Page 89 of Blood of the Fairest

When there's no answer, I begin scouring the reflections of the castle.

More laughter and humming and mutterings coast to me, but I don't linger to listen to any of them. I check the courtyards, the windows overlooking the bridges, the chapel, the throne room⁠—

Damn it, where is she?

Before I can start imagining one of Schultz's spies plunging a blade into her chest or slashing her delicate throat, I rush toward the reflections in the secret passage. There aren't many—just the handheld mirror in the lair and the one large mirror in the magic hot spring room.

The instant I catch a glimpse of Verena soaking in the warm water, I relax.

"Thank the goddess," I sigh, approaching the mirror. "You really must start leaving notes on mirrors for me. Write letters in blood if you must, for all I care."

She groans, wiping steam from the bath off her forehead. "Ixnay on the B-word, please."

I snort, but my relief and amusement die quickly when Verena sits up to retrieve soap from the edge of the hot spring.

She's uncharacteristically quiet, as if lost in thought, as she lathers up—but I suddenly have to brace my hand against the edge of this mirror, swallowing hard as I stiffen in my pants.

The suds slide over Verena's wet skin, shimmering in the light of the flickering sconces. When she slides the soap between her bare breasts and down her stomach, circling over her dripping hips, I bite back a swear.

When she reaches up to massage soap into her hair, I can't take it anymore. She's too fucking beautiful, and the pressure is driving me mad.

My hand steals down to untie my trousers until I can slip my hand down, gripping my needy cock.

If Verena opened her eyes right now, she would see me stroking like a lecher to the sensual masterpiece she's presenting. My breath comes faster. I try to muffle it with the back of my other hand, unable to rip my gaze away from her curves as she washes.

I would give anything to be the water that drips from her.

I would give even more to lick it off of her. To feel the smooth perfection of her skin against my lips, trace her curves with my tongue, and whisper confessions into the crook of her neck.

I would confess that when she rests at night, I imagine resting beside her. I imagine smoothing my hand over that dark red hair and kissing that adorable spot above her lips.

I become weak at the thought of Verena kissing me back. The way she might tease me with that gleam in her eye before letting me feel what pleasure is, for once.

Something about this otherworldly woman is indescribably enchanting. I haven't been acquainted with many people—but though I've only known her for a short time, whenever we speak, it feels as if I've known her forever. We fit into each other's presence so easily that I don't see how my nonexistence will ever recover if she leaves this world.

It's becoming unbearable, this need for more of her.

Though my strokes have increased and unadulterated desire has me muffling my labored breathing, the swell of impending something abruptly disappears from my body.

As always, release eludes me, impossible thanks to whatever mirror-cursed wretch I am.

I'm left painfully hard in my hand, throbbing and dizzy as I watch Verena sink back into the water to rinse her hair. She didn't notice my bout of frenzied, futile desperation.

Matron almighty, I want nothing more than to revel in complete pleasure with Verena for the entire night of the next full moon, if she also desires it.

But…does she?

Realizing this infatuation I have for her could be entirely one-sided, I step away from the mirror and drag a hand over my face.

Since her arrival, Verena has constantly complimented me, calling me gorgeous, handsome, beautiful, and so on. Just yesterday, she said something about my hair looking as though moonlight and an oil spill had a baby, whatever that means.

We get along so damn well, even when our banter is nothing but ribbing—but I don't think she jests about finding me beautiful.

The attraction is more than mutual. Surely she at least suspects that.

"Fuck," I breathe, pacing back to the mirror.

I have to know. If she's not interested in me the way I am her, or if she only sees me as a creature in her mirror…