18. The Not-So-Fantastical Dining Party

18. The Not-So-Fantastical Dining Party

Skylenna

“Calm down, okay?” I whisperas I walk behind Dessin.

The iron collars on our necks are now chained to each other, forming us in a straight line as we follow Kaspias down the long hallway at the top of the prison. We’re jabbed, kicked, taunted, and degraded in another language by the many sentinels we pass along the way.

Dessin releases a low, hardly audible growl deep in his chest. I know he’s teetering on how much self-control he has around Kaspias. I almost wish I never told him about the beating before sending the Blood Mammoths on The Hunt.

“We can’t know what game they’re playing until we can see the whole board,” I add on.

He looks over his shoulder at me, huffing a surprised laugh.

“That sounds like something I would say.”

“Mmm, nope. Definitely something I would say.”

He chuckles again. “Fine, you coined it.”

I reach my hand to his back against the pulls of my chains, stroking a finger down his spine. My smile falls as I examine the scars covering his tan skin. Remembering the day I went back to that horrible memory. To Kane racing in to save me from the fire. How he tried to go back for Scarlett’s body and was burned from the house caving in on itself.

He walked through fire for me.

And Dessin had to suffer the pain of it for months.

Alone.

In the Emerald Lake Asylum.

God, I’m glad I burned that place to the ground.

I can’t help but tug on the memories that color in the obscure spaces of my mind. There were so many years where I’ve lived without his warm memory. The vacancy that was in my heart for so long.

If I’m not mistaken, the hallway expands into its own wing, growing in size and grandeur. Torches hang on the charcoal walls, roaring in orange flames. Iron pillars. Stone gargoyles with glowing red coals for eyes. It’s the carbon copy of an evil, black castle. A dark-aged dining hall with a gaudy grandfather clock ticking away, grating against the silence. The rich smell of roast beef, melted butter, and something sugary pours from the giant double doors outlined with glimmering firelight.

“Best behavior, captives. I’d hate for anyone to earn another strike,” Kaspias calls, shoving the double doors open like he’s arrived home from a long day at work.

I’m blasted with a gust of cozy, warm air. The kind that carries that slight whiff of a burning log in a fireplace. We pause at the entrance, watching Dessin lift his chin, take a predatory glance around the room, then step inside like his demented presence has swallowed the place in its daunting shadow.

Following behind his steps, the table decorated with a lavish feast steals my attention first. It’s a smooth, onyx, rectangular table. The unpolished metal platters hold roasted animals I can’t identify. Their legs are tied together, and they’re on beds of garnish. I’m instantly aware that we’re all reminded of the head cook Dessin torched as Niles groans behind me.

“Welcome,” an old voice rasps at the end of the table.

My eyes, alert and wide, dart to the source. Two old men. Black matte armor, numerous medals of honor decorating their chests, lush fur collars, and black paint smudged around their eyes. It’s hard to tell in this candle-lit room, but the rumors are true. They’re twins.

The Mazonist Brothers.

The leaders of Vexamen. The outcast royals of Alkadon. The navy twins who believed in a superior militia, a government that could pluck babies from their mother’s arms and turn them into humans without empathy, without the gentle touch of a parent.

And they’re like… a hundred years old.

“It feels like we already know you,” the one on the right says. “I am Malcolm. This is my brother Maxwell.”

Their voices aren’t loud and commanding. They’re soft and rusty, like their vocal cords are tainted by years of smoking a pipe.

“We’ve heard a lot about you from where we come from as well,” I say with cold venom, grasping the chain connected to my collar. “Interesting how you treat your guests.”

“All great and terrible things, I’m sure.” Maxwell chuckles. “My apologies for our manners, but the vicious rumors and legends of the two of you are quite the story. We would be old fools to let you roam before us without some form of security.”

Dessin tilts his chin down, looking at the brothers with something violent and unforgiving. “Nothing great or terrible. Simply…unimpressive.”

Malcolm and Maxwell stiffen, narrowing their eyes and raising an offended eyebrow. Leaving a small crack in that well-crafted image that they are sovereign leaders, kind and just.

They are men with fragile egos.

“Is that a fact?” Malcolm asks carefully, as if he’s trying not to lose his temper.

“And what about our history makes us unimpressive?”

Kaspias plops down in a stone seat beside Maxwell, stretching his arms in boredom, kicking his heavy boots on top of the table.

“Are you going to ask us to sit?” Ruth’s small voice practically echoes across the high ceilings.

