Chapter 43

The ceiling looks like a constellation, I realize, gaze dragging from one neon stalactite tip to another. Such a pretty blanket for such an ugly deed.

Maybe they’re pointing at me, whispering between each other. Maybe they know what’s in store for me next, and they’re too afraid to say.

Perhaps Vanth was right. Perhaps I am a witch, after all.

The man’s spent weight upon me feels significant. He’s in me, through me. A male I don’t even know. And though I feel free—liberated even—I also feel just a little bit rotten inside.

I didn’t expect it to hurt so much. Didn’t expect for there to be no ‘blinding vortex of pleasure that shatters my soul’ like I read about in Gypsy and the Night King. Like I felt that time Rhordyn touched me on the balcony of Stony Stem.

I didn’t expect to feel so filthy afterward …

But it’s done now.

He arches up, kissing me. I give him a little shove. He eases back, and a wince cuts between my teeth as he slips free and rolls to the side. “You’re fucking amazing,” he pants, dull lantern light outlining his silhouette spread across the moss.

“Thanks,” I mutter, scrambling for my underwear, my hair a shameful mess I try to smooth with my other hand. “You were really good, too.”

I clamber up, threading my feet into my panties, hating the feel of him still smeared between my thighs. I undo the makeshift sheath around my leg and shift it to my waist before easing my shirt on and swiftly securing the buttons, then dragging on my pants, battling with the fastening as he stands and steps before me—not even bothering to search for his own clothes.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, sweeping hair off my face, fingers tracing the outline of my mask, his touch too warm.

Too tender.

Eyes too blue and soft and needy.

“No. But thank you.” His mouth turns down, and I offer him a small smile. “For not treating me like some precious, breakable thing.”

I give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, then disappear into the messy crowd as fast as my feet can take me, something spiky blooming in my chest—a surge of crushing panic that’s sickening. That makes the people around me feel too close. Too warm.

Makes my skin feel more foreign than ever.

I dash through the cluster of pulsing bodies, this vile thing wrestling inside me—threatening to shatter my ribs if I don’t give it space to breathe.

Feet churning, heart racing, I shove past tangled limbs, eyes on the ground until I stumble into an open space.

My desperate gaze scrapes the dimly lit surrounds, finding a dark, sheltered corner that’s private and still. I fall back against the vines cushioning the wall and tuck myself into a ball. Allow myself one moment to mourn the loss of something I always hoped would be special.

Just one crumbling moment where I dig my face into my knees and wish this hurt between my legs belonged to someone else before I wipe my face, pick myself up off the floor, and search for Gael.