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Parnon toes Zatran’s head. “I would’ve enjoyed torturing him.”
“So would I.” Chastain seems to recover and climbs to his feet, though he keeps patting his chest. “And yes, thank you, Gareth.” He winces. “But remind me never to get on your bad side. Those fangs are … formidable.”
I lick my jowls, the taste of his blood mixing with Zatran’s. I shouldn’t like it. I don’t, not really. But my feral does. I stand and shake myself, then shift.
In a second, I’m back in my primary form. “His magic was powerful. That was touch and go for a moment.”
Beth jumps into my arms. “Not powerful enough for you.”
“Not when you’re here, my beloved.” I kiss her hard, the feral in agreement with my plan to dominate her mouth for hours on end.
“I’m going to make camp.” Parnon stomps off as usual.
“We need to discuss…” Chastain waves his hand at Zatran’s body. “This.”
I don’t pull away from Beth. Instead, I grab her ass and lift her tighter against me while plunging my tongue into her warm mouth.
Chastain tries again. “We really should discuss what sort of plan Zatran was trying to enact and how Cenet figures into—”
Beth yelps when I run my fingers deeper between her thighs, pressing against her tender flesh.
“All right, then. I’ll just, ah, go and give thanks for the Ancestors that you didn’t kill me.”
I don’t care what he does as long as he leaves me to my Beth. I walk until I can press her back to a gnarled tree, then kiss down her neck. “Did you mean it?”
“What?” She pulls my hair as I unbutton her shirt with my teeth.
“When you called me your heart.”
Nuzzling into her shirt, I find a nipple and pull it into my mouth.
She arches, her heart racing. “Yes.”
“How you please me, my beloved.” I lave her breast, sucking and nipping before returning to her luscious mouth.
She meets my lips with feverish intensity, her body coiling against mine as I grind my hips against her molten core.
My fangs lengthen, the feral demanding I claim what is mine.
“Let me have you.” I don’t beg, but it’s close. “Let me mark you as my own.” I rock my erection against her, stroking that perfect spot between her thighs.
She answers with her hips and tries to silence me with her wicked lips.
“No, my beloved. You must answer me.” I palm her breast and knead it before twisting her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “I need to claim you. I can’t control my need for you.”
She sighs, her body shuddering as a light moan leaves her lips. “I want to. Ancestors know how badly I want you. All of you.”
“You can have me. Just give me the word, my most precious one.” I grind harder, faster.
She’s almost there, the surrender welling up inside and travelling down the bond.
I have her.
Right here, right now.
“What was your first sexual experience?” The words leave her in a rush, as if it was the only thing that could save her from giving in.
I curse in the old language, the foulest words I know—most of them involving unicorns—and set her on her feet as the magic pops taut between us. The bargains I’ve struck with her become more painful with each passing day. This is no exception.
“No.” I back away from her.
The heat in her cheeks, the mating scent from between her legs, the hardness of her nipples—she was ready to give in. She still is, if it weren’t for this Spires-damned agreement!
“I was thirteen. He was twenty-something.”
I wrinkle my nose, the fire inside me lowering with that knowledge.
“I agreed to it.” She shrugs. “It lasted all of one minute. Didn’t hurt. Just felt kind of strange, and then he was done and gone. A changeling from the neighboring estate. I never saw him again. Now you.” She follows me out of the jungle and back toward the spot where Parnon and the others were making camp.
“No.” I try to shake off the sting of the magic. It doesn’t abate. Not until I answer.
“Why not?” She takes my elbow and pulls me around to face her. “I told you.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“You have to. It’s the rules.”
Frustration and pain mix into a harsh brew inside me. “I’m tired of these games! I want to claim you. You won’t let me. I don’t want to talk about past females. You do. I just want you and me. Okay? Just you and me. The past doesn’t matter. What matters is our future together, the one you won’t allow to begin because of this idiotic quest to rescue a slave who is most likely already dead.”
She winces at my words.
Guilt grows inside me, blossoming into regret.
“So your first time was shit, huh? You could’ve just said so without all the dramatics.” She tries to smile, tries to get up her usual swagger, but I can feel the hurt I’ve caused.