The brothers turn their heads eerily slowly, and they look Ruth over, assessing her posture, her sharply pointed shoulders, her curly brown hair. It feels like an entire minute passes us.

“She looks—”

“—familiar, I know. How very odd. Kind of makes you think—”

“But that’s absurd. That would mean…” Malcolm trails off.

“Not that we’re not enjoying the show of a slow descent into a shared delusion, but can we get to the point of this invitation?” Dessin stares at them, unblinking.

“Please.” Maxwell gestures to the table of open seats. “Ruth was right. We should have asked our guests to sit.”

I cock my head to peek at Ruth. She looks entirely freaked out and just as confused as the rest of us.

Servants appear behind us, dressed in giant cloaks with hoods that completely shadow their faces. Like tall, silent grim reapers. They sit us down, unlatch our chains from each other’s necks, and reposition the chain to a hook on the table in front of us. I’m sitting directly across from Dessin, nearly touching shoulders with Kaspias. Warrose is on my left, with Ruth sitting across from him. Niles is next to Ruth, facing Marilynn.

“Isn’t this nice? So civil of two warring countries to sit down for a nice meal. Now, what were you saying about our unimpressiveness, Dessin?” Maxwell purrs softly, eyes fixed on the meat in front of him.

“You may call me Patient Thirteen,” Dessin says without a sliver of emotion. “It’s who the dead refer to me as in Dementia. And it’s who the soon-to-be-dead will refer to me as here.”

I hold my breath. Straight to the point.

Malcolm opens his wrinkled, old mouth to retaliate but is swiftly cut off.

“And by unimpressive, I mean, two brothers were exiled for their extremist views from Alkadon, the greatest country in the world. They were forced to leave their riches, status, their names blacked out from history, and their power and lineage extinguished. And what have they become from this shame? Rulers of a country of desert and infertile land. Leaders that torture babies, animals, and mothers. Tyrants that resemble toddlers stomping their feet and crying out to the rest of the world that they’re somehow bigger and better for being too cowardly to pick on someone their own size. How am I doing so far?”

Warrose lets out a breath of surprised laughter. And I can’t help but grin, open-mouthed and suppressing my own laugh.

“Well, shit,” Niles utters.

“You hear that, Maxwell? He knows it all. The young man believes in the information his captors told him. Believes in false history like an arrogant little puppet!” The old man rises from his seat to lean toward Dessin, elbows shaking as he supports his weight.

“Am I wrong? Then educate me,” Dessin challenges.

“Would it make a difference? You are clearly a passionate patriot of Demechnef.”

Dessin smiles, though it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Quite the opposite. I think both countries are shit.”

Each servant leans around us to supply our plates with food, pouring us wine, and adjusting our napkins across our laps. Their spindly fingers are covered in thin, translucent skin and blue, protruding veins.

Niles reaches his hand out to lift his fork, but Dessin cuts him a glare that could stop anyone dead in their tracks.

“No one eats,” Dessin mouths.

The Mazonist Brothers exchange a charmed look. “We wouldn’t poison our guests. It’s perfectly safe.”

Is it? I consider going into the void to check. Tracing back over their previous actions.

“Then why can I smell black rose of the well? You tried to cover it up with…” He cocks his head forward to get a better whiff of the steam. “Cilantro and onion. You didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you?”

“What’s black rose of the well?” I ask.

“We’ve done no such thing,” Malcolm says in offense, placing a hand over his chest.

“A plant that extracts the truth when ingested,” Dessin replies without looking away from the Mazonist Brothers.

Damn. And who’s to say they didn’t add anything else to our meal? Maybe something that can’t be detected by scent?

Maxwell catches my eye with his slumped, casual posture. Fingers steepled together. A smug curve of his withered lips. He taps his brother on the shoulder, tossing a handful of shredded meat into his mouth like a heathen.

“Whether we did or did not is irrelevant. Either you eat dinner with us willingly, or we force feed you the way we do to some of our children in the breed.” His mouth is sloppy, and he is making smacking sounds as he talks.

Force feeding? No. The throbbing memory of Absinthe whooshes across my vision. The cold bathtub. The hard crack of her knuckles to my cheek. The tube that drained raw egg into my stomach.

No. Just, no.

“I’d like to see you fucking try,” Warrose growls, fists in tight balls by his silverware.

“Remember that little thing in your ear?” Kaspias barks out a laugh. “You’re all nothing but sheep now.”

