Page 115 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Moving from one breast to the other, she worked her lips over the tight tip. Kyra arched her back, pushing herself into Emillie’s mouth, where she licked and swirled her tongue around her nipple. She kept her hand stroking her sex until she found that perfect place inside that she always used to send herself over the edge whenever she explored on her own.

Kyra cried out, thrusting until her climax had her sex gripping Emillie’s fingers tight and hot. Her body tensed, and Emillie massaged her tongue over her nipple as she rode out the explosion to its finality.

“We are doing a terrible job at getting clean,” Emillie said as she pulled her hand fingers and brought them to her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the taste of Kyra on her skin.

“Then let us clean,” Kyra said breathlessly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “We can continue this in the bed.”

Emillie and Kyra did make it to the bed, but rather than continue their spree, they lay together, limbs entangled, and spoke of their lives. To her unending relief, Emillie discovered they had much in common. The more they talked, the more she found her attraction to not be limited to their primal actions.

Yes, Kyra was beautiful and sexy and so very talented with her mouth, and she was also an avid reader and loved to cook. Her favorite color was forest green—it looked best with her hair, she claimed—and she preferred fruit desserts over chocolate. She could travel in the daylight and enjoyed laying out in the sun, much to Emillie’s envy, yet spent most of her time living by night because she enjoyed the liveliness of Laeton during those hours. Her evening at the Drifter’s Inn and Bistro had been one of many.

When at last they agreed to settle in for the evening, Emillie found sleep evaded her. She thought of the woman beside her and how every action she had taken brought her to that moment. No matter the terrible times under her father’s roof, she endured those nights to get to where she was now: with a woman that she could see herself falling in love with.

Still, Emillie would not have had this opportunity if not for the one person she once believed to be a heartless rake.

She untangled herself from Kyra’s sleeping body and slipped from the bed. Pulling on a dressing gown, she crept from the room. In a few quick steps, she stood before Alek’s door and knocked lightly. When there was no response, she pushed through to find an empty sitting room with charcoal-colored walls and a dying fire as the only light source.

“Alek?” she called, then bit her lip. What was she doing? He was likely asleep, as she should be at this hour. She could speak with him in the morning. Emillie shook her head and turned back to the door.

Then she heard a soft whimper of…pain?

Emillie’s heart lurched into her throat. She looked around the room. “Hello?”

Another slightly louder cry. Yes. Pain. That was certainly pain. And it was coming from behind a closed door—Alek’s bedroom.

Gods, she was going to be sick. Were the rumors true? He had sworn to her they had not been, and yet, as she stood there, she could not mistake the sounds. If he was hurting someone, it had to stop. She could not stand there and let what happened to her sister happen to another right here in Valenul.

Mustering every ounce of courage she had, Emillie forced her feet to move toward the helpless noises. It almost failed her upon laying her hand on the handle to his room. Alek’s voice, low and indecipherable, emitted from beyond the door, accompanying the next gasp.

Heart thundering, Emillie shoved into the room.

A blindfolded Rusan woman hung against a wall, her wrists shackled above her head with blood dripping down from slashed wrists. She wore nothing but thin, lacy lingerie that did nothing to hide her body and, indeed, seemed to split between her legs, exposing her sex. She shook, the delicate chains rattling with each shudder.

“Gods!” Emillie covered her mouth as Alek turned to her, a small knife in his hand and wearing nothing but the trousers from their wedding.

“Emillie.” His voice was low, as though speaking to a rabid animal.

Perhaps she was. She rushed forward and pushed his chest. “You told me it was a lie!”

How could she have married someone so foul? How had this man, someone she once considered a friend and more recently began to trust, been nothing but a wretched liar and sadist the entire time?

“You do not understand,” Alek said, still speaking in his even tone. He dropped the knife to the floor and held both hands aloft as though in surrender. “Listen first. Please.”

Emillie pulled the blindfold from the woman before demanding from him, “Where are the keys?”

The woman blinked in surprise, then her eyes widened. “My Lady!”

“Is this a servant?” Emillie’s stomach churned, then refocused on the Rusan. A scan of her body did not reveal any more injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My Lady,” she said with a quick glance at Alek, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—”

“This is not your fault.” Emillie shook her head. “I will get you out of here.”

Alek stepped forward, and this time, when he spoke, it was with more firmness. He took hold of her wrist. “Listen to me.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not until you stop.”

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