Page 59 of Burning Star

A sharp knock on the door startles me from my thoughts, making me jerk my pencil and smear graphite across the page.

I freeze.

Maybe it’s Aerix, come to pull me into his arms again. Maybe he heard how Victoria and Sophia walked out on me, and he can’t stand the thought of me being alone.

Hurrying to the door, I open it—and regret it.

It’s Henry.

He’s leaning casually in the doorway, his arms folded. But there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes travel over my body, along the thin nightgown that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Go away,” I say firmly. “It’s late.”

“Come on, Zoey. I just want to talk,” he says, pushing his way past me into the suite. “Katerina told me she saw you with Aerix. That he dropped you off here instead of keeping you in his bed.”

“It’s none of your business,” I snap.

I never should have opened that door.

“In case you haven’t forgotten, I’m your ally, Zoey,” he says, moving close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Of course it’s my business.”

“You’renotmy ally.” The words come out flat, but adrenaline spikes through me, setting my nerves on edge.

“That’s not very friendly.” He closes the door, his eyes raking over me again. “Especially since I came all this way to check on you.”

“I don’t need checking on.”

“Sure you do.” His gaze sharpens with desire. “Everyone’s talking about you, you know. The prince’s human slut who spreads her legs every time he crooks his finger.”

My fingers curl around the dagger in my pocket, rage hot beneath my skin. “Get out.”

But instead of leaving, Henry steps forward, forcing me back. Dark hunger swirls in his eyes, twisted and violent. I can almost taste the sour heat of his intention, and it makes my stomach lurch, every warning bell going off in my veins like wildfire.

“What are you doing?” I demand, backing away as he advances, trying to ignore the fast, panicked rhythm of my heart.

“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” he murmurs, a cruel smile curving his lips. “I want to see what makes you so special that the prince keeps you in his bed night after night.”

I edge toward the sitting area, trying to keep a chair or table between us. “You’re drunk,” I say, my voice shaking. “Go sleep it off.”

“I’m not drunk enough to miss how you strut around here like you own the place.” He lunges forward, grabbing my wrist. The impact of his hand is a clamp of iron, bruising my bones. “Like you’re untouchable.”

I twist, trying to wrench free, but his grip holds firm. “Let me go,” I snarl, my heart hammering so hard I taste blood on my tongue.

“Or what?” he taunts. “You’ll tell your prince? Do you really think he cares about you? That he sees you as anything more than a warm body to sleep next to and a soft neck to sink his fangs into?”

“He loves me,” I say, strong as steel, refusing to let Henry’s words rattle me.

He just laughs.

“Love?” he repeats, his lip curling. “Night fae don’t love. They use. They take. They possess. And when they’re done, they toss you into the barns so they can move on to their next young, shiny plaything.”

I stumble, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the couch. But before I can recover, Henry’s on me, his weight pinning me down as we fall onto the cushions.

“Stop.” I struggle, panic flaring in my chest. “Get off me.”

“Shut up.” His hand clamps over my mouth, the other tearing at my nightgown.

Terror and rage collide as he forces his knee between my thighs.

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