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The beast’s growl deepened—a snarl.

Had he read my mind again?

“Why are you being contrary?” Arran growled. He stalked closer, across the yard of space I’d created by stopping abruptly.

I let my lips part, an open invitation.

Another step.

His head tilted to the side. He inhaled deeply. He caught my scent in the air—my arousal. Slowly, he dragged those ominous dark eyes back to me. He looked… wolfish.

“I will undress you right here in this tunnel. I will lay you back on the cold, hard ground and fuck you until you’re screaming loud enough for all the Faeries of the Fen to hear you.” He stepped closer, covering my hands with his own. Holding my hips in place. He was in control now. I was under no illusions. “But I promise that if you follow me a bit longer, you will not regret it.”

I regretted many things in my short life.

But not Arran.

I leaned into him, pressing my body against his, arching my hips slightly so they skimmed over his leather trousers. I could feel the hard length of his cock, already straining to reach me. If he could torture me, I could more than return the favor.

“Lead on, Brutal Prince.”

His hands tightened over mine. I watched him struggle and savored every second of it. He wanted to throw me down and ravage my pussy as badly as I wanted him buried inside of it.

But he managed to pull himself away.

Whatever he had in mind, it better be damn good.

* * *

My knees went weak.

I had never swooned, not once in my life. Survivors didn’t swoon. Neither did warriors. I couldn’t allow that kind of vulnerability a place in my life, even once.

But seeing those steaming pools of water was nearly enough to make me forget a lifetime of discipline.

Arran’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me in tight against his side. Smart male.

For a few seconds, I just let myself look. Savor it.

I’d never seen something so beautiful. I doubted I would again anytime soon.

The dark stone and dirt that the faerie’s city was carved from gave way to black stone with thick veins of white running through it. Obsidian. Black so dark, it swallowed all other light. But yet, there were those tendrils of glowing white, spreading across the dark surface like a spiderweb.

The black and white stone sloped down to pools of water. They dropped down, one into another, in tiers like a cake. But that wasn’t mist lifting off of the surface of the water, but steam. Hot springs of some kind. Magical ones—a soft blue glow emanated from their depths. Nearly the same color as my eyes.

Mist coated the stone around us, the cave walls. Up and up and up I followed the walls until—

The sky was open above our heads. I could see the stars. I could smell… freedom.

It ought to have reminded me of the water gardens. The tiered pools of water, running down into one another in small waterfalls; the open air above our heads. But we were an entire realm away from that nightmare. And Arran was at my side.

For the space of an inhale, I worried about the succubus. But the edge above was a sheer drop. Anyone—or anything—that stumbled over it would be smashed to bits on the ground hundreds of feet below. From that height, even the steaming water in the pools would feel like granite.

Or amorite.

I reached up, bypassing Arran’s silky hair and catching the soft lobe of his ear between my fingertips. I snagged my fingernail on the small amorite stud. I’d taken one from my own ear, heated a sharp sewing needle provided by Cyara, and pierced it myself.

My mate would not be taken from me.