Page 55 of Brutal Birthright

Rowan made sure she was covered up, took her back to her quarters—in fact, portaled her there just to be certain they’d avoid prying eyes—and then disappeared. Leaving her standing there in her small room, flushed with the glow of orgasms.

It was an asshole move. One that might earn him a few savage words from her at a later occasion.

But it was the only way he knew how to close that proverbial door. He barely let himself glance at her bed or doorway because knowing where she’d be at night was an infinitesimal detail he didn’t trust himself to know.

There was no sense in lingering. Not when there was no issue of farewell kisses, affection, or anything soft between them.

Softness didn’t belong in his life.

It was a one-time thing.

Getting it out of both of their bloodstreams.

Practical.

Only, who the fuck was he kidding? When it came to Oriana, the battle ground wasn’t mapped out in dirt or forest or mountain terrain. It was in the curve of her breast, the soft swell of her stomach, the arch of her spine.

What he wanted involved things like filling her with his cum, laying claim to every inch of her, and then sucking on her perfect tits until she writhed and moaned beneath him, begging to be filled again.

He regretted not having torn her dress off and indulged in taking those stiffened buds in his mouth while he had the opportunity.

Fucking fuck.

Images rushed at him constantly that night, through ‘til the next morning. Accompanying him wherever he went like a vengeful shadow. Including while heading to retrieve the details of the mysterious symbols from Niall—carefully avoiding Ruby in the process. He didn’t trust himself to look her in the eye and not reveal that he’d been fantasising about her sister’s cunt.

A glimpse of perfect pink. Her swollen centre. That pouty little clit, stiff and begging for him to suck down and fondle in slow circles with his tongue.

He thought for a moment about walking away from the academy, from everything. To just tell the queen he was done with this shit and to leave.

To remove himself from this entire clusterfuck of a situation.

It was a miracle no one had noticed them in the stairwell, portaling away at a time of night when a teacher should be nowhere near a student. That would be impossible to explain, even with solid-sounding reasons like her sister is the queen.

Rowan suspected that might draw even more undue attention due to that fact alone.

Whichever assholes had been talking about her last night didn’t deserve to be enrolled in Astracadia. They didn’t fucking deserve to breathe the same air as Oriana. But unfortunately, he wasn’t here to play the black-hearted herald of retribution; he was here to teach.

No matter how eagerly his fingers itched to hold his blade to their throat.

He shouldn’t, no, more precisely, couldn’t be more involved.

Tasting her might prove yet to have been a mistake, but he didn’t regret a single second.

Instead of hunting down who he’d love to drag to the catacombs for a little private conversation, he dutifully met with Finnic and the slender-built, dark-haired male who was the armourer’s fated mate. As they prattled on, and he only half paid attention, he scrubbed a hand over his mouth—a hand that still had her scent all over it—clinging to him like a fever dream.

While they were busy discussing unknown malevolent magic and where the origins might have come from, he drifted lost in thought, far away from the training arena.

Floating somewhere in a realm where blood didn’t coat his dreams and he didn’t slay his own fucking sister every night. A place where, in the distance, he pictured a glimpse of a life he didn’t deserve.

Chapter 18

“Scary girl, where’d you go?” Brynne eyed her over the top of their books. Seated across from one another in the open floor plan area of the library, they’d been pouring over notebooks and herbalism assignments for the better part of the evening.

But Ri’s mind had been about as far away from the book lying open in front of her as could be.

“Huh?” She blinked at her friends. Saskia sat at the far end of the table with a fortress of dusty manuscripts built up around her. Atticus was lazily thumbing through a grimoire. While Etienne was seated next to her, holding a book open on his lap, but rather than paying attention he eyed the group of shifters that sat at the nearby table with outright hunger.

They giggled and eye-fucked him right back.

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