Page 132 of Black Sea

That’s not true.

I banished that stupid thought from my head and grabbed Nauriel’s chin, lifting her face to mine, our panting breaths mingling.

“I suggest you stop thinking of me, Elf,” I said harshly. “Or this will happen again. And again. And again.”

Her eyes seemed to have the power to see right through me. “Weak,” she hissed provocatively.

With a slight half-smile, I was nearly about to lunge at her lips again and show her how weak she was . . .

“Nauriel?” came her brother’s voice suddenly.

74

I blinked wide-eyed, terrified. I wasn’t sitting on the cabinet with the mirror, clinging to Mornon as if he were my only source of life. I was lying sideways on the bed, where he had found me when he appeared in my room, my fists still clenched around the tears-soaked blankets.

I looked down and touched my corset, unscathed. I rubbed my hand across my lips and chin, then inspected my fingers for traces of blood. I couldn’t find any, but its metallic, sweetish taste filled my mouth.

My sex was still throbbing, so sore that it was as if with every breath I felt Mornon’s erection slide into me again, relentlessly. I could feel his seed dripping down my inner thigh, and I had to suppress the instinct to pick it up with my fingertips to savor it.

Even my scalp ached from how much he had pulled my hair while kissing me, as if he wanted to rip my face off, punish me, dominate me.

Swiftly, I looked toward the mirror: It was intact.

Mornon had never really been here. He had gotten into my head. Just like the night we’d arrived at the palace, I suddenly realized with immense horror.

And just like that night, he had left me with a range of sensorial and tactile memories of what he had done to me.

Of what we had done together.

I covered my mouth to stifle a heartbreaking sob, pressing the nails of my other hand against my chest as if I wanted to pull out my heart.

“Sister?”

I jumped a mile, my eyes darting to the door. Araton was really outside my bedroom. His voice had not been part of the illusion; that’s why Mornon had broken it instantly.

“May I come in?” my brother asked.

I wiped my cheeks with frantic gestures. Then, holding the two flaps of the slit Mornon had created in my skirt together, I answered, “Yes.”

I lowered my head as he entered, so ashamed of that sort of mark I sported around my eyes, the mark of the evil that was consuming me from within like a disease.

Ashamed of the pleasure I still felt spreading through me like placid waves crashing ashore.

Araton dared to take just a step past the threshold, and through my lashes, I saw him nervously rubbing his fingertips together. “You must come with me.”

My brow pinched. “Where?” I asked hoarsely.

He couldn’t even look at me. “The Queen of the Witches summoned their elders. Father gathered them in the throne room with the druids. They’re waiting for you.”

I grew increasingly cautious. “For what?”

“To examine you.”

I shuddered, clenching my skirt in my fist. “Of course,” I muttered through my teeth. I sniffled, wiping away the tear that had dripped from the tip of my nose. “I need to freshen up first.”

I needed to wash away Mornon’s scent.

I needed to flay myself alive until I couldn’t smell him anymore.