Chapter Thirty-Seven
KIERAN
ABBY CROUCHES LOW in the water as she cleans herself, her movements hurried as she runs the cloth over her skin. Mason’s voice trails off as he notices, and we both grow silent as Abby lifts her shirt and undergarments up her chest.
The water distorts the view, but there’s no mistaking the slope of her breasts or the darkened color of her nipples.
Her skin pebbles as it’s exposed to the cold, and she pointedly avoids looking in Mason’s and my direction as she washes herself. Communal bathhouses are popular in Bellmere, especially among the wealthy, but it’s not something Mason or I partake in. We can’t risk being naked in front of women. We can’t risk being touched.
I’m still familiar with the naked female body, though.
Abby’s body is different from the faeries. She’s several inches shorter than most, and even though I’m sure she’s an average height for a human, I can’t help but think she looks quite stout. Instead of the protruding hip bones and hardened abdomens I’m accustomed to seeing on women, Abby has a thin layer of fat that I know firsthand is soft to the touch.
Especially in the areas where it accumulates.
When I carried her into Traul River, she continually pressed against me in her attempts to escape. She was soft, her flesh easily malleable. I hardly noticed in that moment, but as Abby bends forward and her stomach folds underneath the water, it’s all I can remember.
For somebody who’s been so concerned about modesty, Abby’s sure giving us a show.
“Are we truly not going to ask her any more about her interest in delysum?” Mason asks, his voice low.
I figured it was only a matter of time before he returned to this, and I let out a low sigh as I shake my head. “No. She’s not going to tell us anything freely, and we don’t have time to interrogate her.”
Mason opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
“She’s already terrified of us, Mace, and she clearly doesn’t know anything about this realm. We’re already giving her to Zaha, and letting her have her little secrets is the least we can do.”
Abby’s blonde hair turns dark as it grows wet, becoming a color identical to Mason’s. It clings to her face, and she appears annoyed as she wipes a few strands off her cheeks.
I can’t help but smile.
She’s so ungraceful.
Faeries typically take great pride in their light, almost-white hair, but I like Abby’s. I might be biased, though, considering my own hair is dark. The color has caused hundreds of rumors regarding my parentage throughout the years, but it’s been proven that I’m my father’s son.
He had the tests done before I could walk, and it turns out my great-great grandfather had dark hair. The recessive gene hasn’t been wholly bred out, much to my parents’ immense disappointment.
Abby shifts, and her brown eyes flash in our direction.
I look away, careful not to get caught staring, but Mason doesn’t give her the same courtesy. He’s never been one to hide from what he finds interesting, though, and I can tell his gaze annoys Abby as she lets out a quiet huff and turns back around.
I return my gaze to her the moment she’s no longer looking.
“What’re the odds she shows us her cunt?” Mason asks.
“Low.”
I don’t know what Abby thinks she’s gaining by exposing her breasts to us, but I can guarantee it’s not going to work. She’s evidently caught on that we’re attracted to her, but she won’t find luck in attempting to seduce us into changing our minds.
I’ve had to make several hard choices in my life, and while I don’t feel good about what I’m doing to Abby, it’s ultimately the right decision. The shifters are gaining power, gaining strength and weapons, and we need Zaha’s help. If Abby sweetens the deal, it’s worth a try.
I’m willing to ruin the life of one human woman if it saves the lives of thousands of faeries. Shifters, too. The impending war between us would lead to casualties on both sides.
We’re nothing but playthings to the gods, entertainment to keep their days from growing too tedious. Zaha destroyed the shifter kingdom on a whim, and we’re still paying the price generations later.
Abby tugs her undergarments and shirt back into place before sticking her hand down the front of her leggings. I cock my head to the side, watching intently as she scrubs between her thighs. I was hoping she’d remove her bottoms to clean herself.
Mason makes a quiet, disappointed noise as he seems to realize she intends to remain clothed from the waist down. He’s been protective of her since finding her half-dead in the rain, and he’s not making many attempts to hide it—not that he could if he wanted to.
His animal form vibrating on top of her for several hours was a dead giveaway to his emotions. He likes her, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
Abby is bothersome and unprepared for this world, but she has spirit. She’s the first woman to snap at Mason, even though she reeks of fear as she does so, and she’s openly disinterested in him. He likes that.
