of water.

The wind was back, loud and ringing like screaming in her ear.

Willa gasped—

Remmick stared up at the stable’s roof, the new planks of wood standing out against the old. In the stalls next to him the donkeys had their heads over the stall door, watching him as he laid on a hay bale. 

His mind was in the past. Not of the time he scrambled to find his missing wife, but when he had found her for the second time. When he held her dying body in his arms. He could still feel the way her ribs felt underneath his palm. Still, hear the way her heart stopped beating for those ten seconds of pure hell. 

He was upset. No man wouldn’t be. But that was his wife. He loved her, damaged, broken, and all. More than loved her. The word felt too simple for what he felt. Too small for the way he would destroy the world for her. Remmick’s brain supplied images of her in a constant rotation. It was like watching a movie of his favorite memories. 

One recent one stood out amongst the rest. Willa swaying in her cabin, humming about being a fool in love. And he, a fool, unable to stop his own body, swayed with her, watching from the outside. 

Without the hunger enhancing his emotions he could think properly and even though he couldn’t understand her reasoning, he understood the need to run. 

None of that even mattered because they had the rest of eternity to make up for all those missing years.

He could forgive her a million times over if he could be inside that cabin swaying with her.

Remmick sat up slowly, his wrists dangling between his thighs as his body rocked forward. 

His chest hurt. 

Hearing her say that she was afraid of becoming like him, that she was terrified of turning into the person she hated the most…it had given him pause. It wasn’t like she was far off. He had cracked his soul wide open to become what he was, every dark intrusive thought was free to roam his mind and control his actions. He had been driven purely by his needs, by what he wanted, and by his lack of care for humanity. 

He once enjoyed the chaos he would bring in his journey of bringing back something ancient. The villages and towns he bled dry fed him and his increasing hunger. 

His humanity was dust by the time he was on a boat to America, driven out of his home, and left with nothing but gold from old and memories of his father’s farm and his grandmother’s cooking. For decades he would try and recreate the memories, taking over bars filled with folks he had turned only for them to turn to ash when the sun rose. Towns that eventually became his temporary home for a short while before someone found out he wasn’t quite right. 

It took a beaten woman in a bar to make his cracked soul twitch with life. He wouldn’t ever let that go. 

Remmick pushed himself onto his feet, the sound of Wick’s hooves tapping against the ground had him pausing to give him and Luna a scratch. 

“I really am hopeless, ain’t I, Wicky boy?” Remmick sighed, a sad smile on his lips. “She really got a hold on me, that's for damn sure.” 

And she did. He couldn’t even last a few hours of stewing in his anger without missing her. He’d much rather be upset and holding her than upset and away from her.

Wick only stared up at him, his brown nose pressing into his fingers.

Remmick sighed and finally backed away, leaving the stable to walk the path leading to Willa’s door. 

The candle lights were out and immediately the hairs rose on the back of his neck. There was smoke, the scent of it much too heavy for the lack of light inside the cabin. Remmick was at the entrance, his hands ripping the door open to reveal a dark interior. The fireplace was smoldering, the coals red and glowing. 

The nest of blankets in front of it had the still form of a hunched-over Willa in it. From the doorway, he could hear her heart thudding wildly like she had been running for hours. 

There was no sign of where the smoke was coming from. 

Cautiously, the vampire crept closer to his wife, unease sliding down his spine like cubes of ice. The door to his right was wide open. It was his first time seeing the inside of the room. It was empty save for a bare bed and a large storage trunk. On top of the trunk was an altar. The only candles that were lit in the cabin were the white ones that surrounded the picture of Willa and her family and that jar of dirt.

Remmick looked away and back to Willa. Her hands were mashed over her ears, her back facing him. 

There was some thing else inside the cabin that Remmick wasn’t capable of seeing. His eyes darted around until they landed on the left side of the room by the sink that had rocking chairs pressed into the corner. 

A stronger smell permeated the room the moment his eyes locked onto one of the chairs. Spiced, smoky incense and burnt bay leaves. 

Remmick took another step closer to Willa, his foot knocking into metal. It was her revolver. On the ground like she had flung it into the middle of the room. His mind went through a multitude of possibilities as to why the gun she refused to unstrap from her waist was away from her, and it only stuck on one. The deep sigh he let out was weary, shaky as he bent to pick up the weapon. It clunked onto the table as he passed by it to stand over his broken little wife. 

