Page 133 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“Please,” I whimper, my hips flexing forward, shamelessly trying to connect. He teases me, lifts his hand, and then lowers it until I feel his heat. I have no sense of logic. My brain is drowning in a haze of need. My control snaps. I take his gloved hand and use it to cup my pussy through my clothes. Instant pleasure zooms into me, and I gasp, “Yes. More of that.”
“More what?” He rubs the seam between my legs, first slow and tentative until I beg, plead, whimper. “This?”
My body answers for me, melting against him, panting hard. His fingers grow confident, fast, and hard. I cry out as bliss builds, hot and demanding. I hear his lips part—maybe to speak or to scold, but when I reach up to cup his nape and steady myself, his breath hitches. His grip tightens on my throat, courting me with pain. When I make a needy sound in response, his erection digs into my lower back. He groans, low and deep and hot into my ear. But he doesn’t pull back. He barrels toward this violent end alongside me, lungs heaving with mine.
I feel as beastly as the creatures on the other side of the door. I feel wrong. But good. This is not the place to lose myself. Except with Emrys, it’s the only place.
There’s no other way to explain this paradox except to steal the words from his mouth. With him, I can’t tell if I’m losing my mind or finding it. He forces my chin up, throwing my head back so our eyes clash. Upside down, the effect is dizzying. He bows over me, white hair spilling, shrouding his lust-filled eyes. I am wet, soaked through and into his gloves. He works me relentlessly, gauging the rise of my pleasure through the silent plea in my eyes until I lose focus, lose air. Finally. My orgasm builds, the tease of ecstasy growing closer, I’m about to?—
He lets go. Steps away from me. Cold air rushes in. My release dies miserably, unfulfilled. I collapse to the ground, my mind a whirl of agony and empty joy. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them out.
“Why?” I croak, swinging my gaze up to him.
He stands above me, eyes wild, jaw clenched. “I lied.”
“About what?”
It hurts to breathe. I have no answer as he crouches, coming eye-to-eye with me.
“I lied when I said I would be with you if you crawled to me.” Darkness swims over his features. “You’re just like the rest of them: a manipulative slut, through and through. I wouldn’t be with you if you crawled, begged, or bled for it. I’d rather pluck out my entrails and string them on the mantle—save Legion the trouble.”
“I hate you.”
“Good.”
A strangled scream rips out of me, but I don’t engage. He’s not worth it. Instead, I turn my back and search for my sword and dignity in the hay. Nightmares rattle their cages, screeching and raging. I know how they feel. What an asshole. Fuckingfloater. Stupid, big fat—my fingers wrap around the hilt. Instantly, my mood calms. Something about the familiar touch of the grip is comforting.
Closing my eyes, I slowly count to ten in my head. Then I climb to my feet. I want nothing more than to shove my blade in Emrys’s gut—to help him realize his dream, Legion’s, or whatever he’s on about—but getting angry at each other won’t solve anything. We’re still mates. Eventually, we’ll have to find a way to live together. At the very least, I can pretend to get along until we escape.
A stall’s inhabitant throws himself against a door behind me. The bang is so loud and violent that the entire structure shudders. I whirl around and come face to face with Emrys.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Forgive me. I’ve left you unfulfilled when you need it most.”
“Forget it.” I try to push him away.
He grabs my shoulders. “Willow, let me soothe you.”
I shove him. “Enough with the games.”
He’s suddenly in my face, all hot, male angles and broad shoulders. Eyes dark and eager and unguardedly hungry. That bond connecting us in my chest vibrates like a warning. This is wrong. My gaze darts to the hands gripping my shoulders—no gloves.
“Come now, little moth,” he purrs. “You know you want relief. You need me to fill your aching, empty, dark places no one else dares to tread. You need me to fuck you so hard it hurts.” His voice drops to a whisper. “We’re two peas in a twisted pod, both sick fucks reveling in self-flagellation. Why not hold each other’s whips? Suffer together.”
A groan on the ground behind him, a flash of white hair amongst the hay. The stall door is wide open and—oh shit. This is the Chimera in my face, not Emrys. Instinct takes over. My wrist flicks up. The tip of my blade sinks below his ribs. I push to the hilt with two hands until the blade pierces the other side. Warmth spills over my hands. His skin shimmers and flows like liquid metal. It struggles to hold Emrys’s appearance, morphing into something hideous—monstrous teeth and misshapen bones. Itching magic scuttles from the sword onto my hand, tingling so intensely it hurts. With a gasp, I realize it’s me disrupting the Nightmare’s shift, or rather, the skull charm Bodin added to the pommel.
The Chimera’s warped rippling stops. It looks at me, shocked, and then it spills in a cascading gush of bloodand viscera to the straw-covered ground—the stench of death blooms. Inky blots form in the puddle and drip upward. I step back to avoid being hit, but they’re not as wayward as wisps. They spill toward the ceiling, splash on the stone, and leave dark stains.
With the creature gone, I see Emrys on the ground a few paces back, clutching his head. That bang must have been the stall door opening, and he was hit. Terrors throw themselves at their enclosures. They know one escaped, and now each attempts the same. He lifts his gaze to me, then to the mess, then back to me. A flash of vulnerability, of something profound, flickers in his eyes.
Some kind of awareness bounces between us. Moments ago, he was cruel, wicked, and hateful toward me. I don’t trust him, but we’re in this together. I rush to offer him my hand. He takes it before realizing what he’s done. I help him to his feet, and then he lets go like I’m lava.
“Yeah, I still hate you too,” I grind, gazing at the blots splashing onto the ceiling. They rot the stone and wear away at it like acid. In time, a hole will form. But will it be enough for us to climb out?
Emrys gives my sword a dubious look, curses under his breath, then stalks down the partition and gets on one knee. He swipes the straw aside, yanks open a hatch, and shoots me a death glare. “Are you coming?”
“You mean to tell me that was there the whole time?”
His lips flatten. Nostrils flare.