He’s right. We’re sitting ducks. Refusing is futile. But maybe if I just slipped into the void, took the Mazonist Brothers to my own special prison, we could win the war before it even starts. We can protect our secrets.

Dessin’s dark, rigid eyes slam into me, locking me in his dooming stare. He knows exactly what I’m thinking somehow. The knowledge of it hardens his jaw, stops his chest from moving. He shakes his head twice. A look that says, Don’t you fucking dare try it right now.

“Not yet. You’ll need your energy for something far more dire than this.”The woman reappears like a sweet puff of smoke in my mind.

My shoulders slump forward. “But the truth is dangerous. They can use so many things against us in here.”

“You and Dessin are special, Skylenna. Your minds are capable of power that exceeds the makings of black rose of the well.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Let your instincts take over. Dessin has already crafted his plan.”

“We’ll eat,” Dessin states without breaking eye contact.

“We will?” Niles blurts out.

In a show of good faith, Dessin takes a bite of a seasoned animal leg. Despite the knowledge of it being laced with black rose of the well, my mouth waters as the steaming juice drips on his plate. We’ve been starved for so long. And even though we finally got to eat today, let’s be honest, it was sewage goop.

Maxwell stuffs another handful of shredded meat into his slobbery mouth, grinning with rotting teeth as we all follow suit.

I reach for the same type of roasted leg that Dessin bit into. My stomach twists with both salivating hunger and fear of what will happen when our bodies react to the truth spilling from our tightly locked lips. Is there anything I should hide from them? Anything of vital importance?

Let your instincts take over.

Releasing a quiet sigh, I bite into the succulent, hot meat, scraping my teeth across the bone. Fuckkkkk, it’s like a drug. The rosemary seasoning, savory juices, tender substance. The bliss. The endorphins. The blast of dopamine!

“Oh, ride my face. I want to hate it. I do. But I’m practically coming,” Niles groans loud enough to make the brothers laugh.

I roll my eyes, digging into the pile of weirdly colorful vegetables. They’re sweet like cream with a slight crunch. I melt into my seat, reminded of the time Aurick planned a final feast for me. Or what about the night Ruth and I raided his kitchen, ate sweets and drank wine, and gossiped in the bath!

“Skylenna, this reminds me of the time at Aurick’s house! Remember the wine and baths?” Ruth exclaims, taking a long swig of her wine. “That was so good! But the food wasn’t nearly as tasty as this!”

“I remember!” I laugh, mirroring her actions and sipping my wine as well.

Wow, like smooth grape juice. It’s silky as it runs down my throat.

“My mother used to give Judas and me cinnamon cookies and milk when we were little,” Marilynn explains with a full mouth. “That’s when she used to tell us the stories of the Fallen Saint!”

Fallen Saint? Me. The prophecy. Wait, aren’t we not supposed to know about it? But wouldn’t it be far more important that the leaders of Vexamen aren’t privy to that knowledge either? Fuck, it’s the truth plant!

“I was a vegetarian for years,” Warrose grumbles through big bites of his meat. “Can’t remember why now.”

My wide eyes jump to Dessin, who is eating in deafening silence. He makes no show of how good the food is. Doesn’t spill any secrets. Doesn’t even let his features show how much he’s enjoying the meal.

Dessin, Kane, Greystone, Dai, Aquarus, Kalidus, Foxem, and Syfer.

Syfer is a mute alter. He split when Demechnef trained me to be able to withstand torture without spilling secrets to an enemy interrogator.

I’ve never met this alter before. I suppose there would never be a cause for it, unless for this very reason. The brothers are trying to extract information from us. But this is exactly what Demechnef has trained him for.

Syfer is…empty. Features slack, hollow of any emotion. I stare at him through my ravenous chewing, reading his body language with cautious intrigue. With a slow blink, his echoing stare shifts to me.

It’s the first time I’ve ever felt an unpleasant knot in my gut from this body’s gaze. It’s like looking at an ocean’s horizon at midnight, feeling the vastness look back at you, creeping into the crevices of your soul. A great power, yet not a single drop of humanity. No color, no light, no sound, only a lingering dread. A heavy loneliness.

“I worked as a child. I never talk about it, never even think about it.” Niles takes a long, wet gulp of wine. “It’s twisted, isn’t? The underground transactions that go on in the Chandelier City with children? Were any of you a part of it? I don’t suppose so. I felt alone for a long time. Never had any friends like what I have now.”

