My cock strains. Every instinct screams at me to claim her, to bury myself deep. But Kasaros’s bargain stops me.
“If she reaches the end unclaimed, all brides go free. The Hunt ends.”
If I finish inside her now, she loses everything she’s fought for—freedom for herself and all women after her. The thought of her hating me for stealing her chance at real change is worse than any physical pain.
“Please,” she whispers, reaching for me. “I need to see you. I need to know it’s really you.”
I catch her wrist before she can reach the mask.
“Don’t,” I growl. “You’ll be disappointed with what you find.”
Her eyes flash. “Never.”
“Flori—” I choke out, but the touch of her other hand silences me.
Cool, soft fingers dig inside my breeches, down my lower abdomen. She finds my hard length and moans, stroking me. My hips buck involuntarily, driving my cock through her fist.
Hot sparks of sensation zip through my body, impairing my mind. I fall forward and grip the altar. Stone crumbles as I fight for control. My face buries in her neck, her hair. She smells so good, a mix of her cunt and roses.
“Tell me the truth,” she demands, increasing her pace. “Tell me who you are.”
I can’t speak, can’t think. A part of me wants to laugh—she’s still defying me. Still coming out on top. It should be enough to break the spell, but I’m addicted to exquisite torture of her hand on my needy cock. She tightens her grip, pumping faster, and I’m lost.
Pleasure coils in my gut, building sharp and fast. I’m helpless against her. Years of pent-up longing rush to the surface. I smell her musk in every breath I take.
“Florienne,” I growl, the sound muffled against her hair. “Please…”
Her other hand cups my face, fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Let me see you,” she whispers.
I shake my head, even as my body betrays me. I thrust into her fist. The pressure builds, unstoppable.
“Say it,” she urges. “Say you’re Drayven.”
“That boy is dead.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Flori,” I groan. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Her thumb swirls over my tip, spreading the moisture there. “I’m claiming what’s mine.”
With a guttural sigh, I come hard, releasing hot seed over her fingers. For a blissfully suspended moment, the world narrows to just us—her touch, her scent, her warmth.
Pain explodes in my stomach.
I gasp and look down. Time must be in a loop. This must be a dream. A nightmare. The hell from which Kasaros crawled from. I feel like I’ve been here before.
Blood oozes from a wound beneath my ribs, from where the pointed tip of a sword breaks through.
Chapter 10
Drayven
TEN YEARS AGO
When you stare into the painted grin long enough, it begins to wear your face.”
—WARNING ETCHED INTO THE HUNTSMAN’S CREED.
