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“What can I say? I’m a hero.” He checked his pockets, cursing to find them empty of sand.Washed away.“In any case, you don’t believe you’re dying. You plan on using Dorada’s wishgiver.”

Lothaire had used the ring but cautioned against its power. Kristoff had refused to bargain for it, even to find Furie. Would Mirceo use it? Despite this sorcerer’s warning, would Mina?

Logic said no. Love said no. How could she jeopardize her family and kingdom? But without the ring—or the sun—she would become a danger to others. Maybe she needed to be back in that water tube, trapped with a fellow monster.

Yet because of this sorcerer’s strength, she was free. “You don’t strike me as the type to risk yourself for another, but I know how you protected me. Even after I drowned, I somehow sensed your every struggle. You kept your head and got me to safety.”

Was he developing feelings for her? Heightened circumstances heightened emotions. She would know. Fresh from these perils, the sorcerer looked like the hero that he’d deemed himself.

Determined jaw. Penetrating gaze. Bravely earned injuries.

Silt hiked his broad shoulders. “My bait is no good to me dead.”

So no feelings for her. “I hate you so much.”

“Good. Use it. That hatred will keep you going. I know this well.”

He was right. But hatred wanted more than for her to keep going. Hatred demanded results. Though she had no sword, Silt’s wounds and blood loss signaled this was the time to strike.

“Why do you think I worship revenge?” He turned to gaze at the horizon. “It provides much more strength than your idea ofdevotiondoes.” As she silently collected a large stone, he added, “We need to put distance between us and that basilisk just in case it breaks through, so pull yourself together, you bleak wench?—”

She leapt for the sorcerer and brought the rock crashing onto his head with all her might. A lesser immortal would’ve collapsed; he staggered around but shook off the hit.

Then he lunged for her. “Leech!” Tackling her backward, he knocked the stone free and covered her. “The thanks I get!”Seeming not to notice his bleeding scalp wound, he pinned her arms over her head. “I should throw you back to the basilisk.”

She leaned up from the ground, sneering, “At least its motives are pure,Silt!”

“You don’t have enough sense to be thankful.” Lips drawn back from his teeth, he grated, “The plague is already rotting your mind.”

“If I lose my sense totally, why, we could be mental equals at last!”

“Bitch.”

“Fiend.”

And then they were kissing.

How? Why? The pressure of his firm lips felt so good she moaned. He dipped his tongue inside her mouth, sweeping it against hers, shocking her with more delight.

Hate him! Feels so good . . .

Her arms went pliant beneath his merciless grip. When his hips maneuvered between her thighs, she spread them for him. Even with the wet clothes separating them, she perceived the heat of his stiffened penis rubbing over her mons.

It was hot—with blood. His heart thundered against her breasts as he thrust that generous erection atop her.Don’t stop, don’t stop!

Sorcery emanated from him like a tangible touch, caressing her skin. She traded moans for his groans; wanton sounds passed between seeking lips and tangling tongues. Despite all his experience, he was as lost as she was, his mighty frame straining over her.

When he released her wrists to pin her hips, she gripped his hair hard, and blood dripped from his scalp wound to her cheek, sending her into a frenzy.

Blood all around her. Sorcery enveloping them. His tongue and body arousing her as never before.Blood and heat and magic and madness.

Holding her where he wanted her, he bucked wildly, desperate to lose his semen. His rod rubbed her throbbing clitoris until she could perceive little else. She lusted for his length to fill her emptiness, piercing her wetness.

He broke the kiss to rasp, “You’ve got my blood inside you. My breath. And now you crave my seed inside you too.”

She moaned at the idea.I do! Crave it filling me up, marking me.

“I’ll own every inch of you.”