Chapter 50
My eyes closed as I tried to let the burn of whiskey wash away the sight of those men doused in flames. Three torturous sips in, I gave up on the ridiculous idea and set the glass down on the cabin deck beside me.
I will never forget this night.
A gust of cold air cut across my skin, but I didn’t flinch. I’d been sitting on the porch of the same cabin we’d stayed in last night for over an hour. I’d left my cloak inside on purpose—because if those men had to endure the freezing cold, the least I could do was sit with the discomfort.
I don’t know why I felt survivor’s guilt. They were traitors to our people. They deserved to die.
But not like that.
Elements—Scarlet has made me grow soft.
Our loyal pack of wolves must’ve sensed my unrest. They’d met us in the woods with our bags and escorted us back to the village we’d deemed safe for the night.
I could still feel their presence now, lingering just beyond the trees—watchful, protective.
Unlike yesterday, every cabin stood empty, but we’d taken the same one as before.
Shayde and I hadn’t spoken since he carried me out of that courtyard.
After we paid for the night, he’d stopped by the tavern for a decanter of whiskey, poured us each a glass, and said he was going to shower. And that was it.
The wooden door creaked open behind me, but I didn’t move. His footsteps echoed across the porch until Shayde sat beside me, draping my cloak over my shoulders.
“You’re freezing,” he said.
“I don’t care.”
“I’m under strict orders to bring you back alive. Frozen doesn’t count.”
“I said I don’t care,” I snapped.
“Well, I do.”
My gaze snapped to his at the sharp edge in his tone. My eyes narrowed. “Why?” I asked incredulously.
Shayde looked down at his lap, fingers twisting together, the muscle in his jaw ticking. But he didn’t answer.
I scoffed and stood abruptly. “Exactly. I hate you. You hate me. So let’s not pretend otherwise. We’re not playing a part anymore.” I stormed into the warm cabin.
Shayde caught the door before I could slam it.
“I’ve never said I hated you,” he said, his voice lower—rougher now.
I whirled around, searching for a single moment when he’d said it—when he’d actually said he hated me. But I came up empty.
“I don’t hate you.” His voice was steady. Final.
I crossed my arms. “Could’ve fooled me. From the moment we clashed in that hallway, you’ve looked at me like I was your worst enemy.
Every time I brought you food in that cell—same look.
This entire mission, all the way up to when we had to play the part at the soiree. Like you couldn’t stand to be near me.”
He shifted, planting his hands on his hips. “I don’t necessarily like you,” he admitted. “But I’ve never hated you.” He paused, his throat working visibly before he continued. “Whatever look you’re talking about—it’s not because of you.”
“Then what is it?” I challenged, my voice rising.
His hands curled into fists as he tapped his chest. “It’s because I hate myself!” His voice cracked. “And apparently... you’re the only one who’s ever seen me with my guard down.”
The backs of my eyes burned as I stared him down. I’d spent so long mistaking his silence and scowls as proof of his contempt for me. But now… I could see the truth buried beneath his sharp edges.
Not hatred. Not even indifference.
Just someone who has been quietly falling apart for elements knows how long.
Shayde turned around, facing away from me, and ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. His shoulders were rigid, every line in his posture wound tight. I could see the definition of his muscles through the thin white sleep shirt stretched across his back.
Which, of course, made me wonder—where was that shirt last night when he was walking around this cabin shirtless?
I tried—and failed—to hide the shake in my voice. “So you’ve just been playing the part. Around everyone else.”
He let out a long breath, turning his head slightly, but keeping his back to me.
“Like that kiss,” I added, throat tightening. “That was just part of the act too.”
Shayde turned then, lips parted, his brown eyes searching mine. “The man escorting the Grim was Professor Yearwood. From Mageia. Letting him recognize me—even for a second—would’ve been too risky.”
I snorted and began pacing. “You mean me. One look at my hazel eyes and either of them would’ve realized I’m Scarlet’s twin.”
His silence cut sharper than I expected. I turned back, caught off guard by the way he was looking at me.
“You and Scarlet aren’t truly identical,” he said, his brows pinching.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, not anymore. Not since her crimson—”
“You never were,” he interrupted. “Your eyes have always been different.”
The breath left my lungs. “And how would you even know that?”
Shayde’s arms dropped to his sides. “Scarlet’s eyes were more green and brown. Yours have a burst of gold around the center. That’s how I recognized you—the one who gave me this.” He pointed to his nose, lifting his brows. “The first time you visited my cell.”
“You knew,” I whispered.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky, crooked grin. “Of course I knew. When I had you pinned against the wall, I made sure to memorize the eyes of the tiny menace who nearly bested me. You were wearing a mask—your eyes were all I had to go on.”
I fought the grin tugging at my lips. “I did best you.”
“Debatable.”
“Need me to prove it to you?”
“Make it count.”
Silence fell like a held breath. We stood in the middle of the cabin, neither of us moving, the space between us burning hotter by the second.
My heart slammed against my ribs, echoing in my ears.
Outside, the night was thick and endless, and the only light came from the fire Shayde had built in the hearth—its flickering glow casting shadows across his face.
