Chapter 21

Chapter 21

F ey couldn't sleep.

She tossed and turned, pushing the sheets away, only to pull them back over herself a moment later. She couldn't get comfortable, couldn't get settled in her skin.

The adrenaline from their mission that evening had faded hours ago after they'd finished their report to Dameon, and she should have fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep after her bath. But something gnawed at her, something had her shifting uncomfortably on her bed, unable to lie still.

She was thinking about him.

She didn't want to, especially not after tonight. She was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She didn't want to have her head full of thoughts of Alastair. Alastair kissing her. Alastair touching her.

Alastair's hand around her neck.

I'll be right here if you're ever looking for some fun.

Fey snarled and rolled over again in bed, kicking at her sheets.

He'd awakened something inside her that night in the club, and instead of fading over time like she'd hoped it would, it was growing. She'd tried taking care of the problem herself, her mind full of thoughts of him, her fingers between her legs. But even as she'd shuddered her release, biting her hand to stifle her cries, the ache had returned with a vengeance. It wasn't enough.

Fey growled in frustration, turning over again.

It wasn't any use. She was going mad lying here in the dark with nothing but her thoughts to occupy herself, and a dull constant ache between her legs.

There wasn't anything left to do.

Fey was a fixer. The Crown employed her to fix problems. Well, tonight she had a serious fucking problem. And she intended to fix it.

Before she could question the wisdom behind her decision, before she could stop herself or second guess what she was doing, Fey got out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants and a top from her closet.

She threw the clean clothing on and left, heading to The Last Drop.