Page 22 of Brutal Birthright

Hedonism was going to be the central star of the evening.

The night already promised poor decisions and darkened corners where all sorts of mischief might transpire.

“With everyone drunk or on spice, and in semi-disguise, there’s no telling what will happen.” Saskia giggled, her wispy curls bouncing around her face. “I’ve already got my dress and mask… have you sorted yours yet, Brynne?”

Of course. A masquerade ball on the summer solstice, when inhibitions dropped low, and spirits soared high. The perfect excuse to leave your usual demeanour at the door, hide behind a mask, and indulge in a little escapism for the evening.

A night when the veil would be thin between worlds. Leading to all kinds of mystical and magical experiences while dressing up as whoever, or whatever, you desired to be for the midsummer festival.

Ri had no idea what she’d dress as, but that was the least of her concerns.

While Brynne and Saskia carried on discussing their outfits for the ball or something equally asinine, what captured her attention and refused to let go was the sight of Rowan. He was still exactly where she’d left him outside the herbarium, and his broad frame lingered annoyingly in the corner of her eye.

She could make out his impossibly large shoulders, brooding in stature, just off to one side of the pathway. To her disgust, the familiar and infuriating sight of blonde, curly hair was right there with him. Standing about as close as possible without touching, the girl was all high-pitched giggles and drool practically coated the shifter's face.

Vanya and her big tits could go stumble into a crevasse.

Ri didn’t care.

It was none of her concern.

He’d been nothing but rude and arrogant and demeaning.

But her fucking sister had now made it her problem. Asking Ri to be, what? Some sort of spy? Keeping tabs on anyone who so much as attempted to get close to Ruby’s precious little pet, Rowan?

Spirits and fucking ancestors. She’d clearly done something in a past life to deserve this special kind of torment.

As much as she despised him, unfortunately, her body hadn’t received the message. In fact, her pussy was an entirely lost cause. Practically begging to be let out of her pants to play whenever his bulky, tattooed body came anywhere near.

Right now, she was turned on, and angry.

Never a good combination for making sensible decisions.

“So, who’s taking me to this ball then?” The flush of whatever magic was in those chocolates felt all sorts of wonderful rolling through her tense muscles. She arched an eyebrow at Atticus and Etienne, who lay sprawled beside one another, each propped up on an elbow.

Both looked immensely fuckable.

Etienne’s lip curved into a devastating smile. Running the tip of his tongue over a fang, his heated stare raked over her from head to toe.

And her body didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. Unlike moments before when all it took was to breathe the same air as Rowan of Nocturne and her underwear caught on fire.

“How about it, scary girl?” They’d all picked up Brynne’s nickname for her. “Atticus and Brynne are going together. Saskia’s going with Glade—fuck knows why you said yes to that jerk, by the way—what say you and I see how well we match?”

“Oh, you think we’re a match huh, bloodsucker?” She liked Etienne. He was fun and flirty, but that’s all it would be between them, unless…

Shit. Their conversation from back at the training arena came rushing back in.

Never let your blood be tasted.

Don’t go kissing fae.

In all honesty, the concept of being fated to another terrified Ri. She’d cut out her own tongue before admitting it out loud… but the notion of having the constant threat hanging over her of suddenly being bound to another by a mystical and Goddess-given source of power?

No-fucking-thank you.

That sounded like the worst kind of entrapment. Being the kind of instantaneous removal of her free will that was enough to make her blood turn cold.

It sent a shudder through her if she ever thought too long about the consequences of one seemingly innocuous kiss. Nothing about it seemed fair or reasonable, that simply because of her fae blood she would forever be wondering if the brush of her lips against anothers could spell the end of her life as she knew it.

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