Page 27 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

Lenore

B ody, seriously overheating. Brain, unable to comprehend what just happened.

Soul, probably left my body sometime around that fourth orgasm.

Harrow had me literally seeing stars. I was praying to the gods to stop it, to grant me relief from the mind-scrambling pleasure while simultaneously begging them to never let such ecstasy end.

Harrow. That thing was Harrow. Gone was the handsome icy man. In his stead was a literal monster. It was like some great winged demon. Part raven, part man, all nightmare.

Shock roots me in place. My skin is coated in sweat that turns to a chill in the cool night air.

The pounding ache radiating between my thighs is proof that those things really did happen.

The most terrifying part of the whole experience?

The way my body sang for him, came for him.

Muscles low in my core clench. I want more.

I shouldn’t feel this way. My confusing physical needs are fighting for dominance over my morally tangled thoughts.

I am so fucked up in the head right now.

“Princess.” Cassius rushes forward the minute the shadows lift.

His eyes widen at the sight of me. What must I look like?

Without a mirror, I can only guess how bad it is.

My hair has fallen all around my shoulders.

The parts of my dress I can see are demolished.

I’m soaking wet from sweat and… other fluids.

“I’m alright,” I quickly offer, rising to my feet. Cassius’s broad arms snap out to catch me as my legs collapse. Dammit, did those shadows fuck the bones right out of me? My body is wrecked. My limbs are like gelatin.

“I’ve got you.” Cassius pulls me into his chest, allowing me a few seconds to find my footing. I breathe in his spicy scent, the warmth of it settling over me like a blanket.

When my legs decide to work again, I take a step backward. “Sorry about that.”

“What happened to you? I can’t accept an explanation other than you were nearly devoured by the labyrinth itself.”

I cringe. ‘Devoured’ is such an appropriate word.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I toil for an answer that doesn’t involve being eaten out by a monster.

“The dark forest is so close by. Some of its darkness must have seeped into the labyrinth. It… it must have tried to drag me into the woods. I had to fight back.”

His gaze shifts in the direction of the forest. “Why did you not call out to the guards?”

“I did. The darkness must have stolen my voice.” The lies come so easily.

My voice was stolen, so that part is true.

Not by terror, but by some type of shadow gag.

I definitely don’t have the time to think about that right now nor the desire to share that information with the prince. “How did you find me?”

“I looked everywhere for you after King Hoff fell, but you were gone. I feared you’d drunk the wine yourself and had been hauled away by some unknown enemy.

” He takes my hands, drawing them into his chest. “When you didn’t turn up, I thought you may have run from the castle in fear.

I remembered you said you knew the labyrinth inside and out.

My best guess was that you sought refuge here.

I came as swiftly as my legs would carry me, but the ways of the maze are foreign to me. ”

His confession pulls me further from my lusty haze. The prince actually listened to me that day in the gardens.

I blow out a puff of breath. “You made it through surprisingly fast.” A little too fast. What did Harrow have in store for me next?

“Let us return to the castle, Princess. Everyone is worried sick.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “King Hoff is dead and the culprit is still at large. We need to get you someplace safe.”

Cassius keeps one of my hands in his and places the other lightly on my lower back. He strides—shoulders back, his head held high and his footsteps measured—away from the heart of the maze. I can’t help the light laugh that slips out.

He looks both ways before peering down at me sheepishly. “I’m going the wrong way, aren’t I?”

I nod. “Yes, but you were doing so with such confidence.”

He laughs, putting his bright smile on full display. “Would you mind leading the way this time?”

Smiling, I tug him in the right direction. Why is it I can’t seem to stop smiling around Cassius?

The sharp caw of a raven perched overhead has me nearly jumping out of my skin. Jade-green eyes leer down at me.

“That damn bird again,” Cassius grumbles.

That is no ordinary bird . The darkness surrounding the raven has Harrow’s name written all over it. Mytha. The woman, or thing from the Underworld. It must be her.

“It won’t bother us,” I assure him.

