Page 54 of Of Wind and Terror

A smile bends his generous mouth. This time, he doesn’t hesitate to cup my cheek, his hold almost reverent, his gaze soft despite the harshness of his features.

“I told you I’d see you soon.”

A wave of panic and dread capsizes any rational thought in my head.

I grab his wrist, though I don’t know if I’m holding his hand to my face or pushing it away.

“Why would you do that?” I sign with my free hand, my movements clunky.

Still, Draven seems to understand my question. One corner of his lips drags down slightly.

“Where’s Calan? Is he okay?”

Darkness swirls in his silver eyes momentarily. “Your kidnapper got what he deserved,” he answers cryptically.

I drop his wrist quickly as unease prickles along the back of my neck. “Draven?—”

“Do you know what color blood the Winter fae have?” His tone is almost casual and nonchalant. But his eyes… His eyes are not. They brim with secrets and monsters and demons and scary things that go bump in the night. “I wondered before if every fae bleeds differently.” His fingers move to my neck, where my pulse pounds erratically, and trails across my jugular. “I’m rather fond of blood. A lot of fae are terrified of the damn thing, but that doesn’t make any sense. It’s the thing that keeps you and me alive. Without blood, you’d just be a corpse.”

His finger continues to slide back and forth across my skin, and I try to ignore the peppering of goose bumps that erupts from his touch.

He’s insane. Terrifying. Psychotic. An ocean made up of chaotic energy instead of water.

So why do I want to drown in him?

What is wrong with me?

This is just a dream, I tell myself, hating the way my pulse jumps and skitters underneath his ministrations. Just a dream.

Draven, oblivious to my internal thoughts, continues speaking. “But your blood, baby bird, is divine. I don’t even need to cut you open to know that. Anything that belongs to you deserves to be worshiped and revered.”

Abruptly, he leans in until his nose touches my skin. He inhales deeply, and a rumbling sound echoes through his chest.

“You smell fucking delicious, baby bird.” His teeth graze my neck, and my heart rate picks up. “Just who are you, Kassandra? Where did you come from? If I were to cut you open, would I see my name on your perfect heart, tattooed across the length of it? I wish I could tattoo your name onto mine, though it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s already there.”

Gaia, his words are messed up, yet that doesn’t stop arousal from rushing through me.

Just a dream, I remind myself.

Though I know that’s not true. At least, not the whole truth. I remember Mikage’s words from before—that my soul travels to the Night Kingdom every time I fall asleep through a process called shadow walking—but I can’t think about that. Not when it feels as if I need to justify myself and my actions.

Just a dream.

Because if you believe it’s anything else, you’ll push him away.

And you don’t want to push him away.

“Who does your heart beat for, baby bird?” Draven’s fingers fiddle with the strap of my nightgown and then push it down just enough for my breast to spring free. Draven immediately places his hand over my pounding heart, his fingers splayed. “Who does this perfect heart belong to?”

He moves his hand lower until he cups my heavy breast. His thumb sweeps over my hardened nipple.

I gasp at the sensation, and he does it again, his eyes intent on my face, gauging my reaction. A stark, ravenous hunger manifests in his eyes.

“You react so sweetly to me, little bird.” As one hand continues to fondle my breast and tease my nipple, the other hand moves to my neck. He squeezes slightly before releasing. “Look at how your blood rushes. So beautiful.” He runs his finger up and down my jugular in tandem to each flick of my oversensitive nipple. “I want to put my lips on you. Taste you.”

He presses a chaste, tantalizing kiss to my throat before moving lower, lower, lower. He pauses when he reaches my breast, even as his fingers continue their relentless torment.

He kisses the very top of my breast.

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