Page 46

While You Sleep

N etharu’el was right.

I wear a smoldering red gown, the heavy fabric billowing around me, dragging behind like a peacock’s tail.

My hair is pinned into an elaborate updo, and jeweled ornaments quiver with every step, glinting at the edges of my vision.

I stand in fragile glass heels, encircled by a hall of mirrors.

Reflections stare back from every direction.

Shattered, fragmented. My face split in two.

Lips warped. Jewels so bright they sear into my vision.

I take a cautious step forward. My heels clatter against the floor.

Just as my fingertips brush the mirrored wall, it shifts. Suddenly, my hand presses against the glass. Beyond it, waterfalls cascade from impossible heights, and mountains stretch into the sky. The city of Insisriel, just as I had imagined.

“Welcome, Iszaelda.”

A shiver runs through me. I turn.

Netharu’el strides toward me, dressed in sleek, obsidian-black garments rich with intricate details. No leather this time. Instead, the fabric is something else entirely: velvet, satin… perhaps even cashmere?

His attire is adorned with rubies, deep as embers. A delicate silver chain drapes from his neck to his waist, ending in a single, gleaming diamond.

But then I see his wrists.

Bracelets of bone and dried tongues.

A chill crawls over my skin. The tongues. Again.

The moment I stepped into the hall of mirrors, I knew it was a dream. But the clothes ultimately convinced me. I would never wear something like this. Yet the dream feels real. So intensely real.

It’s as if I can hear the waterfalls rumbling beyond the windows, smell the roses thick in the air, and see Netharu’el moving ahead of me.

As if I can feel the sharp bite of heels digging into my feet, the gown pulling tight around my waist.

As if I’m truly here.

“What are you doing here, Netharu’el?” I whisper, afraid of hearing my voice.

Does the elf in the luxurious gown sound the same? Or does she carry a different tone that doesn’t belong to me?

Netharu’el smiles, his gaze dragging over me. Up and down. His pupils dilate. “You look seductive in that gown, Iszaelda. It drapes over your… exquisite form. It’s pure velvet from Extrador. Can you sense the difference?”

Should I be concerned that I’m dreaming of him like this? That he’s calling me seductive?

I flash a bold smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Much appreciated, my dear. This is cashmere from Betasda, which is the most refined material. It brings out every detail, don’t you think?”

He extends his hand. I take it.

Without hesitation, I let him lead me onto the terrace.

The wind stirs, making my jewelry chime softly.

But the view. It’s breathtaking. Unreal.

We stand on a high ridge, cradled by the mountains and enveloped in lush, untamed wilderness. Below us, waterfalls roar as they crash into unseen depths, their mist rising in shimmering veils. Around us, nothing but jagged peaks stretch toward a sky so clear it seems endless, untouched by clouds.

A gryphon’s cry echoes through the canyon. Then a flock appears, bursting through the mist, their wings slicing through the air as they glide beneath a crescent-shaped bridge.

I step up to the railing, lifting my arms toward the sky. With my eyes closed, I breathe it in and let it claim me. Then I open them again.

The sun brushes my cheeks and glides over my lips, its warmth just enough to keep the wind’s chill at bay. The gown groans at the seams beneath my arms. It isn’t made for movement.

“Where are we?”

“Insisriel.”

Netharu’el’s hands close around my waist, pulling me back against him. Close enough that I shiver. “Exactly what you suspected. Just as intoxicating now as it was then.”

I turn, meeting his eyes, which are as dark as obsidian. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” The admission surprises me, too.

“That pleases me.”

“But I don’t know why you are.”

“I told you you’d dream of me tonight, didn’t I?” He leans in, stopping just before our lips meet, the base of his horn pressing lightly against my forehead.

He smells of wild roses and thorns. Not the scents I’m used to, but just as intoxicating. Perhaps even more.

“How should I interpret this, Iszaelda?” His voice is low, teasing. “That you secretly dream of me? Your own master? Like this?”

“Like what?” I grip the back of his neck, my fingers threading through his hair, my lips brushing against his lightly and hesitantly, not quite closing the distance. “You wouldn’t know either way, would you?”

And he answers. From one spark to another.

He presses me against the railing, fingers fisting in my hair, rough, insistent, until strands unravel from the updo, tumbling free.

Then, finally, his lips crash into mine. Firm. Demanding. Unrelenting.

His lips are warm, wet, and firm. But above all, full. And they attack. They treat me like a fruit to be devoured. Teasing, testing, claiming.

