Dragan brought out the knife, and Micah took it, pressing the edge of the blade into his palm. “I don’t need fancy words. You know how I feel. What I am to you. What you are to me.”
Sasha took the knife. “Keep it shallow,” Viv warned, and Sasha winked at her as he cut his palm.
“I’ll fight the fucking world for you if I have to,” he said, and that, for Micah, was more than enough.
Viv took the knife, sighed, and pressed it to her palm. “Since I’m supposed to say something here, I’ll just make it clear that these two aremine,and no one else can have them.”
“They wouldn’t dare, baby,” Sasha said.
“He’s right,” Micah added and kissed them both.
Dragan invited them to stay the night, and after Zev, looking delighted, bandaged them up, Micah found himself seated between Sasha and Viv, unable to stop smiling. Dragan kept giving him curious looks, but it wasn’t until dinner was over that he asked.
“Zev told me a little,” he said as Zev wrestled with the wolves and Sasha inched closer, clearly wanting in on the sport, “but I feel like there’s more to this than he’s letting on.”
“This?” Viv said, all innocence. Dragan gave her a stern look, which of course had no effect.
“You three,” he said, gesturing. “I have a feeling this is a story I need to hear.”
Micah blushed, but it was Sasha who spoke up, slinging an arm around Micah’s shoulders.
“Sure thing, buddy,” he said, and Micah grinned. Only Sasha would call Draganbuddy.“But it’s pretty wild. Where should I begin? The shadow creature?”
“Shadow creature?” Dragan asked, brows raised.
“Probably not,” Viv said. “Start with the witch book.”
Dragan’s brows rose higher still.
“No, start with Viv,” Micah said.
Sasha held his hands up for silence, and remarkably, everyone listened. “I know how to start.” He cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, a witch and her husband found a hot toymaker in the woods…”
Epilogue
Spring
Winter fell away gradually, the dark days giving way to more light and less-cold afternoons, and it was one such afternoon that Viv gathered her lap loom and a satchel of wool and thread and fastened her cloak around her shoulders. She headed from the bedroom into the main living area, patting her new chair with the wheels on her way.
Micah had worked feverishly on the chair for the better part of two weeks, barely sleeping or eating until it was finished, despite Sasha’s continual nagging that he do both. When the fever came and left her weak and gasping, the relief of being able to propel herself with her hands and not rely on someone to carry her was overwhelming. Micah’s smile when she used it for the first time was bright as the sun, and Viv had nearly wept on him that night. Giving her back something that the illness took was indescribable, and Micah had held her close and whispered, “That’s what you and Sasha do for me, you know. When it gets bad in my head, you don’t try to fix me. You just help me find my way back.”
Thanks to the chair, Micah’s “witch drinks,” and Sasha’s eternal optimism, while her illness had been difficult—it always was, in winter, when getting warm was even more of a challenge—it hadn’t lingered as long as usual. Being able to use the chair to get around helped restore her good mood, which, she was convinced, had aided her recovery. She would never be “better”—never have the sort of good health that Sasha had—but this was something she could navigate, live with. Fight, in her own way. And having two husbands doting on her certainly didn’t hurt. Even when she was cranky about needing it, deep down their love and concern always helped.
She found Micah standing by the stove, hair tied back in a ponytail and elbow-deep in an earthenware bowl he’d made that winter. They had a whole new set of dishes and bowls, since Micah had had so much time with the kiln.
“Hi,” he said with a soft smile. “You need anything? Feeling all right?”
She nodded. “Yes. I thought I’d go sit in the sun for a bit. I’m feeling stronger. I thought I’d walk today.”
“If you’re sure,” he said, kneading the dough, his powerful shoulders shifting under the simple shirt he was wearing. He’d put on some weight over the winter, and it looked good on him, though his face retained its angular lines and hadn’t softened much at all. Neither had his arms, which she and Sasha appreciated.
“I am.” She kissed him. “What kind of bread is that?”
“Just herbs. Your mother is still coming over, isn’t she?” Micah asked, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face.
Viv nodded. “As far as I know. I’ll be back soon.”
Micah smiled again and went back to his bread. He was humming, a habit she’d never noticed until winter sent them inside to their various and sundry activities. Micah hummed, and Sasha talked. Thinking about the silence of the deep woods, of how she had felt that night in the ritual circle, Viv didn’t mind the noise. Far from it.
