“Hard to be modest when one is… divinely sculpted,” he said, drawing out the last words with a grin I didn’t even have to see to sense.
I dared a sideways glance—and regretted it immediately. He was already at the waistband of his trousers.
“God, Emrys! Can’t you do that somewhere else?” I snapped, shielding my eyes with one hand.
“There is no ‘else,’ little thief. It’s the honeymoon suite, remember?” Water sloshed in the tub. “Get used to the view. We’re about to share a bed.”
I froze. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
Another splash echoed, followed by the clink of something being set down. “You’ll freeze by midnight and steal half the blankets, anyway. And you must admit it’s more practical this way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re really enjoying this.”
“Unreasonably so,” he agreed from somewhere within the steam. “But don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be on the far edge of the bed, perfectly still, like a corpse. Unless, of course, you start wriggling closer—then I can’t be held responsible.”
“I’d sooner snuggle with a Hollowborn.”
A pause. “Well, I’m slightly less cursed. And better looking.”
My mouth twitched. Damn him.
When he emerged from the steam wrapped in only a towel and that smug grin, I was ready to launch a pillow at his head. Instead, I pointed at the bed like it had offended me.
“Fine. One bed. But touch me, and I’ll push you out the window.”
He arched a brow. “So violent. You sure we’re really not married?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned my back and began unbuttoning my blouse with angry, shaking fingers. Behind me, he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Best honeymoon ever.”
With a snap of his fingers, the candles snuffed out. The electric light in the entrance still spilled its light into the room. Only in my petticoat, I tiptoed to the bed. Snuggled under the covers, I was lying on my back, eyes glued to the plaster medallions on the ceiling, not daring to blink. He was at his end of the bed, keeping his promise not to invade my space, but his warmth brushed my skin. I tried not to think about him shirtless—how the light had caught the sharp lines of his stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his belt. But the memory clung, and I hated how it made my breath hitch. It meant something I wasn’t ready to name.
Arthur was right. I was rotten. Completely corrupted, down to the bone. Whatever Emrys was, he was sinfully…intriguing. The way he was holding me close on the horse, the way he pinned me to the ground when I tried to escape—it should have been frightening. Instead, it awakened some dark curiosity, and now I wondered how it would have felt if he had kissed me while we were lying tangled and panting on the forest floor. I bit my lip and threw him a cautious sidelong glance… My breath hitched. My fingers curled in the bedsheets. Heat pooled low in my belly, that dangerous kind of heat. My body stilled, torn between guilt and fascination. Every breath I took smelled of midnight herbs and dark promises. Every inch between us felt like a test I was not sure I wanted to pass. His bare chest rose and fell, the runes on his skin catching the faint light like whispers of power. It was forbidden, indecent, wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes drank him in—the curve of his throat, the lashes brushing his cheek, the ripple of muscle where his arm bent. I hated how my body remembered his hands on my waist.
The bastard was sleeping soundly.
I huffed. To sleep like this after all that had happened! Turning my flushed face away, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore that maddening scent of clove and secret gardens around him. If he was comfortable enough to sleep when I was only a few inches away, I could ignore him, too! Stubbornly, I kept my eyes shut, crooning a song Mother used to sing. The weight of the last hours pulled me to the pillow and softened my anger. The warmth of the bed lulled me into sleep.
Like any other night, the nightmare pulled me into a deep well lined with claws and razor blades.
Mother was thrashing in the water, calling Father’s name, while a cold, petrifying presence in my mind forced me to watch.
“You’re mine now, Daphne. Not theirs. I’ll get what I’m owed. Starlight flashed over the inky water. Someone waited beneath the glassy surface, down in the deep. Calling me. Beckoning me with a smile—blue lips and rows of sharp teeth. Pain and terror followed when I saw the black water closing over my mother’s curly head. And something inside me,reached out from the silence, from the deep pit of fear. Something needy, powerful. The lake was even and silent in the blink of an eye. The thing in its depths was gone.
“What have you done, silly girl?” something snarled in my head.
“Daphne! What have you done?” Arthur came running, the lantern in his hand shaking. “Where are they? What have you done, you monster?” He shrieked, lights springing to life in our old stone house.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You killed them, you monster. You killed Mom and Dad!” Arthur screamed in my face.
“I am not a monster,” I shouted back when he extended his hand to strike me. This time, something was different.
“Daphne.” Another voice. Soft, but insistent.
