Page 35 of Nocturn

Warmth flooded downward.

I pressed my palm between my legs; the panels made it easy to reach. Sweet relief . . . I stiffened, yanking my hand away.

The same hand that glided so sinfully was the same hand to clamp the chain to my collar. Yet I could not turn away. Searing heat burned my face. I did not want to stop.

Need pulsed outward with small jolts.

Had the Sigil created these urges?

I sank my teeth into the inside of my lip. The pulsating had grown so intense, making everything worse.

It felt terrifyingly good.

Lord Draven’s lips parted, and he palmed the tip, squeezing. He grunted, straining his hips as they jerked.

Moisture leaked through the hard grip.

Slowly, I lowered to the ground, trying to keep my breathing steady. My chains clanged once, and I froze, not moving until the silence continued.

I spread my arms and legs wide, forcing them away from where they desperately wanted to press.

Closing my eyes did not allow me an escape. Flashes of his body clung to my memory with no way to dislodge them.

I fell asleep with the ache between my legs throbbing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Taste

“Iam trying, Lord Draven.” My words were biting. With the lack of sleep, I struggled to keep my temper tamed, but by the Saints, he was so demanding to a point that had dashed my efforts of attempting to remain calm and collected.

Patience, Amara.

In my defense, I lasted longer than I anticipated. I was attempting to get into his good graces for an entire moon rotation, but I did not last more than a sennight.

I set the quill down beside the parchments marked with my scribbles and rubbed my ink-stained fingertips together until the smoothness sank into my skin.

All the information in the book was new to me. I must not have been in the chamber when Miriam’s tutor covered the origin. Saints had risen from the various elements.

It was why blueblood magicks were so varied.

Until one of the Saints sought to thieve from the rest, wanting all the magicks for themselves. In doing this, creatures of nightmares were created, and redbloods were one of them.

That was as much as I had been able to decipher in the lengthy span of time I had transcribed. The slim window rimmed along the wall opposite the desk allowed me to see the orange hue of the dusklight fading as the moon slowly overtook it.

Squeezing my eyes tight did not force away the ache at my temples.

His order was simple—too simple. Translate everything, and if I came across anything in regard to gifts and abilities, I was to inform him immediately. He had ordered that as if he were giving me distance, but Lord Draven had hovered the entire time, so still he seemed a statue.

“Continue reading,” Lord Draven ordered, hand flattening on the desk surface, and leaned toward me.

Grinding my teeth, I returned my focus to the thick book that may kill me before I finished. Unreadable symbols swirled on the page until they settled.

So far, I had learned of the Saints using magicks to create the moonlight and dawnlight with an inordinate amount of unnecessary description.

“This is in severe need of revision.” Another throb through my temple felt like a spike being driven through the middle of my forehead. A scarlet droplet plopped onto the desk. “Saints,” I hissed. “Not again.”

He plucked the quill away from me, a glower fixed on his face. “I do not know what I was expecting from a mere mortal. Weakling,” he huffed.