Page 47

I press against him, my legs tightening around his waist.

And he presses back. Hard. Desperate. Needing.

My hands trail down his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, ready to tear it over his head.

I release his lips. My breath is ragged and fleeting, just like his.

For once, his warm, burning gaze is fixed entirely on me. Only me.

Not Araytha. Not Jelethia. Just me.

He lifts his arms, and I pull the shirt over his head.

His hands find me, gliding slowly over the soft plane of my lower stomach.

He holds my gaze. Challenging.

His eyes alone send shivers racing down my spine, curling deep into my core. And his touch… no discomfort, no hesitation.

He kisses me again. Harder. Fiercer. I close my eyes.

This time, his lips crash against mine with raw intensity, and his teeth are sharp and unforgiving, cutting into my skin. My lips sting, but I don’t care because his presence is too intoxicating for me to notice.

He’s skilled. His tongue moves with practiced precision, knowing exactly what to do. How many times has he done this? A dozen? More?

I absently toy with the waistband of his breeches as his tongue ventures deeper and deeper down my throat.

I open my eyes. And scream.

I jerk backward, fall, crawl, and scramble, pressing myself against the wall. On the floor now. Trembling. Hands clamped over my mouth.

I scream again. And again. Because it isn’t Netharu’el.

It’s Akares.

Akares Dorne.

I wake up drenched in sweat, shivering despite the hut’s thick, stifling heat. Wrapping the blanket tightly around me, I step away from the bed.

I glance left. Netharu’el’s bed is empty. Untouched.

I continue outside, lowering myself onto the wooden step and letting the cool night air settle over me. The darkness soothes.

Everything is silent, except for the distant, piercing cry of a bat.

What in Saxx was that ?

Do I have feelings for…? That’s impossible.

And why did it have to turn into a nightmare? Why did Akares have to appear? Couldn’t I have enjoyed my little private moment with Netharu’el?

For real. Netharu’el? Seriously?

Memories slam into me like a violent storm, leaving me shivering.

Akares.

Deathly white lashes. Deathly white brows. Deathly white hair.

I kissed him. You didn’t know it was him.

It doesn’t matter. I kissed him.

A wave of nausea twists through me. I want to retch.

But in a way, maybe it was for the best that he appeared when he did.

Because the alternative, dreaming of Netharu’el that way, wanting him that way, my own master…

I don’t like that thought. Not one bit.

“Ipjgepaleg!” someone hisses. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

I pull the blanket tighter around me, scanning the darkness.

Nothing but shadows. Unshaped figures of black and blue.

“Who’s there?”

Four star elves emerge from the darkness. Acranta, Jelethia, and two men I don’t recognize.

“Oh!” Acranta exclaims, beaming. “This is perfect! I didn’t know you were awake. Won’t you come with us? Say you will! Won’t she, Jelethia?”

“If she wants to,” Jelethia replies, arms crossed.

Acranta, undeterred, gestures toward one of the men.

“This is Salahfar Vor’na of Ragraor, apprentice to Kes’raa,” she says, then nods to the other. “And this is Fax Kuaran of Kbasa, an apprentice to Ibwa.”

Salahfar stands tall and broad-shouldered, composed. Not a speck of dirt on him. Fax, in contrast, barely reaches Salahfar’s chest. His hair stands out in every direction, as if lightning has struck him twice. They appear to be opposites in every way.

“Where are you going?” I ask as I stand up. A distraction might be exactly what I need.

“It’s a full moon tonight.” Fax grins, hands on his hips, eyes alight with mischief. “Go on, guess! Guess where we’re headed.”

“No idea.”

Acranta mouths something at me, but I can’t make out what it is.

Fax bounces on his heels, his excitement bubbling over. “Oh, come on, think, Ipjgepaleg!” His grin is wide, with deep dimples. “What’s something rare, something you can only see on a full moon if you’re lucky?”

He gestures wildly, toward the jungle, the sky, the ground, the huts, eyebrows darting up and down, laughter curling at his lips.

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? Ipjgepaleg?”

“Are you deaf? I said stop!”

Fax pats me on the shoulder, unfazed. “Calm down, will you?”

I step back.

“Acranta, your friend here is a bit snappy, don’t you think?” Fax laughs, then turns back to me. “Alright, Sun Elf, this is awkward, but I don’t actually know your name. Zel… something?”

“What does it even mean?”

“What?”

“Ipjgepaleg. What in the fires else?”

“Sunsprinter. In Arzakean.”

“Of course it is.”

“Zel!” Acranta exclaims, clapping her hands. “That’s perfect! Fax, that’s genius, it suits her! Why didn’t I think of it first?”

“Iszaelda,” I cut in, voice sharp. “My name is Iszaelda. Nothing else.”

“Oh, no, that’s way too long,” Acranta protests, shaking her head. “No one’s going to remember that. It needs to be short, snappy, something with flair. You get what I mean?”

“And what do you call Fax, then?”

“That’s not fair. His name is already too short, and there’s nothing to improve.”

“See?” Fax lifts his eyebrows. “Perfect, just as it is.”

“Enough,” Salahfar interjects. If we want to be back before dawn, we need to move.

” He turns to me, his voice dry. “Iszaelda, if you’re coming, I suggest you get dressed quickly.

We’re already late, unless you would rather stroll into Gorgoroth wrapped in a blanket and a chest wrap.

If that’s your style, I won’t stop you.”

“Salahfar!” Fax groans. “She was supposed to guess!”

“Oh, boo-hoo.” Jelethia yawns, idly twisting the metal ring between her nostrils.

Unsettling. How did she even get that in there?

I hesitate. “Gorgoroth? At night?”

That’s exactly what I promised Netharu’el I wouldn’t do.

But after that dream, I have no interest in thinking about him or following his blazing rules.

Most of all, I refuse to go back to bed. What if I fall asleep and land right back in the dream? If Akares is still there, it’ll be a nightmare.

If Netharu’el returns, it’ll be something else entirely.

Something far too good. Too tempting. A dream I don’t want.

It’s better to stay awake. To keep moving until every trace of it fades, until there’s no chance of being pulled back in.

“Come on!” Acranta grabs my wrist and pulls me into the hut. “Where are your clothes?”

“What exactly are we doing in Gorgoroth?”

She spins toward me, hands gripping my shoulders, eyes shining with excitement.

“Oh, brace yourself, Zel! We’re going unicorn hunting.”

“Unicorns?”

“Yes! When you see one, you get to make a wish, anything you want.”

“And that works?”

But Acranta isn’t listening anymore. She leans in suddenly, inspecting me as one would a fish flopping helplessly on dry land.

“What in the fires are you doing?” I pull back, uneasy.

Her eyes narrow. “Your lips… they’re swollen. Wait, are those bite marks?” A crease forms between her brows. “What exactly have you been up to?”

“Sleeping.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Do you usually bite yourself in your sleep?”