Chapter 39 The Gift #2
Slaide pulled away again, his absence met with a groan of protest from a rather flustered Hazel. He smirked at her, savoring the way she looked when she was coming undone.
She reached for him again, and he stepped back, wagging his finger at her. All around him, the shadows lengthened, and began to move on their own.
Slaide put his hands in his pockets as his shadows leaked off of him and made their way toward her, crawling across the ground and up the wall.
With a flick of his fingers, his shadows had her arms secured above her head.
One shadow curled lazily about her neck, its tendril drifting daringly close to the slit in her dress.
Only then did Slaide step back into her space.
He leaned in, placing delicate kisses up her neck and cupping one breast in his hand. He rolled his thumb over the fabric of her bodice, feeling her nipple peak beneath it. He groaned as she arched her back off the wall, as if needing to feel more of him.
He pulled back for a moment and whispered into her ear.
“Hazel, if at any point you want me to stop, you know you can say so, right? Just say the word and these are gone in an instant,” he gestured to his shadows.
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to ruin you, but the last thing I want to do is to hurt or scare you. Just say the word.”
“Don’t…” She breathed heavily.
He pulled away further, waiting for the rest. Waiting for the command to back off, for the moment when it all came crashing down that this was too much, too fast and most certainly not the right time.
“Don’t!” She hissed, “Don’t stop.”
So, he didn’t.
Slaide came unleashed. He released Hazel from the wall and spun her so she was facing away from him. Without hesitation, he undid the corset back of the dress’s bodice, his fingers moving furiously as he stifled the urge to rip the damned thing to shreds.
His hands grabbed desperately at the bodice as he kissed her, trying to pull it down. To access the woman before him without so much cumbersome fabric between them. But she stopped him from going any further.
“No,” she panted between kisses up the column of her neck. “Leave it on. We can’t stay in here all night.”
Slaide groaned his displeasure but made no more attempts to remove the dress. Instead, he pushed her to the wall again.
And then he dropped to his knees, immediately grappling with her skirts.
“What in the name of the gods are you doing?” She reached for him, but with a snap of his fingers, her wrists were snatched by his shadows again and kept at bay.
He looked up at her with a devilish smirk.
“Tell me, Hazel. How does it feel to bring a witch hunter to his knees?”
She gasped, her mouth parting, but no words escaped.
“That’s what I thought,” he growled, his expression growing dark. “Now, be a good witch and let me end you the way you deserve.” His voice was smooth as silk.
Hazel folded. She didn’t balk when he uttered the word witch; didn’t protest such slander. She also didn’t resist when he found his way beneath her dress.
But before he could continue, the door crashed open.
And in the doorway stood Ezekiel Bertram.
“Hazel?” Zeke asked, his voice shaky with uncertainty.
She said nothing. Her mouth hung agape as she stared at him.
“Hazel, what’re you… what the fuck?” Zeke’s demeanor shifted as Slaide stood and brushed nonexistent dust from his clothes.
“I’m assuming,” Slaide began, “you’ve got life-altering news to share? Otherwise, get the fuck out,” he growled.
Hazel whirled on him. “Stop it, Slaide. Zeke… I—”
But Ezekiel cut her words off. “Save it. You two are perfect for each other. An accused witch and the King’s dog.
” He shrugged his shoulders. “I do have something rather important to share. You would have heard for yourself, if you weren’t preoccupied with fucking this trash.
” He spat on the floor, fists flexing at his sides.
Slaide made to step forward, but she placed her arm in front of him.
“Who I am with is none of your concern, Ezekiel Bertram. We are all adults, last time I checked. Free to make our own choices.”
“Free?” Zeke’s voice rose, sounding rattled. “You are anything but free, Hazel. Or did you forget? While he’s been parading you around, feeding you pastries, and teaching you how to dance, you’re still a prisoner. You’re fucking your executioner.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Slaide interjected. “Unless you have something important to say, get out. I’m not going to ask again.”
Zeke glowered at them both. He pursed his lips as though considering whether to reveal why he’d busted down the door in the first place.
“Fine.” He relented. “I saw you head this way after our dance. Shortly after you disappeared, Magnus presented the prince’s gifts.
He was rather displeased that the two of you couldn’t be bothered to join us,” he sneered as Hazel adjusted the bust of her dress.
“Tristan was gifted an Axian Destrier. A stallion.”
Slaide laughed, rolling his eyes. “Well, congratu-fucking-lations to him.”
“I wasn’t finished, dog,” Zeke snapped. “After they walked the horse back out of the ballroom, His Majesty revealed one more gift.” He looked toward Hazel with sympathy in his eyes.
“We’re reinstating Court-sanctioned witch hunts.
Instead of relying on this one to do his job, Magnus has decided to send his knights door-to-door, town-to-town, seeking out anyone with magic in their blood. ”
Hazel stiffened. Slaide’s hand found the small of her back, steadying her—a small comfort.
“As part of the prince’s birthday celebration, they’re kicking off the hunts tonight and allowing regular citizens to join in. He’s awarding a prize to anyone who brings the witch in alive.”
No no no. This is not happening. Please, don’t—
“Hazel, the hunts are starting in Larksridge.”