Chapter 19

The Black Art is as keen on escorting me to the Rut as I am on informing him of my discovery with the locator spell. I haven't told him what I've learned yet, and I won't until we're heading back to the castle. I'm not going to risk Sin panicking and throwing me over the back of his horse like a sack of potatoes, insisting we return to Scarwood immediately. What the Black Art doesn't know won't kill him. At least not right now.

We left this morning, along with my brothers and Zorina, for White Hawk Meadow, the large expanse of plateaued land south of Innodell. Our mother stayed at home with Galen. Morrinne's older age and Galen's lack of maturity lessen the effects of the Rut's influence, making it not essential for them to attend. The Rut's night-long festivities, ranging from group hunting to group fucking, commence at dusk and endure until first light. I tend to keep to myself during the Rut, but this year, there is one man's stench I won't be able to hide from.

I eye Sin from my horse and almost wish I could read his thoughts, though I suspect his brazen disregard for transcendent life would leave me wishing I hadn't. The kingdom isn't ignorant to the annual shifter event, but sending an army into a pit of pissed-off transcendents fueled with otherworldly rage isn't exactly a recipe for success. So, the Black Art and his men remain in Blackreach, year after year, and pretend their enemies aren't dancing and drinking in the nude directly under their noses.

I have the immense satisfaction of witnessing the scowl of pure disgust cross Sin's face as we ride over the last of the grassy foothills and look down at White Hawk. The green carpeted meadow is crawling with men and women, laughing and chanting songs dedicated to Slaine, amber liquid sloshing from their drinks as they touch cups and throw their heads back in drunken amusement. The moon casts filtered light onto the clearing, the beams partly obstructed by the towering trees skirting the perimeter.

Eldridge lets out a howl of pure joy as he beholds the crowd before us, their cheers promising release from the Rut's influence. He turns to the rest of us from atop his horse and dips his head in a mock gesture. "If you need me before sunrise, you'll probably find me tongue deep in pussy, so try not to fucking need me," he grumbles before urging his horse down the final slope separating us from White Hawk.

My mouth falls open without my consent, and I promptly shut it, doing my best to wipe the surprise from my expression. Surprise and… something else. I'm not na?ve to the fact Eldridge has taken lovers, as have I, but neither of us ever speaks about it in front of the other. It's a sort of an unspoken rule we have—don't come where you eat.

"That's disgusting," Zorina remarks from her horse. She shoots me a sideways look to gauge my reaction. I've never spoken about whatever feelings I may or may not have for her brother, but I doubt Eldridge's and my complicated relationship has gone unnoticed. I shake my head once but don't say anything, not trusting myself to not say something I'll later regret. Eldridge is allowed to do what he wants and bed who he pleases.

Feeling Sin's eyes burning a hole in my back, I urge my borrowed mare into a gallop and race down the hill.

* * *

"What part of ‘you're not to leave my side' was lost in translation?"

I keep my eyes fixed on the makeshift stables ahead but feel the heat radiating off Sin. "Relax, Blackheart. I knew you'd be right behind me. You can't seem to stay away from me, after all."

He blows out a breath. "You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

We dismount and tether our horses to the hitching posts. "You spend a lot of time threatening me, Your Grace, but I'm beginning to suspect you're all bark and no bite," I lie.

I jump as his lips suddenly brush my ear, not having heard him step around the horses as I finished securing mine to the post. A hand gathers my hair that had fallen over my left shoulder and moves it so it rests over my right, exposing my neck to his mouth.

"Would you like to feel just how hard I bite, little witch?"

His breath on my neck sends spiders skittering down my back, and my breath catches in my throat before I force myself to exhale, hoping he didn't notice the lapse. "There you go again making idle threats and—"

His teeth clamp down on the juncture of my shoulder and neck, and a strangled sound escapes my mouth as pain fills me. I jerk away from him, but his arm wraps around my waist like a steel band, pinning my back to his front.