It’s like water fills my chest, and I forget how to breathe.

I bite off a chunk of bread, chew, chew, chew.

He never talks about his childhood, not after that day he shared his demons with me in the asylum. It’s been an unspoken vow between us. Those memories make him feel sick, make him feel ashamed.

“That’s terrible, Niles. What other tragedies go on within Demechnef’s borders?” Malcolm purrs without touching his food.

The table falls into a movement of more chomping, slurping, snagging other foods scattered throughout the feast.

I turn my head to Syfer. He eats mechanically, moving his fork to his lips at an unhurried pace. I snag his attention by clearing my throat, holding his gaze filled with nothing but smoke and air. My instincts on what to do next are clear.

“I’m sorry to leave you, especially since we haven’t been introduced yet.” The urge to spit out more bits of truth claws at my insides. “But I’ve decided they won’t get what they want tonight. The Mazonist Brothers have yet to grasp the limits our minds can exceed.”

It’s the first sliver of emotion crossing Syfer’s brow, a twitch of a muscle. Maxwell growls something beside me. A warning. A question.

But the voices around me sound like water droplets hitting the glassy surface of a warm pond. A whisper down a long tunnel.

And DaiSzek is by my side, bowing for me to climb on his back for him to take me far away.

To the Ambrose Oasis.

~

Ruth

I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much.

I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much.

I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much. I shouldn’t be eating this much.

Potato soup drips down my chin. I can’t seem to eat this all fast enough. My hands are shaking, my mind is rabid, my heart is pumping blood into my limbs to get me to move faster.

I want it all. It’s not going to be enough. Will they have more food? Could I ask for more when I’m done with all of this?

“Slow down, Miss Ruth. Did they not feed you well in Demechnef?” one of the brothers calls from down the table.

I shake my head, forcing myself to swallow. Be polite, use your napkin to wipe your mouth. Be a lady.

“We followed a lady-doll regimen. It kept our figures intact, and our skin smooth and flawless.” The words tumble out of my mouth without any filter to consider what I’m saying.

Malcolm tsks. “That must have been dreadful.”

“I was hungry a lot,” I agree, trying to ignore how my mouth salivates for more food. “But at least I always looked my best.”

I start shoveling the cheesy noodles into my mouth, nearly blacking out at how euphoric the taste is. I never want to leave. I’ll stay here forever, eating, drinking, eating, drinking.

“And how close are all of you? Friends? Traveling companions? Family?”

“Family!” Niles beams, then looks at Marilynn. “She’s a little new to our group, but fitting right in!”

Should we be telling them this? I don’t know. I can’t think past the sugar, the hot bread, the chunky soup.

“And do you plan on being in their family for long, Marilynn?” Maxwell says after he swallows a spoonful of soup.

“I do. One day I am destined to—” Marilynn slaps her hand over her red lips, staring at us in shock, like she’s just figured something out.

“To what, dear?”

Her pale cheeks bloom with color. And it’s as fast as the time I take to blink. Marilynn throws herself forward, slamming her forehead down on the iron table over and over again.

I scream through the delirious haze.

Niles jumps to his feet, being choked back down by his collar. Warrose and I turn to Dessin and Skylenna, looking to them for a reaction, for an appropriate response. Dessin continues eating without so much as a concerned glance. Skylenna stares vacantly at her plate, eyes glazed over.

“What the fuck is going on?” Warrose barks.

Marilynn’s face flops into her plate of food as she falls unconscious. A sharp pang of warning slams into my gut. Something’s wrong. Something’s not right.

“Ignore her,” a brother coos. “It’s just us now.”

But adrenaline zings under my skin, begging for me to move, to run.

“Eat. The food is still hot.”

I respond like my mind is made of putty. Forks clank against plates. And I’m suddenly filled to the brim with pleasure radiating through every nerve after each bite.

“So, family, hmm? These are your brothers, Ruth?”

Family. Brothers. Are they?

“No,” I answer as I lick my spoon. So good. So good. My tongue tingles. My low belly burns. “Warrose is not my brother.”

“Oh?”

I fist my hands into a heap of more food, getting sweet potatoes all over my fingers. I run my tongue along my knuckles. So sweet. So tasty. But how many calories? Will I see this as new layers of fat on my hips? Along my ribs?

“He’s not my brother,” I reiterate.

“What is he?”

“I don’t know.”

