“Aeidas,” I call softly, and he nearly stumbles, “you can put me down now. I can walk.” He obliges, cautiously letting my feet touch the floor, his arms still around me.
“We need to find a place to clean your wound and spend the rest of the night,” he says, raking fingers through his salt-tousled strands. Was he also trying to reach the shipwreck?
“Spend the night? I need to get back to the beach—” I protest, ignoring the oddly hot throbbing in my thigh.
“You found the Candle, Talysse.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a simple wax candle as big as my palm. It looks so inconspicuous, yet the arcane streams pulsating around it nearly blind my magic-sensitive eyes. I open my mouth and close it.
“No idea how you made it to the ship and back when you cannot swim, but I guess there is more to you than meets the eye. Here—” He hands me the Candle. “It’s yours, Talysse. You nearly died retrieving it.”
The silence between us thickens, just like the vapors of the hot springs. Two of the artifacts are in my possession, and all he needs to do is reach out and grab them.
One heartbeat, then another. Nothing happens. His dreadful blade doesn’t solidify in his hand. He doesn’t strike me. His fingers don’t close around my throat.
Will I be fast enough—my magic against his Shadowblade? Should I create the illusion of some tainted wolves and distract him, then bolt into the mist? He cocks his head and studies me, his chest still rising rapidly. Is he considering how to end me? I take a step back, and sparkles of magic fly around my wrists as I brace for an attack.
“Listen!” Aeidas brings a finger to his lips. “There’s water running somewhere close. And shelter.” Then he turns on his heel and dives into the mist.
The Candle weighs in my pocket. Chills run down my spine at the memory of the raging waves against my boat, the cold darkness swallowing me, and the horror when I couldn’t tell where the surface and the bottom were. Then, the feeling of being pulled out and up into the sky, the majestic swings of two powerful white wings. What creature came to my rescue? And how did it know that I am after the Candle? Did it retrieve it for me? Or was this some devious Unseelie setup?
Thoughts for another time when there are no Shadowfeeders after us. I limp after Aeidas and find him standing before the low opening of a cave, his head tilted, listening to any sounds coming from the inside. Soft bluish light filters from the depths, and even my human senses can hear the distant splashing of water.
“There’s clean water inside. It’s safe. Come on. I want to see that slash.” He crouches and disappears into the opening.
Folded in two, I squeeze through the narrow passage. The air gets warmer, and the faint sound of splashing water suggests a hidden waterfall ahead. The low corridor suddenly widens, revealing an underground chamber the size of my parents’ dining hall.
Elders.
Glowing mushrooms cascade down the walls, their light casting a soft glow over the cavern. My boots sink into thick, velvety moss that carpets the floor. A gentle waterfall spills into a shallow, oval lake, its clear waters shimmering under the light of clusters of luminous crystals embedded in the cavern walls.
The water looks inviting, almost beckoning me to step in and let the soothing coolness wash over me. Delicate ferns and exotic, glowing flowers line the lake’s edge, adding dots of color. I take a deep breath. The air is filled with a sweet, earthy scent, mingling with the refreshing mist from the waterfall.
Iridescent butterflies flutter around, their wings catching the light. The gentle hum of the waterfall and the occasional chirping of crickets make it appear as some serene sanctuary beyond space and time—a perfect haven to heal and escape from the world above.
“Disrobe, Talysse,” the prince commands, arms crossed at his chest. “Let’s wash and check that wound.”
I open my mouth to object, but the throbbing in my thigh and the heat flushing my skin make me consider his words. That slash needs to be cleaned; Elders know what filth was on that blade. Drawn by the crystalline water, all of my clothes land on a pile on the mossy floor. Unable to tell if the heat inside me is fever from the infection or something entirely else, I step into the pool.
The water barely covers my breasts. The warmth soothes my aching muscles. I rub away the sweat and sand, letting my hair float free, before submerging my head to wash away the blood and salt. The throbbing in my thigh slows down. When my face breaks the surface, a splash next to me makes me rub my eyes and look straight into the solid, bronzed plane of his pecs.
“Let me see this slash, Talysse,” he murmurs, his eyes reflecting the ethereal glow filling the cavern. I swallow hard and nod, realizing that my nipples tighten painfully and it is all too visible in the clear water. His hands close around my waist. He lifts me and places me on the edge of the pool—my bare arse on the soft moss, my feet still in the water. I press my knees together and bite my lip, breathing heavily, tormented by flashbacks of our moment in the palace kitchens, but his eyes are on the cut slicing my skin. He brushes his fingers along the wound, softly whispering some unintelligible words. Sparks follow his touch, and I let a ragged breath out, stunned by how replenishing the sensation is.
“Viridis has taught me a bit of healing magic. My kind is not very skilled with it. It’s a Seelie art, but it worked well on you. Here, take a look.” Aeidas’s hands rest on my knees now, and his touch sends trembles along my skin, which is craving more. “How does it feel?”
The slash is nearly gone; transformed into a pink line along my thigh. The prickle of magic still lingers over it, but the poisonous hot pulse inside is gone.
I drape some wet hair over my shoulders to cover up. What a stupid move. I think it is obvious how it feels. My nipples are hard, my breasts heavy with need just by watching him nearly naked, so close to me. Every detail of his powerful body is visible in the clear pond: every line of his stomach, every scar, and every stroke of his royal mark. His broad chest narrows down to a lithe waist, and there, something hard and massive is straining his loincloth. Slickness spills between my thighs onto the thick moss, and I look away, embarrassed. Surely, he can smell me. The prince is even closer now, looking at me hungrily, his fang digging into his lush lower lip.
He is my enemy, I remind myself. It would be best if I get dressed and head into the night outside.
Yet nobody would know if I stayed just a little longer. It’s only me and him here.
Then I do something shameless and crazy, something Myrtle would applaud. Mad as it is, it feels right, and it’s the only way to quench that thirst inside me since that night in the kitchen. I part my knees, granting him a full view of my glistening, wet, bare sex.
“Talysse—” That’s my name, yes, but it’s followed by a sound that simply cannot be human. Or Fae. It is a deep, bestial growl, a promise for sweet, sinful, violent things.
Visceral things I crave and fear at the same time, no matter that my mind sounds alarm bells, screams how devious and selfish Unseelie are, how this is just a trick, a distraction. He would probably strangle me in the fits of passion, or ravage my body in some dark, unspeakable ways and leave me maimed and bleeding. Their kind is rumored to be…savage.
“Talysse,” he repeats hoarsely, flicking his wet silver strands over his shoulders. His eyes are completely black now, fixed on me; calloused fingers crawl up the inside of my thigh, closer and closer to my entrance, leaving a trail of goosebumps and scorching need. My nipples peek between the cascade of wet hair, and his dark, predatory gaze sweeps over them before locking with mine. His knuckles brush over my soaked, swollen folds as he leans in.
