Chapter 5
My feet were bare, the marble cold beneath them.
I moved through the doorway as silk curtains flared in the wind on the balcony before me.
Without warning, a hand closed around my elbow, gently steering me back inside toward the marble podium at the center of the room.
I turned and caught a glimpse of Cassara laughing as she stepped away.
A door opened ahead of me with a clash, and I frowned.
No one stood there. Curiosity stirred, and I padded toward it.
The moment I stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut behind me.
The lock slid home from the outside, and panic surged through me.
I threw my weight against it, but it wouldn’t budge.
A voice drifted from behind me.
“There you are,” a man murmured. “I’ve wanted you alone all night, away from prying eyes.”
I twisted toward the voice, my breath catching as dread settled low in my stomach.
The Praetor stood on the other side of the chamber, silhouetted against the moonlight spilling through the balcony doors behind him.
His gaze traveled over me with unsettling intimacy, and a slow smile curved his mouth.
“My Lord Praetor,” I said, lowering my eyes enough to seem pliable, “you flatter me beyond my worth. I have given you no reason to pursue me this way. There are other ladies more deserving of your attention.”
I padded toward him and offered my arm with practiced grace. “Would you do me the honor of lending me your arm to guide me back to my uncle? This villa is positively like a maze, and I’m afraid I have lost my way.”
I peered up at him from beneath my lashes, making myself appear as youthful and vulnerable as possible, hoping it would deter him—appeal to his sense of honor.
For a breath, I believed it might work. Then I saw the hunger in his expression and struck myself for a fool. My innocence didn’t deter him.
My pulse hammered in my throat as I stepped back.
He noticed at once, his smile widening slowly. “You attempt to play the innocent maiden. Do not flee from me now. I like this game you propose. Run if you want, but I will ravish you tonight.”
I spun and ran for the door. I reached it, but it was futile—I heard his heavy steps behind me. I turned just in time as he stopped before me, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
I reached behind me, my fingers scrabbling for the handle, trying to wrench it open. The wood bit into my knuckles, but it didn’t budge. Not an inch.
His hands were on me before I could take a breath.
His fingers bit into my wrists and shoulders as though he meant to touch me everywhere at once.
He shoved me against the door. I tried to find words to stop him, but they shattered before they could leave my mouth.
The room narrowed to his hands and my panic, to the scrape of my back against the wood as he ground into me.
I felt him hard against my thigh and closed my eyes in revulsion.
Something snapped within me, and I fought like an animal—twisting, kicking, raking at him. My nails scraped uselessly against his armor, and his breathing only grew louder. A scream tore out of me, ragged and helpless, swallowed by the marble walls. We were alone. There was no escape.
I couldn’t move; I was pinned beneath the full weight of him and the door. I felt only his breath against my ear as he fumbled with his mail.
Then suddenly—
Something wet and violent split the moment apart.
I opened my eyes in shock. A blade punched through his throat from behind.
For an instant, confusion flashed in his eyes.
His body jolted, went rigid. Blood erupted from the wound, hot and explosive, splattering my face, my neck, my mouth.
The copper taste hit my tongue before I could scream again.
He made a drowning sound, broken and wet, as the light drained from his eyes and his grip faltered.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
Before me stood Vayren Thanor.
His expression was cold as he took me in, yet something feral burned beneath it.
Blood streamed down the blade in his hand, dripping steadily onto the marble beneath my bare feet.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel him without a single touch.
I felt the pressure of his presence, the heat of him, and the unmistakable certainty that he was now the most dangerous thing in the room.
My breath caught, and I closed my eyes, unwilling to look upon the monster before me who was supposed to be my savior.
Then he spoke, his voice low, “No one is allowed to touch you.”
The words settled between us, heavy as iron.
“I’ve marked you as mine.”
He leaned in. He still didn’t touch me, yet I felt his breath near my face and opened my eyes in shock. For a terrible heartbeat, I thought he would kiss me.
He did not.
Instead, he lifted a hand and traced a slow path along my cheek, his thumb following the smear of blood the Praetor had left behind.
