Chapter 7 #2
"Stop letting others do your thinking for you."
The words hit like a slap. Before she could think better of it, she shoved him. Hard. He barely moved, but his smile widened, showing teeth that were just a little too sharp.
"There she is," he murmured. "The woman who threw a hairpin at a dying creature rather than leave him to his fate. Who survived the hunt. Who just told five of the most powerful beings in this realm to fuck off."
"I didn't say—"
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle like Arion's had been, wasn't demanding like Eliam's. It was something else entirely—hot and dangerous and tasting of smoke. For a moment, she leaned into it, into the simple fact of someone taking what they wanted without asking permission, without treating her like glass.
Then reality crashed back. She shoved him away, harder this time, and he let her. He was watching her with those inhuman eyes, a knowing tilt to his mouth.
"You kissed me back," he observed.
"You—" She was breathing hard, fury and something else making her skin feel too tight. "You can't just—"
"Can't I?" He touched his lips thoughtfully. "I wanted to. So I did. That's what making choices looks like."
"That's not—"
"You're attracted to me." It wasn't a question. "Probably because I'm the only one not trying to save you. Or maybe because I'm dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with politics or magical bonds. Either way, you want to kiss me again."
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" He moved closer again, but didn't touch. Just stood there, radiating heat and danger and absolute certainty. "Then walk away. Go back to your room like you said you would. Let them finish deciding your fate while you wait like a good little human."
The mockery in his voice made her vision red at the edges.
"Or," he continued, voice dropping to something almost intimate, "you could make a choice. One they'd never make for you. One that's entirely, destructively yours."
"You're trying to manipulate me."
"I'm trying to fuck you," he said bluntly. "But only if you choose it. I don't take anything that isn't freely given." His smile turned sharp again. "Unlike everyone else in your life."
His words hung between them, brutal in their honesty. No pretty phrases about protection or what was best for her. Just raw, simple want and the choice to act on it or not.
The fire in her chest hadn't cooled. If anything, it burned hotter, looking for something to destroy.
Or someone to destroy her. Frederick trembled against her neck, then suddenly his cool presence was gone—she caught a glimpse of his tiny bubble disappearing into the nearest water feature, abandoning her to her choices.
Without giving herself time to reconsider, Briar grabbed the front of Karse’s shirt and pulled him down, crushing her mouth to his with all the fury and frustration of the last few days.
This kiss was nothing like the first. This time it was her claiming something, even if that something was a terrible decision.
He made a sound that fell somewhere between satisfaction and surprise, his hands coming to her waist, pulling her against him.
The heat radiating off of him was almost unbearable, like standing too close to a forge, but she didn't pull back.
She bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and tasted copper.
"Finally," he said against her mouth, "you're making a choice."
The garden terrace suddenly felt too exposed. Karse backed her against one of the stone pillars, his body caging hers, and she could feel the barely controlled violence in the way he held himself—like a predator deciding whether to play with its food or devour it whole.
"Your room or mine?" he asked his teeth grazing her throat.
"Here's fine," she gasped and felt him smile—sharp and pleased.
"The exhibitionist emerges." His hands found the laces of her dress, pulling with deliberate slowness. "How unexpected."
"They're all inside deciding my fate anyway." The bitterness in her voice made him pull back to look at her, those inhuman eyes catching every flicker of emotion across her face.
"You're using me." It wasn't an accusation, just observation.
"Yes." She met his gaze steadily, refusing to pretend otherwise.
"Good." He spun her suddenly, pressing her against the stone railing, her hands bracing against the cold surface. "At least you're honest about it."
His mouth found her throat again and she could feel scales against her skin where his shirt had come undone, the texture alien but not unpleasant. His teeth scraped against her pulse, sharp enough to threaten but not break skin.
"Tell me about him," he said suddenly, his hands sliding along her waist. "The Forest Lord. Tell me why you chose him."
"What?" She tried to turn but he held her in place, not forcefully but firmly.
"You're thinking about him anyway." His voice carried that unsettling casual tone. "Comparing us. Wondering what he'd think if he saw you now. So tell me."
