“Baze?”
“Hmm ...”
“Will you stay until morning?”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to answer, pushing down the image of wide, unseeing eyes. Trying to ignore the pull of that chasm—the silence that seemed to reach for me.
“Sure,” he mumbles, leaning over me and blowing out the candle. “My balls aren’t that important, anyway.”
The morning comes hard and brutal, with phantom chisels chipping at my temples.
I groan, the sharp thud a painful reminder that caspun is far from the perfect anecdote. Effective, yes ... but not without some truly heinous side effects that worsen with every amassed dose.
Peeling my eyes open, I reach out and pat the other side of the bed, finding it cold and empty.
Seems Baze values his balls more than he was letting on.
Blades of gold shaft through the southern window, and despite my abrasive mood, I kick off the blankets and slide out of bed.
The jarring movement rattles my tender brain, but I drag my feet toward the window and place myself in a column of light that douses me with a cloak of warmth. I roll my sleeves, offering more skin to the early morning sunshine that’s so very rare these days.
Pushing the doors open, I step onto my balcony, gripping the balustrade and looking out across the ocean often heaving beneath a slate sky. Today, it’s a blue haze reaching for a dazzling horizon.
I take in the glassy stretch of Bitten Bay, gilded in the morning light. I’ve always imagined some giant creature leapt out of the sea and took a bite from the obsidian cliff, leaving the black, sandy scoop littered with sharp rocks.
The name felt fitting to a five-year-old me.
One end boasts a rarely used jetty, an empty sea-perch pointing west.
My attention drifts to the heavily forested North, and movement draws my eye to where unbridled trees meet the vast field of manicured grass.
Rhordyn emerges from the dense, ancient woods that howl at night and whisper in the day, and my heart stills, all the breath escaping my lungs.
He’s not alone—if you call the stag draped across his broad shoulders a companion.
Its slit throat drips blood down Rhordyn’s front as he stalks in long strides across the grassy halo ...
My grip on the banister tightens.
His chin tilts, gaze darting up, and I feel like I’ve just been shot with two icy arrows.
I gasp and pull back, severing the contact, hand pressed against my chest.
The distant thud of feet echoing up my stairwell has my head whipping around, attention snapping to the door.
“Shit.”
I dash inside, groaning as the movement makes my tender brain bounce.
One hundred and forty steps ...ish.That’s all I’ve got left to dress and gather the loose strands of my composure before Baze lures me downstairs for an ass whipping I’m currently in no shape to contend with.
After draining half my pitcher, I peel off my clothes and toss them in the direction of the laundry bin. I pull on some fresh undergarments and wrap my breasts using a stretchy length of material to flatten them with practiced dexterity.
Those steps draw closer, and my heart sits heavy in my throat.
I snatch a black button-down and leather pants—my favorite ones that are well worn and easy to move in. I’m just fiddling the buttons into place when Baze yells out, “Twenty step marker. You better be decent!”
I race toward my bed and drop low, roll the rug, then delve my nails into the grooves and lift the slab of stone, revealing my cache.
