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Alisdair caught me fairly, and laughably, easy. He was one hard, punishing thrust from completing the ceremony, and making himself the rightful heir to Lyrica and the eventual destruction of Elva as we knew it.
He was also one thrust away from binding himself under my demands. For as long as the runes were in power, he had to repeat this dance every night—giving me a chance to run away, and honoring our deal if I succeeded.
Open, glaring eyes burned each other even as his mouth devoured mine.
It was there underneath his pet names and teasing, lust-filled taunts. He hated me.
He wanted nothing to do with the useless spawn of the man who stole Raelina from him. I was nothing but a reminder, a torture, a pawn. Alisdair Shadowsoul would see Emiana corrupted and all that should’ve been hers, made his. All in the name of revenge against her father.
“Agh,” I cried, eyes rolling as two fingers pushed past my folds, burying deep to the knuckles.
I could stop this now. To break our deal was to have no deal. We could live in this impossible winter wasteland together—living out days knowing we came so close to what we wanted, but close wasn’t close enough.
I could save Lyrica right then. With one word.
But that wasn’t my duty. There were five people depending on me. Waiting for me. I could save Elva, but no one would save them. No one but me. Let the true princess of Lyrica clean up the mess she created.
I was going home.
Laughing, a smirk twisted my lips. “Is that all you got, pretend king? Who knew you were so... gentle?”
A huge, terrible grin split his face. “Oh, yes. You’ll do just fine.”
Alisdair hefted me up, scraping my back against the tree. My cry choked on a groan, caught in my throat as he closed over my nipple. I assumed only faeriken women shared the experience of a man with fangs ravishing your breasts. I envied them for discovering the experience long before me.
His tongue teased and tortured the little nub to a hardened pebble, standing it to attention, then punishing its wantonness. Sharpened canines scraped the delicate flesh—shooting equal parts pain and pleasure straight to my lower belly.
“Oh, Meya,” I rasped. I tightened, legs clamping on him. “Do you... really think— Oh!”
He snapped my legs open, pushed in deeper still, and spread his fingers wide—spreading me like a Meya’s Day turkey.
“—that,” I breathed, straining to keep hold of my senses. “It’s going to be this easy?”
I hauled back and slapped him across the face.
He growled, head snapping around. The distraction gave me a chance to get my feet between us, and kick.
I threw him off me and took off running, bolting for the trees. They helped me lose him once, they’d help me lose him again. I accepted this deal was my only chance for getting home, but I hadn’t accepted defeat. Not by a long shot.
“Argh!”
I threw my body to the side, and he pounced on the spot I’d been standing in—tackling nothing but air and snow. A strange noise came from him.
Was he... laughing?
Loud, hearty guffaws echoed through the forest. By the goddess, he was enjoying this. Every second of his hunting me down like a wild animal and trying to claim by body like a prize to be won. To him, all of this, was nothing but fun.
He can have his fun eating my snow!
Leaping off the balls of my toes, I jumped, seized a branch just within reach of my fingertips, heaved myself up and—
Snap!
“Ahh!”
I collapsed on the ground, pinned under the branch. A shadow fell over me.
“Seems it is this easy.” Alisdair moved around me, the stalking panther. “Are your wings caught, my pet?”