Salty and sweet. Tasting. Toying, dancing around me.

Then the shift comes. His grip tightens. His tongue presses past my lips. Hungry. Wild. Possessive.

I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers gliding into his hair toward his horns. My fingertips graze the tips. Ouch! Sharp as daggers.

He kisses me harder. Harder.

His hands slide down my back, lifting me effortlessly. My legs tighten around his waist, and the gown spills in silken waves toward the floor.

I grip his horns firmly, holding them steady. They’re rough yet smooth, sun-warmed, and when I drag my nails along their bone-hard surface, the sound shudders through me.

And then the world shifts. The terrace is gone.

We’re in a room bathed in red, and beneath us is a vast bed, soft as a mound of leaves.

Netharu’el is above me, kissing me like Dawnday will never come, pressing me into the silken sheets beneath us. They shimmer, rich and luxurious against my skin. And he tastes like avocados and sin.

His hair is coarse beneath my fingers, his skin burning hot.

I roll us over, pinning him beneath me, tearing my lips from his. They feel swollen. Tender.

My heart pounds. My arms tremble. My breath comes in ragged gasps.

I want to kiss him again. And again. And again. Never stop.

His gaze strips me bare. It promises things I would never dare to fantasize about. Things I can’t even allow here .

I could never look him in the eyes again if I did. How can desire be this strong? It doesn’t make sense. What kind of twisted dream is this?

Twisted? You mean exquisite. Perfect.

No! Something is wrong.

Everything is right. Kiss him. Kiss him again.

“What’s it?” Netharu’el murmurs, his lips hovering just over mine.

His breath, hot and dizzying, spills over my skin.

His fingers are buried deep at the base of my hair, pulling me in. Closer. Closer. Our lips are so close now. Just a little more. A little, little more.

I gasp softly when he captures my lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “It feels… wrong.”

He sucks on my lip harder, his hands moving with practiced ease, slowly tugging at the laces on my back. One pull at a time.

A slow rasp. With each loosened tie, his hands explore new territory, tracing and claiming. And when the last ribbon gives way, he seizes my lips fully, his kiss deep and relentless. This time, he catches both my lower lip and upper lip while pulling the gown from my shoulders in one fluid motion.

He retreats just a flake, still beneath me, his breath ragged.

His gaze drags over me, pupils blown wide, darkness spilling into them like ink.

Fingers trail over my bare skin. He pauses for a spark until they find the velvet of my gown at my hips.

Then, carefully, he gathers a handful of fabric and pulls.

Slowly. The gown slips past my hips, gliding over my thighs, my knees, and my calves.

He doesn’t release it until his hands have traveled down to my toes.

We sit pressed against each other, my legs wrapped around his waist.

A thousand shivers race beneath my skin, galloping like wild hooves, flashing like lightning. Like fine fire.

Netharu’el’s hands travel upward until they settle at the curve of my lower back.

And then he returns to my lips. His breath, hot and intoxicating, spills over them before his wet mouth claims mine once more. Salt lingers on his tongue.

“As you said yourself,” he whispers against my tongue, his hands pressing firmly against my lower back. Burning hot. “I wouldn’t know either way.”

I can’t remember what we were talking about. My mind is a haze, a thick, swirling fog.

“I don’t even like you,” I murmur, but the words feel hollow.

He drags his forehead against mine, breathless, fevered.

“Denial, my dear.” His voice is velvet and fire. “You’ve longed for me. Craved me in secret. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those hungry glances. Of course, I have. Or your jealousy. Or how your fingers have ached to touch my horns for far too long.”

“I don’t understand why… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Our noses brush, and Netharu’el’s lips capture mine again.

Hard. Fierce. Unrelenting. Nothing like Keelan.

This isn’t just a kiss. It consumes.

As if I’ve never truly kissed anyone before. As if every touch with Keelan was nothing more than a dry kiss on the cheek.

“Forget Keelan,” Netharu’el whispers, his sharp teeth grazing my lips, leaving behind a slow, aching sting.

My body sings. My body burns. My body craves. More.

To cross the line. To do what no star elf and sun elf should ever do together. What should never be done with another race.

Netharu’el’s hands press into the small of my back.

I yank off his cloak and tear open his shirt, too impatient to bother with buttons. The fabric rips, gold fastenings scattering to the floor, baring his chest beneath me.

And there, etched across his skin, a white tattoo.

Three runes. Arzakean.

Impossible. A stark reminder that this isn’t real.

Because, in reality, his markings are different. And across his chest? There should be nothing at all.