Page 53 of Death Will Follow

Nova’s movements were slow and sure as she laid his palms flat just above her knees.

“Keep . . . your hands . . . here,” she instructed, sweeping them up her thighs until they rested at the crease of her hips. Trusting him to stay put, she released him and ran her fingers lightly along her inner thighs, sighing into his ear, her eyes locked on him in the mirror.

Callan couldn’t tear his gaze away from her reflection. Her soft mouth, slightly parted. The blush rising in her cheeks, the color deepening to match the shade between her legs. When, at last, she brought her fingers to her clit, his breath halted all together. He curled his fingers, dimpling the soft flesh at her hips. He stared at her in the mirror, mouth gone dry, marveling at how the most delicate touch of her fingertips sent her entire body tensing against his.

Overcome with hunger, he whimpered shamelessly in her ear.

He’d nearly forgotten he was physically there, not simply floating in a dream, when she guided his right hand from her hip to her cunt.

“Touch me, Callan.” The command in her voice remained, but the hint of a plea keened beneath the surface.

Callan did as he was told, his touch featherlight at first, mimicking the way she’d stroked herself. Nova turned her face toward his, her back still flush with his chest, ghosting her lips over the corner of his mouth. She rolled her hips into his hand, and Callan followed her lead, increasing the pressure on her clit. When he glided his fingers lower, teasing around her entrance, Nova nodded enthusiastically, her cheek brushing against his.

Yes, yes, yes.

He buried his fingers inside her, the heel of his hand pressed to her clit, and her breath seized. He lost himself in the rhythm of her body then. The pace she set. He watched her in the mirror, grinding her ass in his lap. The pressure built until he could no longer withstand it. When her sex clenched around his fingers, he gave up control alongside her, the intensity of his release consuming him entirely as he spilled himself in his breeches.

The insistent thump of his heart brought him back to himself, the world slowly coming into focus. Nova had turned in his lap and straddled his thighs. It wasn’t until she pressed soft kisses to his cheeks that he realized they were wet with tears.

She pressed her lips to his temples and along his jaw, murmuring against his tingling skin.

“So good. You’re so good.”

And in that moment, he believed her.

Twenty-Two

The city still slumbered when Nova and Callan left the inn, slipping into the deserted street while stars twinkled faintly in the sky. Nova followed Callan’s brisk stride to the stables behind The Wilted Bloom, volunteering to climb the rickety ladder to the hayloft in case Bryn was entertaining a guest.

“Bryn,” Nova whispered, teetering on the top rung and craning her neck to see beyond the hay bales stacked against the stable’s slanted roof.

Nothing.

“Bryn,” she hissed, a bit more insistent. At that, a single figure sat up amid the piles of straw.

“What hour is it?” Bryn asked, running a hand through her hair and plucking out bits of hay.

“It’s early yet,” Nova replied. “Is Riven with you?”

“No.” Bryn stood, then bent down, fetching her bow and quiver and slinging both over her shoulder. “She returned to the Estate to sleep. But we managed to come up with a plan before she left.”

Minutes later, they joined Callan, who had gathered their mounts and prepared them for a hasty departure. Callan wore his hood low and had donned his gloves, ensuring that, should they encounter anyone on the road, his markings wouldn’t arouse interest or suspicion.

“You’re certain she means to help us?” Callan asked for the second time, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at the yowl of two cats arguing in the alleyway.

Bryn nodded as she swatted loose bits of straw from her cloak and breeches. “I believe so. She’s no fool. If she means to betray us, she’ll likely wait until after we’ve escorted her safely back out of the Wylds.”

“Somehow I don’t find that comforting,” Callan grumbled, slipping the reins over Frost’s head.

Nova settled her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over Shade’s back. “She seemed genuinely intrigued at the prospect of coming along. She’ll help us get the map—I’m sure of it. We’ll keep an eye on her as our adventure reaches its end.”

The sky brightened, revealing a swath of gray clouds overhead. Though it wasn’t raining, darker clouds gathering in the west didn’t bode well for a dry journey. Nova wondered aloud whether Riven opening a window would work, as the day wouldn’t be warm. Bryn explained that Lord Arthur often smoked wyldleaf while he worked in his study. Riven would open the window under the guise of airing out the room.

A short time later, Nova and Callan rode out of town along the main road with Strawberry trailing on a lead behind them. Bryn would remain to await the hour she and Riven had planned for their heist.

Hours passed while Nova and Callan occupied themselves in the woods, first sharing a breakfast of hard cheese and cold ham stuffed between slices of day-old bread, then checking over the horses’ hooves and tightening every saddle strap at least twice. A rawness hung in the air, reddening the tip of Nova’s nose and making the joints in her hands sluggish. Her toes had begun to go numb inside her boots when, finally, a raven swooped low overhead, dropping a rolled scroll of parchment as it passed by.

Callan headed into the scrub grass, hunting for the map, as Bryn shifted into her Fae form and landed beside the road, startling her horse.