Yield?
Her words brought another hot spark of need. Unexpectedly, the dark fantasy rose. Of heryieldingto me. Of her letting me do whatever I wished to her. I could drink from her until I was sated. Fuck her. Use her. Until I poured everything into her and let her break into a million pieces from the inside out.
My pants went tight, the knot at the base of my cock beginning to pulse, but I retained control, clenching one fist into my crossed arms so she wouldn’t see.
“Your tongue is sharp, little one,” I purred, my gaze traveling down her arms, “but your hands are trembling.”
Her grip tightened on the rusted handle of the old bucket.
“My arms,” she corrected testily. “Do you know how heavy this thing is? Do you know how far I’ve had to carry it? Of course they would be shaking.”
I nearly smirked but allowed her that balm to her dignity.
“Of course,” I said, attempting to take the bucket to relieve her of its weight, but she flitted away before I could.
I frowned, watching as she backed away toward the cottage’s front door. But I was content to watch her, to see what she would do next. A tendril of amusement was chasing away my prior irritation.
“You are a terror,” I commented softly.
Millie was walking backward up the cobbled path leading to the door, and so I saw when she stilled in surprised—albeit briefly—her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“No one has ever called you that before?” I questioned, beginning to follow her, though I kept my pace slow. Lazy. “I find that hard to believe.”
She took another step backward towards the door, leaving me at the end of the rocky path that needed replacement. Then she took another step. Slow and deliberate.
I wanted to laugh. Did she think I was some stray, wild beast that she could simplytrickinto leaving? Did she think she could slip into the cottage, with its broken door, and somehow manage to escape me?
Striding forward with purposeful determination, I followed.
Millie stopped, a huff of frustration punctuated by her dropping her bucket to join its counterpart next to the rusted cauldron, the jars of various fluids and pastes inside clinking brightly.
“You want to know what I’m doing here?” she asked. “I’m making this place ahome.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, thinking of what lay beneath the earth and moss at the back of the cottage. My mouth set in a grim line. “I will not allow it.”
Millie actually laughed. A soft, decided sound. For a moment, I could only listen. Though it was tinged with incredulity, it was still beautiful. It rose from her throat, and I imagined that if I was flying, with a warm, gossamer wind stroking over my wings, it would sound like music floating up to me, cast in bright, enthralling sunlight.
“You don’t have to allow it,” she said when she ceased laughing. “Like I said, this is Stellara. This is…this istheirplace. Their quiet place.”
My brow furrowed, remembering that she’d mentioned those words before. I’d thought it peculiar then, and I thought it peculiar now. Ruaala had mentioned those same words to me once.
“And if there is one thing you should know about me,Kyzaire—”
Why was I disappointed at the sound of my title and not my name dropping from her lips?
“—it’s that I’m extremely stubborn. Most times I get what I want. Not because I’m lucky or pushy or mean. But because I don’tgive up. And short of posting a legion of soldiers here to keep me away, I will continue coming here to restore this place to what it once was for them. This is my last gift to my father. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Stellara went quiet, hushed, like the heat of summer dampening all sound. Not even the wind reached us as I wound my way up the dilapidated cobbled path to where she stood.
When I stopped in front of her, I reached forward. I gripped her rounded chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting it up.
One of my first impressions of her had been that she was ugly. She possessed an odd, strange face—I could see why an artist like Ver Teracer would’ve been taken with it. Millie was no great beauty by far, and yet her face had been the only one I’d thought about this last week. Which should have been enough of a warning to keep me far away.
Now, however, I saw what I hadn’t seen before. The weighted scales were tipping. She was growing lovelier by the day, becoming more familiar. With that familiarity, I was becoming more enthralled.
Millie’s breath came softly as those hazel eyes darted around my own face.
Quietly, I ordered her, “Then help me understand.”