His boots pressed into the edge of the blankets, his thighs burning as he slowly sank into a crouch. For a moment he stared at her. She was still in the clothing from earlier and despite them being damp and cold, she wasn’t shivering. Willa’s coiled hair was now a thick frizzy afro that clouded around her bent head. 

It was her eyes that finally had him reaching out to her. She was staring down at her knees with the blankest stare—if he hadn’t heard her heart beating he would have thought she was dead. When his fingers grazed the back of her left hand that was still pressed over her ear, she jumped. It was like his caress had restarted her heart. The loud pounding smoothed into a steady rhythm and those unblinking eyes closed and reopened. 

“Darlin’,” Remmick whispered, the smoky presence at his back leaning over his shoulder as if to peer down at his wife too. “Willa.” 

The crack of strained bones shifting back into position had him cringing inwardly as she raised her head, those dulled brown eyes squinting at him in confusion. 

Before he could say anything else, arms wrapped around his head, pulling him down into a cold wet chest. Remmick didn’t know if he was a weak man for relaxing into the hold as instantly as he did. Didn’t know if he would hate himself for giving into the comfort she was giving him when he was still so upset with her. 

Remmick slowly went onto his knees before straightening them out, his elbows falling into the blankets by her ribs. Willa adjusted to him like it was the most natural thing in the world, her back fell back against the pile of pillows, her body molding into his. The change in position had him resting on top of her, his abdomen nestled between her raised knees. Steady fingers brushed the hair from his forehead, the soft press of lips tickling the skin above his brow. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

The whispered words had him pressing his ear into her chest and he squeezed her. She must have known what he wanted because she said it again and again. 

The soft clear chant was like glue to the fractures in his heart. 

___｡___

The cabin was cold now, cold enough that Remmick was feeling the chill. It took him a minute to try to remove himself from Willa’s arms. The grip she had on him was tight and when she refused to let go he sighed, letting his weight fall back on top of her. 

“Willa.” He warned, an involuntary smile crooking his mouth to the side when her heart skipped under his ear. “My nipples are about to freeze off, darlin’.” 

Her hold remained firm. “Can we…can we just stay like this a little longer.” Her voice was as equally tired as he felt and he relaxed back into her. Remmick could feel the hard metal of his old lighter pressed against his cheek. 

Light from the empty room flickered before fading out, the heavy smoke smell dissipating slowly. Remmick shoved his arm under Willa’s waist, his thumb rubbing lazy circles into her side. She probably didn’t even know that she was being watched over, that the people on the other side had an eye on her constantly. 

Goosebumps rose along the sides of his arms and he finally sat up, the quick movement causing Willa to release him. A look flashed across her face as she sat up with him, one too quick for him to try to understand. 

Turning his back on her, he stood and moved to squat in front of the dead fireplace, the contrast to when they had woken up made him sigh. He wanted to take back asking that question, now that he knew the answer to it. Remmick tossed in a few logs, arranging them so they would burn for longer. 

Willa exhaled behind him, her bottom lip wobbled and she bit into it savagely. Dull canines easily punctured the soft skin, a small dot of blood rising to the surface. Remmick paused what he was doing and turned to her, the look on his face had her biting a bit harder, anything to keep herself from crying. 

Remmick sighed. “Stop that.” His voice was gruff now, tired. “Just—“ He reached forward then, his warm hand on the back of her neck, tugging her into his heat.

She melded into him like she never left him, like she had never lied. Willa pushed against his chest until there was enough room to meet his eyes. 

“I am…so sorry.” The words were so broken and pathetic it made her want to die. Her heart was a thick muscly knotted mess, twisting every time it beat. 

Blue eyes stared down at her, at her damp face, at the watery line of tears that followed her scar. At the lack of shine in her eyes. 

“Okay,” Remmicked whispered. “Alright. Jus’ sit there and start gettin’ out of them wet clothes.” He was tired of looking at those eyes. 

It was like the night in November when she had starved herself to death but this was different, she was physically healthy this time. 

Just not mentally. 

A part of him wanted to continue to punish her for leaving him. For abandoning him when all she needed to do was confide in him. She could have saved them both from all this heartache. But he also had to take accountability for his role in her current fragile state. Yes, if she hadn’t left he wouldn’t have gone searching and eventually found Club Juke. But what he had done when he found her…it was the evilest thing he had ever done. He stripped his wife of her family. 

