Page 7 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

Nymiria considered herself to be too outspoken sometimes—a certified chatterbox and oftentimes quite the know-it-all.

But now, as Oran Yaarborough moved so close to her that his chest bumped against her shoulder, she found herself struggling for the right thing to say.

“Perhaps he simply… thinks highly of me. To be honest, I’m not quite sure why he put me here.

” Her tongue felt heavy. Thick and dry, like she hadn’t drank water in days.

She’d been too distracted by that dark look in his eyes to realize he was closing in on her.

Not until her head softly collided with the wall behind her—his body an imposing figure that could have swallowed her whole.

He was large. He was breathing heavily, his breath thick with the smell of alcohol.

Her heart pounded, her body going rigid as his hand came up to her chest. “He thinks highly of you?” The prince hummed, as if her words were a joke.

She narrowed her eyes, trying her best to suppress her flinch when the pads of his thumb moved over the curved tip of the flower above her cleavage. “He hasn’t shown any sexual desire towards me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He paused, quickly tucking his hand behind his back.

“I wasn’t.” His eyes bore into her own—intense.

Everything about him exuded this overwhelming intensity that she could not shake.

As if sensing her discomfort and the erratic beating of her heart, he grinned.

“Although, that is rather surprising considering how much he spoke of you in his letters. He would recount his days for me as if they were the diary entries of a young pubescent girl describing a schoolyard crush. Now that I see you in all of your glowing glory, I think I might understand—you’ve ensnared him.

Haven’t you?” He leaned closer to her, his lips mere centimeters from the sharpened tip of her ear.

She was so shocked, so stunned that she hadn’t realized she’d let her glamour fall, her Mystic form revealed to him in full.

Nymiria moved to better cover herself with her robe, but Oran gripped her wrists and pried them away from the fabric.

“Do you know why my father sent me away, Nymiria? It certainly was not to see the bright and beautiful wonders of the world or to see art or learn to write those sonnets and poems he has recited to you.” The tone his voice took was one that could chill to the bone.

Nymiria tried to pull away from him, a sudden surge of fear claiming her limbs and inspiring her to run away as fast as she could.

Oran placed a single, gentle hand upon her shoulder to hold her in place before returning the appendage to his back.

“My father sent me to fight his war, little Mystic. He sent me into the Beyond to exterminate creatures of your blood. Creatures like you who he thinks so highly of.”

It wasn’t a lie. She knew that Dorid Yaarborough had been killing Mystics for as long as he’d sat on the throne.

His father before him did the very same.

This was not news to her or anyone else, for that matter.

But listening to those words still felt like rubbing salt in a wound.

“And?” She hissed. “What does that have to do with me?”

"Stay away from us." At his words, Nymiria jerked her hands free from his grasp. “Sleeping with the enemy will only get you killed, little Mystic."

"What are you talking about?"

Oran took a small step back. "Beware of the branch with twisted roots, Nymiria. Darkness lurks amongst us and it will come for you—devour you." He shook his head, running his fingers along his jaw as he looked her over once again. "You're going to die here."

She clamped her jaw together, hoping that it would prevent her from spewing the harmful, foreign words that were like a knot in her chest. With her hands curled into trembling, tight fists Nymiria watched as Oran backed away from her and disappeared into the darkness beyond the corridor.

Trying to steady her breathing, she waited until she could no longer hear the falling of his footsteps before she hurried back to her rooms. Her desire to bury herself in books was long forgotten and replaced with another ragged, hateful sob filled with rage and…

hurt. Eyes clouded with tears, she turned down the hall that led to her door.

She opened it slowly, clutching at her chest as she lifted her eyes.

But what she saw was not the familiar rooms she found solace in.

No, gods above, she had surely made a fool of herself for a third time today.

Instead of her large four poster bed decorated in fine purple silks and an embroidered duvet, she was now staring at the game room.

And there, right behind the billiards table, was a man with short hair just as white as her own with his pants tugged down to his thighs.

His beauty was otherworldly, his eyes and skin glowing as his gaze moved from the woman splayed out in front of him to…

her. Plump lips parted, his brow drawing to the center, creating a strong crease between them.

The black jewel dangling from his ear shimmered, his jaw quivering as his teeth clamped together.

She should have looked away. She should have been repulsed, but her morbid curiosity had claimed her at last. So she watched.

The man was buried between the thighs of this woman, her cries of pleasure reverberating off the vaulted walls of the room.

And when she reached for the man that was still looking at Nymiria with such sinful eyes, the man pushed her back onto the billiards table and slapped her hands away from his chest. His thrusts became more powerful, his lips curving into a devious smile. Still, he did not look away from her.

Heat coiled low in Nymiria’s body, her cheeks flushing with that same sinful heat.

But it was the brand on her chest that made her gasp—the soft tingling sensation that flared through the brand like a surge of lightning—that finally pulled her from her stupor.

She jolted, lips parting as she fought the urge to rub her thighs together to alleviate the throbbing that plagued her most intimate area.

His eyes. Somewhere, somehow, she'd seen them before.

“Out.” The man growled. His voice was hot and thick, and she felt it in her chest. Like that first sip of whiskey or a secret bite of dark chocolate, sinful and savory. Sweet and seductive. “Get. Out."

Her senses returned, leaving her scrambling, apologies spewing from her like a sputtering spigot that hadn't been used in years. With a silent prayer of forgiveness sent to her goddess, Nymiria turned and ran.