Chapter Twenty-Eight
Reth
I wake to a tight hand gripping my dick and a hot Fae grinding her wet pussy on my belly and I know it should feel like I’m still dreaming but this morning it’s just irritating.
I grab Ceria by the hips and throw her off onto the bed beside me, then sit up and swing my legs over the edge, placing my feet on the cold wooden floor. I run my hands through my hair and pause as she presses herself against my back, her arms snaking around my chest.
“I’m not playing your fucked-up games today, Ceira.”
“Just trying to help,” she purrs.
“If you want to make yourself useful, take Rawson and Domanikk out scouting today.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Just do it,” I sigh. “Keep them out for a few hours.”
She lets me go, and I hear her rise and walk towards the door.
“Put some damn clothes on, Ceira. I need them distracted, not horny.”
I rise, wash, and start pulling on my trousers.
My muscles ache like a bitch, reminding me of last night—of Domanikk’s words, as hard to bear as his dick. I’d lain awake long past dawn, my head pounding as I replayed it all over and over, obsessing.
His words only confirmed the growing beast that screamed her name, flooded my mind with her face, and tore my insides with longing and need. He suggested I talk with her, and I’m so completely out of ideas on how to stop my obsession from consuming me that I grasped onto his words like salvation.
I tug on a shirt over my head, almost tearing the fabric.
Domanikk.
That little shit managed to get under my skin again. We’ve been through a lot together—my closest companion. Our relationship is bound by loyalty, our love complicated and messy but held together by a gentle, quiet respect.
I pull my boots on and leave my tent. It’s nearly midday; our late-night exertions made me sleep in.
I watch as Domanikk, Rawson, and Ceira head towards the track to the Barrens, then make my way to Domanikk’s tent.
I don’t announce myself, hoping to catch her off guard. She may be more susceptible to my proposal of a chat if she doesn’t have time to think it through.
Alaya is lounging on the bed, thankfully dressed, and she does look surprised when she notices me watching her.
“Would you join me for a walk? I’d like to talk to you.”
She looks at me, her eyes wide and questioning.
“You want to talk?”
“Just talk. I need to visit the Meadow; do you want to join me … please?”
She studies my face, searching for deception, and the weight of her mistrust makes my chest tighten.
“Sure.”
I nod. At least it wasn’t a no.
We don’t get a chance to talk until we reach the track that leads to the training area—I’m stopped repeatedly by various Equitae to discuss Herd issues.
“This is Domanikk’s suggestion, by the way. He told me I should speak with you,” I admit as we leave Heartwood.
“He’s quite persuasive.” She laughs, unrestrained and unguarded.
Something stirs inside me at the sound. I tilt my head slightly—an involuntary reaction—my own lips curving upward in a quiet, mirrored smile. I hold my breath to catch the lingering tail end of that laugh, grateful I got to hear it.
“Persuasive, annoying. Same thing. Look, you probably know by now I’m an arsehole. A product of survival and being the Alpha. I’m—I’m sorry you got caught up in the middle of it all.”
“Not by choice.”
I sigh.
Take a breath. Control.
“No, not your choice. How did you end up married to that—to Prince Kiernan?”
“Answer for answer.” She shoots me a cheeky grin. My dick twitches.
Gods help me.
“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Deal.”
“Again, not my choice. King Malaxor killed my father, and my mother tried to kill him. To save our lives, she made an Oath to betroth me to his son.”
“And you still married him? Love him even?” I question, doing all that I can to keep my emotions in check.
“That’s three questions you owe me now. And yes to both. Kiernan is not his father.”
“I respect your truth, as I hope you can understand my doubt. What do you want to know?”
“How did you end up the Alpha of Heartwood?”
I blow out a long breath and feel tension rise to my face. Damn her for going straight for what I’ve buried the deepest. But I continue. An Equitae never breaks a deal.
“When King Malaxor wiped out my Herd, I lost everything: my mate, my child, my entire reason for living. For years I stayed in my Horse Form, resentment and vengeance fuelling a violence that knew no bounds. I’m not proud of who I became—killing other stallions to steal their mares, endless days of brutality and survival.
