I release my hold over my unseelie form, and my wings and horns vanish. Closing my eyes, I turn around and slump against the edge of the counter, relief and remorse swarming inside me. I’m glad she left. She had to leave. Otherwise, I have the deepest, darkest feeling we may have done something we’d come to regret.
34
BRIONY
Iwake with a start, sweat drenching my body. It’s the third time I’ve woken like this, my mind filled with images of naked skin and breathless sighs. Thorne is to blame, and maybe eating chocolate so late at night has contributed to my restless state as well. All I know is that every time I close my eyes, I see him. Hear him. Feel him. And I’m terrified that I might unwillingly invite him into my dreams. Dreams that will surely divulge the truth—how badly I wanted him to touch me last night. How badly I want that still.
Lifting my head, I squint toward the windows. The heavy velvet curtains block out all light, so it’s impossible to tell how late in the morning it is. Minka is supposed to wake me up before breakfast, but she obviously isn’t here yet. Is it folly to try and go back to sleep?
I toss on my side, my legs tangled in bedsheets. Why do the sheets have to be silk, of all things? They practically beg for sensuality. I squeeze my eyes shut, seeking calm thoughts, but my mind fills with images of Thorne. The way he lifted me in his arms in the garden. The way he cleaned my wounded leg with the tenderest care. The cake he made. The way he listened when I talked. The way he taunted and teased, got me to talk aboutthat one dream.
An ache builds between my legs, one that hasn’t fully ceased since sitting on Thorne’s counter last night. It started the moment he caught my ankle in his strong grip, leaned in slightly, and sent me half falling back. I was caught in madness then, convinced he was about to climb upon the counter on top of me, or perhaps bury his lips between my thighs—
I squirm in bed, tossing to the other side now. The warm pressure builds at my core, and I don’t know if I can stop it. But if I let myself release it the way I want…stars, I don’t trust my magic. I justknowit will bring him here.
And yet…fucking hell, I can’t stop this feeling. This need.
Giving in, I turn onto my back and slide my fingertips over my aching center, determined to sate this fire as quickly as possible. I can already feel my magic sparking around me, and when I open my eyes, I catch sight of it breaking apart the ceiling with a vision of a night sky, then stage lights from the ballet, then the meteor shower. I bite my lip trying—and failing—not to think of Thorne. But there he is in my mind’s eye, running a cloth down my bare leg. Then he’s standing before me, his length gripped in a fist, in a reenactment of our shared dream. And now he’s hovering over me while we fall upon his countertop, and he releases the ankle he’d so expertly caught to wrap my leg around his waist.
“Thorne,” I whisper, unable to stop the name from leaving my lips, for it’s his fingers I’m imagining between my legs now, sliding over my slick entrance—
“Oh.”
Thorne’s voice has me biting back a squeal. I freeze, my eyelids flying open to find Thorne hovering over me, completely nude, much like he’d been in my imaginings. Or is this still my imagination? Stars above,pleaselet this be my imagination.
His hair is mussed, dark strands falling over his forehead. He blinks at me a few times, then utters a bashful, “Good morning.”
Shit. What is this? Dream or fantasy? Is it ever just fantasy between us?
Before I can find out for sure, the sound of my bedroom door opening has me yelping in surprise once more. This time I pull the covers over my head and force all thoughts of passion from my mind.
Minka’s voice calls out from the other side of my blankets. “Good morning, Highness.”
Her words echo Thorne’s—who is, thankfully, nowhere to be seen—sending my heart skittering. The sound of curtains being drawn open follows, and I do all I can to even out my breathing, gather my composure, and pretend I wasn’t just seconds away from pleasurable release over thoughts of my enemy.
* * *
After breakfast,I head for the gallery with Minka. She struts beside me in her feline form, while I’m dressed in the pink ballgown. Where last night I decided to wear it to potentially impress Monty, today I’m wearing it simply because I want to. I’m not at all looking forward to seeing the bastard, but I feel a renewed sense of control this morning. A different sort of determination.
I’m done playing his game. I’ll do whatever I can to fulfill my bargain with Thorne and break my family’s curse, even if I must negotiate my own betrothal with Lord Phillips. I’ll use threats if I have to. My magic if I can. I’ll use whatever dark and underhanded methods I have at my disposal to see this through, but I won’t stand for humiliation at Monty’s hands. I’ll humor the asshole. I’ll let him think I’m still playing his game while I wait for his father to return, but I’m playing my own now.
I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.
We reach the gallery, and I take a fortifying breath before crossing the threshold. Not just to prepare myself to deal with Monty, but to see Thorne too. If he’s even here. I don an easy grin and enter. The gallery is a long rectangular room with plush carpeted floors marked with pedestals of statues, vases, and other displays. Its high walls are bedecked with portraits and several seating areas are arranged throughout the room. Thorne and Monty stand at opposite ends of the gallery, postures tense as they stare at the artwork lining the walls. I have a feeling neither of them are trulyseeingwhat they stare at, and I wonder if they fought this morning, or if the tension is merely residual from last night.
Thankfully, the room is host to more than just the two men. Angela circles a pedestal featuring a sculpture of a water nymph, rendered in such lifelike detail that the folds of its skirt seem to flow like a stream.
Monty notices my arrival first. “Highness,” he says with a dimpled smile. There’s no remorse in his eyes, no embarrassment over what happened last night. Only his stiff arms betray his unease.
Thorne slowly turns to face me. I hold my breath and wait for any sign that what happened this morning was real. That I drew his dream form into my bed. He gives me nothing but a curt nod, which provides the slightest relief.
Monty saunters my way, but I head straight for Angela. The only person in this room—save for Minka, of course—that I feel even remotely comfortable around. Her expression brightens, and she meets me at the center of the room.
“I was so sad to hear Miss Dervins left last night,” she says, her smile tinged with worry, “but seeing you makes it all better.”
“Save your sorrows, Angela,” Thorne says. “Cosette doesn’t deserve them.”
She frowns at him. “You say that, yet neither you nor Brother will tell me why.”