My tongue burns. “Look, Beth, I’m sor—”
“Just tell me.” She forces mirth into her tone.
I can’t fix this. Not right now. Not when she’s looking at me with a defiant pain that wounds my soul.
So I give in. “My first time was when I was twenty. I was betrothed to the female, but the mate bond did not snap into place even after our night together, so the betrothal was dissolved. There was nothing special about it.” I shrug as the magic dissipates, my end fulfilled.
“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” She spins on her heel and marches into camp, then plops next to Parnon by the fire.
I stare after her, but I don’t move. This feeling inside me—I hate it. It’s like she’s locked herself away from me, inside a cage that only she has the key to. And maybe it’s my fault for refusing to take her to Clotty, but I can’t take my mate into grave danger. It’s utterly antithetical to everything I feel for her. It’s a stumbling block, one that I can’t remove. So here we are at the same impasse.
She doesn’t speak to Parnon. They simply sit together as if commiserating silently.
“When you can’t get your dick wet, these things are bound to happen.” Iridiel walks up. I have the irrational desire to punch his snout again. But I’ve already promised I wouldn’t.
“I’m not talking to you about this.”
“You should. The ladies and I—well, let’s just say I’m known as the pussy slayer in plenty of circles. So I can help—”
I hold a hand up and walk toward the fire. “Good night.”
“Your loss.” He mutters at my retreating back. “Balls so blue they look like ripe waterberries.”
14
Beth
I don’t sleep well. Neither does Gareth. He still holds me tight, his body warm against mine and his arms a soothing comfort. But he doesn’t talk. Not like usual. Maybe it’s better that way. There’s so much I want to say, to explain how I feel about him. And I want him to know that finding Clotty isn’t a game to me, that I’m not torturing us on purpose. But does that even matter? The result is the same either way. Whether I intend it or not, we’re both going to be steaming piles of mixed emotions until we get down and dirty.
In the morning, we saddle up for the rest of the journey to the Abyss. The morning dawns cloudy, thunder echoing across the sky as we ride up and up. The path never falters on its climb, leading us through the craggy range of low mountains that border the jungle.
I’m alone with my thoughts as a
drizzle sets in. Gareth wraps me in a thin leather cloak, the hood keeping the rain off my hair. But soon, it pours, the curtains of water so heavy that it seems as if night has come early.
We continue our trek even as lightning splits the sky. The road is well-worn, and even some muddy streams aren’t enough to make it impassable. How many slaves have passed through here? Loaded up in wagons like chattel, their futures bought and sold in Cranthum, and their death in the mines within their sights. I shiver.
Gareth holds me tighter. He’s soaked through, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Neither do any of the other fighters. Only Parnon, who no longer drives the wagon but, instead, is safely wrapped up in a leather bag beneath the canopy.
The downpour is so thick that it creates a deep hum of noise. Maybe that’s a good thing. It staves off the talk that Gareth and I need to have. One I don’t want to have. We could mate right now, just throw ourselves down in the muck and go at it, but no. We can’t. Not when that means abandoning Clotty. So we’re back in this circular fight that always ends the same—with me utterly unsatisfied and so cock-hungry that I sometimes think about giving in, Clotty be damned.
I groan, but the din of the rain covers it.
We keep travelling until well past lunch. The storm continues its fury, so we eat rations as we ride. No fire could survive this deluge anyway.
I can barely make out the closest craggy bit of rock, the dull gray of it melding with the rain. Did Clotty see this? I hope so. Because that means she was alive when she came through here. Gareth’s words still bounce around in my mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she’s dead. But I can’t take that chance. I have to see it for myself. And if she’s gone? I tamp down the emotions that threaten to bubble up. Well, I’ll deal with that when it comes.
The scenery doesn’t change as the storm finally subsides just enough for a bit of light to shine through the dark clouds. Good thing, too. Because I pull on the reins and stop Iridiel before he runs right into another unicorn ahead of us.
“What is it?” Gareth’s tone is clipped as he addresses the rider ahead of us. “Why did you stop?”