Remmick turned back to the fireplace, a lone match sitting on the mantel. He struck it against the lip of the stones that protruded out, his eyes staring into the flame as it slowly burned down the pale wood. 

“Did ya’ love me?” He asked quietly. Learning that she was scared of being like him, cut. Her words from earlier rang in his mind over and over as he waited. If he was her he would have told her how he felt, would have let her convince him that everything would be alright. That was what he was there for, as a husband—that was his job. He would never pressure her to be like him because he knew what it was like. The endless searching for something close to the feeling of humanity, the want—the burning desire for a community that he lost.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, a breathy admittance. It didn’t mend the wound completely but it soothed the hurt. 

Remmick tossed the match in, watching the papers ignite the wood, slowly bringing a bit of warmth into the room.

“Do ya’ still love me?”

He almost instantly regretted asking that question and he opened his mouth to take it back.

“ Yes. ” She sobbed it out so wretchedly that he felt the truth of it in his splintered soul. “I love ya’, Remmick.” 

Remmick swallowed, nodding like he hadn’t been waiting half a decade for that. There was something unspoken in her confession. A layer to it that he knew better now than to poke at.

Because it was enough. Her love was enough. 

It took him a minute to be able to speak again. “Look, we can’t keep doin’ this. This mess we created together. We have to do better.” He turned away from the fire to look back at her.

Willa hesitated; it was the way she paused that had Remmick snarling, moving to grab her face, tilting her head back so that he had her eyes stuck on him. He could see the doubt, the exhaustion, in her eyes.  

“I don’ care.” Nothing outside of them mattered anymore. “For once we’re gon’ to do what I want. I don’t wanna come home to you thinkin’ about killin’ yerself. I don’t wanna see you neglectin’ yer health anymore. I need ya’ alive. I need ya’ whole.” His forehead tapped against hers. “Need ya’ with me, you hearin’ me, Willa?”

There was finally a glint in her eye that had nothing to do with reflecting light from the fireplace. “I hear ya’.”

New Mexico | February 19, 1933 |

The days after their…fight? Argument? Willa didn’t know how to categorize it, but things were moving slowly. Remmick had been avoiding her since she started her period. He took to sleeping out in the stable or sitting out on the porch, where there was a constant flow of air. They both didn’t want a repeat of that day. 

Her monthly seemed to be a longer, heavier one, just constant bleeding. She was starting to get tired of washing her cloth pads. 

Willa adjusted her squat in the river, her naked body shivering as she tossed the last scrubbed linen into her winnowing basket that was on the dock. Her cold fingers were already pruned and stinging from the strong bar soap she used. Willa shook out her arms after setting down her washboard. Her mind went to her husband like it always did. 

They were like a perfect puzzle that kept getting ripped apart, the pieces strewn in multiple different directions. Sometimes they would think they had found them all and would try to fit back together only for them to be missing an important piece. It felt tragic to think of her relationship like that. How would they work if only one of them were optimistic?

Willa sighed, wading down the side of the dock to grab her soap to bathe before she moved to the small waterfall, gently lathering her washcloth. The water was cold enough to distract her from the constant cramping. It felt…nice to bleed freely like she was. Willa lazily dragged the cloth up her arm, taking her time as she cleaned herself. 

“Still out here, huh?” 

The sudden sound of Remmick’s voice had her yelping, her hand flying up to slam into her chest, her heart racing as she spun around. “Don’t go sneakin’ up on people!” Willa hissed, her glare vanishing when her eyes landed on him. 

Remmick was standing on the dock in only a pair of drawers and a lopsided smile. 

Her mouth went dry. 

“You ain’t comin’ in with me, are ya’?” Willa breathed, narrowing her eyes when he lowered in a squat. His hand caught hold of her chin before she could think of backing away. 

“Why, scared?” The question came off serious enough that she met his eyes steadily. She could see that he was, could see that he was thinking of the night he hunted her down and scent the fear on her. She could see that it bothered him that she had been afraid of him. Willa’s hand rose, hesitating before she placed it on his knee. Willa still thought about the way he flinched away from her but she quickly pushed the memory away to press her chin down in his hold, her lips grazing the pulse on his wrist.

“No.” She murmured, nudging his hand off so that she could back away. Remmick slid down into the space she was just in, the cold water lapping at his waist, kissing the scar there. “I think this is my first time seein’ you bathe since you showed up.” Willa teased cautiously, a small tentative smile crooking her lips to the side.

