He lightly flicks that tender nub before soothing it with another caress and the demon roils inside me. My body begins to shake beneath him as my hands wind their way down his sides. They steal memories of the hard lines of his body, tucking them away for safekeeping, before my fingers slide beneath his pants, pushing them down his legs.
He catches my hands and pulls at his pants until they rest securely around his waist again, before he fists my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. He grazes his teeth along the lobe of my ear, the heat of his breath teasing fine whisps of hair when he whispers, “So greedy.”
I whimper as two fingers spread the entrance of my core and another slides right down the center. His thumb strums my sensitive nub and his fingers dip inside me, shallow and taunting as he issues a near silent demand, “Come for me,mi’ajna.”
With that simple command I come undone. His lips brush the crookof my neck, and he sighs deeply when my back arches, pressing my breasts against his chest, his body shuddering as if he too found his release. His fingers sweep over me through the duration of my peak. Slowly, when my shattered soul settles back into my body and I collapse fully onto the cot, his attentions cease.
He pushes himself off me unceremoniously, plucking the sheet off the floor, where I assume it landed earlier. Draping it across my body, he examines my face, struggling to school his own features.
“It’s still early. Sleep if you can. I have business on shore today.”
He lingers by the edge of the cot, his eyes sweeping over my body as if the sheet fails to hide what lay beneath. His eyes land on mine and his face dissolves into the blank mask worn by the master of shadows before he makes his way toward the door.
“Tell me I’ll see you again before we reach the northern continent.” When I voice my request, his stride falters mid step.
“You’ll see me again,” he says without looking back, and then he’s gone.
I don’t know why I ask but if he says I will see him, I know he’ll keep his word.
As hard as I try, sleep never comes. Vakesh took the air out of the room right along with him when he left. I lay in bed pondering my future as well as my past. Tonight will be my last night aboard the ship and then I will be lost to the northern kingdom until my mission is complete. I will return home a hero, with the blood of a king on my hands. I just have to get to him first.
I never met a single soul on the southern continent that would not see the feyn king dead. Each would have ended him if they had been capable of completing the task themselves. There are plenty of war-torn orphans just like me, willing to seek vengeance at any cost. The king of A’kori knows it, and I have long suspected that it is this simple fact that keeps him hidden away.
Not a single La’tarian has seen the male for more than eighty years. My own king may have even suspected him dead had it not been for the steady stream of men and women beckoned to the court of A’kori. Whilemost of my people would never take a bride from across the sea, it seems there is something the feyn find appealing about our people.
I try to remember if I’ve ever been told how old he is. Had I ever thought to ask? I suppose it doesn’t really matter. As far as I know, all feyn were immortal before the sundering. While he may not be immortal like his ancestors, they continue to have unnaturally long lives compared to that of a mortal like myself.
He is gifted, that much I am sure of. Which means he at least has some feyn blood in his veins, though how much feyn blood qualifies someone for the gifts of their kind I have no idea.
I ring the service bell for a basin of water, soap, and a small amount of food which the captain is happy to supply. He says nothing when I hand him back the full jug of ale he’d provided me with the night prior. I can’t help but laugh when he lugs it toward his quarters rather than returning it to be stowed.
I wash in the small basin and stuff what remains of my jasmine soap into a small leather pouch. The floral scent is like nothing I have ever used before, and, despite my best efforts not to care, I love the way it clings to me.
I work my hair into its usual spirals as it dries, then set out the dress Leanna selected for me. She had been quite particular about the cut of it and what jewelry I should wear to adorn it upon my arrival. I have no doubt that the king receives a full report of every lady that makes the journey across the sea.
The day goes by in a blur of contemplation, but the ships withdrawal from port bristles me. Heavy footsteps sound on deck, and I shoot to my feet, head tilting to the side in an attempt to understand the muffled shouts from the crew. The ship pitches to the side, throwing me to the floor. I land with a heavy thud and a curse on my lips, scrambling to my feet seconds later.
The cacophony from the deck above quickly fades. The chaotic sounds replaced by a muffled shout into the bowels of the ship. I stand close to the door, poised to strike for quite some time, both waiting for my small room to be raided and ready to burst out from within to enter the fray if necessary. But no one comes. The shouting is replaced by the lulling drone of the creaking ship as it rolls across the waves on the open ocean.
Long after the commotion ends, I pace uneasily. I hate being left in the dark. The small rope by the door begs to be pulled, summoning the captain so that I might demand answers, but I can’t bring myself to do it. If there is a problem, I will only be drawing him away from his duties and if not, I can wait.
I plait my hair only to take it out again ten times over as I sit on the edge of my cot. My stomach growls. Still, I make no move to pull the rope.
I know it is only a matter of time before Kesh comes and explains to me what happened. He will laugh about the fact that I have been worried and tell me a story of when we first met that he thinks I’ve forgotten. It’s what he always does to soothe me. I never stop him to tell him that there isn’t a single moment of the years we’ve spent together that I have forgotten, because I love it when he tells those stories.
Late into the night, my stomach is a twisted mess of knots. I rest my head against the lumpy pillow on my cot and sleep finally wins out over worry. I only stir when a familiar weight settles down beside me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, brushing a finger against my cheek.
My eyes focus on the man sitting before me and I will myself not to cry, not to make for the door and turn the ship back to port so that I can level that town under the weight of my fury. His skin is pale, and dark circles stain the flesh around his eyes. Some of it is bruising, some of it is something else entirely.
I sit up and clutch his jaw, tilting his head to examine his face from every angle, my brow drawing down as I ask, “What in haliel happened?”
“Just a little tussle with some of the locals,” he says, wincing under the attentions of my hand.
It isn’t the broken flesh on his knuckles or the fact that they are caked in dry blood that stirs the demon inside me. It is the hand wrapping his waist and the pressure he keeps on his side, obscuring an injury.
“Show me,” I demand coldly.
