Page 44 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“I don’t want him. I want you.” She attempts to undress him, but he denies her the opportunity by shoving her onto the bed. He removes his shirt, his back facing me when he approaches her, caging her against the soft surface. Her eyes close, and her hum is one of pleased anticipation. Every muscle in his back is on display thanks to the partially open door. Every contour of his body is a work of art, right down to his perfectly rounded ass.

“You wanted a moment with me on my bed.” His whisper is a rasp. “Consider my promise fulfilled. Now get out and go back to your husband.” Odhran steps away to collect a bottle of alcohol from the dresser. “Leave.”

“But…” Her voice sounds small when she speaks.

“I don’t cuddle, Thalia, and I’m in no mood for fucking. We’re done here.” He raises the crystal decanter to his lips and drinks. Amber rivers run from the corners of his lips and down his neck while she fixes her dress. She glances back at him one last time before disappearing from view.

I release the wooden frame I’ve been clutching while he settles on his bed. I don’t dare move a muscle, not when he’s still here. Not when he’s still awake.

TWENTY-TWO

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Light your candle with the flames of the bonfire and keep it in your window to call your deceased loved ones to you. Keep their keepsakes close to your heart.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

Slowly, I inch the cupboard door open to climb out. The door creaks on its hinge, and my heart threatens to climb up my throat. I freeze, one foot still in the cupboard while the other is carefully placed on the floor below. There’s no movement, no break in the rhythm of his breathing. He’s still asleep, so I slowly step out of the cupboard with my other foot.

Odhran lies face down and shirtless on the bed, the air thick with his scent. Shadows graze across his skin, caressing their maker. The sight is mesmerising. His left arm hangs from the edge of the bed, still holding his crystal decanter in a relaxed grip. Amber liquor swirls within when his finger twitches. Unlike earlier, the decanter is practically empty, clouded with the darkness spilling from his fingertips.

If I make a sound and he wakes up…

If his shadows somehow sense me here…

I should run! Run and never look back! Run until my feet bleed, and my body screams in rebellion. But I’m not sensible enough to take the easier route. No, I need to tempt fate.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger, and inhale a steady breath. I’ve got this, dammit. Just get it over with and go.

A golden shimmer catches my eye. Its lines are straight and edges sharp. Slowly, I inch closer, feeling the floor before I weight my step. Darkness gives way to colour the closer I get. The Prussian blue cover of my mother’s book is on the bedside table, right next to Odhran’s head. Relief and dread wash over me together.

I can hardly see where I’m going as I walk further into the room. Tendrils of Odhran’s shadows twirl at my feet as if in a dance as they swirl around my ankles. The hard soles of Eadan’s knee-high boots make an unfortunate tick on the wooden floor, and I cringe at the sound, eyeing Odhran for the slightest sign of disturbance.

I take another step.

Then another.

Every hill and valley of his back is composed of pure muscle, as if meticulously sculpted by divine beings. Broad lines of ink mark his skin, black wings reaching over his right shoulder. How can someone so beautiful be so dangerous?

“Nature calls for balance,” Aed’s voice whispers, a phrase he’s uttered before.

“And the balance is a measure of cruelty?” I counter. “When has this balance been in anyone’s favour?”

He doesn’t answer. My concentration wanes for the briefest moment as I steal another look at Odhran. The room’s energy pulses in time with his breath, night brought forth in the depths of the morning hours. He may call himself The Bastard Prince, but I think he is The Prince of Darkness instead. His beauty is devastating.

I stumble on an object before me, my arms flailing in the air like a bird wanting to take flight but failing miserably. Shit! Shock and horror lance through my chest. Three steps are all it takes to regain my balance. Three rushed and unnecessarily loud steps. The cursed object rolls forward with a series of tumbling thuds. I freeze. My chest heaving with a laboured breath, I watch his muscles twitch. Black inked wings flutter across his skin. Hairs rise at the back of my neck as I watch his markings come alive on his flesh, my feet rooted to the hardwood floor.

Blinking rapidly, I look down at my feet. It’s dark, too dark to be caused by the heavy velvet curtains. Too dark even for night, but the outline of my boot shines ever so slightly. A thin line of silver marks the rounded toe and… a shoe. It’s a fucking shoe! I press my lips together, cursing my luck. A shoe almost cost me my freedom.

Odhran groans, dropping the crystal decanter as he turns onto his back. It meets the floor with a distinct clang, spilling its contents. “Stop! Let me go!” he rasps. Eyes closed firmly, a frown deepens across his brow, glistening with sweat. “No!” he roars, fisting the bedding in his palms.

Every muscle in my body tenses. The small pools of liquid reflect the traces of light from the open door behind me like droplets of glistening gold.

Swallowing, I take the final step toward the bedside table and my treasure,but moving allows the light from the passage to find a straight path to the bed and the man asleep on it. If ever I thought Odhran’s back to be a work of art, his front puts it to shame. Inked black wings stretch over his shoulder, skimming his clavicle before wrapping around his biceps. Those wings belong to a raven, and even in the dark, its eye surveys me. It blinks, tilting its head. An ache takes hold at the back of my throat.

Without wasting one more second, I give in to my instincts telling every muscle in my body to RUN. Run, run, run.

I snatch the heavy book from the bedside table, my knuckles whitening with the intensity of my grip, and pull the soft leather bag from the dresser as I turn for the door, not bothering to close it behind me and risk making another sound. My heart leaps and bounds as I race down the passage.