It was an awkward try at humor, a fumbling attempt to try and ease the tension growing between them.

Remmick didn’t comment, his eyes glinting like headlights as he reached out, taking the washcloth and soap from her hand and tossing them over his shoulder onto the dock.

Her heart skittered and her thighs twitched. He soon took over her space, pressing in and rotating them slowly until her back was to the dock. The night air was filled with the noises of rushing water and the sound of her unsteady breathing. 

Remmick was watching her, as he always did, eyes red and trained down on her. A hot touch to her outer thigh had her blowing out a calming breath. The heat from his heavy hand lit a fire underneath her skin.

“Baby…” Willa began breathlessly, her eyes fluttering when that warm hand dragged up to her hip, strong fingers digging into the soft flesh. The hand left her side to come up and delve into her damp curls, blunt nails scratching along her scalp. “Fuck.”

He wasn’t even doing anything but she needed him like she needed air, needed him to give her more.

It was like he was in her thoughts, reading through them like a filthy book. His lips pressed together like he was trying to suppress a smile, his right hand coming up to cup her wet core.

He watched her calmly as she whined pathetically at the contact, her hips jerking as she tried to remain silent. Remmick cocked his head slowly, it was such a nonhuman mannerism, almost creepy in nature but it had her clenching her thighs around his hand. 

“So pretty,” Remmick muttered like he was saying it more to himself than he was to her. A thumb brushed once, twice, three times against her throbbing nub, the hand in her hair tightening when she tried to look down to see what he was doing to her. “Nah, baby, look at me,” Willa’s eyes snapped up to his, lashes fluttering when he rewarded her with another womb-clenching caress. “ Good fuckin’, girl.” 

Her husband leaned down, those burning eyes ripping into her soul as she squirmed. Remmick’s lips skimmed against her own, the hand in her hair giving her head a slight tug back when she tried to deepen the contact.

“I’m gonna sit you on that dock and eat this pussy. You gon’ let me?” She must have taken too long to answer. Suddenly the distracting circling around her clit came to a stop and became a firm unmoving pressure instead. The waves of euphoria that she was beginning to feel came to an abrupt pause. 

Willa bit her lip, trying desperately to hold his eyes as she tried to swivel her hips. The pressure left her clit all together and she nearly wept.

There was disappointment in those red metallic-like depths along with a cruel gleam that she almost bared her teeth at. As if he could see what she wanted to do, Remmick curled a brow up, his barely there smile turning sharp. A dare. One she was smart enough not to take. 

“Yes, love. Please—“ 

The words were barely out of her mouth before she was lifted out of the water and laid out on the wooden dock. Her back landed on her washcloth, the sudden coldness of it touching her heated skin had her gasping. For a moment there was nothing, she had expected him to immediately put his mouth on her like every other time he had her. 

When she looked down her body, she found him staring, reflective eyes latched on the space between her thighs. 

His hands fell on her knees, widening them. The more Remmick stared the more Willa wanted him to touch her. To give her the pleasure he was just strumming out of her. Maybe if she was lucky he would fuck her too. Her core clenched at the thought, and a dribble of her blood dripped. 

The hands on her knees flexed.

Remmick laughed at her. That low laugh he did, husky, breathy, and a little mean. 

Strong hands ran down her thigh, over the side of her hips, and settled at the flare of her waist. The tug he gave was gentle. The mouth that licked her was not. 

A flattened tongue roughly ran up her pussy, as soon as the blood was in his mouth, Remmick sighed. Like a smoker smoking a cigarette after days without, like an addict who finally got his hands on the drug that would send him straight to heaven. 

Willa’s back bowed when she felt the point tip of a fang graze across her clit. Remmick held her hips still, lapping at her drenched core.

“What I say about lookin’ at me?” 

It took her a second to register his words but when she did she pushed herself onto her elbows and held Remmick’s glinted eyes as he ate her out. 

It was obscene—perverted almost, to see him with her period blood in his mouth—on his face. To watch his eyes flicker closed as he swallowed like it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. His groans of ecstasy had her breath catching, her thighs trembling. Lord, feeling what he was doing was one thing but being able to see it, to see just how much he loved being there between her legs. It was beyond arousing. 

“Taste so good, darlin’,” Remmick mumbled against her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head when a thick finger pressed into her. She was so sensitive, it felt like everything was more. The finger moved slowly, reacquainting itself with her body. Slow slides that had her trying to push her hips down for a faster pace. 

