Page 62 of The Ever King

“Songbird.” Erik moaned, breaking the kiss, and buried his face against my throat. “No blood.”

Right. His blood meant death, a painful death. I panted in quick gasps. A death he’d proffered the seedy minstrel for taunting me with his song.

Erikkilledfor me. Never did I believe I’d embrace anyone’s darkness in such a way, but the more I thought of how he tore me away, the more his eyes flashed in a possessive violence when he thought I’d belong to the minstrel—gods, I wanted to tear my way inside him and never leave.

Frantic, my body pressed into his, wild and lost in a path I knew led to destruction, but there was nothing I cared to do to stop it. Poison blood and all.

Heat reached a breaking point inside me. I needed him. All of him. Before he could protest, I took hold of one of his wrists and guided his palm off my hip, up my ribs, until he cupped the underside of my breast.

Erik snapped back, breaking the connection, and returned his hands to my hips.

He tried to maneuver me a few paces from him, but I planted my feet and glowered. “I am freely yours. Isn’t that whatyouwanted? I’m letting you take me.”

A shadow passed over his features, something almost heartbreaking. His thumb traced the line of my bottom lip. “It’s not real, love. I took you; I plan to slaughter your family. Remember all those gory details?”

“Stop it. Stop it.” I shook my head, trapped in a delirious spin of unsatisfied sensual lust and the truth of his words that dug deep into my chest like a rusted blade. I clutched the sides of my head. No. I wanted him. He was like a hidden piece of my heart. Yet, I hated him. Ishouldhate him.

“It’ll be over soon.” Erik’s voice was distant, almost like he spoke to me underwater.

Another person was there. My head was swimming, but I recognized Larsson. He spoke to the king, glanced at me, then left the room. In Erik’s hand was a cup of something hot, the steam was pungent with a tart, fishy scent.

Erik curled his hand around the back of my head. “Drink this.”

I shook my head, pinching my lips.

He scoffed. “Not afraid of my blood in your mouth, but a tonic is where you draw your line?” He stroked my lips, easing them apart, and forced a few swallows onto my tongue.

A rancid flavor like old bread and sun rotted fish caused me to gag and splutter. But soon, my eyes grew heavy, and the throbbing need eased. My pulse slowed. I was vaguely aware that Bloodsinger was guiding me back on the bed. He scooped my legs in his arms and slid them beneath the mussed quilts.

He whispered something I didn’t hear. Then, I fell into syrupy black.

CHAPTER22

The Songbird

All through the night boots must’ve stomped over my skull. I could not understand why it screamed in hot agony.

Something cold dabbed my brow. I cracked one eye. A woman with a spot growing dark hairs on her chin pressed a cloth to my forehead. Her hair was the color of a pale sky, tied in a knot at the base of her neck, and her skin looked rough like weathered leather.

“Ah, decided to wake?” She hummed a laugh and reached over a table topped with a mortar and pestle, herb jars, and a burning stalk of what looked like scorched grass. The woman crushed a few of her burning herbs into a wooden bowl and waved it under my nose. “Up you get.”

I coughed, retching on the harsh burn of spiced herbs. Unappealing as it was, my lungs cleared, and the ache in my skull dulled to a mellow throb.

“What happened?” Haze wrapped around my memories. I recalled the Ice Fjords. Bloodsinger left us. A tavern and . . . sweet music.

I jolted upright. Music. Desire.The king.

With a groan, I buried my face in my palms. I’d clawed at Bloodsinger, shoved my tongue in his mouth. He could’ve done anything to me, and his touch would’ve sent me to a blissful euphoria.

“Hold your head up, dearie,” said the woman, puffing out her lips. She patted my shoulder and handed me a cup of clear water. “Sea singers were once the brutalist of foes when land and sea met. Eggert had been bound to this old tavern for at least six centuries. Had a rather nasty debt to pay for stealing from a nobleman in the House of Tides.”

“I was—” I sipped some of the water, wetting the dry patches in my throat. “I was his way to freedom?”

The woman nodded. “Only earth folk fall for a sea singer’s tune. They want the hearts, you see. Something about eating one makes their youth return. Without it, they’re nothing but rotting corpses with a voice. Hard to pay off his debt when your lot never steps into the Ever. I expect you made his last moments rather thrilling.”

His last moments. I made his last moments filled with a feral need to survive, then I watched the creature die from poison and tried to bed his killer while everyone watched.

“No shame in what was done,” she went on. “Sea singer lust is untamable. Not even the strongest of celibates could resist it. The illusion of pleasure is intoxicating, I suppose.”