My body trembled against his, desire coiling tighter with each word that fell from his lips.
“I want to make you scream my name,” he growled, his hips pressing harder against mine, the evidence of his need unmistakable through our clothing. “So loud that even he will hear it.”
“I want that too.” My lips brushed his.
Varyth’s pupils dilated until only a thin ring of silver remained.
“When we get out of here,” he promised, “I’ll take days with you. Weeks. Until you forget anyone else ever existed.”
He captured my mouth again, swallowing whatever reply I might have made. His kiss was consuming, desperate—the kiss of a man marking what belonged to him before someone could take it away.
The cell door crashed open.
Light flooded the space as the door hit the wall with a deafening clang. Varyth and I broke apart, panting, his body instantly shifting to shield mine from view as guards poured in.
“The healers,” one announced gruffly, stepping aside to reveal two stone-faced healers who stepped inside.
Varyth’s body remained tense against mine, his breathing ragged as he released me, allowing my feet to touch the ground again. His eyes never left the guards, his posture radiating violence.
My lips were swollen from his kiss. My back ached where the stone had bitten into it. But I didn’t regret a single fucking second.
The healers moved swiftly toward Darian and Fenric, their expressions blank as stone masks. One knelt beside Darian’s fevered form while the other examined Fenric’s still-bleeding wounds. The cell remained eerily silent except for the rustle of their movements and the ragged breathing of the injured.
I stood frozen, Varyth’s heat radiating against my body, his presence both a shield and a storm. His fingers brushed mine, a fleeting touch of possession, of promise.
He didn’t say anything. But in his face, I saw it.
That if he could kill a god to take this choice back from me, he would.
Fenric let out a quiet, choked groan as the healer pressed glowing hands to his wounds, a shimmer of gold light spilling across his ruined skin. His fingers twitched. His head lifted. I could already see the blood slowing, the tremors in his muscles easing.
Darian, still unconscious, didn’t react as the other healer knelt beside him, peeling back the filthy, blood-soaked bandages before their hands glowed. But I saw it—the faint colour returning to his face, the agony in his breathing dulling, his body starting to fight back.
Ashuddering breath left me.
This was worth it. This waswhy I had done it.
Even as the othersrefused to look at me?—
I knew.
I had made the right choice.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Because if I didn’t, I’d never survive what was coming next.
61
Theprick had immediately demanded I bathe again. So here I stood.Washed. Dressed in fresh clothes.But stillfilthy. Maybe I’d never be clean again.
Ashterion sat in hislavish chair, one leg crossed over the other, turning aglass of wineidly in his hand. The deep redswirled against the crystal, catching in the glow of the candlelight.
I hated that I was here. Hated him. Hated myself for thefear curling in my stomach, no matter how hard I fought to bury it.
But this was the deal. This was what I had agreed to.
I raised my chin, glaring at him. The words were poisonas I forced them out. “What… what do you want from me tonight?”