Remmick enjoyed torturing her. He would speed up just enough to have her breathing turn deep, have her head tossing to the side, and then he would slow down again. Keeping her from the orgasm she desperately wanted. She was losing track of how much time may have passed, it felt like he was teasing her for minutes then for hours. Bringing her near the brink only to drag her back to the beginning with that cruel firm idling pressure. 

“Eyes.” He grunted and she wanted to cry then. Her inner thighs were a bloody, quivering mess and all she wanted to do was come. To feel him bring her over the edge. Willa sniffled pitifully, looking at him with an expression that had him rumbling out a noise that didn’t sound human in the slightest. 

His head dipped back down and Willa swore she forgot how to breathe. Her hands reached to delve into his dark hair as her body stiffened and twitched, the air leaving her lungs when he finally let her have the orgasm she deserved, his greedy tongue licking away the mess he caused. Her mind was somewhere else entirely, a stupefied grin on her face, a dazed film over her umber eyes. Her ears picked up on the sound of water splashing and the bass of Remmick’s satisfied laugh. 

“Been waitin’ years to do that again.” Remmick hummed, murmuring soft apologies when she flinched at the cold water he poured over her core. “M’sorry, mo shearc , tryin’ to get ya’ clean so we can sleep.” 

Willa pressed her lips together, her belly fluttering. “You sleepin’ with me tonight, baby?” Remmick paused his cleaning to squeeze her thigh, the heat from his body warming her own again when he leaned over her slightly. Smears of her blood were still on his face and some part of her loved that. Loved that she had him looking like that; with hooded eyes and his focus solely on her. 

“That where ya’ want me?” Remmicked hummed, staring down at her so intently she feared his eyes were going to burn a hole through her skull. Willa nodded. “Words, darlin’.”

A smile stretched across her face, her eyes twinkling.

“Yes. I want you with me.”

New Mexico | March 4, 1933 |

She had gotten more letters. Two from Sammie and one from Lisa. 

Behind her Remmick was still on the porch, the trip into town had left him dusty enough that he was still whacking the dirt out of his jacket. Willa glanced away and took the knife from her waist. She had taken to wearing her holster belt on the outside of her dress recently. Something Remmick seemed to like, though he wouldn’t tell her why. 

The sharp edge of the blade slit a cut into Lisa’s letter. She had sent the girl money last month even though the girl probably didn’t need it. She told her she would be coming in the spring to stay with her for a bit—to help around the stores. 

Dear Willa, 

I received your last letter well. The money was a surprise, an unwelcome one, but Momma would have thanked you for it. So, thank you kindly, Willa. 

Despite my parents not being here the stores are running well, I hired a few of the wives who lost their husbands in the massacre. They’re hard workers and they check on me…almost too much. I am not alone like you may think, Willa, neither are the people here. I wouldn’t ever say I’m healing or that I will be alright, but what I will say is that the next day doesn’t look so bleak anymore. 

Aunt Mai will not be returning. She claimed that the Delta wasn’t for her anymore. I do not blame her. I do blame her for leaving me in the middle of the night, however. 

The authorities aren’t hanging around our neighborhood as much anymore. But tensions have risen since those Klan members died. 

It pains me to admit that I quite like writing to you despite disliking you greatly. It made me realize I missed you sitting at our dining table every Sunday.

As for your upcoming visit, please remember to make calas and pralines, and perhaps I will consider making Momma’s famous Chop Suey. 

Lisa,  

Willa snorted at the abrupt way Lisa wrote her name, her fingers carefully folding the letter back up. She was happy to know that the community was taking care of one another. That they were taking care of Lisa like she was their own. 

Tucking the letter under her arm she sliced open Sammie's, her heart pounding as she did. On the porch, Remmick paused what he was doing. 

“Good?” He called back to her, grunting as he began to climb the stairs. Willa waved him away.

“I’m okay, baby,” When Remmick only tilted his head she sighed. “Promise.” Only then did he turn around but she could tell he was paying more attention to her as she began to read. 

My dearest cousin, Willa, 

I’m alive. I am doing well. I know I didn’t write back but life has been hectic, that is for damn sure. 

I hope you’re well, Willa. I think about you quite a lot. We went in different directions in life after what happened. You, to some random broken-down cabin in New Mexico, did you get that leaking roof fixed yet by the way? And I, to Chicago. You know, Smoke almost shot me over wanting to go when I mentioned it that night. 

