Midnight Star (Star Touched: Fae Bound #3)

7. Zoey

Zoey

Block it out.

Over the past few days of having Prince Aerix of the Night Court drinking from my neck every evening for breakfast—yes, getting used to a nocturnal schedule is as confusing as it sounds—that mantra has kept me sane. Kept me from slipping into the haze he seems to want me in.

I can’t let him in. Not in my mind, not in my emotions, not in the way my body reacts to his touch.

He can’t hurt me emotionally if I don’t let him hurt me emotionally.

As he drinks, I keep my eyes closed, trying to distract myself by thinking about the others I’ve become close to in this place. The ones who make this gilded prison feel a little less suffocating.

Sophia—also one of Aerix’s—who finds any bright side she can around here, who welcomed me without hesitation.

Elijah—one of the queen’s—who surprises me with his depth, his thoughtful silences heavy with things he never says aloud.

Isla, one of the king’s, who’s far sharper and fierier than she should be for her young age.

Matt, Sapphire’s ex-boyfriend, who I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk to, since he’s rarely around. He’s so obsessed with the queen that she keeps him in her quarters far more often than what’s normal around here. And when he is around, he avoids me at all costs.

Then, of course, there’s Jake. One of Princess Cierra’s, who resembles my ex from home. Their similar looks drew me to him at first. However, the more I get to know him, the more I realize how different they are. Mainly because Jake is simply… simple. He’s not stupid, but he’s not the sharpest, either.

Running through the people I think I can trust in this place helps distract me from Aerix’s fangs in my neck—from the dizzy euphoria that comes with feeding. The euphoria I pretend doesn’t exist.

The sensation is a betrayal. My body betraying my mind, and my instincts betraying my will.

Because it makes me want to relax. To sink into the pull of him and give in completely.

But I won’t .

I refuse to give him that sort of power over me.

When he finally pulls away, the loss of contact is a shock. Like being wrenched from a dream I never meant to fall into.

I push myself up in the bed as much as I can manage, and his midnight eyes study me as he moves to sit on the side of the bed. The way the light from the enchanted chandelier floating near the ceiling catches in their inky depths reminds me of the night sky before a storm. Beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.

“You’re being particularly cold today,” he observes, and while his voice is smooth, there’s something else beneath it. Something sharp. Something unmet. Like a hunter who doesn’t like when his prey stops running. “Anything on your mind?”

From the concerned way he says it, a person might think he actually cares.

“Just tired.” I shrug, keeping my voice deliberately flat as I glance over at the nightstand, where a glass of juice awaits. “No cookies today?”

“None,” he says, even though given the grandiosity of the Night Court, I highly doubt the kitchen would have run out.

It’s a game. A test.

He’s probably withholding treats because he doesn’t like the way I’ve been withdrawing .

Such goes the life of a pet to the royals of the Night Court.

“Interesting,” I say, because even though I won’t admit it to him, those cookies are delicious. I look forward to them every time I come here.

“Do you want them?” he asks, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s trying to get a rise out of me.

I recognize the game. And I refuse to play.

“Sure,” I say, and as I reach for the glass of juice, something flashes in his eyes—anger, or wounded pride. The air around the glass shifts subtly, and the liquid inside ripples in a reminder that the elements themselves obey his command.

I pick up the glass and take a slow sip, forcing myself to remain steady.

“Stop acting like someone you’re not,” he suddenly declares, taking me by so much surprise that I nearly drop the glass.

I freeze.

Then, slowly, I set the glass back down.

He’s watching me like a predator, every inch of him sculpted from shadow and seduction. But his beauty feels wrong. Like a statue carved too precisely, too perfectly, until it no longer looks real.

Stop, I think, snapping myself back into the reality where he assumes he knows everything about me. Because I don’t care if he looks like some dark, celestial being fallen from the sky.

Well, maybe I do. A little.

But that’s not the point.

“Who, exactly, am I?” I challenge after getting myself back together.

His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to pin me down and read the pages of my soul, and a breeze stirs the edges of my dress.

A warning.

“You’re someone who doesn’t give up.” There’s something vicious about the way he says it, like he’s trying to remind me of something I’ve forgotten—or trying to remind himself. “And yet here you are, retreating into yourself, pretending to feel nothing. To be nothing.”

“You assume too much,” I say, and I put the glass to my lips and drink, needing to do something to stop myself from giving into his goading.

He watches me the entire time, his gaze burning into my skin, his frustration humming between us like an unspoken threat.

And given that his fangs have already been in my skin, I refuse to let any other part of him in there, too.

So, I force myself to relax. To let the silence stretch. To make him be the first to break it .

Block it out, I remind myself. Stay in control. He can’t hurt me if I don’t let him hurt me.

By the time I finish the juice and place the glass back onto the nightstand, my walls are firmly back in place, and I’m bracing myself for him to ram into me again for not liking the way I’m behaving.

Instead, he rises to his feet with infuriating, effortless grace. His dark wings unfurl behind him, and a gust of air swirls around the room, lifting a stray lock of his black hair and sending ripples through the juice in my glass.

“We’re done here,” he says instead, and he walks to the door and pulls it open, revealing Aethelthryth—the night fae “handler” who has to watch me when I’m not in the human wing—waiting on the other side.

Without looking back at me, he says to her, “She’s all yours.”

And then, I’m gone, not sparing him a glance on my way out.