“It attacked me before,” Cassius tells me, frowning sourly.

“You’re with me now.”

Cassius throws me a sidelong look, but doesn’t ask further questions.

I release my hand from his. He mistakes the move for a readjustment and repositions his fingers so they’re fully interlaced with mine.

Anxiety storms my belly. I peer over my shoulder at Mytha still observing us.

The thrill of such close proximity to Cassius clashes with the fear of knowing Harrow may be witnessing this intimate moment.

Why must I choose sides? Why must they both show up in my life now, Cassius’s light and Harrow’s dark—as if I could ever choose one over the other?

A proper bathing washes away the most vicious moments of my encounter with Harrow in the maze.

I declined Melly’s help. Using the excuse of “needing to be alone to process the events of the day.” I really do need to process, not to mention check my body for evidence of my time with Harrow’s monster.

Although, I guess it would help to make her believe me if she did see the evidence of him all over my body, but after the events of today…

maybe it’s better that she doesn’t for now.

Pink swirls mark my thighs and wrists. Those shadows and their strange…

abilities. I cup my sex, pressing the warm water against it to help ease the ache left behind.

I’ve never been touched like that. Never felt my body soar and shatter.

That’s not how I pictured it would happen.

Who could imagine something they didn’t even know existed?

Memories of that tight pressure and warm burst of pleasure crawling up my spine and spreading across my lower stomach have a pulse beating to life between my legs.

If anyone knew I’d been touched like that…

Guilt constricts my throat as I swallow. Spoiled goods, that’s what they call the girls who take lovers before they’re married. It’s wildly unfair. Men are allowed to galivant about, stuffing their cocks in any hole they deem desirable. Wed or unwed.

Even after the wedding vows have been exchanged, most men take lovers. Not my father, of course. My mother is the apple of his eye. She enchants him. The way he still looks at her, all these years later, is one reason why I desire my own romantic love story and not just a profitable arrangement.

I almost gave it all up to Harrow. Everything. I wanted him to take it all. My thighs rub together beneath the now-tepid water. Dragging myself from the tub, I dress for bed.

Another feather awaits me on my pillow. My giddiness rekindles. Lying on my back, staring at the velvet canopy above, I twirl the feather between my fingers.

It’s the closest thing I have to Harrow. My fingers stroke the edge. It’s so soft, just like his skin. Running it along my inner wrist makes it almost feel like he’s touching me. A wicked idea forms. Glancing toward the door, I wait, listening. I know there are guards outside. But if I’m quiet…

Sliding the covers down and my knees up, I bare that newly found and still-sore place to the privacy of my bedroom.

The feather tickles as I slide it along my inner thigh.

I’m surprised at how quickly that same liquid from before collects at my opening.

Just thinking of Harrow has me dampening my sheets.

Using the very tip of the feather, I guide it to that small raised area where Harrow focused so much of his tongue’s attention.

It’s sensitive, with a subtle heartbeat beneath the now-tingling flesh.

I run the feather across it. My lower stomach flexes in response.

The muscles rapidly tighten and loosen as the sensations grow.

I wonder if this feather is enough. Can I make myself burst the way Harrow did?

Voices boom from just outside my door and I snatch my hand and the feather away, quickly shoving my nightgown down and drawing my sheets up to my chin.

More voices join the chorus and I realize it’s the changing of the guards stationed outside my room. My cheeks flush. There shouldn’t be any reason for them to come in my room. Only if there’s an emergency.

Toying with the feather, I mull it over.

With a deep sigh and a drop of my shoulders, I give up on my feather venture.

Not worth the mortification of getting caught doing it.

The ache below goes untended. Squeezing my thighs together will have to suffice.

The feather twirls between my fingertips as I’m swept beneath sleep’s dark wing.

Maybe in my dreams, Harrow can finish what he started.

Harrow

Mytha’s burning green eyes glare up at me. Arms folded, forked tongue flicking impatiently. My right-hand is cross with me. Despite the way my towering form dwarfs her petite stature, Mytha has no problem squaring up to me.