I think I understand him better now. 

The words you said at Club Juke, about being like your daddy…they stuck with me. In a good way, I promise. Just know that my life has been good. No more worried letters please, I’m begging. 

I hope you’ve been well and give that donkey of yours a pet for me.

Sincerely, Sammie Moore.

Willa squinted, flipping the paper over to see if there was more written on the back. There was not. Humming, she ripped open the next letter. A slip of paper fluttered to the ground and she squatted to pick it up, fingers freezing when she read the name. 

It was a ticket to a show for a band called Pearline’s.

New Mexico | April 10, 1933 |

Birds chirped above them as they walked through the green of early spring.

She would be leaving today. Leaving to go back to Clarksdale and she would be going alone. As much as she loved Remmick she knew it would be wrong of her to bring him back to the community he dismantled. To the place where many of her loved ones rested. Willa had already disgraced her family by allowing herself to be happy with him. 

She wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it. He had woken up quietly and left to take care of the donkeys before she had gotten up. And by the time she had their food ready, he was claiming he would skip it to work on the fencing. 

He was running from her.

She had to almost beg him to take her into the woods so they could go for a walk together—to spend their last day in each other’s company. 

Willa held her basket tighter, her eyes on the back of Remmick’s back. He looked so handsome in his summer clothing. He was wearing a black hat and a shirt she had mended for him. It was a dark navy blue button-up that he kept partially buttoned and the sleeves rolled up. His black suspenders pressed his shirt against his muscles in such a way that she was sure he could hear her getting wet.

Everything about him lately had her wanting him so desperately but he just wouldn’t fuck her. 

“Why won’t you fuck me?” 

Willa’s voice echoed across the foliage, startling the critters nearby. Ahead of her Remmick stopped walking. “I mean, I’m positive you want me. You be lickin’ my pussy like a man starved.” Her steps crunched over leaves and thin branches as she walked closer to him. “You always askin’ me if I’m scared but I really think you are.” His muscles flexed at that, stretching the material before relaxing again. He was still facing away from her, his eyes under the brim of his hat facing forward. 

“Yer scared of hurtin’ me.” Her hand touched his, holding it. Dropping the basket she slowly lifted her dress, observing the way his head turned to the side to watch her bunch it around her waist. Remmick’s eyes were red, a deeper darker red than normal. Willa brought their hands to her bare pussy. She could feel his fingers twitch against her. 

“I want ya’ to chase me.” Willa breathed, so unbelievably turned on she almost came when his eyes cut to hers. “Show me, Remi.” She guided his middle finger inside her, stepping into him and letting go of his hand to grab his arm. “Show me what you would have done if you caught me all those years ago.”

His fingers left her body slowly, his eyes leaving her long enough to glance at his hand. Her dress fluttered back to the ground, the black material swaying in the wind as she patiently waited. 

The muscles in his forearms were tense as he lifted his hand toward his lips. As soon as his middle finger entered his mouth, Willa turned and bolted. 

His low chuckle fueled her and she zigzagged through the trees, her left knee not bothering her as much as it did the last time. Not much was bothering her as she ripped the pins from her hair, her coils bouncing around her head as she turned and sprinted deeper into the trees. She could feel him behind her at times, hear the bass of his grunt as he landed nearby. It sent her heart racing, made her legs pump harder. 

It was exhilarating. To know he was behind her, to feel him practically breathing down her neck. It gave her a near identical feeling to last time. A feeling adjacent to fear. A rush of prey-like anxiety.

An arm shot out, banding around her abdomen and bringing her to an abrupt stop. It was so sudden that her breath wheezed out of her. The arm lifted her weight, easily flipping and throwing her over a hard shoulder. The ground seemed to rush toward her face and then whoosh back as Remmick carried her. Willa panted, bracing her hands on his lower back to try and break out of his hold, a heavy hand slammed into her ass hard enough that she knew the skin would bruise deeply. 

Her moan was a stifled thing. One she hoped was hidden within her heavy breathing. 

Suddenly her world was righted, her feet settling into the grass. 

Remmick moved in to kiss her, pausing a hair away to rip off his hat. When his lips met her own she couldn’t help the moan that escaped, couldn’t stop herself from submitting to his demanding kiss. A rough hand delved into her curls and yanked her head back sharply. A gasp left her in a rush, the sound muffled by his lips. A heavy hand palmed the flesh of her ass, a second moan flowing out of her mouth when she felt the hard press of his dick through his slacks. 