I can sense Warrose eating slower, listening to my words through his own captivating indulgence.

“Why don’t you know? I thought you said you all were family.” Malcolm pushes with gentle patience.

“I want to suck his cock.” The sentence falls from my lips without any thought. And now that I’m really thinking about it, my mouth is watering for another reason, my inner walls are clenching around air.

Warrose looks up from his food, his stare burning into me like molten lava. It warms my center, licking between my legs.

“I see.” Someone chuckles from the other end of the table. “You could take a small break from eating, Ruth.”

What does he mean?

I can’t look away from those glittering hazel eyes. They’re the glass on the seafloor, green and blue, unearthing my secrets and arousal.

“Go on, Ruth. You have our permission to taste him.”

A servant unlatches my collar, guiding me to Warrose’s side of the table. My legs are wobbly, my mind covered in thick fog. But I’m burning all over, tingling with the feverish need to do exactly as they say. Touch him. Taste him. Look at his length. Hold it in my hands.

“Where would you like her, Warrose?” Maxwell’s voice is eager, menacing.

I look up at Warrose’s lofty height, his shadow enveloping me. His tattooed chest is moving like a wild animal out of breath. And that only makes my hardened nipples chafe against my uniform.

“On her knees,” Warrose says in a deep, rusted tone.

I’m guided by primal need and instinct. There’s a pounding ache between my thighs, meandering through my insides. I drop to my knees, looking up at his dilated pupils and clenching fists. And my entire body jerks with a downpour of rigorous arousal.

Touch me, oh god, Warrose. Please touch me.

I’m squirming below him, worried I might start drooling at the sight of his growing crotch.

“Are you attracted to him, dear?”

I nod like a pet waiting for a treat. Heart thrumming as Warrose has to adjust his pants. He’s so handsome, so beautiful. That dusting of dark hair running in a trail under his navel. How would it feel against my tongue? Would he moan at my touch?

Taut lines form across his brow, and I almost weep with pure joy as he runs his fingers through my hair. That calloused skin grazes my scalp, and I pinch my thighs together to ease the throbbing agony.

“Are you hard for Ruth? Should she touch you to find out?” These voices are demented, filled with the wrong kind of lust. But I can’t find room in my brain to care.

Warrose nods like he doesn’t remember how to shape words.

Nervous flutters fill my stomach as my hand reaches out to him. I press my palm against his thick, pulsating cock covered by his breeches. We both groan in a symphony of bottled pleasure. He’s hard for me, ready to have my mouth, my tongue.

His large hand covers mine, adding pressure to his stiff length. I hiss at the contact, my hand lighting on fire. He pilots me, using our hands to stroke him.

“Pull it out for her. Let’s see how much of you she can take.” It’s Kaspias’s voice that pierces the layer of lust. I almost forgot he was here.

I’m practically bouncing up and down as Warrose fists himself under his waistband

Chains rattle behind me. Gasps. Brisk movement. And a tan hand lands over Warrose’s heart. I follow the arm to see Dessin standing next to me.

“Not today, kids.” He nods over his shoulder, and Skylenna grins, wide and disturbing. She kicks the table over, sending the feast crashing to the ground. Metal clanking against the floor. Niles curses as he tries to get in a last bite, falling over with it.

Skylenna leaps over the mess, bare feet landing on the arms of Malcolm’s chair. She’s crouched in front of him, knife to his wrinkled throat.

Kaspias is on his feet, ready to pounce.

“Go ahead,” she taunts. “See if you or this earpiece can move faster than a flick of my wrist.”

Through the heavy daze and insatiable hunger, I’ve never been prouder of my soul sister.

Dessin helps me to my feet, signaling for Warrose to check on Marilynn, who is still unconscious.

“We’ll be going back to our cages now. Thank you for a wonderful evening.” Skylenna hops off Malcolm’s chair, tossing the knife at the hoard of wasted food.

Niles and Warrose lift Marilynn from the messy floor, but Niles waves him off, insisting he can carry her himself.

“Fine,” Maxwell says as he waves Kaspias to stand down. “We learned enough for one night. Sleep well, children.”

Dessin slings my arm over his shoulder as he helps me walk back to where we came from. I want to beg to stay with the food, with Warrose. Why did they interrupt? I’m so confused I can hardly make sense of anything right now.

“Whatever’s going on in your head will pass shortly,” Dessin tells me in a hushed tone.

“I’m hungry.”