I’d been freezing moments ago. Now my skin burned beneath the weight of my dress—too tight, too warm, too aware of him.
I swallowed hard. “I hate you.”
Shayde’s voice was rough velvet, laced with lust as he closed the distance between us. “Prove it.”
His tall frame leaned over mine, and I tilted my chin up instinctively to meet his gaze. The scent of citrusy bergamot hit me. I breathed it in like oxygen.
“I will always hate you,” I whispered.
“Then make hate to me.”
I threw my arms around his neck, crashing my lips against his as he lifted me effortlessly by the backs of my knees.
I wrapped my legs around his waist—and Shayde pressed me into the paneled cabin wall, hard enough to rattle the sconces in their frames.
One hand gripped my waist while the other cradled my jaw as he kissed me like he meant to ruin us both.
His tongue found mine, and I bit his bottom lip—just enough to make him groan. The sound vibrated through his chest and sent butterflies spiraling between my thighs, heightening when he ground his hips.
I let out an audible sigh, the sound escaping before I could stop it, and tilted my head back against the wall. Shayde’s mouth followed mine, and I felt his cynical smile curl against my lips—like he relished the sound of me unraveling beneath him.
I tugged at the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My fingers traced the hard lines of his shoulders, down the plane of his chest, as he kissed me like I was the last breath he’d ever take.
His hands slid beneath my dress, but the fabric resisted as he tried to reach higher along my thighs—until I heard the unmistakable rip of cloth.
I broke the kiss and looked down. He’d torn the slit in my formal dress all the way to my ribs. Without hesitation, I grasped the frayed edges and yanked, shredding the rest up to the neckline. With Shayde’s help, I slipped my arms free and let it fall away, baring my chest to his heated gaze.
His eyes darkened, taking in the sight of me pressed against the wall—nearly naked, panting, clinging to his bare shoulders like gravity had vanished.
He dipped his mouth toward mine, but stopped just shy of touching, hovering close enough for his breath to tease my lips before pulling back. Then his fingers slid between us, pressing against the thin barrier of my underwear, finding the proof of what I felt.
“You hate me that much, huh?” he murmured, wicked and entirely too satisfied.
My skin flushed as Shayde dropped to his knees, his eyes locked on mine with a hunger that stole my breath. He lifted my leg over his shoulder, one strong arm bracing me against the wall, the other slipping between my thighs to draw my underwear aside.
Then his mouth was on me.
My head fell back with a gasp, and my world fractured.
His lips and tongue moved with devastating precision, worshipping the most sensitive part of me. And when he slid two fingers inside, curling them just right, the combination sent fire shooting through my veins.
I watched him devour me. I couldn’t look away. My fingers tangled in his hair, tightening each time he found that perfect spot, and he responded with a low groan that reverberated against me.
Shayde tore me apart, piece by piece, until I shattered in his hands.
My cry echoed through the cabin as my body clenched around his fingers, and the pleasure crested with such ferocity it left me gasping. It was the first time I’d ever come like that—completely undone, before we’d even made it to the bed.
And the look in Shayde’s eyes as he rose to his feet, then gently lowered my trembling leg to the floor—
Made me absolutely feral.
I shoved him backward, breathless with need, until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He dropped onto the mattress. I sank to my knees in front of him, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants, discarding them with the rest of our clothing.
He was already hard, and the sight of him sent my pulse spiking. I wrapped my hand around him, watching his jaw tighten as I gave a slow stroke. His hips jerked, and when I took him into my mouth, his groan vibrated all the way through me.
His eyes hooded, but they never left mine.
He pulled my hair to the side and wrapped it around his fist, letting me take control. “Good girl,” he murmured—just like he had last night when he talked me down from a frenzy—but this time, it sent a jolt of need straight through me.
I released his length with a soft pop from my lips and stood between his legs.
His hands slid around my waist as he looked up at me with something close to adoration.
Both of our chests were heaving, breathless in the thick moment between us.
My fingers traced the edge of his face, and he leaned into my touch.
My heart squeezed—an unfamiliar feeling, raw and unguarded. I’d never felt anything like this in a moment like this, with anyone else.
And in that moment of vulnerability, I whispered, “I hate you.”
Shayde grinned, but didn’t show his teeth. “Then you’re going to hate what comes next.”
The next second, I was on my stomach. The sheets were cool against my skin. Shayde moved behind me, tracing up the curve of my back slowly until his hand rested between my shoulder blades.
“Don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of hell,” he muttered, almost like a prayer.
Before I could answer, he pressed into me with one thrust. My breath caught. My fingers curled tightly into the blanket, and his hand slid over mine, interlacing with my fingers.
He set a maddening pace, and I swore I could die happily. It didn’t take long for him to wind me up again, tension coiling tighter and tighter—until, just before I unraveled, he flipped me over.
His forearms braced on either side of my head as he hovered above me, his gaze searching mine. Our breaths tangled. And when he kissed me this time, it wasn’t rushed.
Shayde opened himself to me—let me all the way in—and something in my chest cracked open. My hands cupped his face without thinking, and he started to move again, deep and unhurried. One hand slid between us, finding the most sensitive part of me.
We found our release together, with our lips still pressed to each other’s—like neither of us could bear to let go.