His lips slanted over her own, his tongue sliding along hers. It was a slow kiss, one where he made sure to reacquaint himself properly, like how he wanted to the first time he kissed her. 

Willa fell into him, letting him hold her weight. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him down as she bent her knees. Remmick was there to ease the way as she lay on the ground. The entire time they moved their lips didn’t break apart. 

Grass pricked into her back through her dress, reminding her of the last time he could have had her. Soft lips ripped away from hers, gliding along her jaw to feather against her pulse. The gentle suckling had her hips dancing against his, slow grinding that had her moaning unabashedly up at the full moon. 

Her mind felt clouded, foggy. It was like she was drowning in him, in the way he smelled like fresh air and soap, in the way he tasted like love and devotion. She felt drugged lying under him. Willa whispered something and Remmick kissed it away, his fangs making their appearance when her nails caressed his shoulder. Want pooled behind her belly button and she nipped at his lip, tugging at it.

Her husband broke the kiss and sat up on his knees, staring down at her as his hands fell to the waistband of his black slacks. “I’m gon’ fuck you…” Remmick’s voice was so low, layered like there was a growl hidden in each word, so deep she tried to clench her legs together only for them to squeeze around his hips instead. His pants dropped and the dick she had been needing to feel inside her sprang out. Remmick fisted his cock, a glint in his eyes as he watched her part her lips. 

“I’m gon’ fuck you so hard, you won’t ever think about leavin’ me again.”

There was a darker look to his expression, one someone might mistake for anger if they didn’t know him. Willa swallowed and widened her legs. Her dress fell down her knees to pool around her hips to make room for him when he shuffled closer. Her eyes kept going to his shaft, the way veins ran up the sides—the way it curved up toward his belly button. 

Her mouth flooded with saliva.

Remmick nodded as he looked down at her, bottom lip curling into his mouth so his teeth could sink into it. 

“How does that sound, hm?” He murmured, rubbing the tip of his dick up the middle of her drenched center, dragging her slick up to her clit. Willa couldn’t think. The anticipation of having him inside her had her mind working at less than half its capacity. Remmick tapped his tip against her, each wet slap of skin on skin had her hips jerking, tilting up as if suggesting to him to put it in. 

“That sound good, pretty girl?” He dragged himself down, thrusting lightly so that the tip would catch at her opening and slide up, the ridge on the underside of his tip making her moan every time it glanced off her nub. How did he expect her to answer him when he continued to torture her—when he refused to give her what she needed?

A heavy hand fell twice on her hip and she exhaled, licking her lips and tasting him on her tongue. 

“Sounds good.” Willa slurred quietly. That smile. The one that found humor in the fact that her mind was weakened by pleasure. That cruel smirk. That lopsided grin. 

Finally, his hips pressed in on a downstroke, the slightest pressure of breaching a tight hole. The burn was painful in the best way possible. 

Then it was gone and it was back to the slow teasing slide. “I can’t hear you. Does that sound good?”

She wasn’t even sure she remembered what he had said at that point. “Yes, baby.” She gasped. 

Remmick’s free hand fell to her mound, sliding up and up until his burning palm settled right below her belly button. 

“Yer gon’ feel me right here.”

He entered her swiftly, so quickly that she had no time to adjust to the pain of being stretched open. The rough thrust had him buried to the hilt inside her, the heat of him nearly burning like fire. There was no room to think of anything but him when he leaned over her and captured her lips again. Her body was completely his as she lay beneath and took each violent thrust. Her hands found his back, her nails scratching as his dick punched against her cervix. 

Remmick reared back, his hands settling under her knees, pushing them up by her sides. Somehow he was able to go deeper, his thick cock slamming into a part of her that had her tossing her head back and praying she wouldn't lose her mind. It was mind-numbing, the way he fucked her. He knew it too. 

Remmick gathered his shirt by the hem and put it in his mouth, the lack of loose fabric allowing him to see her getting split open by him. The position changed to her side, his hot length pistoling into her as her fingers dug into the ground.

From her side, Remmick flipped her onto her knees, his hand in her hair to wrench her head to the side, soft lips whispering filthy, borderline hurtful words in her ear as he ploughed into her wet heat. 

