Page 227 of Cursed Evermore

“The Cost of Restraint”

Iwalked the narrow path between the tents at the Rabanequse base camp, my shadows curling at my heels like faithful hounds.

Dawn had broken. The scent of iron and damp pine hung thick in the air, laced with the bitter weight of betrayal. Trees whispered in the wind, speaking of secrets, including my own.

They knew I didn't want to be here. Knew I was hardly fit for Lord Commander duties when the only thing I craved was the mage I shouldn't want.

Even now, the image of Elariya's perfect naked body writhing against my sheets would be my damnation.

I could still taste her on my tongue, still hear her moans echoing through my mind, still feel her body pulsing against my skin, wrecked by the pleasure I gave her.

The ghost of her lingered in my mind, taunting me with salvation and sin wrapped in the same breath. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to leave her.

I still wanted to murder Garrick for his interruption. I could see myself doing it, too. Maybe I'd strangle him with his own belt. Dreynthor next—it wasn't like he wouldn't deserve it. And I'd even wring his fucking raven's neck, too.

I knew they were all just doing their jobs. It was just my rotten luck and fucking bad timing. Now I was a wreck of need and frustration. Every nerve in my body screamed for my mage, and I was stuck out here with my cock so hard the ache for release burned from the inside out.

There was little point in acknowledging I shouldn't have touched Elariya like that. Not when I knew I'd do it all over again.

I'd wanted her to give herself to me. She had. But I wantedallof her. I'd wanted to be the first to make her bleed and stake my claim to her body.

At the same time, I'd be a damned fool if I ran around thinking with my dick when there was so much going on I couldn't ignore.

There was the situation with the rebels and their insurgency, and then... there was the matter of Elariya’s father to consider. The fact that she was his daughter meant little to me, but I couldn't allow my heart to get in the way of justice once I found him.

I'd practically asked her to stay here in the magical realm with me when I told her she'd be mine forever if we crossed that final line. She'd agreed. She hardly took a moment to think before she said yes.

That wasn't something I'd ever forget. And despite all the rules of right and wrong, I still intended to own her body.

My hand flexed at my side, the leather of my gloves groaning under the pressure. I needed to focus, at least for now. Whatever awaited me with this spy required my full attention.

I reached the command tent at the far edge of the camp, its canvas walls darker than the rest. Armored guards stood outside with their weapons at the ready. They bowed deeply and stepped aside without a word to let me in.

I pushed through the heavy flap and was greeted by the metallic tang of blood, fear, and sweat. Torchlight flickered against the walls, casting writhing shadows that seemed to move with malicious intent.

In the center of the space, a male sat bound to a wooden chair with iron shackles biting into his wrists and ankles. His blood-soaked uniform was torn and muddied, but I could still make out the insignia for the Capital Guard.

His head hung forward, dark hair matted with dried blood, and the tip of one of his ears clipped.

He looked like he'd been dragged through all the hells. The gentle rise and fall of his chest were the only signs that he was still alive. Each breath came as a wet rasp, punctuated by the soft clink of iron shackles whenever he shifted.

Behind him stood Bastian and Alaric. Blood stained their gauntlets.

It was them who'd found this spy. They could have dealt with him, but I'd been called in to dole out the punishment because the severity of his crimes meant treason.

Our friend here had fucked up his mission spectacularly. Once he'd been searched, they'd realized he was a traitor. For some time, I'd suspected there'd been one amongst us. Now I knew for certain.

“Name?” I spoke to no one in particular; I just wanted the answer.

“Marcus Thorneweather, my Lord,” Bastian replied.

Marcus raised his head as my boots struck the packed earth floor, recognition flickering in his battered eyes. Not justrecognition of who I was but what I was capable of. The stench of his fear told me all I needed to know.

“We caught him trying to cross at Thornwick Pass. Along with maps of our patrol routes and supply lines, he carried these,” Alaric said, opening a sack containing bulbous herbs and reeds used for potions. The maps made sense. Those did not.

I circled the prisoner slowly, letting my presence fill the space like a predator sizing up wounded prey. His breathing quickened with each step I took.

When I faced him, he lifted his chin in a pathetic attempt at defiance, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.