Page 269 of Blade of the Nightking

The solid press of him against me felt even more intoxicating than the illusion had been, every place we touched grounding me and undoing me all at once. I could feel the unmistakable rigid length of him against my stomach, and a helpless whine slipped from my lips at the contact, so thick with desperation that I barely recognized it as my own.

The sound shattered the spell.

He jerked back suddenly, as though he'd been startled awake. Then, with a rough inhale, he tore himself away. His hand slipped from my waist. The heat of him vanished all at once as he put several paces between us, breathing hard.

For the briefest instant, I caught the last traces of desire still burning in his eyes as I swayed where I stood, reeling in his absence. Then they vanished, his expression turning to stone, every flicker of longing buried beneath a mask of cold wrath.

He turned sharply and crossed the chamber, his feet splashing in the rising water. He seized the slime-covered rope and pulled, hand over hand. He hauled the bucket onto the lip of the well, the liquid inside sloshing over the rim. Blood struck the water at his feet, blooming outward like spilled ink before dissipating almost at once.

Rìan didn't hesitate. He plunged both hands into the bucket before lifting them to his mouth. They emerged coated in blood, glistening to the wrists like crimson gloves as he drank deeply. Thin streams spilled from the corners of his lips, winding over his jaw and down the strong column of his throat. When he lifted his eyes to mine, he looked like the monster from the Veil, silver flashing through the darkness there in a violent, seething swirl.

"Drink." The word cracked through the chamber, a command, not a request.

It drove into my chest like a blade.

He slid his tongue across his lips, drawing every last trace of blood into his mouth as though it could wash away the memory of touching me—even in a vision neither of us had chosen. As though I were nothing more than a bitter taste he could rinse away.

My breath hitched, perilously close to a sob—but that couldn't be right. I didn't care for him. Not one bit.

My body was still quivering in the wake of my release—a release born of an illusory touch, a fleeting glimpse of what it might feel like to be held by him for real.

Gods strike me dead.

Shame rushed over me all at once: every breathless sound I'd made, every shiver I'd failed to suppress, every shameful part of myself the well had stripped bare for him to witness—and to despise.

That much was clear from the look of utter loathing etched across his face, one I hadn't seen since the night he'd tried to murder Aedric and I'd stepped between them.

The pain in my chest bloomed before I could stop it. Then, mercifully, anger swallowed it whole.

The distance between us vanished beneath swift, determined strides. I reached the well, sank both hands into the waiting bucket, and cupped the thick, dark blood between my palms. I barely registered its warmth, nor its metallic scent or viscous feel.

I didn't hesitate. I drank.

The coppery taste of it flooded my mouth, sliding down my throat in a single, decisive swallow.

I glared up at him, blood dripping from my chin, my hatred eclipsing even his.

Fuck you.

For the space of a heartbeat, something almost hurt flashed through his eyes, like a glimpse of moonlight through black ice.

Agony ripped through me so suddenly I didn't even have time to cry out. A searing pain erupted beneath my breastbone, like an invisible hand seizing my very heartstrings and ripping them from my chest.

I doubled over, my fingers slipping in the blood smeared across the stone lip. I slipped and fell to my knees, the incoming tide now a torrent around me, sweeping into the cave like a vengeful god.

Rìan cried out beside me.

As quickly as it had come, the pain receded, leaving behind an emptiness deep in my bones that was almost more terrible than pain. An absence of presence. Of light. Of life.

Across the chamber, which might as well have been across continents—across worlds—we locked gazes.

Then the tide hit.

It slammed into me, knocking me sideways and dragging me beneath the surface. I kicked and thrashed as the current seized me, hurling me one way and then another. Terror closed around my throat as I clawed for the surface, but there was only sweeping black water. My shoulder struck the wall. I scrabbled for purchase, my nails tearing against the rock until white-hot pain shot through my fingertips.

Something caught the back of my collar.

Rìan pulled me from the water in a single brutal yank. I burst to the surface, coughing and spluttering as he fought the current, forcing us toward the passage leading from the cave. His grip bit into my arm as he half dragged, half shoved me through, bracing himself against the unending surge.