Page 218 of Blade of the Nightking

“Stop, Eidra—please.” The last word came out choked.

A wicked thrill coursed through me as my magic responded to my will. My eyes drained of color. My hair faded to creamy white. My skin darkened, and a scattering of silver freckles bloomed across my cheeks and throat. In the reflection above us, I watched the transformation take hold, and the sight of it sent a fresh rush of excitement through me, my walls clenching, my hips grinding against my hand⁠—

“STOP.”

He moved so fast I barely saw it.

The world lurched sideways as he ripped me to the edge of the bed, and suddenly he was there, filling my entire field of vision—a towering wall of muscle and barely contained rage.

“Turn back.” He seized my shoulders and shook me. “Turn back right now.”

I should have been afraid. Instead, my magic blazed hotter, every nerve alive to how close he stood between my parted thighs. His eyes were bloodshot, his entire body trembling as though every instinct in him was screaming to do something he was desperately trying not to do. He smelled of rain and ozone, of thunderheads gathering on the horizon, of a storm moments from breaking.

Slowly, I let Elyndra's features dissolve. The bronze skin faded. My hair returned to its natural color. The silver freckles vanished.

I looked up at him calmly, meeting those dark, ferocious eyes.

“Is this what you like?” I whispered.

His jaw flexed. As though he were locked in a battle with himself and losing ground by the second.

I rolled my hips, and the motion brought me flush against him, bare as I was, with only the soft fabric of his pants separating us. I felt him there—the hard line of him through the fabric—and a soft whimper escaped me. A broken groan tore from his chest in answer.

The sound sent a rush through my blood, pooling between my legs where our bodies met. I arched toward him, tipping my head back. His mouth hovered just above mine, so close that every breath felt shared.

“You're a monster,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Takes one to know one.”

My eyes fluttered closed, every nerve straining toward the warmth of his lips, toward the touch I was certain was coming.

“Why in the world, Eidra,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “would you ever think I’d want Aedric’s scraps?”

The words lanced straight through my heart. Whatever hold my magic had over me shattered.

I sucked in a ragged breath as everything came rushing back at once—the room, the bed, his body between my thighs, the terrible reality of what I’d been doing. My magic recoiled, retreating so violently that the silver light vanished from my skin.

Then my emotions flooded back into me. Not the warped, possessive hunger my magic had forced upon me, but my own.

Shock. Humiliation. Outrage.

Before I could think, before I could stop myself, my fist connected with his face.

A crunch sounded through the room. Pain shot through my hand.

Rìan's head snapped with the force of the blow. He didn't flinch as blood spilled from his nose, bright against his skin. Slowly, he lifted a hand and wiped it away, weary resignation settling over his features.

He stepped back, and I snapped my legs together, squeezing my thighs so hard my muscles seized. “Better Aedric's scraps than Elyndra's fool.”

He froze. Blinked. “What do you mean?”

And that was when the full horror of what I'd done struck me.

Gods. My magic had tried to seduce Rìan.

Shame burned through me. What I'd said. What I'd done.

I dragged the blanket over my lap, tucking it firmly around my legs with shaking hands. “Elyndra lied to you.”