Skylenna appears on my other side, throwing my other arm over her shoulder.

“Hey, that was pretty cool what you did in there,” I gush, my face way too close to hers.

She laughs. “Thanks, Ruth.”

“I almost gave Warrose a blow job.”

Skylenna exchanges a look with Dessin. “I know.”

“In front of Niles…of all people,” I add to Dessin.

He purses his lips as if to say, Yeah, that makes it worse.

“You almost gave me a blow job?!” Niles hisses behind us, carrying Marilynn with ease.

“No!” Skylenna and I snap at the same time.

“Good because that’s incest!” He pauses for a long moment. “I’ve never been attracted to little Ruthie.”

“Good to know.” I roll my eyes.

“I was talking to Marilynn.”

I glance back at her unconscious body hanging in Niles’s arms. Her forehead is bloody and swollen. Why did she do that? What even happened tonight?

“Niles, please shut the fuck up. I have a migraine.” Warrose. He’s tailing us. Warrose. I almost…

“I wasn’t going to actually do it!” I blurt out, gripping Skylenna’s shoulder in a panic. “I swear! They must have drugged my food with ecstasy! Right? I would never have actually done it!”

“Is that fucking right?” Warrose shoots back.

“Dessin!” I shake his upper body. “Tell me the food was drugged with ecstasy!”

He looks at me with narrowing eyes, then shifts his focus to Skylenna on my right. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Opens again.

“Is lying to a friend in this situation acceptable?”

I groan in the back of my throat. Letting my entire body go limp so my friends will carry me. They chuckle as they lift me off the ground, watching as I drape my hand over my eyes dramatically.

“I’m still hungry!” Niles complains.

“The plant will dissolve from your system in a minute or two,” Dessin says.

After several seconds, my stomach protrudes, my gut feels swollen, sore, stretched to its limit. I let out a faint whimper, frowning as my head lulls back.

“I want to puke!”

The rush of endorphins is gone. Vanished in the pit of misery my stomach has curled into. Sweat trickles down my lower back. And my mouth salivates for an entirely different reason.

We make it back to inside our cages, and as I’m placed on the cold floor, that dreadful aroma of buttered popcorn, candy, and burned skin makes my insides wither. I want a warm blanket. A silk pillow. I want to fall asleep with oils in my hair, body butter layered over every inch of my skin.

Niles sits in Marilynn’s cage, holding her head in his lap. He caresses her merlot hair absently.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.

Niles lifts his head, blinking at me like he forgot anyone else was here. Breath releases from his chest, and he shrugs tiredly.

“She was really determined to keep that prophecy away from them.”

I nod. “It’s for the best.” Especially if we aren’t even allowed to hear it.

But he’s done talking tonight. With a soft sigh, he lies down, pulling Marilynn to his chest. I roll away, turning to my side to see Warrose staring at the rocky ceiling.

“We’re not talking about it,” I bite.

He chuffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Oof. I keep my features schooled as that sting stabs through my chest, making it hard to breathe. Confusion ripples through me, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Nothing to talk about? I almost…we almost…in front of everyone.

“You’re right,” I agree. But the rejection swells in my throat. How could he think that? I’ve never been more turned on in my life. His soft touch in my hair did more for me than the three times I actually had sex.

“Good.”

I clench my teeth together.

A thought crosses my mind. I’m the one that taught Skylenna the art of flirting, right? Shouldn’t I be able to test if he means what he says?

“We won’t talk about it ever,” I add.

“Fine.”

“About how I got on my knees for you,” I say slowly, leveling my eyes at his silhouette.

He hesitates. “Right.”

“Or how I ran my palm up the shaft of your cock.”

His entire body stiffens. Those lips part, then close, then part again. No words come out.

“Or about what would have happened if Dessin didn’t stop us…”

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “What would have happened?”

Okay, here goes nothing. Brace yourself, War-Man.

“You would have pulled your hard length out, and I would have held it in my small hands.” I pinch my thighs together at the thought. Hell, I’m turning myself on.

His breath hitches.

“Or how I would have stuck my tongue out so you could tap your tip against it.”

Warrose drops his head against the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose. The muscles in his arms tighten as he lets out a faint growl. “Christ.”

“Good night, Warrose.”

I grin in victory as I roll over, coming face to face with a wide-awake golden boy. Niles meets my eyes. He’s beaming. Cheeks pinks. Eyes round.

“I’m one proud papa, Ruthie!”