“Nobody else touched you? Right? This my pussy, ain’t it, baby. Look atcha’ can’t even say a thing, got ya’ so cockdrunk off my dick. Mmm, you like that, huh?” The next thrust was hard enough to send them forward a few inches. “Fuck, so fuckin’ tight.” His hips stuttered, each slide pushing a ragged moan from her parted lips. 

“No one else?” Remmick hummed, rolling his hips in a way that had her coming around him. He fucked her through the orgasm, nudging into her deeper still. “Right, pretty girl?”

“No one. Never.” Her words were barely understandable. 

Remmick huffed a laugh, the air cooling the sweat on her forehead. “Bet you thought of me when you touched yerself. While you was layin’ in bed forced awake by yer guilt, you were playin’ with yer pussy— my pussy. ” She squeezed around him involuntarily. “What a dirty girl. Runnin’ away from the best dick you gon’ ever have just to sit alone and play with yerself to memories of it.” 

Remmick fucked into her like he was punishing her. Like he hated her. Like he wanted to pour all his frustrations into her womb. 

Her pussy absolutely loved every minute of it. 

There were elements to it that had her feral. When he would flip her onto her knees and drive himself deep, his heavy palm on her stomach rubbing slow tender circles that starkly contrasted the way he handled her. 

When he put her on her back, pressed her left leg into the ground, his hand pushing the weight of his body down on it as he slowly rolled his hips into her. 

And the words he said. Some she had never put much stock into until he was deep inside her. 

He would tell her how sexy she would look with his baby in her. With her fat with his child. He would tell her that he would have her sit on his dick all day so his seed could take. That he couldn’t wait to get her like that.

And then he would show her just how he would do it. 

On her back, her knees curled to her chest as he rutted into her. 

Willa was sure he was inside of her for the majority of the night, it was only when the sky began to lighten and the full moon dimmed did he finally let her rest. 

A hand cupped her cheek, manipulating her face to face forward. Words dropped onto her lips between soft kisses. Her body twitched in the aftershock of her orgasms. 

“You okay, baby?” His voice was soft now, more human than the rumbling layered growl he had earlier. “Willa.”

“I love ya’.” She said simply, a sad smile tugging at her swollen lips.

Remmick paused, a short moment where he stared down at her, his red eyes fading back to a dark blue. “I love ya’.” He leaned down until their foreheads touched. “Come back home to me this time, yeah, pretty girl?”

Willa’s bottom lip trembled, dark eyes misting as she stared up at him. “Yeah.” 

They sat there for a second more, the missing pieces to a perfect puzzle welding into place. 

“Yer gonna have to carry me home.” Willa whispered into the quiet, a small grin morphing from that sad smile. 

With the sun rising behind him, he did.

___｡___

When it was time for Willa to leave for Clarksdale for a few weeks, Remmick sent her off from the train station. His heart no longer thudded with anxiety when he watched her leave. His eyes were still on the spot where he last saw the train, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He would miss his wife something fierce. Would miss not being able to hold her or wake up to her nose pressed to his neck in the morning. 

His chest didn’t hurt when he thought about her sitting on that train heading away from him. 

Somehow he knew she would be coming back home. 

As Remmick turned on his heel he spotted someone sitting on the bench across from him. The woman’s dark hair whipped in the wind as she hunched over a leather journal in her hand. 

His fangs itched at his gums when she looked up and caught his eye.

Remmick smiled at her, his calm disarming one. It had the same effect on her as it did everyone but Willa. 

The vampire kept his smile as he strolled across to the other side. He nodded down at the pale woman, eying the engagement ring on her finger. 

“Evenin’ ma’am,” Remmick muttered quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb her. “This seat’s not taken, is it?” 

Cherry shook her head, moving over to make room for the man. 

The poor girl. 

Remmick leaned close to her, whistling low at the gold band on her finger. “Pretty ring you got there.” 

Cherry beamed and stuck out her hand. “Ain’t it?” She gushed. The vampire seated next to her nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am it is. Been meanin’ to get a new one for my wife.” He canted his head slowly, eyes sweeping over the empty station before they landed back on her. He could see the moment she noticed his eyes, his teeth. 

“You wouldn’t mind me takin’ that ring would you?”

Her screams were muffled and then snuffed out. 

Remmick didn’t leave the town of Raton for a good five hours. And when he did he caught the next train headed to Santa Rosa. 

He had a gift for his wife.