What in rot and ruin happened last night?She tried to pull the pieces together.Where am I?
A gentle breeze, fragrant with a hint of exotic flowers and earth, skimmed her face, teasing the strands of hair stuck to her clammy forehead. She rolled to her side and felt the harsh ache between her legs.
Oh, no.Emmaline squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her mind to grasp at the tattered edges of memory, pulling at frayed threads, trying to stitch them back together.
She’d gone to the Blood Moon Club, hoping to meet Deyric, but he hadn’t come.
Instead… she opened her eyes, taking in the opulent room, the rich tapestries, the dark wood carved with flowing sigils, and the unmistakable decadence of House Greymane woven into every corner.
Caelith.The pieces slammed into place.
They’d… they’d… her breath caught, her fingers fisting into the sheets as her pulse tripped over itself.
But how? And why? Just days ago, he had barely known she existed. Now she was—
She yanked the creamy sheets up over her chest, her other hand sweeping blindly across the bed, searching for—
Where were her clothes? Her fingers found nothing but empty space as a fresh wave of panic surged through her.
She had wanted to leave with him, hadn’t she? She’d wanted this, hadn’t she?
A shudder rolled through her, heat unfurling from deep inside as the aftershocks of bliss still coursed through her limbs, leaving her shaking. Her skin felt raw like every nerve was still reaching for something more.
“Goddess.” Her knees buckled, and she barely caught herself, hands flying to the carved bedframe, gripping it tight to keep from collapsing.
And then—
The memories. Moments of sensation. Of him. The weight of his body pressing her down, the honey of his voice pouring into her ear, the slow, torturous glide of his hands over her.
A sharp pulse of pleasure shot through her at the thought. She moaned. Of course, she’d wanted it. How could she not? He was her mate. Wasn’t he?
No. No, this wasn’t right. Her mind fought to pull free, but her body—her body still craved more, still stung with the remnants of whatever he had done to her.
Her stomach twisted violently, nausea rising, bile burning at the back of her throat.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, swallowing hard, trying to keep it down.
So what if she’d drunk too much last night? That wasn’t Caelith’s fault. She had put herself in that situation, and he had only taken care of her. He had made her feel things no one else had ever come close to making her feel.
Deyric made you feel like that. Better, and without the greasy aftertaste.A traitorous thought.
“Fuck him.” She gripped the sheets as she bent over the bed, reaching for her skirt where it lay crumpled on the floor.
“Deyric didn’t come last night, did he?” she muttered to herself, fingers closing around the soft blue fabric. “And he only wanted one thing from you anyway.” She swallowed hard, yanking the skirt up over her hips, fighting against the sting in her eyes.
Caelith’s voice echoed through her mind—cool, certain, absolute.He was bragging about how you begged to be fucked.
“Deyric never wanted you. Not really.” A violent tremor racked through her, and she choked on the words as she pulled the fabric tighter around her waist. Why did it hurt so much to think it?
But before she could come up with an answer, a knock at the door sent her scrambling back against the headboard, arms wrapping around herself as if she could hold herself together.
“The glider is waiting to take you home, miss.”
She looked up as the same short, stocky man from last night—the one who had dragged her from the carriage—stepped through the door.
“Where is Caelith?” She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
“LordCaelith has business to attend this morning.” The man sneered, then sighed as if this entire exchange was an inconvenience. “But he wanted to ensure your safe return home.”
