Page 25 of What Whispers in the Dark
Alora’s hands roved up his abdomen, making it impossible to breathe.
He could not look at her. Those glowing sapphires were morphing into an abyss of pitch black. If he could, he would bury his face in her neck. Taking in the wintry aroma of her skin mixed with the vanilla and oak from his lips instead of the putrid and decaying scent of his master.
Frozen, Garrik fell entirely rigid. Suspended between reality—impossibleto fight back. By the star’s infernal curse, he couldneverfightherback.
Those silver eyes, even in the shadows, darkened.
It was too much… That touch there. Too much like his serpent. Too much—Too fucking much.
Some terrified corner of his mind whispered the words,warm hands.Somehow, in his panic, he knew that—tried to convince himself of it. They werewarmhands. Not cold.Not cold.
He could not control it. His body shivered so viciously his knees nearly gave out, intensifying with every second Alora’s nails pressed into his flesh?—
Stop…his mind pleaded, terrified.Stop.
He did not want this. Did not wantherhands there. Could not convince himself thatshewas not the one with daggered nails clawing into him like he was a toy, powerless to her every vile whim. That she would not force him on his back and take from him again, so soon.
S-stop touching me,his mind choked out because his lips couldn’t.
But it was not Alora’s lips that were sculpted to his—not her tongue that was dancing wantonly against his teeth—that answered.
You will be punished for this. Have you so easily forgotten that you aremine? Mine!
Galdheir was so far away, but there, he felt her wrath as if it were already being taken out on his body.
As Alora’s nails curled and dug into the marred flesh of his abdomen, he trembled as the truth—the threat shewouldcarry out—swept over him.
The borders of his mind made a fractured sound.
A plea. A plea to just remain there,safefor one more moment. Allow him to not break and cower like the pathetic male he was for just one more mo?—
Garrik ripped away from Alora’s embrace without a word. Mind spinning as he stumbled back onto his heel and dropped her leg from around him.
Alora’s alarmed expression was worse than any wound he had ever suffered. Regarding his distressed features, while in her eyes he glimpsed his wide and blown, surveying her to make certainshewas not truly there.
Forgive me—he wanted to scream it. Make Alora understand. Put the blame on himself. She had done nothing wrong.
Instead, the coward he was dropped his palm from her face and twisted away, hoping that when he turned back his serpent would have disappeared. Offering Alora his back, he paced to the side of the tree. Every nerve in his body on fire, the urge to turn back and embrace her once more burned through him to the point he had to flex both hands at his thighs to keep from doing so.
Bending, Garrik lifted his tunic from where he had dropped it.Heavier than ever, his High Prince mask slipped back on as his carefully constructed control slammed into him. A dried trickle of blood down her neck caught his attention.
You did that, pet.
Garrik slammed his eyes shut. Gritted his teeth.
And I will do so much worse to her for your unfaithfulness. When I get my hands on her?—
His voice darkened as he blurted, “Why were you following me?” He knew the moment the words escaped him, he should have dawned them back to camp without uttering a word. Should have gone back to his tent, to his endless bottles of bourbon, which his shadows would dawn him to drownheraway. But if he tried now, would his shadows even be able to? After all he had required of them today … after how his body felt…
Fabric tore from his shirt by his aching fingers. He outstretched it, offering a silent gesture toward the cut on her neck, now smeared and dried against her fiery skin.
Gaping, Alora struggled to catch her breath, leaning against the oak. Her cheeks were flushed in that enticing shade of scarlet he could not muster the strength to enjoy.Fuck,she appeared terrified and confused, eyes downcast.
It should have pleased him. Was that not what his plan was? To have her hating him? Fearing him?
Two parts of him warred inside, bloody and bruised, but the victor had his face softening a fraction, barely noticeable, still hovering his hand with a scrap of fabric.
With nothing more than a blink, Alora accepted it and pressed it tight against the wound.