The question cut through her haze of anger and want. She didn't want to think about Eliam, but Karse was right—he was there anyway, a ghost between them.
"He never asked permission," she heard herself say. "He took. But somehow... it felt like being chosen."
"And now?" Karse's hands stilled on her waist, waiting.
"Now I'm choosing to be here. With someone else who takes what they want." She pressed back against him deliberately. "Someone who won't pretend it means more than it does and make me want things I shouldn’t.."
"Such a romantic." But his voice had roughened, the heat from his skin increasing until she could feel it through her dress. "Turn around."
She did, meeting those inhuman eyes. In the moonlight, she could see the scales had spread, following the line of his collarbone, down his chest where his shirt hung open. They caught the light like black opals.
"You're beautiful," she said, surprising herself with the honesty. "In a terrifying way."
"Flattery?" He tilted his head. "Unexpected."
"Truth." She traced one of the scales with her fingertip, felt him shudder beneath her touch. "You're not human. Not fae. Something else entirely."
"Does that bother you?"
"It should." She pulled him down for another kiss. "But nothing about tonight is about what should be."
His response was to lift her onto the wide stone railing, her back to the drop, only his grip keeping her stable. The height, the danger of it, should have terrified her. Instead, it felt appropriate—balanced on an edge, one wrong move from disaster.
"You're trembling," he observed, his hands steady on her waist despite the precarious position.
"It's cold." But they both knew that was a lie—his heat had turned the air around them almost tropical.
"Liar." He pulled her closer to the edge, and her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard. She could feel scales beneath her palms, rougher than skin but warm, almost fevered. "You're scared."
"Of falling?"
"Of jumping." His mouth found that spot where her neck met her shoulder, teeth grazing. "There's a difference."
His hand slid up her thigh, pushing fabric aside with deliberate slowness. "Let's see how close to the edge you're willing to go," he murmured against her throat.
When his fingers found her, they were impossibly hot—not quite burning but close enough that she gasped, her grip on his shoulders tightening. He made that inhuman sound again, pleased.
"Already wet," he observed with clinical detachment that somehow made it worse. "Your body's more honest than you are."
She wanted to argue, but then he shifted the temperature of his touch—hot to cool to hot again—and coherent thought scattered.
The danger of their position, balanced on the edge of a killing drop, only heightened every sensation.
One hand gripped the railing while the other pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—too slow to be human.
"Still thinking about him?" Karse asked, sliding two fingers inside her with a twist that made her back arch.
"No." And surprisingly, it was true. There was no room for Eliam here, no space for that complicated warmth and deeper connection. This was something else entirely—raw and physical and empty of anything beyond the moment.
His laugh was dark, appreciative. "Good. I'd hate to be competing with a ghost."
He worked her with shocking skill, his thumb circling her clit while his fingers found a rhythm that had her gasping, each shift in temperature sending new shockwaves through her. When she got close to the edge, he'd slow down, pull back, leave her hanging until she was ready to scream.
"Karse—"
"Not yet." He bit down on her shoulder, not quite breaking skin. "You don't get to finish until you ask for what you really want."
"I want—"
"To feel something other than pain?" He pulled back to look at her, those reptilian eyes too knowing, his fingers still moving with torturous slowness. "
"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes, I want—I need—"
"Then take it."
She hooked her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his backside to pull him closer, while shifting forward on the railing. Her hands went to his belt, working it open with fingers that shook from more than just desire.
"Impatient," he murmured, but his breathing had roughened, and she could feel the tension in his body, muscles coiled tight beneath skin.
"You said to take what I want." She freed him, wrapping her hand around his length and finding it almost too hot to touch, with subtle ridges she hadn't expected. The texture was foreign, smooth in places, with raised patterns that felt deliberate, designed for sensation. "So I am."
She explored with curious fingers, learning where he was most sensitive, how the heat varied along his length, the way the ridges seemed to pulse slightly under her touch.
He made that inhuman sound again when she stroked him base to tip, her thumb finding moisture that was hotter than it should be, almost burning against her skin.