I hope it doesn’t become an issue when we arrive at the portal. Mason’s never been one to hold back, and he’s always been ruled by his emotions. It makes him especially dangerous when he’s angry, and it makes him damn-near impossible to control in situations as touchy as this.
His shifter genes are strong, and no amount of time spent with the faeries has eased those instincts out of him.
“I’ll need to meet with my father upon our return to Bellmere,” Mason says, drawing my attention.
I pause, watching Abby remove her hand from her pants, before turning toward Mason.
He’s been wanting to meet with his father for years, a desire he’s never kept a secret from me. My mother disapproves of his need for closure, but I’ve never judged him for it. I imagine I’d feel something similar if I were in his position.
Once I’m crowned, my mother will no longer be in a position to turn down Mason’s many requests to meet with his father. Assuming all goes well with Zaha, I’m set to be crowned three days after our return.
I’ll be king, as will Mason.
He’ll be expected to rule by my side, a situation that greatly upsets my people, and nobody will be able to tell him whom he can and can’t meet with. I technically could, but I have no reason to.
Mason’s a grown man, and I’m uninterested in policing his relationships. I have enough to deal with already.
I lick my lips. “I imagine he won’t be happy to discover the dead shifters you left scattered throughout the forest.”
Mason shrugs. “They shouldn’t have tried to kill me. Besides, I like to think he’d be even more upset to discover my dead body in the forest.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I keep that thought to myself.
Abby moves, heading toward shore. Her movements are clunky and slow but still so full of anger. I’m continually impressed with her ability to hold her rage. It’s refreshing to be so outwardly hated, and I see why Mason has taken a liking to her.
They have a lot in common when it comes to their desire for violence and revenge.
Water pours off Abby’s clothes as she climbs up the bank and makes her way to her backpack. I watch the way her hips move. Mason seems to be doing the same.
“I want to see her tits again,” he says.
I press my lips together, debating whether I want to acknowledge what he’s just said, before giving a curt nod. I suppose I wouldn’t mind seeing them again. Just because I can’t touch bare skin doesn’t mean I can’t admire it—and I sure like to admire it.
It’s common knowledge that I prefer women naked when I’m with them. I’m protected as long as I remain clothed and cover my cock. Mason’s rumored to prefer the more efficient approach of lifting a woman’s skirts and taking them from behind, but that’s not as fun.
“I want to bite them,” Mason continues.
Those are dangerous thoughts, and I shoot him a sideways glance before shaking my head and making my way to shore. He needs to keep his head on straight.
Abby attempts to be sly in her glances at me, but I notice how her pupils continually dart in my direction. Her face turns red, too, which I find more endearing than I should. Are all humans this uncomfortable with nudity?
I grab Mason’s and my clothing before returning to the water and scrubbing them clean. What? Of course she can.
Mason remains where he is, still watching Abby.
She very clearly notices, as she does a poor job pretending she doesn’t. I have half a mind to tell Mason to leave her alone, but I have a feeling that won’t go over well. He’ll argue with me, which will only make her more uncomfortable.
The noble ladies back in Bellmere would kill to get this amount of attention from Mason.
When he finally exits the water several minutes later, his eyebrows are pinched and his lips pursed. He’s upset.
“I don’t think she can see in the water,” he says. What? Of course she can. “She wasn’t trying to show us her body.”
“Ask her,” he orders.
I shake my head. He can speak to Abby himself.
After a long pause, Mason clears his throat and turns toward Abby. My soap bar disintegrates, and I step out of the water and begin wringing out our clothing.
Abby stands far up the bank, looking miserable as she squeezes excess water from her shirt. I’m grateful she’s cleaned herself, even if it’s in the most inconvenient way possible. Her clothes will take longer to dry when on, and she’ll get cold.
“Human! Can you see through the water?” Mason practically barks his question at Abby.
Her pulse picks up, a reaction she always has when Mason speaks directly to her. I look over, finding myself interested in what she has to say. She tends to ignore my questions, but she might answer Mason’s. She’s more frightened of him.
“Can you ?” she asks.
Mason doesn’t respond, and when her gaze shifts to me, I nod.