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“Want or need, vicious thing?”
She pushed against my chest, and I straightened, staring down at her as she sat there, marked and rosy by my mouth.
“Do you not want me?” she asked.
“That is a foolish question,” I said.
I was desperate for her.
Her eyes lowered to my erection, which strained against the fabric of my trousers, and darkened. Her foot caressed me there, teasing.
“Then take me,” she said. “I am offering.”
“You will regret it,” I said. “As you regretted last night.”
Her eyes hardened, and as much as I hated to deny her, I did not trust that she wanted me. She was caught in a haze of pleasure, and in this state, she would welcome me even if she did not truly want me, and that would bring her no closer to loving me.
She pushed off the table and leaned forward on the tips of her toes, her face close to mine.
“Coward,” she said, letting the word slip between her teeth.
Then she snatched her dress from the floor and fled.
Chapter Seventeen
Sweet Poison
I raced to my room, stumbling, blinded by tears I refused to shed for that…patheticexcuse of amanwho was not a man at all but a horrible, conniving, vicious elf. When I was safely in my room, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes, waiting until my heart rate eased, until the heat in my face lessened, until I had swallowed enough that the tears no longer threatened to release.
What did hewantfrom me?
I had done everything he had asked.
He said “Beg,” so I begged.
I should rejoice that he had stopped, because what had I been thinking? I had been so caught up in the pleasure of his mouth, his touch, I was willing to compromise myself further, and this time I would not have an excuse for enjoying him because I had been under no enchantment.
But instead, I only felt ashamed, ridiculous, rejected, because in the end…I had truly wanted him.
How could I want him?
He was an elven prince, and I was his captive.
I pushed away from the door and threw the gown I had worn to dinner into the corner of the room. I wasn’t even sure why I had bothered to dress. I should have worn the sheer robe the elves in the wardrobe had crafted. It would have been more fitting for what Casamir had planned.
That thought made me angrier.
He had humiliated me, and in exchange for what? A few letters—U,I,A,S—four of seven that were completely useless.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I grew. I snatched my robe off the end of my bed and slipped it on as I reached for my ax. The handle was still full of thorns, but I did not care that they pricked my hand as I ventured out of my room and made my way to Casamir’s bedroom in the dark.
I held my ax aloft, the stab of each thorn in my hand sharp, my hand already sticky with blood. I was unsure of what might come my way in the night, but I was so full of rage, I was willing to fight just about anything. Perhaps the fae knew not to tempt me, because I made it to Casamir’s room with no trouble.
Despite how determined I was, I hesitated, standing outside his door. I felt a deep sense of dread…a knowledge that once I entered here, I would not come out, and yet I wished to end this. To end him.
I touched the handle of his door and turned it carefully. I slipped into his room and approached his bedside, parting the curtains slightly to look at him. A slice of moonlight cut across his bare chest.
“Have you come to kill me?” he asked.
