Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

82. The Harvest Moon

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"A sky full of stars, and he was staring at her."

— Atticus

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"What's wrong, my dear?"

I turned my head to see Stolas standing beside the stage, a twinge of worry on his face. I smiled at him, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall down my cheeks. "Nothing, Stolas," I answered. "Nothing at all."

Stolas stepped closer and reached out a hand, his long slender finger wiping my misty eye. "You would not be crying if it was nothing."

I chuckled, giving his hand a small squeeze and looking back at Striker onstage. "I just . . . We sang that song together on the day we met."

The worry faded from his expression, and a small smile crossed his features. "I see."

Striker plucked his guitar strings to play the last few notes of the song, and the crowd began to cheer again. He bowed his head cordially to them, then stood and headed offstage.

"All yours, feathers," he said as he hopped off the wooden platform and slipped his guitar back in his black case, and Stolas nodded at him and took his place onstage.

Striker looked at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I told you my memory ain't that bad."

A laugh escaped my throat, another wave of tears beginning to form behind my eyes. "I love you so much."

He snickered, slinging his case over his shoulder, and lifted my chin with his index finger. His eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to reply when Stolas spoke to the audience from onstage:

"My dear commoners of the ring of Wrath," he announced jovially, his grimoire floating in front of him and flipping to a particular page with a wave of his hand. "I, Stolas of the Ars Goetia, hereby curse this year's harvest with the glow of the true Harvest Moon!"

He raised his hand, opening a large portal far above us.

"No way," I whispered in disbelief.

On the other side of the portal was a clear night sky — not in Hell, but on Earth. The porcelain-white full moon glowed in a rich blackness littered with tiny shimmering specks. I stared at it in astonishment, the mere sight of it bringing fresh tears to my eyes.

"What is it?" said Striker.

I covered my mouth in a half-hearted attempt to hold back the sob building in my chest. "I-It . . . I haven't seen the moon in almost five years . . . I forgot. . ." I smiled, wiping my eyes with the heel of my palm. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it was."

He remained silent as I kept my eyes fixed on that flawless Harvest Moon, my heart clenching at the memories it inadvertently surfaced — good memories. Happy memories of my family, my friends, my home. Memories of driving out to the country where no city lights tainted the skies just to stare up at the stars for hours on end. Memories of staying up late on New Year's Eve to watch the fireworks and marveling at the dazzling rainbow of colors that flashed through the starry night sky. Memories of the night my fiancé took me under the light of a perfect full moon, asking me in a breathless whisper to marry him. Memories of my humanity. . .

"God, isn't it beautiful, Striker?" I said bittersweetly, turning my head to see Striker looking back at me with a small, soft smile on his face.

"Yeah. It is."

My cheeks burned at his words, and I stepped closer to him. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and leaned in when I heard Stolas say from the stage, "The portal won't stay open all night — enjoy the view while it lasts, my dear."

I looked up at Stolas, who was now standing at the side of the stage in front of us with his arms crossed, a humored smirk on his face.

I pulled away from Striker and sheepishly turned my attention back to the moon above us, still gripping tightly onto his jacket sleeve. "It's so beautiful, Stolas," I muttered. "I can't believe you did this."

"I do it every year," Stolas replied with a small chuckle. "But if I'd known you would be touched this deeply by the sight of a full moon, I would have shown you one much sooner." His smirk morphed into a warm smile. "Remind me to invite you over on the night of the next one."

I glanced back at him with bleary eyes and said quietly, "I'd like that very much, Stolas."

---

The viewing ceremony lasted another half hour or so, its end concluding the day's festivities. The concessions stand and a few vendors remained open for a bit longer while the festivalgoers gradually began to leave the fairgrounds. Stolas had just left, and the Wrathian sun had long set by the time Striker and I made our way to the front gates. Striker headed to fetch Bombproof, and I decided to make a quick stop by the outhouses in the interim.

The fairgrounds were almost completely empty at this point, with only a small handful of imps slowly wandering to the front entrance. I stepped inside one of the vacant outhouses and quickly did my business, pulling the neck of my flannel over my nose to block out the stench. Once I was finished, I swung open the door and hopped out to rejoin Striker when a large figure emerged from around the corner and blocked my path.

"Oh, excuse me," I said instinctively, stepping to the side to circle around, but the looming figure followed my movements and continued to stand in my way. It was when I finally looked up that I recognized the man.

The instant I made eye contact with the imp, I felt his hand roughly grab hold of one of my horns, and he pulled my face closer to him and growled, "Where you think you're goin', ya' little parasite?"

"Let go of me," I commanded, mentally cursing the unsteadiness of my voice.

"Or what?" he countered smugly. "You ain't got your toad to hide behind now."

I grimaced at his choice of words. "You're an imp," I said. "Do you call yourself that, too?"

"No, I don't," he answered, craning my head back to an uncomfortable angle. "But I'm not runnin' around meddlin' with apple-munchers like that little sinner-lover."

My grimace twisted into an angry scowl. "You watch your fucking mouth," I snarled before ramming my knee into his crotch.

A hoarse grunt escaped the imp's throat, and he tightened his grip on my horn and smacked his open hand hard across my face, the force from his swing knocking me backward onto the ground. I was certain there would be a hand-shaped bruise on my face in the morning, and my hand flew to my stomach when the jerking motion of my fall caused my wound to throb with pain. The imp glanced down at my hand for a moment, then looked back up at me, a smirk crawling up his face.

Oh, shit.

I scrambled to my feet to make a run for it, panic setting in, when a hand suddenly grabbed the collar of my flannel and yanked me back toward its owner. The imp lifted a clenched fist as I let out a loud cry for help, but my call was abruptly cut short when he swung his fist directly into my healing belly wound.

I couldn't even make a sound — the pain from his hard blow stole the air from my lungs and the strength from my limbs. My legs immediately buckled underneath me, and I crumpled to the ground with a dull thud. My vision blurred. I saw stars. Sucking in a sharp breath, I shakily tried to sit up until the imp's booted foot collided with my gut.

I collapsed on the sandy ground again, the deep, intense pain now leaving me unable to move or even breathe. Everything began to go dark, the noises around me starting to become muffled, and the last thing I heard before it all went silent was the faint sound of a rattle.