22. Alana

TWENTY-TWO

Finn was gone all night, and he still hasn’t returned.

Part of me is glad because going to the lake just before sunrise has become something of a habit, and if he had returned just before dawn, I would have missed the one peaceful moment of the day.

The moment when the others are finally sleeping. When they’ve stopped floating through the trees, talking, whispering, making plans.

When finally my mind is quiet.

And I need that quiet this morning.

Last night’s vision was the worst so far. So visceral, I woke screaming with Briony at my side. She soothed me, made me a hot drink, and offered to stay with me until I fell back to sleep. But I didn’t need sleep. I needed quiet, so I came here.

I have perfected the art of keeping my gates closed and keeping others’ thoughts out of my head. But it still takes effort, practice, thought. It takes energy.

Talking to Kayan takes energy, too; trying to interpret what he means, why he’s here, and if he’s real or just a figment of my imagination.

And fighting the aftereffects of the visions takes even more.

Standing here, by the lake, letting the cool water lap my toes, I release the gates and sigh. It is like taking off a corset at the end of a long day. My entire body relaxes into itself. The restraints are gone. I am free.

Glancing behind me, I wonder whether Kayan will appear. I think not. I tend to see him only once a day and, a couple of times, he has not come at all.

When he does not appear, I peel off my nightdress and stride into the water. I learned a little while ago that part of my newfound water affinity means it does not affect me when the water is cold.

Where others would start to shiver, it just rolls off my skin like warm rain.

I know it is cold. But it doesn’t feel cold. Or, perhaps, it feels hot and cold at the same time.

The sensation, as I walk deeper into the water, is a strange one. I close my eyes and lean into it. I pay attention to the way the water inches up my thighs, caresses my skin, swells around me, hugging my curves and lines. Reaching the smallest, most intimate places.

When I lower myself in completely, I start to swim. My wings become heavy on my back, but the sensation of them pressing down hard against my skin is not unpleasant.

I swim until I reach the falls on the other side, then lever myself up onto one of the largest rocks and sit looking out towards the camp.

Above the trees, the sun is rising slowly. She inches up above the horizon, exactly the same, every day. As if nothing in the world has changed for her.

When I close my eyes, though, the vision returns. I remember the way the sun looked in my nightmares. Clouded with ash, angry, orange, white, burning with fury like she was about to drop out of the sky and burn us all.

As the vision drips like acid through my body, making me wrap my arms around my tucked-up knees and press my forehead to them, another replaces it.

Him.

I look up and shake my head, but it is too late.

As always happens, as soon as he has snagged one vicious fingernail in my mind, he is able to claw his way in and force me to remember.

The way it felt to have him inside me.

As heat pools between my legs, shame and guilt tighten like a vice around my chest.

He fucked me, and I felt pleasure explode inside me, and yet this is the man who killed Kayan. Who ripped off his wings, slit his throat, and let his body fall to the ground in front of me.

The man who wants me dead, and who would torture and kill for the rest of his days if it meant keeping control of the fae he deems less than him.

The man who pulled pleasure from the depths of my body and allowed it to take me to oblivion.

Tilting my head back, as conflicting thoughts and sensations threaten to overwhelm me, I skim my hands over my damp breasts. One lingers on my nipple, and the other settles between my legs.

Slowly, I start to stroke myself. I am in no hurry. All I want is to feel. I want to lean into sensations instead of thoughts. Pleasure instead of the throbbing heartbeat of guilt that gnaws at my stomach when I think of Finn, Eldrion, Kayan, Rosalie, the Leafborne, my family.

I want to forget everything and sink into myself.

I open my legs wider, and lie back, so I am draped over the rock and the waterfall mists gently spray over my naked body.

My damp hair splays out behind me. Above, the sky is turning from greyish orange to blue. The world is waking up, and so is my body.

As I touch myself, the guilt begins to fade. And it is taken over by the memory of his cock inside me. The visions I’ve had, and that night in the tunnels, and the image I saw him touching himself to in his quarters... they all blur into one. I cannot know what is real and what isn’t. Were they premonitions? Dreams? Wants? Fears?

Do I fear the way my body responds to him? Or am I curious?

I circle my clit harder, trying to strum these torturous thoughts from my brain.

I turn my mind to Finn. When I told him about Eldrion, he wasn’t upset or angry. He was curious. Which makes everything worse; if I knew he hated the idea of me with another man, I’d do everything I could to block these thoughts. It would make it easier.

But knowing it turns him on adds another layer to the swirling vortex of pleasure that sweeps through me.

I reach down and hook my fingers inside my cunt. I move them gently in and out, grinding my hips so I push my pelvis down onto them. But they are not enough.

I think of Eldrion, and the way he filled me.

I think of killing Eldrion and ending the way he torments me, the way he torments everyone. I think of being the one to take his power from him.

And then I think of Finn... but when I think of Finn, it is not him fucking me that drives me wild. It is the night I fucked him. The night I made him completely mine.

Resting up on my elbows, I open my palm and summon droplets of water from the falls. I stare at them as they swirl and harden, and then smile as the icicle settles in my hand.

I curl my fingers around it. It is cold, but not the kind of cold that will hurt. It is a cold laced with magic.

Lying back down, I put the tip of the icicle in my mouth and swirl my tongue over it. Saliva pools in my mouth as I remember the moment I did this to Finn. The way his eyes widened when I pushed it past his tongue to the back of his throat.

A low moan escapes my lips.

I drag the moist shaft of ice down between my breasts, then use it to circle my clit. The hedonistic mixture of ice and warmth takes my breath away.

I use the tip to tease myself, then slowly draw it down further.

Then, instead of sliding it inside, I get on my knees. I press the icicle to the rock, and blue light circles its base, moulding it to the rock’s slippery surface.

Flicking my hair back over my shoulders, I lower myself onto the shaft and my eyes roll back as it hits the exact spot I was looking for.

I let my wings free. They are heavy, and damp, so I flick them quickly to free them of moisture. It lands on my skin like drops of tantalizingly cool static.

Now, they are lighter. I beat them slowly, allowing the breeze to caress my damp skin.

I tilt my hips, grinding into the angle that is making me moan. Then match the rhythm of my thrusts with fast, stroking movements over my clit.

My cheeks are flushed, my spine arched. Pleasure coils inside me, weaving its way beneath the surface of my skin so my whole body feels like it’s about to explode.

The pleasure is so much, it has almost become pain.

My wings tremble.

My hands shake.

I close my eyes. And then I see his face. Watching me. As if he is right there inside my mind. “Come for me, Alana. Show me what a good little fae you are.”

Eldrion.

I shout his name. It feels like sin on my lips. But I shout it again.

Again.

And again.

“I’m going to end you,” I promise him. “I’m going to be the one to end you.”

I whisper this promise again and again until there is nothing left inside me and my body collapses forward.

The ice melts.

I drop onto all fours, then slide into the water, allowing it to soothe the trembling in my muscles. I cling on to the rock, body floating in the water, barely able to breathe.

And I swear, on the breeze, I hear him saying, “Good girl.”