She’s perfect, she’s fucking perfect, and she’s mine, and I would tell her if I weren’t desperately clutching her to my chest, peppering kisses against her neck.
When the throes of her pleasure recede, her body goes limp in my arms, a contented sigh escaping her.
My body goes rigid.
I’d heard that same soft sigh before—in our bed, with her taste on my tongue, her hands tangled in my hair.
It was the day I left the palace, when she’d kissed me so fiercely, as though she couldn’t bear to say goodbye, kissed me until hope and happiness bloomed in my chest, kissed me until I tasted love on her tongue.
And when I returned, she was kissing the captain.
Slowly, I remove my hand.
Mayah rolls over to face me, fingers reaching for my belt. I grab her wrist in an iron-tight grip.
“The storm’s died down. Go to sleep.”
Her brows draw together, pretty blue gaze sliding to mine.
A myriad of emotions cross her face: confusion, horror, then rage.
Small hands shove me flat onto my back. I don’t stop her when she straddles my waist and cups my face between her palms.
“Listen to me,” she bites out. “I know I’ve hurt you. I—I never planned for any of this to happen. I wanted revenge on your father, on Arbinj, for killing my mother. But my purpose was driven by a lie.” Her voice cracks. “Zev, everything between us—it wastrue. I swear by the Tides, it was real. The wormbark oil was for you. At the camp, I healed you every night because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. Not because I needed you for some agenda. Please, Zev. I care aboutyou.”
I swallow hard. “And your captain? Did you care about him, too?”
“I—yes. I loved him. Butneverin the same way I feel about you. I know you’re hurt about what you saw … I don’t blame you. I don’t know how to make this right, Zev. I shouldn’t have let him touch me … I was trying to—” She huffs in frustration. “Zev, please. Give me another chance.”
Her face is so sincere, voice so anguished, Skies, Iwantto believe her. No prickles. Not a single one.
But there never have been with her.
And look where I am now.
My hands flex around her hips, and then I slowly sit up. Her chest brushes against mine with every expectant inhale. Closer. Mayah’s eyes flutter closed, lips parting.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
Her eyes snap open. One heartbeat. One heartbeat where I force myself to memorize the pain on her face—the betrayal. A reminder of what will happen if I ever let myself forget again—if I ever succumb to my weakness.
And then I push her off my lap and lie back down, facing away.
“Why did you touch me, then?” My eyes clench shut at thehurtin her voice.
“I couldn’t sleep through your whimpering.”
A pained scoff. Then—“You … you called me baby.” Her voice is thick with tears.
“My wrist was cramping. I needed you to finish quickly.”
Her energy signature thrums, a despondent staccato vibration.
She doesn’t say another word—just lies down as far away from me as she can manage in this skiesdamned excuse for a tent.
Only when her quiet, shuddering sobs taper off into the deep breaths of sleep do I bring my fingers to my mouth. I stifle a groan, but even her taste can’t erase the bitter coating of shame on my tongue.
Guilt wakes me the next morning, its acrid heat burning my throat. Her sleeping form looks smaller in the faint light filtering in through the canvas, as though I’d stolen something from herlast night and left her incomplete. Despite all she’s done to me, Mayah didn’t deserve what I did—what I said.
