The witch saidIwould crave male touch and male seed—said the need would drive me.Ofcourse she wouldn’t let me satisfy it on my own.Thatwould defeat the whole purpose.
The thought makes something twist painfully in my chest asIremember the noisesIheard last night.Therontalking in his sleep, saying “Mine” and “Ours.”Andwhen he woke and went a little way away into the forest,I’mpretty sureIknow what he was doing.
I heard low sounds of desire and the slick sound of a fist around a shaft.Hiswhispered, “Fuck!”when he finally came made my whole body feel tight with desire.
BecauseIcouldn’t help imagining he was finishing inside me—filling me with his shaft and shooting his seed deep inside my pussy.
Stop it,Iscold myself.Youcan’t keep thinking like this!Youcan’t want him to take you—you know what would happen.
I squeeze my eyes shut, dragging in a slow breath.Iforce myself to rememberMirabellaand the other girls with their green eyes and huge bellies.Idon’t want that—Idon’t.
Maybe theSacredRiverwill help.
The thought comes to me suddenly, unexpectedly, andIcling to it.
It’s sacred water—magical and pure.Maybeit will cool whatever this is inside me—wash away the worst of the curse, even if only for a little while.
Ineedthat.BecauseIdon’t know how much longerIcan stand this.
When theDrakefinally begins to descend,Ifeel a flicker of relief.MaybetheSacredRiverreally will help me.Maybebeing submerged in its holy depths will cure the curse—or at least cool it down.
I hope so, anyway, because much more of this relentless aching need andI’mgoing to go mad.
32
ELOWEN
TheSacredRiverstretches out below us like a ribbon of silver, winding through the land and catching the sunlight in blinding flashes.Fromabove, it looks calm enough—beautiful, even.
But as we get closer,Istart to see the truth—the current is fast—much faster thanIexpected.
The water churns and shifts, its surface broken by ripples and sudden swells that make my stomach tighten uneasily.I’mnot a very good swimmer.
TheDrakelands near the bank, his claws digging slightly into the damp earth as he settles.Islide down from his back, my sandals sinking a little into the soft ground asItake a few tentative steps closer to the water.
It’s louder thanIthought it would be—not roaring, but not gentle either.Thisquest might be harder thanIthought—a lot harder.Still,Ican’t back down.
“I can do this,”Imurmur, trying to give myself courage.“Ihaveto do this.”
The water near the edge looks shallow enough.Ican see the stones beneath the surface, smooth and dark, the current slipping over them in quick, restless patterns.That’snot so bad,Itell myself.It’sgoing to be fine—ithasto be.
Of course, it’s not the shallows whereIhave to be to collect the water—theTimeWeavingspell specifically saidIhave to get it from the very middle of the river.Great.
Behind me,Ihear the soft sound of movement asTheronShiftsback.
“I’m coming with you,” he says immediately.“Thatcurrent looks rough.”
I turn to look at him.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he cuts in, already pulling off his boots.“You’renot going in there alone, little one.”
“I can manage,”Iinsist, though even asIsay it,I’mnot entirely sure it’s true.
He gives me a look.
“Say whatever you want,I’mstill coming.”