” I glance at her, surprised not to find judgment or disgust, but compassion.
“Then I met a young, cocky little shit who persuaded me to spare his life. Though I fought it, he became my balance, tempering that violence into control and direction. We started recruiting the strongest warriors, helping protect the remaining herds as best we could. Ultimately, we would’ve lost that battle years ago if we hadn’t found Heartwood and built a place that wasn’t just survival but living. ”
“Domanikk? You’re close?”
“Like no other. We saved each other. And that’s your three questions.”
I haven’t spoken that memory aloud in years; it’s too painful to remember and a weakness I can’t afford to admit.
We reach the Meadow, where Viveen works her recruits diligently while a few other warriors spar or hone their Enchantra.
The reprieve of having Alaya here, of King Malaxor holding off an all-out attack, has meant the difference between total annihilation and a sliver of hope for survival.
Our warriors are stronger, their Enchantra powers strengthened and controlled.
Viveen’s tireless work with the newly mature has given us the makings of an army Heartwood has never seen.
I am hopeful, but that growing guilt—the more she’s here, the more I know her—threatens to dull that small victory, built on the back of her captivity.
She stops and sits on the grass overlooking the Meadow, which both bewilders and charms me. So easy and relaxed in her company, I join her.
“Do you miss your life at the castle?” I ask, sighing deeply at the smell of her hair so close, her scent wafting towards me in the light breeze from the Meadow.
“It wasn’t a life,” she replies bitterly. “I was kept isolated, suppressed by duty and shunned by the other Fae, until I hardly knew who the real me was.” Her voice is low, small, less.
A burning desire to comfort her—to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her to my chest—surges. I lean into her, my arm brushing against hers.
“I’m sorry you were treated that way. Though you found a little joy?”
“Yes,” she replies, red rising to her cheeks.
She smiles then, and I fight an unwelcome stab of jealousy, so acute I press a hand to my chest as if I expect to find a dagger’s hilt below my touch. I feel the throbbing as my erection grows, aching with ardent lust.
This isn’t working as I expected.
What did I expect? That her words alone would tame this obsessive need, where even Domanikk’s hands and dick had seemingly failed?
“Why am I so dangerous to you, Reth? Why must it cost me my life?”
Her question catches me off guard, delivered quietly but roaring in my ears as that coiled beast awakens—not slowly, but bursting free, sharp claws tearing.
I realise my mistake in talking to her alone.
My control cracks like a fist to a mirror, that dark need overwhelming me as I reach out and grab her by the throat, pinning her onto the grass.
My mind isn’t my own, belonging entirely to that writhing obsession as my hand palms her cheek and my lips finally meet hers—violently, possessively.
I’m not careful or kind as my thumb parts her tightened lips so my tongue can finally taste her, that sweetness making my insides clench with satisfaction.
She thrashes below me, but it only heightens my craving to devour her, to take what I believe in that moment is mine.
When my hand grips her waist, I feel her body relax.
I finally shatter when she presses back into me, her tongue finding mine and caressing me, a moan escaping as she opens her mouth around me.
Our needs are entwined. This kiss becomes our beginning, both of us surrendering to the truth—that dark desire for the pain of lust, to what I’ve known since I first stared into those violet eyes and saw my own need for vengeance reflected.
I pull away, and my heart lurches when I see her swollen lips, my teeth marks denting her skin. Her eyes are closed, and she’s panting small gasps of pleasure. My hand on her hip slides under her shirt, gliding over her belly, my fingers slipping down under her waistband.
She reaches out to run her hands over my chest, but the moment her palms meet the centre of my chest the heat between us turns to ice.
My muscles lock, a primal instinct for distance surging through me. Whatever bridge had been forming between us burnt to ash the second her skin met mine.
I rear back as if her hands are searing a brand into my chest. My guttural roar is animalistic and primal. My Enchantra flares, and my fist slams into the ground beside her, burying deep into the soil in a spray of dirt that covers us both.
It takes every strained muscle, every iota of control I have left, to make myself rise and walk away.