Then his mouth followed, inching closer, breathing me in before his tongue caught the metallic taste on my skin, wiping it away as if erasing another man’s claim and laying his own.
He moved lower, along my throat, inhaling as though committing the sensation to memory.
I was supposed to feel repulsed by his violence and his claim. Instead, I found myself bound by the spell of his touch. Heat flared low between my thighs, and I felt myself grow wet.
His hand rose and closed around my throat, applying slight pressure. I groaned, arching toward him, seeking more.
His other hand drifted lower. And lower still—
until cold steel pressed through the silk at my belly.
I tried to scream at the threat, but the cry strangled in my throat.
The scream tore free as I ripped awake, bolting upright. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs, the sheets were tangled around my legs. I rubbed my eyes and opened them to darkness. I was drenched in sweat and shaking.
I lit the candle beside my bed and lifted my hands before me, half expecting to see blood still dripping from my fingers, before circling my neck in imitation of the grip I had felt. I shuddered.
It had only been a nightmare.
Exhaling slowly, I sent up a silent prayer to Lunara. I frowned as I became aware of the warmth still lingering in my body, the tingle between my thighs. I’d responded to Thanor in my nightmare—to his violence. To a man I hated.
The realization turned my stomach. The walls of my room seemed to press inward. I needed air before the panic swallowed me whole.
I slipped from the bed as quietly as I could, my feet finding the cold floor. My legs felt unsteady as I crossed into the main room. Not wanting to wake Elion, I tiptoed to the pitcher and poured myself a cup of water. I needed the cold to drown out the heat still pulsing in my veins.
The safest place in the world had always been near Elion. I didn’t want to wake him—I only needed to know he was there. So I slipped down the hall and eased open his door, expecting the familiar rise and fall of his breathing.
But the bed was empty.
Not just empty—the sheets lay undisturbed, the pillow untouched. It was past midnight, and he wasn’t asleep. I hurried to his study, where he often worked late into the night, grinding herbs until dawn. He wasn’t at his worktable either. The house was silent.
I hastily pulled on my boots, suddenly desperate to find him. My fingers had barely reached for the door handle when it burst inward. I jerked back.
Elion stood in the threshold, his silhouette outlined by moonlight. He looked disheveled in a way I’d never seen before. His dark red hair was mussed, his cloak hanging askew. His face was drawn tight with exhaustion and something harder beneath it—worry.
A satchel hung from his hand that I didn’t recognize.
A lock glinted on its flap in the shape of the Bondward insignia he never seemed to part with.
His eyes found mine, and for a heartbeat whatever he’d been holding in his expression cracked wide open before he caught himself.
He smoothed his features and squared his shoulders.
“Uncle,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “What’s wrong? Where have you been? What happened?”
“Tina.” His voice was low with forced normalcy. “You’re up? You couldn’t sleep?” His shoulder brushed mine as he stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “You shouldn’t be awake this late.”
His hands slid behind his back, hiding the satchel. Something was wrong. This didn’t feel like a harmless absence.
“I could say the same for you. Who were you with?”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You are a menace,” he muttered, attempting a sigh that came out strained . “Will you allow an old man his freedom? I would rather not burden you with tales of my nightly activities.”
I wrinkled my nose as the image formed before I could stop it.
“Your nightly activities?” I repeated, dry as dust. “Goddess, spare me. If this is about the cook’s apprentice—the one who keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing your arm whenever she delivers the bread—please know I would rather walk into the Maw barefoot than picture you with her. ”
He exhaled, half a cough, half a laugh, and for a heartbeat the strain in his face eased.
“Enough,” he said, though his tone was gentler than the word implied. He reached out and tapped my forehead lightly, as if to push the thought back inside my skull. “You need sleep.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already stepping past me, shepherding me backward with the familiar, quiet authority that always made me feel twelve and safe all at once.
“Tomorrow—” his eyes flicked to the dark window. “ Tonight , we’re going into the Lornwild.”
The words snapped my focus from the satchel behind his back to his face. My pulse hitched. “Into the Lornwild? At night?” I asked, glancing out the window. The moon would indeed be full tonight.