33. Enna
Chapter thirty-three
Enna
I hide behind the rocks until the prince disappears through the city gate. As his broad shoulders shift with each step, I repeat my mantra again: just because it’s pretty, doesn’t mean it’s mine.
The gates close, cutting off my view. Only then do I tear my gaze from him and lean against the boulder, my heart still drumming like a damn rattlefish.
It was just sex. Sure, it was lusty, heated sex unlike anything I’ve experienced before, but still—just sex. In Vespyr, random hate sex with strangers is the best way to pass the time. Under the cover of darkness, a warm body is a warm body, and even a half-blood like me can meet her needs. That’s all this was; two people with needs expressing them in the heat of the moment. I shouldn’t be reacting this way.
Just because it’s pretty…
I cut the mantra short. This sex was different; I feel it deep in my bones. But acknowledging the consequence has me spiraling. I replay the scene in my mind, my body tingling with the ghost of his touch. He’d taken me roughly, but with the utmost care. He’d shoved me against the rocks, but took a moment to make sure I was comfortable. I melt just thinking about it. No one has ever taken care of me like that before, and I’m afraid the prince has ruined me for anyone else.
Prince Soren. His name clouds out the formal moniker of his station, attaching new meaning and flavor to his presence in my mind. It was Soren who placed that fabric beneath my ass, arranged it so as to not damage my skin as he pounded into me with his cock. It was Soren who whispered my name into my hair, his tone sweet as sugar, like he was worshiping a goddess. Soren who brought me to the pinnacle of the best orgasm of my life; Soren who left me here, aching and wanting for more.
I try to take a step forward, but my knees shake and wobble, and I collapse against the rock.
He has unbalanced me, and I may never be stable again.
With a laborious breath, I push off the boulder. The tides slosh around my feet, a reminder of the passing time. I need to get back to Odissa before she notices my prolonged absence. I fasten my chest piece, reattach my belt, and secure my skirts to conceal my knives beneath. With a quick pass of the fabric, I wipe myself clean of my arousal. Like it never even happened.
Just because it’s pretty…
“Doesn’t mean it’s mine,” I finish under my breath, shaking my head.
This interaction with Soren—the prince—will be a mere blip in my existence; a mistake at best. I will not let myself be bested by a naked male on a beach, not when my life hangs in the balance, tied to the fate of him choosing another. I need Odissa to win her bargain, as quickly as possible. Only then will I be free of this blood oath that binds me, only then can I escape this horrid place, rich and deliciously alone.
That’s what I want.
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I trudge forward. My muscles scream in protest. My core flutters with the remnants of my orgasm, crying out for more, more. More! I grit my teeth and take another wobbling step. The hole in my chest widens, gnawing with hunger for something I’ve long forgotten. It stings of rejection, hurts like hope, and I lock the emotion away before I can remember its name.
Avoiding the gate, I scale the wall. My claws dig into stone, satisfying and sure. I land with a kick of dust, and then I’m sprinting up the spiraling hill to the palace. With each step, I pin a nail on my feelings, securing it tight.
I am a goddessdamn death-dealer from the Drink, and I don’t have time for silly things like feelings and future kings and pretty, pretty dicks.
Right?