"What the fuck are you doing—get off of me!" I tug at his arm, trying to pry it away from my waist, but it doesn't budge. I summon my magic to my hands and just as I'm about to press my blazing palms into him, his lips are at my ear again, this time tsking softly in it.

"I wouldn't do that," he murmurs. "Turn your magic on me one more time, and you'll see just how tame that bite was."

The promise in his voice is enough for my conjured flames to simmer out, and I slowly drop my hands to my sides, air blowing out of my nose like a pissed-off beast. His teeth find my punctured flesh again, biting down again for the briefest of moments—a warning—before he laps the blood with his tongue and mutters a word of intention under his breath. My flesh responds to his healing spell and closes instantly, while my clenched fists fly open.

Consequences be damned, I spin and smack the Black Art across the face.

I barely have time to glimpse the flicker of something feral in his eyes before he's grabbing both my arms and forcibly turning me so my back is pressed against his chest. He pushes forward, forcing me to stumble forward until my hips connect with the hitching post.

"I didn't use magic against you, Your Grace. You said nothing about smacking your ugly face."

I don't regret the insult. Sin is far from ugly—it's almost painful how beautiful he is—but his inflated self-image could stand to be poked at for once. His soft laughter, as if mocking my fruitless attempt to hurt him, turns my blood to fire.

I stiffen as he grasps both my hands in one of his and trails a callused palm down my side. Down, down until he's tracing over the curvature of my hip with his fingertips.

I could ignore his warning and burn him through my skin, but his grip on my hip has my thoughts clouded, breathing labored. Something tells me if I try burning him, he will bite me again. That thought disturbs me almost as much as the part of me that strangely yearns to feel his mouth on me again. It's wrong—I know it's wrong—but the presence he commands is intoxicating. And whether I wish to admit it or not, his touch sends a wave of heat through me that isn't entirely caused by the desire to hit him a second time.

I exhale as Sin's hand disappears from my hip, the fog clearing from my head, but nearly choke on my breath as he replaces his hand with the cool underside of his dagger. He applies just enough pressure to hold me still, but not enough to cut. Not yet.

"Listen carefully," he whispers in my ear, his voice low and deep and irritatingly confident. "I put this little heart on your hip to remind you of our special tether." Slowly, he drags the tip of his knife around to the inside of my hip where the small black heart marks my skin, leaving a fluttering sensation everywhere the blade teases my flesh through my thin leggings. Sin lowers his lips to the spot just beneath my ear and whispers against my neck. "Continue to disobey me, and I'll happily make it a permanent addition."

I don't so much as wince when he presses the dagger hard enough to nip my skin through my clothes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. My fitted leggings cling to the wetness now pooling just beneath my waistband, and I trace my top lip with my tongue, my rage bubbling out in the form of a humorless laugh. Looking over my shoulder, I spit at the Black Art's boots. "I can't decide if you're brave to threaten a bloodwitch, or just plain stupid."

I hear the smile as he takes a step away from me, still grasping my joined hands in one of his. "I'm going to let you go now, and when I do, you may run off and enjoy the party on your own. I have business of my own to attend to."

"You're going to leave my side while in a field swarming with people that will scent your disguise the second you're away from me?" Granted, they'll smell the magic on me too, but most of them will likely be too drunk to care or notice.

"I have no desire to be around the atrocities committed here tonight all in the name of some god they attribute their debauchery to."

"Are you worried no one will want to lie with you tonight, Your Grace? It wouldn't surprise me if you get off bedding the women you intend to wage war against," I spit.

"Do you think about me getting off often?"

The abruptness of his question floods my cheeks with warmth, and I'm thankful my back is still towards him. "Let go of me, Singard."

His thumb traces a quick circle on my wrist before he drops my hands. Immediately, I snatch them out of his reach and press them to my hip, healing the skin he barely opened.

"I suggest you get out of here, little witch. Unless you want me to lick that wound closed too," he says with a nod to my hip.

I shoot him a vulgar gesture with both hands before turning and heading towards the Rut.